Nights of Villjamur (54 page)

The chancellor paced back and forth before the flames. 'Good. Then I want you to kill both Investigator Jeryd and this prostitute. They must not have the chance to inform others.' He leaned forward, continued with a whisper. 'Now, I'm about to initiate my plans with the Empress Rika. She'll be arrested tomorrow at the Snow Ball for maximum publicity, with an order for her execution coming the following day. All the Ovinist councillors are ready to support me. Tomorrow night some Ovinist colleagues in the military will begin guiding in some of the refugees in small numbers to meet their fate, all on the quiet of course. They'll make use of some of the precarious tunnels under the city - and it doesn't matter if they collapse on them, does it? They'll think they're being taken to temporary housing within the city, and we can finally start poisoning them one by one. As they are dying we can move them to tunnels nearer the coast. Then I think we can just dump them out at sea. Tryst, I want you there with me, at the centre of things. Can you do that, lad?'

'Indeed, chancellor. Anything for you, and for the Ovinists.' Tryst swallowed, bowed his head slightly. 'One thing, though: what about the banshees?'

'What about them?'

'This many deaths - on a large scale. Surely their screams may attract rather too much attention?'

'Leave that to me,' Urtica said grimly, and paced around momentarily. 'Now, in getting rid of the rumel, I'd suggest some explosives. Make it look like something other than an assassination. I know a cultist open to persuasion, so you can get armed with the necessary equipment to take out his entire house - in case he may have documented his findings. Set a timer to make certain you're clear, but I can guarantee you a good alibi.'

A strange emotion overwhelmed Tryst, and suddenly his stomach felt sick. He really didn't want to kill Jeryd. Certainly he had resented the old rumel, but he only wanted him to suffer. Killing him was going too far. But he had to prove himself to Urtica, the man who would soon be Emperor.

*

Tryst had been travelling so far under Caveside that he feared he'd never see daylight again. Urtica had given him the address of a cultist who worked alone, and, somewhat dubiously, occasionally helping out people when the coin was right, no questions asked.

The bag of money he carried was slowing him down. Coloured lanterns lit the way sporadically, casting light on rats and dogs and grubby children playing games among discarded poultry bones.

Eventually he came to a narrow, solitary street, whose habitations were carved into the cliff. After peering carefully around him, Tryst approached the one he wanted, then knocked on the door three times in quick succession.

It opened to reveal an old woman wrapped in a dark red robe. 'What d'you want?' she enquired harshly.

'I was sent by the chancellor,' he explained. The lines etching her face creased even further, though her eyes were dazzling in the dreary light.

'Urtica, eh?' she said, with obvious interest.

Tryst revealed the bags of money. 'I need some devices making tonight.'

She eyed it carefully, then himself. 'By all means, come in.'

The room beyond the rough wooden door was lit by dozens of thick candles. Tryst had to walk awkwardly around piles of books that littered the floor to reach a central table. There were items in bottles on shelves which he couldn't discern, maybe organs of some hybrid beast, and he swore that one of them was moving.

She indicated a chair and he sat down, placing the bag of money on the table. She turned to face a mirror. She removed her hood, combing her hair with her fingers, pulling long, grey strands to either side of her face. There was something distinctly childlike about her manner.

Eventually, she came over to the table, sat opposite him.

Her eyes were blue-tinted, and she regarded him with a soft intensity, as if thinking him someone from her past. 'What d'you need?' she asked.

'
Brenna
devices for destroying an entire house. And the person within it.'

'Four small ones should be enough.'

'You'll need to show me how to use these
brenna
things. I'm not familiar with handling relics.'

She leaned forward, her old eyes sparkling. 'Don't worry, lad. I'll help you out.'

'Much appreciated.' Suddenly he felt a little nervous, as if the quality of the conversation had changed. 'I'll need a time delay of a few hours before they explode. Could you work that into the magic?'

She said unexpectedly, 'Down here, it's not often I get to see someone so . . . handsome.'

Tryst murmured, 'Thanks . . . Sorry, I don't know your name.'

'Sofen,' she said. 'Not that it means much down here, where so few people ever use it.'

'What order of cultists do you belong to?' Tryst said, keen to change the subject.

'I belong to none. Plenty of cultists prefer to work on their own, lad. Less politics that way and you're not bound to follow any particular creed. How's this sound, lad. You stay and keep me company for a couple of hours, while I get your devices made to your exact requirements.'

'Company?' Tryst said, beginning to comprehend her innuendo.

She's sick . . . Surely she's kidding? Or is this some test to prove my loyalty to Urtica?

'Don't look so surprised,' Sofen continued. 'You see old men getting the services of young women all the time, so it should work just as easily the other way.'

'Right.' Tryst was beginning to feel desperate. He couldn't hope to get Jeryd and his house destroyed properly if he didn't obtain the relics.

'What's wrong?' Sofen interrupted. 'You don't find me attractive?'

'It's not that,' Tryst blustered.
Although, let's face it, hag, not even the tide would take you out.
'No, it's just that I'm a man of principle.'

'Principle,' she said. 'Ha! What kind of principle is there in asking me for the means of killing another?'

'It depends,' Tryst said, 'on why and who you're killing.'

She observed him thoroughly. 'At least you're honest. I like that. Still, my price remains. You pay me and satisfy me.'

Tryst considered his options again, and didn't like what he was being faced with.

'Shall I make it easier for you?' Sofen said.

'How d'you mean?' Tryst said, a little uncertain whether or not this was some form of threat.

'Wait a moment.' Sofen walked over to a doorway leading into darkness beyond. After reaching to lift what appeared to be a metal mirror off the shelf, she stepped into the umbrae.

Purple light spat outwards, no sound with it, only a thin waft of smoke drifting like incense.

Tryst stood tensely alert, reaching for the short sword he carried under his cloak. A strange, almost floral smell caused him to frown.

'Sofen?' he said, and made a step towards the darkness.

A beautiful woman walked out of it.

Tryst was shocked at this apparition and its obvious similarity to how Sofen must have looked when sixty years younger. Her hair was now luxuriant, a glossy black, her eyes still a dazzling blue. Full lips, prominent cheekbones. She removed her outer robe to reveal an elegant white dress, plain but cut to cling to a slender frame, revealing just enough about the body beneath to win his approval.

The new woman spoke, with a smirk. 'You can now pick your jaw up.'

'Who are you?' Tryst said.

'The same woman you were disgusted with moments earlier.' She grunted a laugh. 'Magic: it's all wish-fulfilment really. This is an illusion of how I once was, and you've got me in this state for an hour, more or less, so take your time.'

The transformation was so remarkable, he was truly lost for words. 'I . . . don't know.' He hesitated.

She leaned in so close he could smell the clean fragrance of her skin, the freshness of her breath. Breasts were pressed up against his chest. All her wrinkles, all the sadness in her expression were gone.

His hand in hers, she steered him towards the darkness.

Randur had to admit he looked devastatingly handsome.

He regularly cut a very fine dash, but now couldn't help but stare at himself in the gold-framed mirror. With his hair tied back, wearing the latest black breeches, a dark blue shirt and matching jacket, a black cloak to finish it off, he looked ready for anything. It was surely what being here in Villjamur was all about.

Eir had even given him some jewellery: a plain silver chain to go around his neck, two rings for his fingers. She had supported him so much that he felt he owed her his very soul, if only he could give it. Eir's biggest gift to him wasn't monetary, but psychological. Perhaps all he'd ever needed was to actually
love
someone else.

Somehow, the importance of helping his mother to survive had subtly diminished.

'Stop admiring yourself in the mirror.' Eir walked into his chamber. 'You do that far too much.'

Randur turned to gaze at her. 'You look pretty damn fine yourself.'

As she came nearer, her sinuous movements were highlighted by her dazzling new outfit. The striking and revealing dark-red dress that clung to her body made her look so much older, more sophisticated, bringing her curves to his attention. Her hair was adorned with black ribbons while elaborate mock-tattoos adorned each cheekbone.

She approached him with a new walk that was hers and yet also wasn't, and she said, 'Am I to take it, then, that this rare lack of words is a good thing?'

'Yeah,' he said, then blurted, 'Eir, you look incredible.'

'Well, you don't look so bad yourself. We ready to set off?'

He said, 'Yeah, is your sister ready too?'

'She's already on her way down there.'

'Who's to be her partner?'

'She won't have one because as Empress she must remain aloof. No one is deemed suitable, I suppose.'

'Kind of sad, that,' Randur observed, and he meant it.

*

They entered the ballroom to find themselves the happy focus of everyone's gaze. All of the Empire's most powerful were already present, dressed in their finery. Light skimmed off gold and silver and mirrors. A thousand candles, a hundred lanterns.

At the far end of the room, a band played fast-moving rhythms, violins leading the tune, harps providing the framework.

People gave the Sele of Jamur to her and Randur, and she was as polite as she could be whilst Randur maintained his cool aloofness.

Everyone was constantly looking at them and whispering. All the Imperial land- and capital-owners, retired military governors, influential civil servants, members of the Council and their partners. She didn't mind their scrutiny, because tonight she was happier than she'd ever been. With Randur's help, she had learned to dance better than many society ladies. There was, of course, Randur himself, who was the most good-looking man there.

Important people - notably the Council - would most certainly not think Randur suitable, not fitting to be part of the mechanics of the Empire. In her mind, that wasn't an issue, and she didn't care. She'd leave the city if she had to, giving up her rank and privileges.

There she was, Rika, in the centre of a throng of councillors. She had soon settled into the role of Empress, calm but serious in expression, but knowing how to laugh in all the right places.

Though she loved her, things weren't the same between the two girls. It wasn't that her sister had become a different person, but she would never again feel that closeness of their childhood. As Empress, Rika had now inherited a different set of priorities.

'Look at this lot,' Randur murmured dismissively.

Couples moved around the dance floor, segueing between the delicate shapes they made of their postures. Eir looked up at him questioningly.

'Their dancing is totally crap.' He shook his head. 'We're so much better than this.'

Even she, with her recent training, could see how out of time many of them were, how the women didn't seem to move comfortably, their hips too rigid, spines hunched, while the men were even more awkward, clasping their partners with arms made of stone.

'Shall we show 'em how it's done?' he suggested, then stepped forward with a flourish. He held his hand to her in invitation.

'Could I possibly even stop you?'

Together they stepped onto the dance floor, and it came to her as naturally as walking. Together, the couple sliced an elegant swathe through the parting crowds. Everyone's eyes were now fixed on her, and for the first time, she basked in the attention. Her own hands resting on Randur's hips and shoulders, he led her through the now-familiar movements, and they suggested passion, they
were
passion, and the way they looked at each other linked the feelings together. Their steps, though so precise, created an illusion of a freedom that no other couples could ever come close to, maybe couldn't even understand.

A quarter of an hour later, Randur guided her to one side of the room. 'Let's not waste it all now,' he suggested coolly.