Whistler

by Roger Taylor

  Dismissing the thoughts yet again, he growled, and laboured himself upright to continue on his patrol. He had scarcely gone ten paces, however, when a noise reached him. Thin, high-pitched and shrill, it bounced from wall to wall, until it surrounded and encased him. He could not begin to identify it, but its tone made the hairs on his neck rise up and he drew his baton as he looked around to try to identify the source.

  It stopped.

  And started again, coming now in short gasps which were all too recognizable. It was a human voice, and it was terror-stricken. Painfully, it twisted into a mewling, ‘Help,’ then disintegrated again. As it rose and fell, so it entered deep into Albor, mingling with the scream that he could feel forming within himself as he ran towards where it was loudest. But even as he ran, so the intensity of the scream shifted from place to place.

  Over here…

  Over there…

  Albor turned round and round in the middle of the street, the sense of panic and failure that had possessed him two days earlier in the PlasHein Square, returning in full force to condemn him for his inability to go to the rescue of the tormented soul that was filling the street with its awful cry.

  Then it fell abruptly into a long sobbing whimper and as it faded so did its many echoes until there was only a single thread. Grim-faced and full now of fighting rage, Albor ran through the clinging night warmth towards its source. As it died, so he gathered speed until he found himself tumbling into one of the dark alleyways between the warehouses. The sudden disappearance of even the faint street lighting brought him to a staggering halt. The sound, almost inhuman now in its desperate pleading, was directly ahead of him, but full of fury though he was, his years of experience on the streets exerted themselves. He snatched his lantern from his belt and struck it.

  As it hissed gently into light, so another hissing rose to greet it, and something flashed towards him…

  Chapter 29

  The sun was rising as Privv dropped into his favourite chair, swung his feet up on to his desk and lifted his hand to his mouth. After a brief, half-hearted chew at his thumb, he let the hand fall to swing idly by his side. Leaning his head back he stared vacantly at the ceiling.

  ‘I’m not going to be able to carry on like this,’ he said. ‘The responsibility of running this Sheet is getting far too much. I am exhausted.’

  ‘Yes,’ Leck replied sympathetically. ‘Counting money is such a wearisome chore. I really can’t imagine how you’ve managed to get this far without positively collapsing.’

  ‘Do I detect an element of sarcasm in that remark?’ Privv said, turning his head slightly to eye the cat.

  ‘Ishryth forbid,’ came the reply. ‘I stand in true awe of your selfless dedication to the presentation of the truth to the good people of Troidmallos…’

  ‘And surrounding shires,’ Privv added.

  ‘Oh yes, we mustn’t forget the surrounding shires, must we?’ Leck waxed. ‘“First Sheet in Canol Madreth to reach out into the countryside.” Quite an accolade, that. Quite fortuitous, too, that a peasant’s coin is as sound as a merchant’s.’

  ‘One has to eat,’ Privv replied haughtily. ‘And a labourer’s worthy of his hire.’

  ‘Better not let your new assistants catch wind of that,’ Leck said.

  Privv returned his gaze to the ceiling. ‘I can see that you don’t truly understand my motives in this endeavour.’

  Leck was suddenly sombre. ‘Quite possibly,’ she said. ‘I don’t even understand my own. Since all this business started I’ve been thinking that a gift like ours was intended for more beneficial things. I feel as though something’s missing.’

  Privv gave a weary sigh. ‘Oh spare me the feline philosophy. Just tell me what you’ve unearthed on your nightly travels.’ A wave of deep sadness from the cat passed over him, but before he could react, he felt Leck deliberately withdrawing from him.

  ‘Not a great deal,’ she said flatly. ‘There’s endless comings and goings at the Haven Meeting House -Preaching Brothers – lots of his precious Knights, especially that lout Yanos who seems to have found such favour with the good Brother.’ The last trace of Leck’s dark mood faded as she extended her claws, clicking against the wooden sill. ‘Threw a stone at me, he did – and he’s a damned good shot. I’ll have his throat open if he’s unlucky enough ever to get hold of me.’ She became grimly pensive. ‘In fact, I’ve half a mind to find out where he’s sleeping and sneak in and lie across his face – nice and heavy, relaxed and warm.’ She stretched herself and chuckled malevolently.

  Privv was not disposed to pursue the singularly unpleasant images that were drifting into his mind. ‘Well, what’s it all about then?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Leck snapped, angry at this disturbance of her sweet visions of vengeance. ‘I couldn’t get inside.’

  ‘Why not? You can fawn with the best when you want.’

  Leck became defensive. ‘I’m not keen on that wife of his. She’s as bad as he is if you ask me, if not worse. I didn’t want to get near her.’

  Privv waved a scornful hand. ‘It’ll be church politics with the Brothers, I suppose. But what about the Knights?’ He sat up and rested his head in his hands. ‘I’d dearly like to know what he’s up to with those young men.’

  ‘Why don’t you do what you normally do then, and make it up?’ Leck said acidly.

  Privv didn’t even hear the sarcasm. ‘What, and breach the trust he has in me?’ Leck looked out of the window. ‘No. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.’

  ‘Better you know in advance though,’ Leck warned. ‘I’ve told you, he’s using you, you know.’

  ‘You worry too much,’ Privv replied, catching the tone. ‘And it’s me who’s using him, don’t forget that. Who’s the one who’s getting rich, eh? And I mean,rich,’ he said, tapping his chest. Faintly he felt her strange introspection returning. He dismissed it and lay back in his chair again, smug now. ‘I shall take a well-earned nap, and then get down to the PlasHein to listen to the great debate.’ He rubbed his hands together gleefully and yawned.

  * * * *

  Others were making plans too, that day – Toom Drommel for one. He had a splendid speech prepared, one which would see the Castellans suffering appalling political damage as they were at last obliged to retreat from their avowed intention of expelling Felden nationals and seizing Felden assets. The only problem he was having was some stiffness in his back as a result of trying to stand even straighter than he already was, and some discomfort in his throat due to withdrawing his chin further and further as he was speaking, in an attempt to make his voice still more solemn and statesmanlike. Such Heinders who were of both a musical and a frivolous bent had noted that he had lowered his voice by the best part of an octave since the first debate, and were now laying wagers on whether or not he would attempt the full span. Drommel himself was quite oblivious to such levity, however; self-satisfaction and unctuousness filling almost every part of him. Beyond the inevitable retreat of the Castellans today he saw an early Acclamation and a rise in the fortune of his party such as it had not experienced in generations. He would have the support of the church, too, for though he had affected to dismiss Cassraw’s patriotic tirade after their meeting, it had struck chords in him that resonated still and which had played no small part in the preparation of his speech. He could already hear his name being spoken of along with the great leaders of the past.

  Sitting at his desk as he glanced once again through his speech, he moved one hand here, the other there, inclined his head this way then that, crossed and uncrossed his legs, for the benefit of the official portrait painter who must surely be calling on him within the year.

  * * * *

  As Drommel preened himself and larded his present with the glories of his future, Vredech was saddling his horse prior to riding to Horld’s Meeting House, and thence to the Witness House. As they had intended, he and Nertha had allowed House to fuss over them on their return the previous day, and whe
n he had finally retired he was relishing the warmth and security that this had brought back to him from his childhood. He relished them all the more because he knew that while they were quite false, they were nonetheless a measure of the selfless affection of another person for him, and as such, protected him in far more subtle ways.

  Somehow he was able to let the turmoil of the day pass over and through him. What he could do, he would do, now. Even though some mysterious entity, whose true nature lay quite beyond his understanding, might be seeking to gain a foothold in this world, it was seemingly working through only Cassraw and, in the morning, simple practical steps would be taken that would surely put an end to Cassraw’s manic progress.

  He went to sleep almost immediately and was largely untroubled as once again he found himself moving through what appeared to be the dreams of others. Even as he drifted uncontrollably between them he had the feeling that here was a gift that he should be able to use for the benefit of others. Memories of the brooding, bloody dream he had encountered as he had slept on his return from the Sick-House came to him to heighten this idea. A dream as full of murderous passion as it was cold indifference to anything other than itself. A dream that could only be the product of a deeply disturbed mind. Yet there was a familiarity about it. If he were able to identify the dreamer, he would perhaps be able to help him. But the familiarity eluded him and he could give his ideas no coherent shape and was soon lost in the blackness of his own sleep.

  Now he was both looking forward to and dreading what was to come. Looking forward because it was action, and it was right. Dreading because it felt like treachery to his friend. He was also a little tense because he had clashed with Nertha who had wanted to go to the Witness House with him to give her own account of Cassraw’s sermon. There had been a small storm as, thoughtlessly, he had refused outright, though he had eventually managed to mollify her by saying that it was, after all, ‘church business’ and how would she and her colleagues feel if a Preaching Brother decided to tell them how to go about treating the sick?

  As he mounted his horse, he cringed inwardly at the thought of Nertha and Mueran meeting head on.

  As if he didn’t have enough problems at the moment!

  * * * *

  Skynner, too, was planning that day. Or trying to. The rota of Keepers’ duties and routines which had served him almost all his professional life, and others before him, was in complete disarray. The first murder had put a strain on it, and the second had more than doubled that strain, but the events in the PlasHein Square had rendered it totally useless. Not only was there more work to be done, but much of it was completely new in character as senior officers flapped and floundered, trying to work out ‘procedures’ for the controlling of large crowds. They were holding meetings, forming committees, preparing reports, promising this, promising that, promising anything to quieten a plethora of equally ineffectual Heinders howling for action. One thing they were not doing was asking the opinions of those who might have some practical ideas about the matter, but that gave the proceedings an almost refreshing hint of normality.

  Added to all this was the fact that several of Skynner’s men had been injured trying to cope with the stampede in the square, and all of them were still suffering after-effects in one form or another.

  Skynner looked at the paper in front of him. It was the latest offering from above about what was to be done today to deal with the crowd which was anticipated in the PlasHein Square. It required more than twice as many men as he had. He laid it to one side with a resigned sigh, and shook his head. He could not even begin to implement it, nor could he debate it with its author; by the timehe appeared, the crowd would probably be gathering.

  Or, more likely, dispersing, he added as a sour after-thought.

  He looked at the list of men he had available. With men off through injury, and others moved to extra night duty to cover the warehouse area, he had precious few, and most of them were tired and dispirited.

  Still, that he could cope with. Getting his men motivated was something that he was good at. Skynner picked up a pen and, while his masters fumed and fretted, he sketched out a solution to the day’s problem in a few minutes. Not an ideal one, by any means, but adequate.

  He would cope. His men would cope.

  * * * *

  Thus was the day faced, well-planned and ordered.

  * * * *

  Toom Drommel made his booming speech – finally hitting the octave, to the glee of that minority of listeners who set store by such things – and the Castellans, seriously divided amongst themselves and continuing to show the political ineptitude they had demonstrated throughout this affair, retreated from their position, or rather slithered over backwards to crash in total confusion.

  Drommel’s face looked strained and drawn as his moment of triumph came and, in truth, he was finding it almost unbearably difficult not to laugh and jeer outright. A nervous twitching of his left foot was the sole outward expression of the dance he wanted to perform.

  Despite the stiffness in his jaw, he managed to make a formal demand, through the uproar, for the immediate dissolution of the Heindral. The leader of the Castellans gave an equally formal refusal, citing precedent, tradition and the general public good. Salvaging what he could of the debacle, he managed to imbue his speech with a little surprised indignation that such a thing should even be considered, but all there knew that a train of events had been set in motion that must inevitably lead to an early Acclamation.

  There was great excitement.

  Inside his stony frame, Toom Drommel glowed as he saw his future unfolding before him like a great, golden sunrise.

  * * * *

  Vredech and Horld too, found themselves musing over what had been an unexpectedly successful day as they rode back together from the Witness House, though their mood was in marked contrast to the raucous pandemonium ringing through the rafters of the PlasHein. Neither took either credit for, or delight in, what had happened.

  Mueran had affected surprise when they had presented themselves, though in fact he was highly relieved. Gossip about Cassraw’s latest venture had been reaching him from innumerable quarters and, despite the usual stately outward manner that he was maintaining, his indecision and reproach against an unkind destiny that had brought him such troubles had reduced him almost to panic just before they arrived.

  He had nodded sagely as they talked, tapped his fingers against his lips thoughtfully, frowned, sighed, shaken his head, given all the impressions of being totally in command of affairs. Then he had listened to their suggestions: Cassraw must be called before the Chapter as a matter of urgency, to receive due censure for his actions. For censure there must be now after the things he had said. Sadly, any accounting he might offer could only be in the nature of mitigation. By prior agreement both Horld and Vredech assiduously avoided any conjecture about ‘possession’ or any other possible cause of Cassraw’s wild behaviour, save perhaps overwork.

  ‘This jeopardizes his holding of the Haven Parish, you know,’ Mueran had said.

  ‘Hejeopardizes it, Brother,’ Vredech said powerfully, his sense of guilt making his voice strident. ‘Not we. There’s plenty of freedom to hold differing views within the church, but he shouldn’t speak thus. It’s not as if it’s a gentle touching on secular affairs – it’s rabble-rousing politicking such as hasn’t been seen even in the Heindral in a dozen generations, let alone the church. I can’t think what he’s trying to do, but he’s master of his tongue and his wits as far as we know. Nothing compels him to behave like that, and he must bear the responsibility for it.’

  It was an argument that could not be gainsaid and Mueran, much calmer now that he had someone to shoulder the blame should the affair take an unexpected direction, had agreed to their proposed action. Notices would be sent out summoning an emergency meeting of the Chapter prior to the next Service Day. It was unlikely that all the Chapter Brothers would be able to attend, but there would be enough to ensure a fair
hearing.

  ‘This is a wretched business,’ Horld said eventually, breaking the silence that had hung over them since they left the Witness House. ‘I know that what we’ve done is right, but…’ He shook his head.

  Vredech had little consolation to offer. He used the argument that he had employed with Mueran. ‘It’s none of our doing, Horld. Cassraw behaving like that left us no alternative but to act. However badly we feel now, we’d be feeling far worse if we’d done nothing.’

  Horld nodded unhappily. ‘I think it’s the element of deceit in our actions that’s disturbing me.’

  Vredech looked at him, puzzled.

  ‘This business about Cassraw being possessed,’ Horld went on. ‘I’ve prayed all night in the hope of some guidance, but I’m none the wiser. I don’t doubt the sincerity of your belief, Allyn, but I can’t accept that Ahmral has taken human form to walk amongst us again. It goes against reason, commonsense – against all current theological thinking.’