Drakenfeld

by Mark Charan Newton

  I repeated similar pieces of information – how I saved Prince Bassim from an assassination attempt in Venyn City, of the Ziggurats of Locco, the Skeleton Prince of Gippoli – pausing in all the right places, allowing for natural drama to fill the gaps in what I had to say, leaving them waiting on key moments so that they would remain interested, and trying my best to recall my rhetorical training. This was, after all, partly why Veron wanted me here, so I did not wish to let him down after he had been so kind to me during my return. Even Cettrus the Red seemed impressed, though he did not speak to me.

  They were most impressed by my having travelled to Free State, a neutral yet heavily fortified territory; there once a year, within a sprawling village comprised largely of temples, all the kings and queens of the Vispasian Royal Union gathered to discuss the affairs of the world and hold each other accountable for their own nation’s contribution to Vispasia, to pass new laws and to remove old ones. From that nation, everyone’s futures were to be decided. Though they seemed in awe of my travels, they seemed to be rather dismissive, if not fearful, of other nations, particularly those closest to the border, Maristan and Koton. They quoted the king on his dislike of Free State, too, suggesting yet again a desire to return to the days of Empire.

  The guests – some of whom were very high-ranking clerks and officials – could not get enough of the tales, so it wasn’t until a little later in the evening that I gladly broke free.

  At that point, my throat was dry and I badly needed a drink.

  Suitably replenished, I managed to take Senator Veron to one side. ‘My apologies for getting down to business on a night like this, senator, but do you have the names and addresses for those actors who were present at Optryx?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘I managed to speak to the Censor earlier today, and he noted them down for you.’ He slipped away into the crowd, then a moment later returned with a cup of wine and a scroll of paper, which he handed to me. ‘The Skull and Jasmine theatre company,’ he said. ‘They’re rough sorts, from a rough part of the city, but name me a thespian who isn’t a dodgy fellow.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I slipped the scroll in my pocket.

  ‘What do you think of the ladies?’ He gestured around with his cup. ‘Charming, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Not your sort?’ Veron frowned as if I was some puzzle he needed to decipher. ‘If you want a male companion, we can set you up with one of those. One just tends to ask about women in the first instance – an old habit really.’

  ‘Neither will be necessary,’ I insisted.

  ‘Are you certain you and your assistant aren’t wed? I rather admire the darker-skinned women. Much more adventurous. They’ll let you—’

  ‘Quite certain,’ I said.

  Parties turned people into strange creatures. I don’t know whether or not Veron was drunk, but he was starting to remind me why I had been so happy away from Tryum all these years – that, at night, and in these circles, people would reduce each other to sexual commodities. ‘I’m afraid my career permits little time for affairs of the heart,’ I said.

  ‘A great shame,’ he spoke into his wine, ‘there are a dozen women here who would be all over a handsome fellow such as yourself. At least three have told me so tonight, in explicit detail. I envy you, being free and single. It’s been years since someone spoke of me in explicit detail.’

  ‘Perhaps after I find Lacanta’s killer, I may be able to enjoy such matters, but not at the moment.’

  The reminder seemed to sober him, and his countenance grew more serious. ‘Indeed. Now go on, mingle, and you will have some more wine, won’t you? I’ve purchased many amphorae for tonight, and it all needs to be drunk, else people will say I am a bad host. I might be many bad things, but a bad host I am not.’

  ‘I’ll not drink too much,’ I replied. ‘My father’s funeral is after dawn tomorrow. It probably wouldn’t be all that respectful – to him or the gods – if I turned up reeking of wine.’

  Veron smiled and placed a firm hand on my shoulder. ‘You are your father’s son.’ Then he turned to mix with his guests once again.

  ‘No,’ I promised myself. ‘I’m more than that.’

  A handsome middle-aged lady approached me when I was on my own, and talked about love like she knew what it meant. I’m not sure what she wanted of me – I’m not even certain that she knew herself – but she soon left me alone again. I talked with one of the other guests – a good-looking young man – one who had been close to Lacanta.

  ‘How close?’ I asked, and the look I received was innuendo enough. The same individual then questioned me gently, touching my arm, and asked me if I would like to return to his house afterwards. I politely declined, without trying to bruise his ego, and he seemed to brush off the rejection well enough.

  Such attention might have been flattering, but I saw that many of the guests here were looking for reasons to disappear with another. Parties could on occasion be pointless for a Sun Chamber official, but when there was a case going on, they could also provide fascinating details as wine liberated people from their inhibitions, and secrets were spilled. At least I could begin to get a picture of Lacanta’s social scene, which was a boon for someone unfamiliar with contemporary life in the city. She was hated and loved by many; there was no shortage of narratives winding around her life.

  There seemed to be an air of desperation about tonight’s conversations. Many people would often whisper in brief, urgent moments away from the other guests. I suspected that, with so many senators in the room, political manoeuvring was the topic of the night, yet I had heard nothing of note, only the occasional muttering about foreigners, about borders, about the glories of old – and of military expansion. More than one individual expressed an interest in purchasing Mauland slaves, too.

  Eventually, a little later into the evening, I managed to speak to General Maxant. We stood in the large garden by the fountain, enjoying the balmy Tryum evening. Tonight he was wearing two metal bracelets on one arm, of the kind awarded for bravery on the battlefield.

  ‘How goes the investigation?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m listening to what people have to say for the moment. All I’ve heard so far concerns either ghosts or magic.’

  He grunted something that could have been disapproval, but I knew Maxant had spent too much time away from the city to know about such things.

  ‘You were on the scene of the murder before anyone else,’ I said. ‘You and your men opened that door to the temple.’

  ‘With some difficulty.’ He stared into the fountain. ‘We are not weak men, Drakenfeld, and it took a lot of us to break open that door.’

  ‘And even though you were among the first to gain entry, you saw nothing at all? No one who might have been hiding in the shadows. No one who could have sneaked out when the moment was ripe.’

  ‘If we had seen a man, Drakenfeld, his head would now be sitting on a spike outside Optryx,’ he replied angrily. ‘We are not the kind of people to dither on such matters. You might not like our kind of justice, but it’s quick.’

  ‘I meant, rather, that something might have been at the periphery of your mind. Maybe it could have been the strange movements of those around you. Someone stepping in behind who you did not think should be there. A figure out of place perhaps.’

  ‘We’re the best soldiers in Detrata. Highly trained. Alert at all times. Back from a glorious campaign. There were eight soldiers present, eight who entered the room ahead of a surge of senatorial types and I’m telling you that none of us saw anything in that room other than Lacanta, on the floor, covered in blood.’

  Two guests walked by, badly pretending not to have heard the general. I considered if one of the soldiers had done the deed in a rapid move, but it might not have been at all possible. Even if it was, the general wasn’t going to say anything. Was he involved himself ? I thought back to what Yago Boll had said about the murder weapon being a small blade – not the
sort of thing that a soldier would carry. Even now Maxant’s sword was at his side.

  ‘A tragic situation,’ I said softly. ‘I think all we can safely say is that Lacanta’s death was not suicide. At least, not with those wounds.’

  ‘Suicide is a cowardly way out,’ he grunted. ‘The gods don’t look kindly on such matters. Especially Trymus – he abhors such things. Lacanta wasn’t the type to resort to suicide.’

  ‘I’ve seen the most unlikely figures kill themselves,’ I said. ‘Our heads are complex instruments.’

  Maxant shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Did you know her well?’

  ‘I knew her – not well – but I knew her. I’ve been good friends with Licintius for much of my life. Admittedly much of what I know of her is through his eyes.’ Maxant paused for a moment, then continued more softly. ‘He held her in great affection. That’s enough for me to know she was a good sort.’

  ‘She seems not to be as popular as I would have thought,’ I said, ‘for a good sort in such a prominent position. People here offer a somewhat different view.’

  Maxant chuckled. ‘Depends on who you speak to.’

  ‘Well, now I’m speaking to you.’

  ‘I’d no problem with her, if that’s what you’re getting at. She was probably too scared of a rough old thing like me. Tend to attract certain types, we soldiers.’ He grinned bitterly. ‘Not that attraction means much in a marriage in Tryum.’

  ‘You were not one of those susceptible to her charms?’

  He swigged from his wine cup. ‘She was a fine lady. No doubt about that. But I’m someone who can spot tactics a mile off.’

  ‘What kind of tactics?’

  ‘Plenty of questions tonight.’

  ‘It’s just about my only annoying habit. So, what tactics?’

  Maxant grunted a laugh. ‘The kind she uses in the Senate. To persuade people to back the king’s policies over the years. Licintius will miss not only his sister, but a great ally in that respect. And he knows it, too. She was vital to furthering his ambitions. Many times he’d have trouble getting something passed through the Senate. Lacanta had the ways to nudge an unpopular policy through. Knew how to play the games without anyone knowing she was even in the arena in the first place. I admired that.’

  ‘A lady of politics,’ I whispered, knowing this complicated matters immensely. There were no longer jealous lovers who might have the urge to kill her, but political rivals as well. The number of motives and suspects grew ever more complex. ‘Do you think it could have been an assassin from a nearby country?’

  The general looked surprised at the comment. ‘I am not up to speed with local politics, outside of what letters I’ve read while abroad, so I cannot comment on the tensions between our nations – I am merely a servant of Detrata. As for an assassin? It was certainly a thorough job. But how did they escape a locked room? As soon as you’ve a suspicion, tell me who you think did this. Licintius is like a brother to me. I can’t stand seeing him in such pain. I’ll help you where I can, send my soldiers in to surround a building, whatever it takes, you hear?’

  I gave a nod. ‘Where can I find you?’

  ‘I’m staying at my villa along the coast. It’s less than half a day’s ride, but the sea breeze is good for my spirits.’

  ‘Not a city man then?’

  ‘I like my sleep,’ he remarked.

  ‘The sounds of the city can get to all of us,’ I smiled.

  ‘It’s not that. It’s the coastal air – very soothing. If you’d seen what I’ve seen in Mauland, then you’d need it too.’

  There was a sudden, distant look about the man.

  I thanked the general for his offer and left him alone in the garden with his thoughts.

  Inside, Leana was still reluctantly the centre of attention and, by the sound of it, facing a barrage of patronizing questions. She was relieved by my presence. We thanked Veron for his hospitality, made our excuses and finally left the mansion.

  Exhausted, we headed through the dark streets in relative silence.

  It had not been an entirely wasted night, I decided. At least I had some addresses to go on, and would soon be able to ascertain more about the Skull and Jasmine group.

  We turned down a relatively empty street, moved across the stepping stones to the other pavement, something that was never that simple in the dark.

  The two of us moved towards the light from a couple of braziers, and I could suddenly smell something potent, like vinegar, when . . .

  . . . Leana was standing over me with her sword drawn. I was lying on my right side, my head supported by my cloak. Even in the darkness, I noticed the scratches across the back of my right hand, caused by the stone of the pavement.

  ‘How long did it last?’ I asked.

  ‘Not long. I counted a little over a hundred heartbeats and you began to show signs of settling.’

  I wasn’t confused, just a little disorientated. I knew exactly what had happened. ‘Did anyone see me?’

  ‘No,’ Leana replied, sheathing her sword. She helped me off the ground. I felt unsteady for a moment, my body aching mildly from having been so tense. The sensation soon passed. In a few breaths I was able to relax a little.

  Once again I looked at the scrapes, this time in more detail. ‘I must have been shaking quite a bit this time.’

  ‘No more than is usual.’

  ‘The gods were lenient this time,’ I replied and folded up my cloak. A hundred prayers to Polla echoed around my mind. ‘Thank you, Leana. As ever.’

  Leana regarded me with perfect neutrality. I didn’t like a fuss being made over my seizures. I didn’t even like anyone knowing, but Leana had so often stood over me protectively until the sensation passed.

  Leana alone could do this and not think it a slight of the gods – how could she if she did not believe deities could possess such powers?

  A light sleeper, she would occasionally come into my room if the seizure happened during my sleep. Over the years I could think of no more trusting act than for her to stand over me while I suffered the vengeance of the gods. It was one of many reasons I could not cope without her.

  ‘Any visions?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Never have. I don’t think I ever will.’

  ‘A shame. In my tribe you would be deemed a notable shaman for such things.’

  ‘It is a pity I’m not in Atrewe then.’ Besides, even if I was experiencing visions, I could never remember a thing from a seizure. ‘I’ll need to make some offerings to Polla when we get home.’

  ‘I can sit by your bed later,’ Leana asked, ‘in case it happens again.’

  ‘I . . . would appreciate that. In this city more than any other, Leana, it is important no one ever finds out. In Venyn it might not have mattered so much, but here people frown heavily upon such things. There are strict procedures, strict social etiquette. People are conservative. Few would ever trust me again.’

  Leana nodded. ‘If you like, I will show you an apothecary tomorrow – I saw one down towards Tradum from your house, on a very thin street. Maybe there is advanced medicine in Tryum also?’

  ‘There is, but what can an apothecary offer to protect against the deeds of bitter gods? No, I can only change this through prayer and by trying harder to please them. Come on, it’s late. We should at least get some rest before our early start. I can only hope that I don’t suffer from a headache during what’s left of the night.’

  Debts

  Swinging incense in a large silver burner, the pontiff led the small entourage down the steps of the Temple of Polla. Every priest and priestess had their face covered in a pale-blue paint, as was the wrapped body of my father, who was being carried along on a wicker throne.

  The sight was painful yet I couldn’t help but feel strangely detached from the scene. It was happening – indeed I was very conscious of it – but it seemed so otherworldly, as if it was some mythological play, a story concerning t
he gods themselves.

  It was just after dawn and the light was weak. Tryum was beginning to wake, but the funeral process had begun even earlier than this: two priestesses came to my house so that they could dismiss any bad spirits with their brushes. I hadn’t slept properly, the grinding wheels of carts making their way through the city’s streets made me want to flee to a villa deep in the countryside. Maxant had the right idea with his coastal retreat.

  Even at this early hour, dozens of people had come to mourn as my father was carried to his funeral pyre, and I found the gathering to be touching. A rather hungover Veron was there, as was Lillus the barber, who nodded sadly to me across the way. Men and women from the Senate had come, but I had simply no idea who some of the others were. My father had been a man of some renown – so, for some, I’m sure there was a certain morbid fascination to see how the mighty are fallen.

  Leana stood beside me, her hand moving to the hilt of her sword, scanning every face with great attentiveness.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ I asked.

  ‘I am convinced we are being watched,’ she whispered. ‘At least, there is some unwelcome presence here. An angry spirit.’

  ‘Surely no one is likely to try something in such a public space.’

  ‘Concentrate on mourning – that is your job. I will make sure we remain safe.’ Leana resumed scrutinizing the faces leaning out of windows, and those standing silhouetted on top of the nearby aqueduct. I noticed how one part of the structure was badly in need of repair, judging by the gaping hole in its masonry.

  My father’s wrapped body, which would have been coated in a flammable balm, was carried into a small enclosed courtyard, where the rest of the pyre stood waiting for him, and his wicker throne was hauled up on top. The pontiff began a melancholic chant of the tale of Polla, as the goddess of the sun, she who shone light into the darkest of places. It was into the light that my father’s body would be sent. Polla was not one for blood offerings.

  Torches were brought forward and the pyre was lit in several places; the flames soon began to spread, engulfing my father’s body. I felt a lump in my throat, but forced away any unsavoury emotions as masked dancers commenced the ritual of the Passage through to the Underworld. Their graceful, wide-armed movements were comforting, a welcome distraction. Only because I had travelled through many countries, and seen many different peoples, did the notion of ritual strike me as curious – that much of such displays was more about symbolism and tradition.