Retribution (Drakenfeld 2) (13 page)

‘I could not tell, I had too little time and the light was behind them. It was probably a brown robe.’

We both crouched and sat tentatively on the sloping roof, eyeing the city below for unusual movements. An occasional, sharp gust of wind reminded me of the drop below, only a couple of storeys, but enough to remind me to be vigilant.

‘Very few people know we’re even here,’ I said. ‘Why would anyone be watching us?’

‘Sulma Tan,’ Leana said. ‘She knows. She may have told others.’

‘She’d be too busy,’ I remarked.

‘Or she does not trust us and wants us watched.’

That didn’t seem either in or out of character. I knew too little about the woman. For someone who frequently conducted surveys and interviews, I imagined she would have a large number of suitable people to hand for such a task. It was possible that word had been spread about the court that the Sun Chamber was investigating the death of the bishop, and that someone else had put a spy to watch – in case I came too close. That was every bit as likely as it being an agent controlled by Sulma Tan.

While I peered over the edge, I noted several potential routes down for our visitor to have made an escape: a series of smaller rooftops or a ladder. Even the drop down was a manageable jump for a skilled individual. Whoever had been here was likely long gone – their escape route calculated well in advance.

We spent a little while sat absorbing the sights, sounds and smells of the prefecture. Though I had spent my days in many different cities, I often wondered what it was that made each of them unique, and what made Kuvash so . . . strange. A city’s identity was born from its inhabitants: they created the mood and the design of the streets. The buildings were symptoms of a culture’s art and, ultimately, its political or religious decisions. But from here I could see the mishmash of styles that weren’t the expressions of its own people: these were buildings put up to satisfy the demands of a queen who admired other cultures. Though most of the motifs on the surrounding buildings were Detratan, I noted designs from Maristan, Theran, Dalta – even from the deserts of Locco.

There was little of Koton’s identity to be found here. Little soul. In a way, then, that was Koton’s expression: it had absorbed the various styles of Vispasia without developing one of its own. A borrowed culture, a denied heritage – a country unsure of its own roots and ashamed of its past.

Eventually Leana traced her steps back along the rooftop, while I continued to consider the streets. After a moment she called me over, and I went to meet her.

‘What have you found?’ I stepped carefully along the gently angled roof to her side.

Leana was crouching down by one of the tiles that had slipped out of line and jutted out at an awkward angle. She carefully picked off it a piece of brown fabric.

‘It is just some cloth. A small piece.’ She handed it up to me. ‘What do you make of it?’

Tilting it this way and that, there were no discernible markings, no unusual stitching, nothing to really mark it out. ‘Judging by the reasonably fine quality, I’d say that it could have come from a cloak. It’s not wet, and there had been a brief shower not all that long ago. If it was fixed here, it was very recent.’

‘There was no need to doubt me then,’ Leana observed.

‘I never did, not for a moment,’ I replied, walking back to the window. ‘Though it could have come from anyone. Could you tell from your brief glimpse if they were a threat to us?’

‘I do not believe we were in any danger from this incident. I have no idea how long they had been standing there, but if it was someone who
had
been sent to kill us, they could so easily have fired an arrow or bolt through the open window, into your chest or face. There was plenty of time to make a mess of you.’

That was a sobering notion. ‘Maybe we should see if we can move somewhere safer.’

‘That might be wise,’ Leana agreed.

Evening parties were something that, generally, I could do without. Yet because of my status I often received many invites to grand affairs, and due to my vaguely diplomatic position, it was usually unwise to decline such offers.

To my mind, from Detrata to Venyn, these social gatherings of the elite were nothing more than opportunities for cliques of people to show off their wealth to one another. Excitement only ever came from the thinly veiled power struggles in the alcoves. From my experience, such parties seemed to encourage grudges between the socially aspiring. They could exacerbate a family feud, manifesting in public fight, or even start a new political row between rivals.

But with all that considered, I was ever curious to observe some of the local customs at close-hand. These events always provided an excellent way to discover things about a culture.

So with a certain degree of reluctance, and with Leana moaning about having to come along as well, we made our way once again to the royal residence of Queen Dokuz Sorghatan.

There, beside the tall white walls, staring up at the brass beacons that raged with light against the indigo sky, and watching well-to-do groups of people saunter in through the open gate, we waited for Sulma Tan.

She joined us a little while later, apologizing sincerely for her late arrival. I was impressed at her new attire – a deep-red, high-collar dress, dark cloak – and her hair was pinned up in a way that mimicked the royal fashion. She was deeply uncomfortable at being dressed up like this. Leana, who hated these events even more than myself, would probably identify with that.

‘Let me guess,’ I said, ‘you were busy?’

She gave an awkward smile. ‘You must think me highly disorganized. I can assure you I am not.’

‘Given you’re in charge of a census, I would’ve been surprised if you were.’

‘The queen had purchased some busts taken from a ruined house in Maristan, but I could tell they were forgeries, which led to a minor diplomatic issue.’

‘Let’s hope a war doesn’t break out over art,’ I replied.

Sulma Tan led us through to where the main event was being held, an enormous room that rivalled some of those in the king’s residence in Tryum. I was quietly impressed. Enormous red and green frescos detailing battles covered the walls, while the ceiling displayed a map of the constellations, quite a recent depiction if I understood the latest studies correctly.

The room was almost two hundred feet long, so I could barely discern the paintings at the far end. Tall braziers stood in widely spaced rows, casting a warm glow upon the bronze statues that stood at regular intervals along the walls of the room. There must have been two hundred people in here, each of them wearing fine dresses, tunics, cloaks and boots, drinking wine from silver cups. People almost appeared to be in various groups, speaking to each other as if they were at a meeting rather than chattering together. Particularly unusual, compared with things I was more used to, was that many people were seated on the floor. Some were positioned on cushions, dozens of which were scattered about the place, but there were no chairs or benches to lounge on.

‘Is this traditional?’ I put my observation to Sulma Tan.

‘Our people never really used chairs in large gatherings like this,’ she replied. ‘We had no need of them in our yurts. It is a custom that has followed us into cities.’

‘No?’ Perhaps the curious methods of polite debate were also leftovers from tribal culture.

‘Chairs seem so wasteful, so bad for the body, and besides the floor is much . . .’ Something caught her eye.

‘What’s the matter?’

Her gaze was directed at a group of men who were standing in a nearby corner of the room. I couldn’t quite discern who they were from their clothing, but they didn’t look like the other guests and they didn’t seem to be guards – unless they were private operators or bodyguards, something I suspected was common in Kuvash.

‘I will find out what is going on,’ she replied. ‘Please, wait here.’

With that she carved her way through the crowd with some efficiency, being careful not to tread on anyone’s cloak or out-stretched hand.

‘Your instructions for tonight?’ Leana asked. ‘I need something to take my mind off this nonsense.’

‘For now, keep an eye out for our friend from the rooftop – or anyone regarding us for longer than seems necessary.’

‘That happens all the time.’

‘Well then, just memorize any faces that stand out – we know too few people in this city. Otherwise, it would be prudent to soak up something of the mood, and the concerns of these people. Eavesdrop here and there – you never know what might help us. Perhaps the bishop was killed due to some reason of state importance that we’re so far unaware of ? I’ll be putting a few questions to the guests and . . .’

Sulma Tan returned quickly. Her distressed expression suggested our plans for the evening were about to change: ‘You must come quickly, please. There will be no party for any of us tonight.’

We followed her back out the way we came, then along a wood-panelled corridor, but took a sharp left through a doorway that barely seemed different from the panelling.

She guided us through another series of rooms that, if we had not been with Sulma Tan, we would never have known existed. It suggested we were entering some secret part of the palace, and that was enough to tell me something serious had occurred. Sulma Tan said nothing.

Soon we found ourselves tucked away in a small brick chamber with a curved ceiling, and lit only by cressets on the walls and two storm lanterns on a table. The same four figures I’d seen a moment ago, during the social gathering, were standing here and each of them possessed a similar, sombre expression.

A tall, gaunt-looking man with long grey hair looked at me with a fierce stare. He wore the dark-blue silk robe I believe was associated with the Kotonese navy.

‘This the fellow?’ he snapped.

‘Lucan Drakenfeld,’ I began, ‘Officer of the Sun Chamber. This is my assistant Leana.’

‘Duktan, sea marshal – leader of the Koton Navy.’ He sat on a long oak bench beside the table, and there was an air of nervousness about him now, as if despite his seniority the necessary procedure had escaped him.

The other three, a mix of ages, each wore similar robes, though in different hues of purple and green. They remained silent and in their own private thoughts.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked, assuming the worst.

‘There has been another murder,’ Sulma Tan said quietly.

She did not say a thing after that and, for a while, no one else did either. My impatience was getting the better of me, but it was as if no one knew who should divulge the rest of the information. Perhaps Sulma Tan was waiting for one of the others to do so. The room was full of uncertain gestures and uneasy glances. Two of the men were visibly dumbfounded. They stood there shaking their heads. Another looked as if he would slit the throat of the next man who made eye contact with him. Each had the air of the military about them: strong posture, good, well-polished boots, military trinkets on their tunics, wristbands, brooches, badges of honour. Though there was no armour today, not even the colours of their regiment; they had not been looking for a battle tonight.

‘Was the victim a friend or colleague?’ I asked, to no one specifically.

‘Stood alongside him for thirty years,’ Duktan muttered eventually, though he expressed far more about his profound feelings during his ensuing silence. ‘He saved my life once, on a ship off the coast of Venyn. Pirates. Said I’d return the honour and I waited another twenty years. I’ll never get the chance now.’

Sulma Tan seemed either uncertain of the etiquette or merely content to allow others to speak.

A blonde-haired soldier entered the chamber through a large door wearing the blue and black of the city’s equestrian troops. She beckoned us all to follow.

Leana and I waited respectfully, and still a little impatiently, at the back of the line as everyone filed out, back through the corridor. It was as if we would never find out what was going on.

We only had to wait a few minutes, until we arrived in another chamber, one that was similar to the medical room where we had examined the corpse of the bishop. Laid out before us on a table lit by paper lanterns was another body, this time in one piece. So far as I could tell, anyway, as a flag of Koton had been stretched across him, the red stag directly above his chest. However, a significant amount of blood had seeped through onto the surrounding bold-blue material, staining it a far darker shade. As I stood at one end of the outstretched corpse, I noticed his boots poking out from under the sheets. Though they were mostly clean, there was a significant accumulation of scuffing, dirt and mud on the heels, which suggested that the body had been dragged at some point.

Sulma Tan stepped to one side of the corpse with her head bowed, unable to hide her distress. She did not cry though. She merely clenched the side of the table and stared down with an unnerving vacancy.

‘Grendor,’ she breathed, and added something else I couldn’t hear. The others crowded around the corpse. Their faces showed nothing but despair – whoever lay there was extremely well respected by them.