The dark red jelly filling Ternik’s opened body appeared definitely less. Veranta raised her eyes, and blinked. The stone wall in front of her was rippled and ridged. Just as in Ternik’s own room. Veranta stepped back.
‘Put liquid fire in here,’ she ordered abruptly. ‘Set it alight, close the door and leave it thus for a full day. At once.’
The healer looked fearful but hurried from the room. Veranta gestured to her two escorts and withdrew to the corridor. Four servants appeared, carrying two flagons each which they merely placed on the floor outside the room. Veranta rolled her eyes.
‘Take it inside, fools. Pour it all over the room but particularly over the bodies. Do not touch the bodies at all. Leave the flagons in there.’
The servants obeyed although obviously reluctant to do so.
‘Fetch a lamp,’ Veranta ordered a nurse who seemed to be just standing open mouthed.
The servants left the room much more quickly than they’d entered it. Veranta nodded to one of her guards and prudently moved some distance down the corridor. The guard took the glowing lamp from the nurse and stepped up to the threshold. He drew his arm back and gripped the side of the door with his other hand. The lamp hit the examination table and fire flashed up immediately. The guard slammed the door shut and returned to the Imperatrix.
‘I want this corridor watched until this time tomorrow. Do you know what is outside the windows of that room? And what’s in the adjacent rooms?’
The healer who’d first greeted Veranta spoke from behind the Imperatrix. ‘The room this side is another room used for the dissection of bodies my lady. It is empty – I checked it myself only a few moments ago. On the further side are rooms containing supplies. The first holds bandages, splints, crutches and other such equipment. The next along on the same side holds dried medicines. The room opposite is for patients recovering from surgery, and this room is where that surgery is performed.’
‘Your name healer?’ Veranta was interested. This woman had given her the information she’d asked for calmly and concisely. She wished more of her immediate staff and advisors could do as well.
She didn’t hear the healer’s name because a loud boom reverberated around them. Veranta chewed her lip, the healer forgotten. Bodies did not explode like that and she was fairly sure the detonation was caused by that dark stuff inside Ternik. Veranta turned back to the healer.
‘The one who survived – what is his name?’
‘Tomin my lady.’
‘What are his injuries?’
The healer shook her head. ‘There seem no physical injuries at all my lady. He was stripped and examined immediately but there are no wounds. He seems sleepy, he says he aches, and his body feels wrong, but we can discern no cause for these symptoms.’
‘Hmm. Sounds like a simple ague to me. Nonetheless, I want him held in a secure room and observed closely for a few days. Report any change in his condition at once.’
Without waiting for any acknowledgement, the Imperatrix retraced her route from the infirmary to her office. One of her escort shivered violently as they climbed the marble staircase. His partner noticed but said nothing until Veranta left them in the antechamber.
‘You all right Pav?’ he asked. ‘You got a fever coming on? Saw you shiver just now.’
‘Nah. I’m fine. Felt a draught from Simert’s Gate is all.’
The ghost who had caused Pav’s shiver fled the Citadel, making for Gossamer Tewk’s house in the Artisan Quarter. He whirled and paced among the gnarled orchard trees, telling other ghosts what he’d witnessed. Many of their original number were gone, vanished when the woman Tika entered and left the Citadel through a Dark gateway. Many more had gathered at this house now. Word had spread through the strange community of ghosts, and large numbers had come here for various reasons. Some thought they might have a chance at last of wreaking vengeance upon their killers. Others were simply nosey. A minority suspected something of far greater import was happening in Kelshan, in which they might be able to play a part.
Drengle List watched them from his bedroom window. A sudden rain storm had swept in from the sea but it had no effect on the swirling confusion of misty grey shapes in his garden. He wondered what was exciting them now, then firmly put the thought from his mind. Bound to be trouble, and he didn’t like trouble. He stuck a finger into one of the pots he’d taken from Snail and contemplated the dark purple grease. He smiled and picked up the mirror again. He drew a wavy line across his forehead. Hmm. That made him look scary all right.
Drengle heard the kitchen door bang and a scowl replaced the smile. A milling throng of ghosts surged into his room, their agitation making his skin prickle. He glared.
‘You know you’re not allowed in here,’ he yelled. ‘Go on, get out.’
The ghosts streamed around him and he felt a definite tugging.
‘All right. I’ll come downstairs. But you are not to come in here again.’
He wiped his finger on his bare chest, picked up his chain and stumped heavily down to the kitchen.
‘I know you’re bothered about something, but I’m not playing guessing games any more. All those people turned up last time and I don’t like people.’
He sat down and folded his arms, the chain in a tangle on his lap. The ghosts fussed and crowded but Drengle shook his head.
‘I’m not guessing. I don’t want to know.’ He had a sudden sensation of ice cold water pouring over his head and back and he leaped to his feet, the chain clanking to the floor.
‘Don’t you dare,’ he roared. ‘You’re welcome here as long as you behave, but I won’t put up with no tricks like that.’
Most of the ghosts rushed out into the rain and Drengle sat down again, muttering to himself. He watched three or four, it was hard to tell exactly how many, blurred as they were, hovering by the cook stove.
‘I don’t want to know,’ he insisted, and those remaining ghosts seemed to fade a bit. That’s told them, he thought with satisfaction.
But the ones who’d left the kitchen were creeping back in, writhing round the table like wisps of smoke. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun and a pale sun gleamed through the dirty window. One of the ghosts darted to the window and made great efforts to smear some words through the grime. Drengle watched with interest as the other ghosts gathered – it seemed an immense effort for them to form a single mark on the glass. He sang a nursery rhyme while he waited, one he’d always been fond of.
Eventually the ghosts drew away from the window and stared intently at Drengle. He got to his feet, approached the window and shook his head at the lines and squiggles on it. He looked back at the ghosts, his blue filed teeth exposed in a huge smile.
‘Can’t read,’ he said smugly.
The kitchen seemed to explode with the ghosts’ fury. Drengle List gathered up his chain and hurried back up to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He sat on his bed and giggled, while below in the kitchen a maelstrom of ghosts churned in simmering anger at the incredible stupidity of their landlord, and a desperate yearning for the return of the woman who was able to communicate with them – Tika.
Veranta had just sat down at her desk when a scribe appeared. He announced that Captain Mettich was waiting in the side gallery. Veranta sighed.
‘He’s early. Very well, send him in.’
Heels clicked on the stone floor and then snapped together as the officer saluted his Imperatrix. ‘My lady.’
Veranta leaned back in her chair, studying the man. Only a few years younger than herself, he would have been considered handsome but for the two scars running in jagged lines from his left temple to the corner of his mouth. No doubt he told stories of how he’d received those scars, fighting the wild clans or pirates. But Veranta remembered that he’d been before a court martial. A drunken brawl in a dockside brothel and a whore smashing broken glass into his face. She smiled.
‘Captain. Do sit down.’ She found the ambassadors’ offensive letter of c
omplaint and skimmed over it.
‘There seems to be some trouble on the clan borders again,’ she said. ‘Someone’s been taking women and children as prisoners. A pointless exercise.’
The Captain even sat at attention, she noted with amusement. ‘Prisoners need to be fed and guarded. An unnecessary expense in my view, and occupying guards who would be of far more use in the field. I will have signed orders sent to your quarters very shortly. You will take command, dispose of these “prisoners” and put paid to any idea of insurgency by the local clans. Prepare to leave as swiftly as possible.’
She gave a nod which the Captain correctly interpreted as a dismissal, and waited for him to leave. When he did, Veranta heard his voice greeting someone in the corridor and pursed her lips. Beslow. Well, better he was occupied here than had time to learn what task she’d set Mettich.
‘General.’ She raised her voice.
General Beslow entered the office and saluted. ‘You have particular duties for Captain Mettich my lady?’ asked Beslow politely.
‘Indeed.’ Veranta smiled, having no intention of giving any further explanation. ‘You have considered what I told you at our last meeting I trust, General?’ She waved him to the chair just vacated by Captain Mettich.
‘I have,’ replied Beslow. He too could play the game of vague answers.
Veranta’s lips thinned. ‘And your opinion of course concurs with mine.’
A silence fell.
‘My opinion is of no account my lady.’
‘I am asking you General, for your view on this matter.’ Although Veranta’s face remained calm, there was no hiding the anger in her voice.
‘I believe this invasion of yours to be a truly terrible mistake my lady.’ Beslow’s tone was measured and steady. ‘I have a feeling those four thousand men are already lost, prisoners if not dead.’
‘How dare you?’ Veranta was on her feet, her face pale and pinched.
General Beslow gave a slight shrug of one shoulder. ‘You ordered me to give you my opinion my lady. Surely you understood there must be some reason that we have never forced our way into those mountains? Yet the folk who live within their shadow, have no fear of something charging down upon them. I, and your father, believed that there must have been some sort of agreement, thousands of years ago. Provided we made no advances beyond the foothills, nothing would advance on us. Even the pirate fleets do not sail further south than the Barrier Cape. No my lady. I do not think we will see those men again.’
Veranta saw her wonderful vision smashed to little pieces in her mind but she also felt that Beslow’s words, utterly unwelcome though they were, held the ring of absolute certainty. Heartbeats passed while Veranta stared down at the General. Then she drew a deep breath and seated herself again. Her hands on the desk were clenched into fists but her voice was calm.
‘If this has happened, our men lost to the Dark Realm, is it likely they will retaliate against us?’
Again General Beslow gave a slight shrug. ‘My lady, I can only hope that the people of that Realm wish to keep their privacy. I am quite sure that they could have made some sort of contact with us over all these years. They have chosen not to.’
Veranta forced her fists to relax while her thoughts raced. She cleared her throat and met the General’s gaze.
‘You heard that my daughters’ tutor was murdered last night?’
Beslow nodded. Quickly, the Imperatrix described the state of Ternik’s corpse and went on to explain what she had witnessed in the infirmary only a short time earlier today. Beslow’s interest was immediately apparent. He leaned forward.
‘The healer who survived, have you had him questioned?’
Veranta shook her head. ‘He is an anatomist I think, not a healer. He had no injuries – none of them did. But it sounded as though he had a spring ague – tired, aching.’ She frowned, thinking back. ‘He said his body felt wrong.’
The General got hastily to his feet. ‘I will have the outside of that section of the infirmary checked and watched, and with your permission my lady I will try to question this survivor.’
He was gone in the instant and Veranta sat back, rubbing her aching head with the heel of her hand. Two scribes entered with an elderly man dressed in plain, but very expensive clothes. They all bowed and Veranta gritted her teeth. The Master of Ceremonies, come to go over every tedious detail of Mellia’s funeral rites. Veranta wondered vaguely why the stupid girl had killed herself, but dismissed the thoughts as a useless waste of time. Another thought crossed her mind – that she now needed an heir. But that would have to wait.
Daylight had disappeared by the time the Master of Ceremonies was satisfied that every aspect of Mellia’s funeral had been discussed, argued over, and finally settled. No sooner had he departed with the scribes and their stack of copious notes, than General Beslow reappeared. Veranta was not pleased to see him. She was tired, hungry and irritable.
‘I have questioned the anatomist Tomin my lady.’ Beslow sat without invitation.
Veranta noted, with a certain petulant pleasure, that the old General looked as tired as she felt. She raised a brow, waiting for him to continue.
‘He seemed – vague – when I first spoke to him. Confused. As though he had a concussion perhaps. But the healers assured me he had no injuries, no bumps on his head, which might have accounted for this near delirium. He had no fever. I have spent most of this day with him my lady, or watching him through the observation window.’
‘Is he still confused?’
General Beslow took his time before he answered. ‘No. In fact, he’s been released and says he’s able to resume his duties.’
‘But you have doubts about him.’ Veranta’s tone was flat; a statement not a question.
‘I do my lady. I have arranged that he be closely watched without his knowledge. He isn’t what he seems.’
Beslow’s face now showed open worry which was enough for Veranta to feel a first frisson of nervousness herself. The General stood wearily.
‘I have ordered your guards be doubled my lady. There is something very wrong within this Citadel. Two of your children gone without trace, their tutor murdered. I will be at the guard post on the main landing of this floor if you should need me tonight.’
Veranta nearly laughed aloud: it sounded as though the old man was offering himself as a bedfellow. She schooled her expression to gravity and nodded.
‘I appreciate your concern General.’ She got to her feet too. ‘I will be in my suite now, until the morning.’
They left Veranta’s office together and she saw in the scribes’ room three new guards beside the outer door. As four more guards swung in behind her, Veranta realised General Beslow intended to accompany her to her suite himself.
‘I beg your indulgence my lady, but I would prefer to check your rooms before you enter.’
Veranta folded her arms and leaned against the wall. ‘As you please General.’
Turning to the door he paused. ‘How many personal staff have access?’
‘Four maids, a cook, a kitchen helper and two male servants. The staff door opens on the next floor down.’
Beslow nodded and entered her rooms, a guard at his side. Veranta heard squeaks of alarm from a couple of her maids, then Beslow’s voice calming them. The Imperatrix was growing impatient by the time Beslow emerged.
‘Thank you my lady. Your rooms are safe. Guards will be stationed at the lower exit and patrols are also doubled throughout the Citadel now.’
‘You are most efficient General. I feel completely secure.’
Beslow disregarded the hint of sarcasm and merely nodded. ‘Sleep well, my lady.’
The General started back along the corridor. Veranta’s door had closed, three guards taking position before it, when Beslow glanced sharply to his left. The corridor was deserted, but his flesh tingled with chill beneath his shirt. He frowned and went quickly down to the guard post where he’d taken up residence.
Ver
anta ordered a meal to be prepared for her immediately after her bath. While her maids hurried to draw the bath, Veranta stood by a window in her sitting room, staring at the City below. Lights shone from nearly every building, suggesting that for the citizens, life went on as usual. Veranta was not blessed with a sharp mind or a keen intellect, but she was finally realising events had already passed beyond her control.
Three daughters lost in ten days. She remained convinced there was a connection between the disappearance of her middle child Shea, and the old Advisor, Waxin Pule. What that connection could possibly be, she had no idea. Kerris? Too similar a vanishing to Shea’s to be mere coincidence, and Veranta had no belief in coincidence. Mellia. Veranta genuinely could see no link between her treatment of the girl and Mellia’s despair. As an over indulged child herself, Veranta had reacted in a completely opposite way with her own children.
Disciplined, their days totally organised and regimented, no affection shown them – that should have strengthened the girls, toughened them. Veranta had been disgusted by Mellia’s fawning pathetic attitude, strangely mixed with a haughty arrogance. Ternik had reported with disapproval on Mellia’s treatment of servants and of her sisters, but Veranta saw nothing wrong. In fact she rather approved.
Shea was a lack wit and thus worthless. Veranta lay back in her bath and tried to recall Shea’s father. He’d been a handsome young clan warrior, in a party of delegates visiting Kelshan. He’d seemed witty, intelligent: why should a child of his be simple minded? Kerris. Veranta scarcely knew the child, other than as another mousy quiet thing like Mellia.
Veranta rose from the bath and stepped into the embrace of a huge towel, held by two maids who kept their faces averted from the naked form of the Imperatrix. Veranta had always assumed they did this out of awed respect, but, as they’d often discussed among themselves, the Imperatrix nude was a deeply unpleasant sight. When she was dry she pulled on yet another of the many truly garish dressing gowns she owned and wandered back to her sitting room for some food. She ate well as always then retired to her bed chamber.
Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series Page 31
