I said, "Well, at least you're not here to frak me," pretty much as each word registered as a thought.
At that moment, the sergeant tried to return to his office. He actually felt the need to knock at his own door. "Excuse me–"
"Get out!" the dark haired man shouted without looking at him.
As the door shut again, every reject close enough to hear glowered at the fat man like a pack of aged volks, assessing whether they had the strength to bring him down.
He knocked again, opened the door slightly, but made no attempt to shift his mass across the threshold.
The dark haired man jumped to his feet like a trebuchet releasing its load. "If you don't stop bashing those sausages on this door, I will barbecue you in the incinerator and save the cafeteria the daily food mountain it takes to keep you alive. Get out!"
The door shut again, the sergeant now redder than after a climb to the vending machine. His grovelling had unmanned me. Suddenly, my rudeness seemed premature. "Perhaps I should apologize for my ignorance," I said, "but I'm not sure who you are."
"My name is Lisidia Vins; now do you know?"
I nodded. Everyone in Las Hek PD knew the name, fewer the face. He was Figuel's connection to the SP and rumored to be his brother.
"And now you know who I am, perhaps you wish to consider my offer?"
"I'll do it." Not being buried in the Gargantua was incentive enough. Men like Vins were untouchable, and men like me had everything to fear from them.
"Sure you don't want me to frak you first?" He flashed me a set of radiant teeth.
"I'd rather get to work."
"Very good." He got out of his chair and walked round the desk. "I'll let you break the good news to Rake before you head off to inspect the crime scene."
Chapter 2
Rake didn't take to the assignment with my degree of resignation. Perhaps he was excited by the revelation that he was the least useless person I knew, which I said mainly to piss off Lisbold, or more likely it was the chance of escaping the basement. He slapped me on the arm hard enough to bruise the skin beneath my dry-top, but his apology seemed sincere. I damaged easily.
The two of us joined the troop of policemen and CSIs outside as the police buses arrived. Two metal noses appeared out of the mist so quietly that a man in the road would have been crushed before he noticed them. Wheels dropped from the base and they floated to the ground, the supports sagging beneath their weight.
As people moved around me, I could see flashes of color and the occasional face, but the mist was strong enough to swallow Las Hek in a singular gray. I took out my mist goggles and pinned them to my face, the buses and people reappearing as if pasted onto my retinas. The fog wasn't as bad in Las Hek as in the West, but in the early hours clouds descended upon the entire nation.
A quick check on my tablet showed Kenrey was even more connected than I thought. Not just a bishon of the Felycian church, but the Archbishon. He was also a Guardian, which meant that Clazran would want blood.
Not even Granian would have dared give Guardianship to a Felycian bishon. The Guardians were supposed to be irreligious, unbiased representatives of the people as a whole. At least that's what they were in the Sodalis. The Kaeroshi fakes had always made a mockery of the title, but Clazran had not even bothered with the pretense. Combining all the positions of power amongst the few individuals he could trust not to overthrow him had created leaders of the faiths with no faith, and Guardians that should have been scraped off the bottom of a boot.
Enough people were moving around to fill three buses and several vans – a gaggle of untrained, inexperienced peons that would be enough to ruin any crime scene. Like most institutions, the station held to the fallacy that throwing more people at an operation gave it a better chance of success. The moment we arrived, out of reach of Lisidia Vins and the Commissioner, I would order nearly all of them to stay off the scene unless requested.
As the lead investigators, Rake and I were entitled to the front seats of the first bus, but two women, not long past 20 cycles already sat chatting to each other, entirely oblivious to my opening the door. Standing at the bottom of the steps, my head barely reaching their feet, I felt my ability to talk diminish. I was about to shut the door again when Rake stepped up behind me. "Get out," he said, with a similar ferocity to Vins in the sergeant's office.
The two women exited the vehicle as if it were on fire, two pairs of breasts dancing above my head. It was a slight clamber onto the high step, but no one gaped at me as I took my seat. We were separated from the people in the back by a layer of sound proof glass, so the two ladies saw Rake stick his middle finger up at them, but didn't hear him call them, "fracking dykes."
He grinned at me, so I smiled back despite feeling no amusement at all. Watching his brutish behavior directed at individuals besides me suggested I might be able to use him, if he could be controlled.
"Philip," that sounded weird. "We can benefit from each other's skills here, solving this case together. If we screw up, we might spend the rest of our lives in the basement." Or in the back of Vins' van.
Rake brushed his jet-black hair back with the flick of a hand. "You might, but if you can't solve this, my dad will find another way to get me out."
"If we can't solve this," I said, but my eyes were already closing with resignation. That was it then. Rake's daddy was someone important, and they gave me the case to get him out the basement without it looking like special treatment. Rake had no interest in this case. "Who's your father?" I asked, not sure I wanted to know.
Rake's widening grin was so reminiscent of Vins' that when he said, "The Commissioner," I was almost relieved.
"And you think if you frak this up he's just going to keep throwing chances at you?" I laughed. "Well maybe he will for a while, but Cythuria knows how long you'll sit in the basement flicking coins through holes in your desk before the next one. Not even a father's patience is endless."
Rake's grin vanished. "What do you want me to do?"
"Do what I tell you to do, and don't fight me around anyone else."
"What if I don't agree with what you're doing?"
"We talk in private. If I disagree with you, I will do the same."
He nodded.
"But the first thing I need is for you to keep everyone useless off the crime scene until we want them."
"Now that I can do." He shook my hand so enthusiastically I thought my arm might come out of its socket.
Kenrey obviously disliked people because I hadn't seen so much as a building for 100 kims. Instead, once the fog lifted, I watched tree after tree rush at us on either side, blurring as they passed. Not swamp either, but actual forests that people could walk through without sinking up to their waist in bog. The trees grew tall, and the canopy was filled by healthy looking leaves untainted by rot. Such forests were not normally found south of the Line of Knives, the desolate mountain range that split The Kaerosh in half. The trees were not as beautiful as the volcanic forests of Gys, constantly aflame as the cinder trees competed for space, or as magnificent as the jungles of the middle islands that supported entire cities within the tree tops, but somehow, despite being in the jurisdiction of Las Hek, Kenrey had escaped the fetid swamps of the southern Kaerosh.
We pulled up outside a colossal gate that made me question what deity the bishon worshiped. The two connecting pillars took the shape of quilla in full battle armor, huge snake-like creatures arching away from the spiked lattice as if watching for intruders climbing the walls. The spikes themselves were decorated with skulls of all seven extant races. Not even in The Kaerosh did I expect to see something so morbid from the faithful, but at the same time I could not help but reflect how similar they all looked once flesh and body were stripped away. The quillan skull was a bit longer, the myuki skull a bit smaller with bigger eye holes, and the mabian skull was covered in crystal growths as if a human had been inflicted with some terrible bone disease, but the overall structure was always the same.
Perhaps this was to be expected from the six races of Cos, but the two most similar skulls were that of houthar and human – two species which evolved independently at opposite ends of the galaxy.
It was well known that although evolution in Cos had been faster and produced greater diversity than on old earth, the similarities were not limited to the sentient races. With a few exceptions, most of the species in Cos had counterparts on the human home world. All in a row staring at me through their eyeless sockets, like shriveled peas in a pod, they demonstrated perfectly the limited imagination of evolution. For the Felycians, I supposed this reflected their creator's love of similar shapes.
Notably, the Rathjarin skull, which was the most unique, was not present. Whether this was because the gate's architect assumed there were none of them left, or because he hated them as so many did, was uncertain, but I was always interested in the attitudes of people to the race that had once ruled Cos.
Either side of the gates the stone walls stopped low enough to be surmountable, but a layer of spikes offered death to anyone who tried and slipped. Crossed bone blades sharp enough to draw blood with a touch continued hypnotically into the distance. My map suggested that beyond them were not just religious structures and tools of worship, but also living quarters and amusement facilities that allowed the inhabitants total segregation from the pollution of civilization.
I looked up at Rake. "You and me should go in first with a messenger we can send back to get more people as we need them." Solving this case was my ticket out of the basement, and I didn't want to think about what would happen if I failed. As surely as Kenrey would prove to be a demon in human skin, my future hinged on finding his killer.
Rake pushed open the vehicle door as if throwing off an attacker. "Gather round." He waved his hands and repeated the command until slowly the masses obeyed. The sky was the same dull gray as the road, and as I stepped down from the bus, the wind penetrated every layer, stiffening my skin like frost. In the absence of the mist, clouds filled the sky like a silver veil, darkening to the point of rupture as they flowed over the compound. Ships, arcing across the sky like rusted comets, ducked in and out of visibility, carrying cargo, refugees or even bounty hunters.
It took a few minutes for everyone to gather into a collage of browns, many wearing the same russet uniforms and thick police boots. Except for the silver buckle that clamped the belt in place as firmly as any ski wear, the officers would have been perfectly camouflaged on a pile of dug-up earth. Designed to hide mud and give the police force the semblance of tidiness, the uniforms fulfilled this role perfectly. What they did not do was distinguish the officers from the rest of the nation who had chosen various shades of brown for much the same reason. I was wearing a beige coat and chestnut trousers simply because it was impossible to buy anything else.
Little red lights flashed from person to person as heating elements turned on in their coats, gloves, and boots. I brought up the settings on my tablet and felt the warmth circulate round my body like a hot bath.
"Right," Rake looked over the crowd as a general assessing his forces. "We don't need any of you for the moment except Jackson. The rest of you can wait here until we call for you." He hadn't even finished speaking before the throng moved a step closer almost in unison, the volume of their questions making them incomprehensible. I hated crowds. People behaved differently in groups; something flicked in their heads, and suddenly violence became acceptable problem solving.
Rake smiled at them, ignoring the people closest to him by turning his head as they tried to speak to him. Finally, a red-headed man with more freckles than blank skin started walking towards the gate. Rake was already on top of him. Silence fell as the group watched him slip his arm around the man's neck and yank him to the ground before kneeling on his chest. "Where do you think you're going?"
The man winced, struggling to thrust his thorax up enough to breathe. "I just needed the toilet is all."
"There's forest all around you."
"Yes detective."
Rake stared at the crowd as their last murmurs retreated down their throats, and the two of us walked through the parting gates with Jackson trailing as far behind as he dared.
Rake set a pace which fit Jackson's desires perfectly, but forced me to march alongside like a child with an angry parent.
"He'll probably report me for that," Rake said.
I looked back at the mass of horrified CSIs. "If he does, I'll back you up. It was necessary to maintain order."
Rake slowed slightly. "That's not what I thought you'd say."
I shrugged, grateful for the change in pace. "If the others had followed, he would have jeopardized the investigation."
Rake nodded. "Guess you're alright, Nidess."
I said nothing. I wasn't going to bond with this thug over his violent outbursts. It made me feel like a piece of dis. Pressing on a man's chest hard enough to stop him breathing was only necessary if he was trying to kill you.
Just inside the gate, a man was leaning against a thin strip of metal bent at the top. It was clearly one of those poles used to construct temporary fences, yet the man had mistaken it for a cane. As if this wasn't enough, he was dressed little better than a hobo. His coat was an expensive knee length garb, worn mainly by the upper classes who could keep it clean, but this one was frayed and dirty, tossed by its wealthy owner and found by the man in front of me. Beneath that, he wore nothing but a rib suit molded round his body, leaving little of his thin frame to the imagination. Only a pair of shorts over his crotch protected his modesty, while everywhere else the zeolate strips that kept moisture and bacteria from rotting his skin were on full display.
"Detective Nidess?" He was not an old man, but the wrinkles in his furrowed brow carried cycle upon time. "I am Master Sol Benrick."
Master was a misleading word. Benrick was the lowliest of his order, though it still did not explain his attire.
"Where's Kenrey?" I said, forgetting my manners as I contemplated his clothing.
His back straightened and his wrinkles doubled over on his forehead. "Where he died."
"Would you take us to him?"
"If you'll show me your IDs."
I thought the fleet of police waiting outside the gate attested to our identities, but I was not about to quarrel. Though Rake looked as if he was about to stab Benrick with his fence pole.
The priest nodded as we showed him our tablets. "Can't be too careful; the Archbishon had a lot of enemies."
I ignored the statement for the moment and asked how many priests were on the premises.
"This was Archbishon Kenrey's private compound. I am the only other priest here."
It seemed impossible that all of this was for a single man, but that was the state of inequality to which The Kaerosh had sunk. In the center, the church towered into the sky like a bronze mountain, and around it was building after building, some of them almost as big. The solitary structures amid a maze of walkways gave the impression of a boarding school.
"And what is your function, Master Benrick?"
"I was his spiritual adviser."
Looking at the ragged priest, there could have been no other answer.
"I knew him better than anyone," he continued. "A strict soul but fair. The punishment always fit the crime."
"And can you think of anyone with a reason to kill him?"
Benrick's eyes flicked towards the church and back again. "No one with a good one."
"And the bad ones?"
Benrick chuckled. "Oh, there were a few of those." He nodded several times, counting them in his head. "Most of them from the bishons who didn't agree with the way he ran the church. They thought the declining number of the faithful in The Kaerosh was his fault, but nothing was further from the truth."
On that we agreed. Clazran left little opportunity to believe there was anything out there more powerful than he. "Could you write me a list of these names and their reasons?"
Benrick nodded. "You'll ha
ve it by tomorrow, but if you'll excuse me, I have to be in the Ring City for the appointment of the new Archbishon."
"They do that already?" Rake said.
Benrick smiled. "The Felycian church cannot do without a leader even for a day. There are too many decisions that need to be made, and every hour they are left undecided they build up until his successor wouldn't know where to begin."
Organized. Though any regime with millions of followers had to be at least moderately well run. "You'll be back?" I said, emphasizing the desirability of this. Anyone crazy enough to carry around a fence pole and wear a rib suit on display beneath a coat was crazy enough to kill someone.
"Afraid not. I will be relocated now." He shrugged. "Such are the burdens of my position." He extended a hand. "I wish you luck though. No one wants his killer found more than me. I was his closest friend."
I said nothing. There wasn't a bitter note in Benrick's demeanor. It said a lot about Kenrey that his death had not even induced his self-professed closest friend to pretend mourning. As were so many in his position, Kenrey was a friendless man surrounded by sycophants.
"Head up through the gardens into the church, and one of the guards will show you to his bedroom. I have to be going." He offered his hand to Rake.
"Don't leave The Kaerosh," Rake said, as they shook.
Benrick's smile survived the malice in Rake's eyes, but disintegrated as I added, "We might want to talk to you again." Insult contorting his face like a bad smell, he strode towards the gate.
On either side of the cobbled path, hedges, fountains, and trees masked many of the buildings like a living wall. We walked around the rectangular pond that split the pathway in two, and through several bushy arches up to the main entrance. Despite the dreary weather and rainclouds darkening the sky, the symmetry of the garden gave it the kind of beauty that lingered in the mind even after leaving. Bushes and trees stood either side of us amid clear blue ponds that made the whole place look like something out of a dream. Many of the plants should not have survived the frosty waterlogging of the Kaeroshi climate, but they grew tall and thick like the canopy of the Gargantua, only a thousand times more colorful.
The Iron Swamp Page 2
