Whistler [A sequel to The Chronicles of Hawklan]

by Roger Taylor

  'I was working almost all night,’ he said. ‘Both nights. Printing. You can ask my imp, or my neighbours. They're usually only too willing to complain about the noise.'

  Skynner nodded and wrote something on the paper. ‘Do you normally work all through the night?’ he asked, looking surprised.

  'No. I was printing a lot more copies than usual.'

  Skynner continued writing. ‘Why?’ he asked, without looking up.

  Privv hesitated. ‘I'd a feeling that my account of Brother Cassraw's sermon would attract a lot of attention,’ he replied. ‘I wanted to be ready. I took a chance.'

  Skynner smiled. ‘A lucky feeling,’ he said. ‘I thought there were more copies than usual being sold. You must have made quite a lot of money. Let's hope the people who robbed your colleagues haven't thought the same, eh?'

  Privv smiled weakly.

  Skynner finished his writing then leaned forward on the desk and said briskly, ‘Thank you for your cooperation, Privv.'

  Privv almost jumped. ‘Is that all?’ he heard himself asking.

  'Not unless there's anything you've remembered about your colleagues’ business affairs,’ Skynner said cordially. ‘Or unless you've changed your mind and want to come down to the buriers with me and watch the physician examining the corpse.'

  Privv shook his head hastily and, with a mumbled farewell, left.

  Skynner stared at the door through which the Sheeter had gone. His genial expression faded and became one of distaste. ‘Thinkers, men of ideas,’ he said contemptuously. ‘You greedy, misbegotten little worm. You're involved in this business up to your inky little neck, and I'll wring it for you before we're finished.'

  He ended this soliloquy with a grunt. He had long thought that Sheeters were able to make too much money for too little effort, and their consistent lack of restraint worried him deeply, but nothing was to be served here by rehearsing his own arguments. He was no bully, but he knew how to use his authority and it had been quite enjoyable watching it begin to take the knees from under Privv—quite a difference between your paper words and real life, isn't there? he thought with some relish. Now however, this welcome interlude over, the stark reality of his own profession returned to him as, with considerable reluctance, he switched his mind again toward the carnage he had had to inspect this morning.

  This time the body had been identified by one of his men, and almost within the hour he had discovered a series of events that exactly paralleled those that preceded the first murder. A young man looking for a woman, seemingly finding one, and then being brutally stabbed to death and robbed in an alleyway. The only substantial difference from the first murder was the mutilation of the body. Skynner tried not to dwell on the images that he had so gleefully recited to Privv. It took him a few moments to set aside his emotion and bring his mind to the problem.

  Of course it was the same murderer, he thought. Apart from the similar circumstances, there had been the same awful expression on the victim's face. He gazed hard into the memory of it to inure himself. It was not easy.

  Nor did he find it easy to accept the thought that there might be two people involved—a woman as lure, and a man who did the killing. If this were so, it somehow made the murders many times worse. And he would be looking now not for a single lunatic who struck at random, but two, who schemed and plotted. It was a chilling thought, not least because, despite considerable efforts, no progress had yet been made towards solving the first killing. A leaden sensation in his stomach told him that none would be made with this, either. He had bemoaned the carrying of personal weapons to Privv, but he could not avoid the feeling that the murderer would only be brought to justice when he met someone faster with a knife than he was. It was not a conclusion that Skynner relished.

  * * * *

  Over the next few days, the citizens of Troidmallos were regaled with an increasing number of Privv's Sheets. These dwelt on the latest murder and the lack of any progress towards catching the culprit, though out of a newly heightened sense of self-preservation, Privv took trouble to present the Keepers as uniformly conscientious and hard-working. His articles also reported on the debates in the PlasHein, which were becoming increasingly heated and acrimonious and which, unusually, were attracting a large number of noisy spectators—predominantly young men.

  Privv's reports did not reveal the fact that he had visited his two fellow Sheeters, neither of whom had any idea why they had been thus attacked, nor who their assailants were, except that by their general demeanour, they were all young men. Finding them both so seriously distressed, physically and financially, Privv had generously offered to employ them until they could get back on their feet. It was not by any means an unconditional offer, but despite some half-hearted haggling, in the end he had effectively eliminated his two major rivals and more than doubled the market for his own Sheets. Such time as he was not actually working, which admittedly was very little, he now spent gloating.

  Underlying all Privv's writings were subtle references to Cassraw's sermon, on the assumption that having set his foot on this road and not been publicly reprimanded by the church, Cassraw would continue down it towards whatever goal he had in mind.

  Cassraw himself made no public utterances following his return from the Witness House, but had Privv chosen to study his activities, he would have seen him, accompanied by Dowinne, tirelessly visiting the Preaching Brothers responsible for the various parishes of Troidmallos and even those in nearby towns and villages.

  He did not visit Vredech, however. Instead, Vredech visited him. He had told Nertha of the meeting with Mueran and the others and how Cassraw had somehow succeeded in diverting all reproaches away from himself. She had been as concerned as he was, but had little to offer other than a regretful reproach of her own. ‘But you said nothing yourself, did you?'

  It had been uttered as a simple statement of fact, and quite devoid of malice, but it had hurt. He had not embarrassed either of them by protesting that he was simply a Chapter Member and that the matter had been one on which Mueran, as Covenant Member, should have acted, or at least passed to the full Chapter.

  'Straight to the wound, physician?’ he said, painfully meeting her gaze.

  'Sorry,’ she replied genuinely.

  Thus it was that Vredech found himself being shown into Cassraw's private quarters at the Haven Meeting House. He was a little puzzled. Normally he would have met Cassraw in his office where, ironically, both of them would have felt more at ease, surrounded as they were by the various administrative trappings of their profession.

  'He'll be along in a moment,’ the servant said as she was leaving. ‘He's just got some people with him.'

  Vredech smiled and nodded. Quite a lot of people, he decided. There had been several horses tethered outside and three or four carriages, and the house bumped and shook with footsteps in the way that houses do when strange people are wandering about.

  Unashamedly curious, he went to a window in the corner of the room. It gave him a partial view of the front of the Meeting House and as he reached it he saw two or three Preaching Brothers whom he knew, walking away. They looked excited, and were discussing something heatedly. There was a little more bumping and shaking, and he craned forward to see who would be leaving next.

  'Allyn.'

  He jumped and turned round guiltily. It was Dowinne. She laughed. ‘I'm sorry if I startled you,’ she said, walking towards him and holding out her hand. ‘I didn't realize you were so engrossed in our garden.'

  Vredech took the hand. It was cool, and the grip, though still feminine, was surprisingly purposeful. A tension and a lingering touch in it, coupled with a look in her eyes that he could not identify, unsettled him. For no reason that he could fathom, he confessed. ‘I'm afraid I was looking at your other visitors,’ he said.

  Dowinne smiled and motioned him to a chair. As though she were appointing him as her interrogator, she sat opposite him with the light full on her face. ‘Enryc works too hard,’ she
said, folding her hands in her lap. ‘There are people coming and going all the time.'

  A slight shadow fell across her face and Vredech was aware of footsteps going past the window at his back. As Dowinne made a slight acknowledging gesture to someone behind him, Vredech forced himself not to turn round.

  'That's the last for the moment, I think,’ she said confidently. ‘Enryc will be along shortly.'

  There was a brief silence. Various commonplaces came into Vredech's mind to fill the void but he gave voice to none of them. Dowinne, too, seemed content to remain silent. Vredech looked at her discreetly. Despite the slight heaviness about her jaw, he still found her attractive, beautiful even, and it was not easy to still the faint stirrings of desire that rose within him; reminders of times gone. Yet she had changed, he decided. There had always been a reserve about her but now she seemed more distant than ever, yet more confident, more assured. As with her handshake and her glance, the contradiction unsettled him. It was as if some of Cassraw's strange new magnetism had infected her. He started inwardly at the word ‘infected', but had no time to pursue this unexpected word as Cassraw entered, or rather blew into, the room. For Vredech felt as if he had been struck by a gale of wind as his old friend flopped ungraciously down on to a large bench seat and sagged into it with a loud sigh.

  He held out his hands towards Vredech in a distant greeting embrace. ‘I'm glad you're here, Vred,’ he said. ‘I've been meaning to visit you, but I've been so busy. We need to talk.’ He did not wait for any acknowledgement on Vredech's part. ‘I suppose you've come to shout at me because of my sermon,’ he went on.

  Vredech opened his mouth.

  'And quite rightly too,’ Cassraw said, before he could speak. He leaned forward and took Dowinne's arm. ‘Something to drink, my dear, if you wouldn't mind. I seem to have been talking constantly since I got up this morning.’ He glanced up at Vredech and smiled. ‘And I've no doubt I'll have to do a great deal more before Vred goes.'

  He leaned back. Like Dowinne he was sitting facing the light. As if he's deliberately trying to tell me that he's nothing to hide, Vredech thought. Yet where better to hide some things than in full view of everyone? Then he set both thoughts aside; neither served any purpose. All he could do was put one foot in front of the other and see where they led.

  'It was you who came and listened to my sermon, wasn't it?’ Cassraw said, raising a mocking finger of reproach.

  As he had with Dowinne, Vredech confessed. ‘I'm afraid so,’ he began. ‘I ...’ He faltered awkwardly.

  Cassraw laughed, filling the room. ‘Don't be afraid, Vred,’ he said. ‘I'm sure you were there out of concern for what my recklessness might lead me into. I'm just glad someone was able to tell Mueran the truth after what Privv wrote.'

  'You seem very relaxed about it all,’ Vredech said, taken aback slightly by Cassraw's joviality. ‘You could've been in serious trouble. Suppose Mueran had called a Chapter Meeting to discipline you?'

  Cassraw shrugged resignedly. ‘But he didn't,’ he said. ‘You were there to tell the truth. Horld was there, who more than anyone knows Privv for the liar he is. Morem was there, who's not happy about punishing anyone for anything.'

  'You were lucky,’ Vredech exclaimed with some force. ‘What possessed you to preach a sermon like that?’ He thought he caught a momentary flash in Cassraw's eyes, but it was gone before he could decide what it was.

  Cassraw stared at him intently, his face suddenly serious. ‘There was no luck involved, Vred,’ he said. ‘He guards me. And He guides me when I speak.'

  Vredech felt as he had when he remonstrated with Cassraw before he had stormed up the Ervrin Mallos and into the darkness. He grimaced. ‘Don't say such things, Brother,’ he implored. ‘Even in jest. You've behaved so recklessly lately. You only escaped discipline after your last escapade because you were unwell and because you made a handsome apology to the Chapter. Mueran may be the Covenant Member, but he remembers slights and bears grudges. If you keep chipping away at him like this, you'll find he'll fall on your head eventually.'

  'Vred, Vred,’ Cassraw remonstrated, his voice at once intimate and powerful. ‘You were there. You heard my sermon, but did you listen? Everything was as I said it was, the vision that came to me out of the darkness on the mountain.’ The intensity of his gaze seemed to redouble. Vredech felt as though his very soul was being searched. ‘You, too, were touched by His presence in the cloud, I know,’ Cassraw went on. ‘I can feel it in you.’ He struck his chest. ‘It's been your inability to accept the new truth, your clinging to the old ways, that's given you such pain ever since.

  Vredech suddenly found himself wanting to embrace his old friend and pour out the tale of all that had happened to him since that fateful day. He wanted to stand by him and move into this future that Cassraw had been shown, wanted to share this great clarity, this great certainty that had been granted him.

  Cassraw's eyes widened in expectation. His arms came out again, beckoning. Vredech's desire grew. Here was the road that he must follow. He put his hands on the arms of his chair.

  Yet even as he did so, the memory returned of the darkness that had enveloped him on the mountain, a darkness full of rejoicing for a hope reborn, a fate avoided. An awful, primitive rejoicing that had chilled him horribly. And the Whistler's words returned to him also, overlapping and echoing.

  'He was weak ... holding on like a failing climber, clinging desperately.

  'He's one of you ... a priest ... plotting, thinking, deceiving ... sowing disorder and discontent ...'

  The first remarks might well be nothing more than an inner re-telling of what he had felt on the mountain, but whatever the Whistler was, the latter remarks had been spoken before Cassraw's sermon. Vredech's whole agonizing debate about the true reality of the Whistler threatened to overwhelm him again.

  The hands that had been levering him up relaxed and he dropped back into the chair. ‘The only thing that touched me that day was concern for you,’ he said, opting without hesitation for a lie.

  Cassraw's eyes narrowed. ‘You're not telling me the truth,’ he said bluntly. ‘You are some part of all this, I know. You have a role to play.'

  Vredech was suddenly very nervous. ‘Perhaps I'm playing it now,’ he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. To his relief, Dowinne returned at that moment carrying a tray of glasses. She offered him one, gave one to Cassraw and then, taking the last one herself, sat down opposite Vredech where she had sat before. Vredech felt the scrutiny of the two observers pinioning him.

  Cassraw relaxed and smiled. ‘Perhaps indeed,’ he said. ‘Well, all will be revealed in due course. Events are in train which nothing will stop, or even deflect.'

  'What do you mean?’ Vredech asked.

  'I told you in my sermon,’ Cassraw replied.

  Intimidated by the two watchers, Vredech could find no alternative than to speak out. ‘We're going in circles, Cassraw,’ he said. ‘I don't doubt your sincerity, and I don't doubt that something happened to you on the mountain, but you can't seriously expect me, or anyone else, to believe that Ishryth himself spoke to you, manifested himself, and chose you for some holy crusade. Theological arguments aside, can't you hear how it sounds when I say it? You escaped Mueran's anger yesterday like you did before, by good luck and judicious contrition.’ He shook his head in dismay and looked at Dowinne. ‘I'm sorry to talk like this in front of you, Dowinne, but this is serious. All that Cassraw and you have achieved.’ He waved a hand around the room. ‘This place, his position in the Chapter—all this could be lost if he carries on like this. Surely you must see that?'

  Dowinne cast a glance at her husband, and smiled. ‘I understand what you're saying, Allyn,’ she said, ‘but your concern's misplaced. The problem is that you don't understand what Enryc's saying. You don't understand what's happened to him. He saw what he saw. Heard what he heard. The Lord in His greatness touched him.'

  'A great evil has arisen in the lands far to the north. Be
yond the mountains.'

  Vredech started at the sound of Cassraw's voice, so full of passion and anger, but as he turned towards him he saw that his face and manner were calm. ‘If it is not opposed then the whole world will fall under its shadow. This land, Canol Madreth, has been chosen to become the heart of this opposition, a great citadel from which armies will march forth to spread His word.'

  Even as he was registering this pronouncement, Vredech's mind was echoing again with the Whistler's words, full of revelation and hope. ‘He has met a terrible foe. He is weak. He is weak.’ Then his final terrifying command. ‘Find Him. Kill Him.'

  All the doubts about his sanity that Vredech had so carefully ordered and balanced over the past weeks came crashing down upon him and his hands began to shake. For a time that he could not measure, he was at once with the Whistler, lying on an unknown hillside in the dying evening light, and sitting in Cassraw's private quarters in the Haven Meeting House. Then he was deep inside the maelstrom of his own whirling thoughts. Beyond, he could see a tiny storm beginning to stir the contents of his glass. The liquid swayed and jiggled and then began to ride recklessly up the side of the glass as if trying to escape a fearful confinement. He was aware, too, somewhere at the end of a rushing, roaring tunnel, of Cassraw and Dowinne watching him. Such movements as they were making were slow and laboured, in stark contrast to his own inner world which was mirroring the growing frenzy in his glass, as thoughts careened back and forth with an uncontrollable momentum. Like a drowning man clutching at driftwood, he snatched at random fragments of normality as they hurtled past him.

  His hand.

  He must stop his hand from shaking. Banal social consequences suddenly obsessed him. The fruit juice would stain his clothes, the chair, the carpet. Excuses for the mess he was about to make ran ahead of him, leaving him embarrassed and awkward before his old friends. He would be like a boy who, a little too old for such things now, had wet the bed. All would be understood and ‘forgotten', but the deed would linger for ever.