Nights of Villjamur (30 page)

'Was he an artist in his spare time?' Tryst suggested, staring at Jeryd's finger.

'I doubt it,' Jeryd replied. 'There're no sketchbooks. Not even any paintings on the walls - only tapestries. So how did he get blue paint on the mirror?'

'You reckon it's important?'

'Everything can have some importance, Tryst. The good investigator must always think that.'

Tryst walked away stiffly, as if wounded by the minor reprimand.

But Jeryd continued, 'You know, on the day of Ghuda's death, I saw some blue paint stains on the cobbles, right beside his body. At the time we assumed it was probably from a pot spilled on its way to the nearby gallery.'

Tryst stood by the window, staring out across the snow-burdened skies. 'So we have a link between the cases? It's not much to go on.'

'It's something, though,' Jeryd said. 'And it's more than we had before. Bohr, it seems we hardly even get a body to examine this time around.'

He pulled a handkerchief from inside his robe, wiped the blue paint from the mirror, then from his finger. He wrapped it up deftly, concealed it beneath his clothing, and made his way back towards the door.

*

'Doctor Tarr,' Jeryd said later, 'we're here, as agreed.'

'Good afternoon, investigator,' Tarr said, beckoning Jeryd into the mortuary. 'The human has not come with you this time?'

'No, he apparently had some administrative tasks to see to,' the rumel replied, stomping his boots to rid them of snow. 'Maybe the sight of Boll's chambers was enough to put him off.'

'But not you?' Tarr said, cheerfully.

'No, I guess not then,' Jeryd laughed dryly. 'Maybe I've developed a stomach for such things after all these years.'

They proceeded into the depths of Tarr's workplace, where a single lantern struggled to provide light. Its oil flame flickered as he shut the door. Jeryd found himself still pondering Tarr's presence in the Hall of Life. Why would a man so used to working with death bother to go there in the first place? He had clearly been in a state of intense soul-searching when Jeryd had found him there, so perhaps there was more to Doctor Tarr than his surface demeanour implied.

The doctor led him to a table on which lay a large metal tray about two armspans wide, three in length.

'What've we got here?' Jeryd enquired.

'This is it, investigator.' Tarr gestured towards the contents of the tray. 'This is Councillor Boll.'

Even Jeryd was amazed. In all his decades of work in the service of the Inquisition, he had never seen a body
left
in this horrific state. He had seen the results of torture, of fierce battles, of poisons that ate a body slowly - but nothing like this.

At one end of the tray were assembled the bones of the late councillor, or what was left of those that had not been fragmented into finger-length pieces. The other end contained the 'flesh' - a grisly pink and red mound like you might see in the gutters of a slaughterhouse. The stench was powerful.

Jeryd said in awe, 'How could this have been achieved?'

'With a large axe, and plenty of time,' Tarr said. 'I would reckon the murderer to have been kept busy for nearly two hours.'

'At least he was dedicated to his task then,' Jeryd muttered, scanning up and down the tray. 'And yet no one seemed to notice?'

'This was relentless brutality, investigator. It was evil, pure and simple.'

'You were right, doctor, I don't think there's anything for me to examine properly here. I'm going back to warn the Council Atrium immediately. If something like this could be done in such secrecy, any one of their members could be next. I'll see myself out.' Jeryd turned away.

As he stepped outside, he took a deep breath of the sharp evening air. He stroked his chin in disbelief, for a moment not actually wishing to catch this killer. Did he really want to encounter the individual who could turn a living being into slush? And how exactly would that confrontation go? Excuse me, sir, but I think you . . . Then no more Jeryd.

What had Villjamur come to?

He pulled up his hood, slid his hands deep into his pockets, strode off to find where he had tethered his horse.

*

'Chancellor Urtica,' Jeryd insisted, 'I'm not sure you understand. You'll need to consider maximum security. Double, triple your guard. I fear there may be someone intending to pick off councillors one by one.'

Urtica stared at him in alarm.

'This is a serious matter,' Jeryd continued, feeling he had got the man's attention. He was seated opposite a large table, in a pleasant wood-panelled chamber. The fire burning in the corner had nearly died to ashes. The rumel and human had already been chatting for half an hour.

'I see you don't collect many things,' Jeryd said, looking around.

'It makes for a purer mind, investigator.' Urtica sat back in his chair sipping tea. 'It makes my work more efficient. Less to distract me that way.'

'Maybe I should try that and clear the crap out of my chamber,' Jeryd said. 'Anyway, as I asked you earlier: what might have linked these two councillors? What common projects could they have been working on? Such a link might help me find a motive.'

'And as I keep telling you, investigator,' Urtica said, 'I just can't think of
anything
.'

There was something intransigent about his tone that Jeryd found frustrating. There was an air of superiority, a suggestion that he considered himself invincible. Perhaps it concealed something darker? Jeryd wanted to challenge him,
You know something and you're hiding it.
'Remember your own life might be at risk.'

'We'll ensure all these corridors will be filled with guards by this evening.'

'May I ask as to what are the most important concerns to the Council at the moment?'

'Is it really necessary for you to know such things?' Urtica sat back in his chair, staring into the fire.

'Perhaps,' Jeryd shrugged. 'Perhaps it may offer some clue to the reason for these killings. After all, any of you might be next.'

Urtica merely nodded methodically, as if coming to terms with the threat. People reacted differently to such situations, didn't they, some not caring much at all, others getting into such a panic that they never left their homes.

'Our main current concern is the Freeze, of course,' Urtica said. 'It raises a number of crucial issues, the most important being the refugee crisis. There are already an estimated ten thousand of them camped outside the city gates, as you know.'

'Go on.'

'We're working on several solutions' - Jeryd noticed Urtica's expression alter slightly - 'but ultimately, it will be up to the new Empress. She will make the final decision on what to do.'

'How are other cities of the Empire coping?' Jeryd said. 'Vilhokr, Villiren, E'toawor, Vilhokteu?'

'As well as can be expected. People have flooded in from rural areas. They're accumulating grain supplies and fuel, building ice-breaker longships, imposing rationing. Like us, they see it as a challenge. Investigator, there will be many fatalities because of this ice age, and everyone is working hard to ensure that ordinary folk will survive.'

'And you really care?' Jeryd said boldly.

'It's not about caring, necessarily, rather it's about making sure a city continues functioning. If you care too much, you get personal, and if you get personal, you inevitably fail. This is a business, investigator, pure and simple.'

Jeryd observed the body language of this consummate politician. Urtica crossed and re-crossed his legs repeatedly throughout their conversation. Also, he rarely made eye contact, and was obviously uncomfortable being questioned about Council matters.

'Tell me, Chancellor Urtica, do you know if any of the councillors like painting as a hobby?'

Urtica looked up, raised an eyebrow. 'I haven't a clue, investigator. Why do you ask?'

'I found small traces of fresh paint near both bodies.' Urtica merely shook his head. 'I've told you all I can.' Jeryd stood up. 'I think I've done all I can here.' Urtica said, 'Could you put another log on the fire on your way out? It tends to get very cold in here.'

Jeryd paused by the door. 'Yes, I suspect it does.' On his way down the corridor, Jeryd thumped the wall in frustration. Two murders, linked by only one bizarre similarity: paint. Why was there a dab of blue paint next to each corpse? Were they trying to fight their way out with a paintbrush?

The chancellor was no help so far. Neither was Doctor Tarr.

Suddenly he remembered how the suspect Tuya painted in her spare time. It was an obvious connection, maybe too obvious, but it was the only thing he had to go on. But why would an alienated prostitute want to kill top-level politicians, and so savagely? It just didn't seem quite right. Perhaps she might have some suggestions to help his thoughts, and he decided he would visit her very soon.

But not tonight. Tonight he would be going home to Marysa.

Everyone deserved a life of their own - even an investigator.

Chancellor Urtica made his way down the crumbling stairwell, glancing back every now and then, just in case, just to be sure.

He held a lantern high, drew his cloak around him. A gust of wind rattled down from above, transforming his shadow into increasingly esoteric shapes. Urtica was descending into a little-remembered quarter of Villjamur. Deep underground. Messages were etched across the stone, bearing the names of lovers and enemies from across the ages. Bats, rodents, lizards, all competed for dark corners, like a reverse image of life on the surface. The smell of their faeces was intense, but this did not deter Urtica. He had dealt with more shit than this in his time.

For half an hour he descended, knowing the way well.

Faintly, he heard chanting. It meant he was nearly there. Voices were raised in an ancient variant of common Jamur, the language in which the Ovinists still sang. They were engaged in prayer - but not to Bohr or Astrid, or any approved deity - and that would change, wouldn't it, when his time came.

A battered wooden door heralded the end of his route. After knocking seven times, the hatch slid open, curious eyes appeared. A flicker of recognition, then the door was unbolted, opened, and Urtica stepped inside.

A hundred candles were reflected in wall mirrors to create an unlikely brightness. Incense filled the air, as smoke wafted across the far side of the immense room. Dozens of black-robed, black-hooded men and women sat on benches facing the far wall, which was hung with ornate tapestries. Below them was a plinth supporting a metal tray containing a selection of pigs' hearts rescued from the city slaughterhouses. The chanting continued as Urtica walked towards the front of the chamber, the hoods turning minutely as everyone's gaze tracked his progress.

When he arrived directly before them, a young blonde girl stepped out from their ranks, leading a pig on a leash. She was dressed in white silk, which clung to her slender frame as she approached him, the pig shuffling behind her absent-mindedly. No sooner had Urtica stepped before the congregation than his audience drew out their rapiers simultaneously, brandishing the narrow blades in the air until silence fell. Urtica beckoned the girl to stand behind him, then raised both hands above his head. The swords were lowered and, once they were all seated again, Urtica began speaking.

'Neophytes, minorus, majorus,' he intoned.

'Magus Urtica . . .' the congregation replied in a chorus reverberating against the ancient stone walls.

'My brothers and sisters, I have grave news on certain matters. Last night our esteemed Majorus Boll was brutally murdered in his sleep. This is the second member of our holy order to have been killed recently.'

Murmurs all round. Beneath the hoods were familiar faces, their eyes glistening like those of beasts reflected in firelight. Among them there were several Council members, in shadow, all of them concerned for their own safety.

Urtica held up his hand for silence. 'Jamur Rika will arrive in Villjamur shortly, and I feel this interim period is an excellent opportunity for us to profit. I intend to make myself Emperor of the entire Jamur territories, and once in position, I can assure you all greater powers, greater influence.'

'How will you remove Jamur Rika?' someone enquired from the front row.

'All will be revealed in good time. But now, for our holy rituals!'

Applause filled the huge underground chamber, then solemn chanting in the ancient language. The little pig squealed in fright and the girl had to struggle hard to keep it under control. Urtica beckoned her over to stand in front of the sacrificial plinth. He loomed down over the tethered creature, tucked it under one arm, produced a knife from his sleeve. He held the blade high, smiling wildly, the room heady with smoke and adulation.

Quickly, he lunged across the young girl and slit her throat.

She crumpled to the floor, her white silk robe reddening like blossoming roses. The pig eagerly thrust its snout in her lifeblood.

'I promise that the sacred pig - our god reincarnate - shall feed well under my rule!' Urtica thundered. The swords were held high again, the cheers and chants rising to an eerie crescendo. Urtica stood with his arms raised, breathing heavily with excitement. Sweat glistening down his forehead, he indicated for several men standing in the front row to approach him. The first was Aide Tryst, his head covered slightly by the hood, the lanterns casting subtle shadows across his face. The handsome young investigator held out his hands as Urtica lovingly offered him a pig's heart.