Above the howl of the wind, Dartun was saying something. '. . . we must now remain cautious, because of our lack of knowledge of what lies beyond. Whatever relics you carry, make sure you have them at the ready.'
His form was now almost just a silhouette against the bright light. She sensed him glance back to her and smile, and couldn't help but be infected by his keenness. The man knew what he was doing. For a moment she forgot about their immediate situation, remembered that they were lovers. Just what exactly did he hope to find here? That was another thing about him, the constant air of mystery. Always playing with secrets.
At that very moment Dartun Sur walked with casual grace into another world.
FORTY-FIVE
Tuya regarded Marysa as the female rumel stood watching the blurred figure of Jeryd pass the front window on his way to work. Faint flurries of snow slashed past the glass, morning sunlight penetrating in between. As Marysa turned to face her, she realized she was pretty for a rumel. Even without youth on her side, she still possessed a youthful charm. Her dark, almost-black skin gave her an exotic air - you didn't see too many of that colour in the city, most being brown or dark grey. Perhaps this added an allure of mystery that Investigator Jeryd could never really solve.
The two women now sat enveloped in thick layers of brown robes that did nothing much for either of them except keep them warm. For a long while there was a tenuous silence brought about from suddenly being thrown together. Visitors often possessed the power to inflict self-consciousness on their hosts and she could see a hesitant look in the rumel's eyes, as if she too was uncertain at how to handle the situation.
They were startled by the sound of a snowball striking the window.
'Would you like some tea?' Marysa enquired.
'Thanks,' Tuya said, 'but you don't have to be polite to me. I can easily understand you not wanting someone like me in your home.'
Marysa stood up and walked over to the kitchen area. 'Jeryd merely said you were in trouble, and that people were after you.'
Tuya wondered if Jeryd had informed Marysa of everything she had been through, of the destruction she may have caused. Not something to bring up, though, as it didn't make for an easy conversation.
'I work as a prostitute,' Tuya said bluntly.
Marysa glanced back at her. 'Oh.'
Another snowball hit the glass.
'It's not as bad as you'd think. I'm selective.'
So cosy, with the clink of cups, the crackling fire, the water boiling.
'I'm in a little trouble with some people who'll be looking for me. They wanted what I couldn't give them.' Tuya laughed inwardly: what exactly could she not give a man? 'You know, you're really very lucky to have someone like Jeryd. He seems such a good sort.'
'He is.' Marysa spun around rather too quickly, her expression warning Tuya to stay away from the husband she loved.
'You know, I've never loved anyone like you must have done,' Tuya said. 'Never even been in love.'
'Really?' Marysa enquired, and there was genuine interest in her tone.
'That's right, never. And I'm in my forties. I've not met any man with whom I could form a connection. I suppose, in my job, it's easier if you don't get too attached to people.'
'I can understand that.'
Tuya continued, 'I've had men who've had their little infatuations with me. Lonely men, in particular, seem to become infatuated so easily.'
'Why do you do . . . what you do?' Marysa said, embarrassed but curious.
Tuya thought about this for some time. 'I'd like to say for the money. It's easy money, after all. I don't have to do much, just use whatever I've been blessed with. But there's an emptiness now that I just can't explain, like a spiritual scar.' She touched the side of her face. 'Sometimes you know you've walked so far down a particular path that you've nothing left but your dignity. Dignity to keep on down that very same path, even though it's the wrong one. Because when you stop, when you think . . . that's when it hurts the most. Some sort of dignity is all I've got left.'
Tuya resisted the urge to cry, but she could tell by the fact that Marysa was now walking towards her that she was failing in this. Marysa placed a hand gently on Tuya's.
A sound now from the roof.
Tuya looked up. 'What's that?'
'It's those damn kids,' Marysa said, 'throwing snowballs at our house. It usually stops after half an hour, but it doesn't half drive you crazy.'
A snowball smashed the windowpane and exploded inside, accompanied by squeals of childish laughter.
*
Now working in his chambers, Jeryd checked his crossbow. They didn't make them now like they used to. You used to get some slick firing mechanisms that were so straightforward to reload. Insert and click. The new one he held in his hand was problematic, because you had to insert the bolt so deep before it locked in place. Sure, it fired much further, so they claimed, but you spent far too much time reloading, in which time a knife could rake across your throat and it was all over. He needed something quick and deadly, promising a swift shot in the dark. The rumel held the weapon this way and that, then shook his head. It would have to do.
His colleague Fulcrom entered the room. 'Have you heard these extraordinary rumours about the Empress and her sister? They're planning to execute them on the city wall tomorrow evening.'
Jeryd whistled in astonishment. 'Whose call?'
'Council decision, it seems. The arch-inquisitor approved the judgement apparently. She was planning to have all the refugees killed, but was arrested at the Snow Ball by the chancellor, who intercepted her plans and put both Rika and Eir on trial late last night. Quite the show apparently. They tried to deny it, but the documents were there for all to see, and many of the councillors confessed that Rika had approached them, consulting on issues like disposing of bodies and the like. Some claimed that the sisters had issued beatings from guards to silence them, and one guard - someone I'm sure has links to Urtica - admitted this. They said they were glad of the opportunity to get it all out in the open. They praised Urtica for his guile in seeing that the Empire's people were safe. And despite all this stuff on the surface, deep down in the heart of the city, it seems people really are being taken in to be killed.'
Jeryd took it all in, nodding slowly, not really surprised, but it didn't stop him feeling disgusted over what went on up there, in that black vault of Balmacara. 'It couldn't be Lady Rika that organized the underground killings. It just couldn't be.'
'No,' Fulcrom agreed. 'I reckon this is to do with certain councillors . . . and Ovinists. It's something much darker to take advantage of this distraction. It's all been worked out in complex detail, so whoever's in the Ovinists . . . well, they're certainly smart.'
Jeryd said, 'This is Urtica's work, all right, all of it, and we've not got one damn piece of evidence against him. Our only witness, if you can call her that, is both a prostitute and a murderer, and if we say a single word out of line, we'll be thrown in some cell and forgotten about - that's if we're lucky. Urtica must have a huge network of his damn cult in operation, from labourers to Inquisition personnel to councillors. The trial's got to be a smokescreen, something to focus everyone's attention on while he's engaged in the business of genocide.'
Fulcrom added, 'Updates are being nailed to the doors of every tavern in the city, and even after midnight I saw a huge crowd around one.'
'Did you see what it said?'
'Said something about the dark Empress turning on her own people. If he genuinely has organized all this, then he's the master propagandist. I can't believe the audacity.'
Jeryd laughed. 'If you've known politicians for as long as I have.' He shook his head, remembering the news stories that the Inquisition had to keep under wraps for the good of the people, so they were told. Cover-ups of the murders of union leaders, the provision of weaponry to various rival tribes to destabilize a region, servants charged with spying. 'They were bad enough before these Ovinists got involved, the ubiquit
ous bastards.'
Fulcrom frowned. 'Ovinists are everywhere,' he said. 'Can we even trust each other?'
During the pause, the two rumel eyed each other steadily, knowing the question was totally unnecessary. Jeryd chuckled to himself and muttered, 'Fulcrom, if I was an Ovinist, the first thing I'd do would be to make sure I was in a better job than this.'
Fulcrom seemed to like that.
Jeryd continued, 'So who the hell d'you think will take over the Jamur Empire? Can you imagine that pompous git Urtica being in charge?'
Fulcrom shrugged. 'Not our call to make.'
'No, indeed.' Jeryd took a moment to rid himself of splenetic thoughts. 'So, to business. We've got some people to save.'
Fulcrom moved nearer to Jeryd. 'Soldiers have made some movements around one of the tunnels. It's the one they're letting the first wave of refugees into, and it's one of the older tunnels. I've got it marked on a map.'
'Good,' Jeryd said. 'Any idea how many?' So this is it. It's really happening.
Fulcrom shook his head. 'No, all I got was the tip-off. As for some help, I've managed to round up a few of the young investigators who still have principles.'
'Can they be trusted, though?'
'They know what they're in for and just how secret this must be.'
'Fair enough.' Jeryd knew he could rely on Fulcrom's selection. 'There's just one thing we've to do on the way.'
*
Jeryd knocked hard on the metal door of Mayter Sidhe's house of banshees, as Fulcrom glanced left and right along the snow-covered street. Only a few people were out and about, hunched under so many layers of clothing that you could hardly see their faces.
It took much longer than usual for the door to open. That alerted Jeryd's suspicions, but he knew something was definitely wrong when Mayter Sidhe answered the door herself.
'Investigator,' she said, her blue eyes a shade dimmer than previously. She glanced nervously at Fulcrom.
'It's OK, he's with me,' Jeryd said.
'You'd better come in,' she beckoned.
No fragrance this time, no welcoming fire. The place was as cold as the street outside. A couple of chairs were broken and left in the shadow of the stairway.
'Where are the others?'
She gestured for the two rumel to sit down, but they insisted on standing.
'Why are you here?' she asked.
'We just want a chat,' Jeryd said, and told her everything he could about the threat to the refugees, going on to state that he would appreciate it if the banshees would forbear to draw attention to any conspirators' deaths that might occur during his intended raid on the tunnels.
'This explains much,' she sighed. Her expression was full of sadness.
'Explains what?' Jeryd said.
'Wait here a moment.' She left the room and returned with one of the younger banshees, looking like a smaller replica of herself.
Jeryd was about to say something, but Mayter Sidhe held up her hand to silence him. She turned to the girl. 'Show the investigator.'
The young woman shook her head, manically, her eyes filled with a fear Jeryd had never seen before.
'Show the investigator,' Mayter Sidhe repeated insistently.
After a moment, the girl opened her mouth.
Her tongue was missing. Scar tissue had already begun to blossom. Jeryd grimaced, glancing at Fulcrom who also looked appalled. The girl began to sob, then hurriedly left the room.
'A few nights ago,' Mayter Sidhe said calmly, 'some masked men broke into our house. They did this to everyone - took the tongues of everyone apart from me. I was the only one not at home. A couple of the girls bled to death on their beds, including my youngest who was only ten.'
'Who did this?' Jeryd asked horrified.
'I wasn't here to see. And none of them can now tell me exactly what went on. All my girls are forever silenced.'
Jeryd couldn't find the words to express his disgust.
'So you see,' she continued, 'someone has already asked for much the same favour that you did, just a little more forcefully.'
Mayter Sidhe would say nothing further.
Jeryd knew instantly what was going on. Whoever intended to kill the refugees had realized that the banshees would soon raise the alarm over death on such a large scale. Their screams would inevitably draw in someone to investigate.
So the witch women of Villjamur had been made inert, silenced for good.
*
Jeryd greeted the assembled investigators with a curt nod as they huddled in a damp, mould-covered underground passage. There were a couple of sword tips poking out beneath cloaks, and a ceaseless drip of water somewhere added to the gloom of the melancholy room.
Jeryd had considered it best for everyone to remain anonymous to each other, so he had assigned each of the young rumel a number from one to ten. After briefing them all precisely, he and Fulcrom again consulted some maps. Networks of passageways as old as civilization itself were already committed to memory and the two rumel had discussed the best access routes, the best exits. There was one way out for those refugees who were being brought into the tunnels. Two if you included death.
Jeryd finally checked the crossbow hidden under his cloak, checked the knives tucked in his boots, the small sword that hung at his side.
Now, off to work.
*
Down here the passages were so narrow in places that you had to walk sideways. Jeryd wondered what kind of people were of this slender girth a thousand years ago. Where there was no light, you relied on touch to get you through until you reached the next shaft of light illuminating the path. The walls were damp and cold, with lichen and mould proliferating wherever light struck the stone. Their companions were the usual rats, which was only to be expected. Still, at least there were no damn spiders - he shuddered to think how he'd react to spiders in such a tight space as this, and in front of so many other men from the Inquisition. Above them, Villjamur was experiencing another day, just like any other, unaware of the thousands of people whose lives were now under threat.
For half an hour they travelled underground until it was too deep to expect any external light. Fulcrom carried a torch ahead of Jeryd to guide the way, while boots shuffled reassuringly behind.
Into Villjamur's heart of darkness.
According to intelligence reports, refugees would be brought here in small numbers and disposed of over a long period of time. The first and unluckiest refugees were going to be, or already were, confined in one of three escape tunnels leading over to the west. As to how the refugees were to be killed, no one yet knew. Perhaps it would be a simple, brutal execution by the sword, but, on this scale, who would have the nerve to do that to the Empire's citizens? There would be so much panic probably, so maybe the methods would be more discreet, more subtle.
Fulcrom paused, held out a warning hand that Jeryd saw only when he had walked into it. Everyone else stopped.
'What's up?' Jeryd whispered.
Fulcrom held a finger to his lips, tilting his head as if to better hear some sound. Jeryd listened too. Faintly, they could hear voices through walls. How far away, he could not decide.
'I'd say they're a level below us,' Fulcrom ventured. 'We're not far off.'
Jeryd replied, 'Where will the city guard be?'
'Probably at the entrance to that same level. There are three access routes, and we're following one of them. They, however, will most likely approach from the direction of the Council Atrium, so we're fine here.'
'Press on?' Jeryd suggested.
'Hold this a moment.' Fulcrom handed Jeryd the torch, then he took off his cloak and let it drop to the floor. Everyone followed suit till their metal weaponry glittered openly in the torchlight.
Jeryd handed back the torch and began loading his crossbow.
*
The small band of investigators approached the next stairwell leading down. No guards were in evidence, but Jeryd's heart still thumped in expectation. He leaned over to Fulc
rom, whispered, 'Put the torch out now?'
'Sure. Then give it a few minutes to let our eyes adjust.'
They stood there in darkness and listened to the groans and whispers of people massed below them. This pitiful sound at least meant they were still alive. Jeryd felt spurred on by pity and determination. If there was any good left in this world, he would have them saved.
Water dripped all around them and the slightest breeze came from some concealed opening further along.
'Let's go,' Fulcrom hissed.
They shuffled forwards as one, Jeryd opening one of the pockets containing his crossbow bolts. His nerves vibrated, surprising himself that an old rumel could still feel intensely.
A single torch was fixed to the wall at the far end of the passage. Rat-shadows moved constantly, distracting the eye. Further along sounded voices, footsteps.
Jeryd and Fulcrom both held their crossbows up, ready to discharge. The investigators around them drew their short swords.
A soldier suddenly turned a corner, spotted them, reached for his sword, and just as he was about to open his mouth to raise the alarm, Jeryd loosed his crossbow. The man's head snapped back as the bolt struck him full in the face; he collapsed under the light of his own torch.
Jeryd reloaded, advanced to check upon the guard. The splattered blood on stone told him all. He nodded to Fulcrom, gesturing him forwards. At this point, the corridor angled to the right, leading into darkness.
In their silent progress another guard was dispatched before he could react. After compacting his body into a dark corner, they continued on towards the sound of voices.
Around another turning, there were two further guards, and the noise was increasing. Two shots: one soldier dead, the other merely wounded. Immediately the younger investigators rushed forward, swords out ready, while Jeryd and Fulcrom reloaded. The sound of clashing metal. When Jeryd arrived at the corner he saw his colleagues engaged in combat with three more city guards. Jeryd prepared to fire again, but it was unnecessary. All three of the soldiers were soon dead, blood pooling around them.
Nights of Villjamur Page 42
