“Agh, er, ooh, a guard. That’s lucky.”
“People don’t say that. What are you hiding?”
“I believe my tenant is dead in his room. Can you break the door down?”
“And you can prove you own this building?”
“Yes.”
“And have suitable cause…”
After a little negotiation and showing of permits, the guard followed the landlord up the stairs to the door.
“Sturdy.”
“I use the best.”
“Not that study. I can force this lock.”
“Good.”
After a moment’s effort, the door swung open.
It was dark inside, as curtains were closed and there were no candles. Which, both landlord and guard concluded, meant he’d died asleep.
“Lead the way,” the guard said with a wave of his hand.
“Aren’t you supposed to go in first?”
“He’s dead?”
“Oh, right yeah,” and the landlord entered, moving over to a curtain, knocking things with his feet, tugging it open, and letting light fill a room covered in the detritus of the artist. Then he went over to the bedroom and looked in.
“Hmm, he’s not dead in his bed.”
Silence from outside.
“Can you see anything?” he asked the guard. “Anything?”
“God above,” the guard hissed as he looked at the walls, revealed by the light. “This is madness.”
*****
Daeholf stood up cautiously, testing his weight, one hand still on the frame of the bed. It was getting easier every day. His back was complaining less, ribs were down to sore and his shoulder only seemed to be giving him a little trouble. His strength was also returning slowly but he was being careful. He’d already had one idiotic setback after the papers tantrum and he wasn’t about to do anything that daft again.
The few stretching sessions he’d had with Elena had certainly been helping too. He smiled. She’d been a little reluctant at first but now didn’t seem all that worried about twisting and pressing on him, even when he was only half dressed. It did mean a bit more bathing however, which was still awkward. At least now though he, Trimas and Zedek had come up with a system which meant no more walking in on one of the others unexpectedly washing themselves and seeing something really rather better unseen, so it wasn’t quite as awkward as it had been.
He looked at the pail of water on the floor. Later, maybe after he’d moved around a bit. Exerting himself was still very tiring and likely to work up a bit of a sweat. There was a chance Elena would pop in again this evening, depending on how she was getting on in the office. She’d been spending a lot of time there with the watch recently, which made sense given the extra resources available to her there.
He smiled wryly. It was almost like he was missing her. Not that he was feeling neglected of course, he insisted to himself, but a change of company from the grumbling twosome was always nice. Oh Erik did his best, but conversations with him tended to be limited. He wasn’t sure if this was because Erik was a skilled spy, being careful not to reveal how much he knew or any interesting experiences he’d had in the past or if instead he really was a dedicated butcher and meat was his life. Though if that really was the case, he couldn’t quite see how he was Karina’s man here unless there was also something else going on. Which, on reflection, given Karina, there probably was. He still wasn’t sure what her endgame was here in Bastion, though it was looking like she had ambitions on replacing the Hood, either directly or through an agent, such as Kellan.
And of course that was someone else who visited too but was he wasn’t much company either, coming in to check on progress or to inventory the money. And ask what they’d been spending it on of course. He didn’t talk much about general subjects either. All business and no warmth. He supposed that was to be expected. The three of them had probably frayed the last of his nerves by now and he was here to do a job, something that they weren’t always exactly helping with.
Ah well, this wasn’t getting him anywhere. He let go of the bedframe and tested his balance. Better. Much better. Not needing to hold onto things to stand up was a good sign. One fear he’d had was that something may have been shaken loose in his head from the fall. He’d had a number of dizzy spells which had been worrying, but it was looking like they could be attributed initially to his blood loss and later to his general weakness with moving. He still tired very easily even now.
He held his arms out sideways, stretching. His right arm moved freely, his sore ribs notwithstanding. His left arm was a bit more of a problem. He knew he’d dislocated it in the fall and somewhere along the line it had been put back in. The first few hours were still a bit of a haze. He’d apparently been talking but couldn’t remember much of it. Regardless, the injury from the fall and his own stupidity falling over after his strop had combined to restrict his movement from his left shoulder. He’d probably need to put his arm in a sling if he was going out anywhere or likely to be up for any length of time. He looked at his left arm and sighed. Whilst it had been put back together pretty effectively following the axe-blow that had destroyed his shield, it was still a mess of scars, and though no weaker than his right, it was always a bit numb in places. And now he’d contrived to damage it even more, if hopefully only temporarily.
Ah, it would mend, at least mostly anyway. He always seemed to, ever since he could remember, though he was usually left with some residual pain. He’d have to stop getting hurt really. And if a bit of extra pain and soreness was all he had to live with after the adventure on the roof, it was a deal he’d accept readily. A couple more aches and pains were neither here nor there now.
He started moving through a series of gentle stretches, conscious of keeping his shoulder stable and not aggravating his ribs too much. He was pleased with his new range of motion. He was definitely getting better, and the work with Elena really had helped. Satisfied, he looked back at the bed. He didn’t feel ready to lie down again yet. Moving around had made him feel that bit more normal, had taken him away from the weeks of frustrating idleness. It had made him feel whole.
There were always papers to be looked at though, the case information to go over again. Maybe something else would spring out, some new revelation that would help put the whole sorry saga to an end. He wasn’t really in the mood to settle again now though. He wanted to move around, not just sit and read the same stuff over and over again. It was all really rather depressing and he’d had quite enough of it for the time being.
He looked at his sword, sheathed and hanging from the bed frame. If he was really going to get anywhere, he’d need to start working with it properly again. Soon, too. He couldn’t face the idea of not being ready to participate in the capture or killing of the Nightwalker. It was bad enough watching the others go off to face the Thieftaker without him. That had broken him inside a little bit. Never again.
He walked around the bed to it carefully, lifting the scabbard and feeling the weight of it. Hmm. Some movement with a little weight would probably help build his strength and he was probably getting a bit rusty anyway. A little sword practise wouldn’t hurt, as long as he was gentle. He drew the sword, placing the sheath on the bed. Hello old friend, he thought to himself, his hand fitting back naturally, callouses and hilt fitting closely together until once again it was just an extension of his arm.
A couple of gentle test cuts at the air. Normal. Natural. Years of training and practise shaking away the bed-rust he’d accumulated. High block, counter. His left arm assumed a natural shield position as he imagined himself back in armour, moving through his drills. Guard, stab. Guard, high slash. Phantom shield raised, low slash, leg, opponent down, vulnerable, ready for the finishing blow.
He thrust without thinking, extending the tip of the sword, moving to spear the imaginary enemy, but the stitches in his chest and sore ribs restricted his movement and a flash of pain made him pull back sharply as he moved, causing him to overbalanc
e.
He fell to one knee, dropping the sword. “Fuck it,” he swore. For all of his promises to himself to be careful, he’d ended up overdoing it again. He struggled back to his feet, leaning on the bed frame, panting both for breath and against the onrush of increased pain.
One step at a time, damnit.
And another thing he didn’t need necessarily to tell the others about.
*****
“Excuse me, Sergeant?”
The voice came from a head which had just appeared from, of all places, a window.
“Yes?” Elena replied as she stood up and away from the corpse on the ground.
“I have a message for you.”
Elena nodded and smiled. Poor Portis, he was about the only person more infamous than Elena in the guard, and it was because his memory was so poor he wrote everything in chalk on a slate.
A brilliant user of deduction, but with the memory of a duck. An ace in a room, awful once he stepped outside. In the guard solely because of family money. If Elena were in charge he would be moved to where his strengths were in play and…
She wasn’t in charge, was she. She was trying to find a serial killer who, unlike the man on the floor beside her, hadn’t got anything to do with hammers and beatings thereof.
“What’s the message?”
“There’s a room full of, er, I believe the quote was ‘fucking turmoil’.”
“Bodies?”
“No. Er, paintings.”
Elena raised an eyebrow. She’d asked to be informed of anything unusual as she tracked these two killers down, and this might be a clue. It couldn’t have been more useless than the body on the floor.
“Portis, go and fetch my two bounty hunter friends, they’ll be in a shop near…” The order was issued and Elena started out. She needed eyes on whatever these paintings were, and this pair had managed to get the furthest of anyone else she knew.
Except Daeholf. What she really needed was him up and about.
When she reached the location, which was much closer to Daeholf than to her desk, she found a guard pacing about.
“I believe you sent for me?”
“Fucking strange.”
“Did you send for me?”
“It’s fucking strange. Ought to be burnt.”
“Okay then. Would you like to show me…”
“Hello,” came a cheerful call.
Elena turned to see Trimas and Zedek running over. At least they acknowledged her, and had come promptly. Portis was with them.
“Right everyone, show us the horror.”
They threaded up the stairs, and soon stepped into Vesek’s old room. The first thing that hit you was the smell of oil paints and spirits, which reeked.
“I’m surprised they could stand upright,” Zedek noted.
Then it was time for the eyes. The rooms looked like an artist had been in them, all used brushes, containers full of colours, papers and canvases scattered about. But then your eyes were drawn to what the work was of.
Twisted figures, strange geometry, a sky dark with gods and a land of brutality. Elena picked the nearest canvas and looked at the chaos shown on it.
“This is the work of a madman.”
“Do you think so,” Trimas said coming over to look.
“You don’t?”
“It’s the work of someone very skilled. Look at the blending on that ogre, top class, and look at how the brush has been used to show that storm, passionate.”
Zedek, Elena, and the two guards turned to look at Trimas in astonishment.
“Did you just say…”
“It’s a very accomplished piece. Quality skill. Reminds me of the military school of art. Although they had to rename themselves after the travelling legionary painters petitioned the emperor to, er, what?”
“When did you become interested in art?” Zedek asked, agog.
“I grew up in a noble house. I have been well educated in art.”
Elena smirked. “I thought art was the preserve of nobles who couldn’t fight or trade?”
“I wasn’t always this big.”
“Fair point.”
Zedek asked, “Anything else you’d like to tell us?”
“Poetry.”
“Now that I have to hear.”
Elena got back to work. “So you are telling me that this room full of utter madness is actually the work of a well respected and talented artist, and, what, he sells the normal stuff and leaves this lot behind when he skips out on his rent?”
“He’s an artist. He can’t have liked it too much, he left it behind. Some of them treat this stuff like children. Interview buyers before a sale.”
“So a lunatic artist.”
“Aren’t they all.”
They began a search of the rooms, looking at all the ‘art’, before regrouping in the middle again.
“Mindbending,” Zedek noted.
Elena sighed. “There isn’t anything here that really links to either killer. No faces, no err, Zedek, anything you recognise as being, yunno...”
“Nope.”
“Right. It’s really, really odd, and it makes no sense, but … there’s nothing that says this is the killer. Nothing that says he’s a, yunno.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“We should burn it,” one guard concluded.
“I don’t think that would help.”
“Take it to the church and burn it.”
“Everyone’s a critic,” Trimas noted.
*****
There was a lot of paperwork to do.
Even as an imperial governor, there was a lot of paperwork to do. He could delegate some, or maybe a lot, if he wanted, but recent events had shown what happened if you took your eyes off the situation.
One city, a current of instability. One man to put it right.
He meant himself, but the Governor was about to get a shock.
“Enter,” he said as the door was knocked on.
A young clerk walked over and stood in front of the desk, snapping his heels together like some paramilitary.
“Yes?” the Governor asked.
“I have a new schedule which has been drawn up for your morning.”
Why? Was the question he wanted to ask. He’d kept this morning clear of appointments to go through this work, and his staff were only supposed to book people in when the matter was pressing. So what was pressing?
“Here,” he said, holding a hand out.
One handwritten note, the ink slightly smudged. A list of people.
Captain…
Another captain…
A third captain.
Ah bugger. They were coming. The leading officers of the guard were coming to him in search of promotion, in search of being a thieftaker, and they’d all managed to get themselves on the day’s agenda.
He’d have to speak to them. Captains in the guard were important and this time he couldn’t delegate because the person in between had just thrown herself off a roof.
Contenting himself with the knowledge that somewhere in Bastion’s criminal underworld they were killing each other instead of talking, he nodded at the clerk. “Send the first one in.”
“Yes sir.”
“Actually stop a second, why do you do the heel thing?”
“Sir?”
“The click. Why do you do the click?”
“It felt improper to salute as I’m not a legionary.”
But I’m not a general? “Carry on.” Some people were strange.
Okay, many people were strange, the Governor thought as a walrus walked in. Not an actual walrus, but the captain who prided himself in a white moustache he could have used to keep a whole family warm.
“Good morning, captain.” The Governor smiled. He didn’t even need to remember their names, they were all captains.
“Hello sir. I’m sure you don’t want me to take up too much of your time.”
“Very thoughtful of you.”
“But I woul
d like to advance myself for the available position.”
“My secretary?”
“...Pardon?”
“I am a man down. In fact you should find that man.”
“I mean the head of the guard sir,” and he pulled himself up.
“I can see my face in your breastplate…”
“Thank you sir.”
“Do you solve crimes as well as you polish?”
“I have a man for that.”
That said it all really.
Walrus was soon dismissed, and there came another knocking.
“Come in, captain.”
A woman who was so tall she challenged the chandelier came over to his desk. Hair tied back, dress armour replaced by the day to day uniform. Obviously a woman of the people.
“What can I do for you, captain?”
“My I be candid sir.”
“Of course.”
“I am applying for the position of thieftaker.”
“I didn’t realise there had been an advert.”
“...I don’t…”
“How are you applying?”
“Asking you sir.”
“I see. I will certainly keep you in mind.”
“I have a proven track record. I am the best woman in the guard.”
The Governor narrowed his eyes. The best two women in the guard were finding a serial killer and dead, and there might be a really big drop off after that.
After a small amount of further conversation this captain left, and the door didn’t even manage to shut before the next one walked in.
“Captain?”
“Good day sir.”
A rat of a man. What did they say, poacher turned gamekeeper. It was one thing to have a thieftaker who was head of the underworld, it was another thing to employ someone who looked like it.
“What have you got to tell me?”
“I thought it might interest you, sir, to know how powerful my family can be.”
A toothy smile which made the Governor rack his brains. Rat man was … ah yes.
“I believe your family live outside the walls, in one of the imperial forests.”
“We have the licence to maintain those, yes.”
“So you are powerful.”
Knives of Bastion (An Empire Falls Book 2) Page 49
