City of Ruin

T HIRTY-NINE

Investigator Jeryd moved through the streets at his usual sluggish pace until he came across a building reduced to rubble. Glass and wood and shattered stone were scattered across the cobbles, and trails of smoke drifted across Villiren. A unit of soldiers was still searching through the wreckage for survivors, even though it seemed that they had probably found them all during the night. Onlookers stood by idly, staring at the gap now yawning in what had once been a row of merchant stores. Jeryd flashed his Inquisition medallion to shove past them and get a better view. The sight dug up memories from Villjamur, when his own house had been destroyed in an attempt to kill him. From first-hand, he knew that this was no mere spectacle, but that people's lives had exploded across the melancholy scene.

One of the sergeants on duty informed him that something now dubbed a mute bomb caused the destruction, just one of dozens that had rained across the city in a short-lived assault the night before. Over fifty civilians had died, and another two hundred and twenty were found permanently silenced by some component in the bombs, which the cultists were currently studying in order to find a cure.

Jeryd moved away from the scene in disbelief. What was happening to this world? For decades he had known only relatively predictable offences – murder, theft, violence – but in the last year he had witnessed a huge increase in malevolence. It was as if the ice was bringing with it some kind of insanity.

Head down and his hands in his pockets, he stormed on towards the house of Doctor Voland. Before leaving headquarters the previous night, Jeryd had written up a full report and left it on the desk of his superiors, with the strict instructions that Voland and Nanzi should not be released pending their trial. He had underlined the words twice: Highly dangerous. For a couple to work together in this way was something rarely encountered. Jeryd didn't know what to make of Nanzi or her bizarre abilities. He was mildly disgusted to have been duped by her all this time, but he was getting used to it, getting used to the crap he had to deal with every day, and he felt glad he could put some distance between them. He accepted she was a 'blend', which helped him get his head around her being a killer. But Voland… he was something else entirely.

The man was a beast builder. He must have a clear sense of purpose and an ice-cool conscience to accept a contract to slaughter so many people in order to feed others.

Jeryd passed beggars and children skidding on ice as he followed the route he remembered, until he finally came to the house. He was prepared to prise the door open with a crowbar if necessary, but it was unlocked – obviously due to the killer's hasty exit to save his partner. He headed inside and drew back the curtains. He was searching for hard evidence, something beyond the word of Voland and Nanzi.

Over to one side, Jeryd found a lantern, and lit it.

Fine decoration, antique furniture, superior paintings on the walls embellished a well-stocked library. Everything tidy, with bottles of spirits neatly lined up alongside crystal glasses. The end of a cigar in an ashtray. A taxonomy book lying open. Nothing to denote a psychopathic killer. But then what personal items would do so exactly?

Jeryd moved from room to room, as he sifted through the couple's existence, the lantern casting aggressive shadows across the polished furniture.

A pencil sketch of the two of them by a harbour was wedged in the corner of a mirror standing on the dresser. A tribal fertility ornament lay on a side table. In their plush bedroom, with audacious drapes and a decorative mirror above the bed, he found some erotic lingerie, which made Jeryd contemplate the ways in which Nanzi gave Voland his kicks.

Another of the rooms clearly acted as a study of sorts. Notebooks lined the shelves, detailing biogeography and evolution and cladistics. Complex cross-sections of species he didn't know smothered the papers littering a desk. Diagrammatic representations of what looked like some weird form of fusion surgery could be seen on the walls. On another desk lay a wooden display case containing a neat array of pin-raised insects, with a scalpel and mount to the side.

A small book nearby was labelled 'Voland's Journal', and contained sheets of lined paper containing names and addresses. Jeryd picked it up and several other pieces of paper fluttered to the floor. At once he recognized the portreeve's handwriting, and he scrutinized them further. Labour activists and union leaders, these were the men who had disappeared. Voland was telling the truth then – this was the documentation that would prove Lutto had been intending to get rid of union leaders so that he could make working conditions as vile as possible, and in order to maximize profits for the private companies. He flicked through the journal, but found nothing relating to crimes per se, merely scientific ramblings on physiognomy or etymology.

So then, another conspiracy that goes right to the top… Just how much corruption makes this realm what it is? I'm too old for this. I can't fight an Empire like this one.

But who could he tell about this discovery? Jeryd didn't know anyone in Villiren well enough to trust them.

He pocketed the journal and the loose pages, and wondered what he might do with them.

Then he went down further steps, carrying the lantern towards the basement where a strange metallic smell lingered. He found a wall-hung cresset and lit it, more for peace of mind than for anything else. It was damn eerie down here, so the more light the better. Along the constricted path, winding around a corner, and there was now a change in the way the air moved, signifying to Jeryd that he had arrived in a vast chamber.

Light was lost to the corners, so he found a coloured lantern and some matches to light it. Metal implements hung from the walls, and there was a dripping sound from the far end.

Suddenly he spotted several dark figures lined up against the wall to his right. He moved tentatively in their direction, before raising a hand to his mouth in shock. His tail became perfectly still.

Seven corpses were suspended with hooks driven through their throats, their tongues hanging out uselessly. They were naked and bruised, and streaked with dried blood. One was even skinless, the muscles and veins exposed horrifically. On the body at the far end, a rip in the throat caused by the weight of the body dragging on it suggested that it had been hanging there for some time.

Further along on a workbench stood two massive metal trays that reminded him of those he'd seen at Doctor Tarr's mortuary back in Villjamur. He wasn't surprised to find them full of internal organs, which he assumed could only be human. As he moved the lantern over them, they glistened slickly, confirming they were relatively fresh. An inert eyeball stared up at him and he drew back with a shudder.

None of this was set out as if to aid a crime investigation, however, with Jeryd being called in to look at some remains. These cadavers were destined for the dinner plates of ordinary people across Villiren, and it was possibly the most despicable activity he had ever witnessed. He was standing inside a human meat factory.

The smell was overpowering and he turned away, to prevent himself from gagging. Reluctantly, with a handkerchief over his mouth, he began jotting down notes and making sketches, detailing every horror on display.

*

In the dim light of the obsidian chamber, Commander Brynd Lathraea faced Jeryd across the table with a despairing smile. A small tray of refreshments had been brought to them, and Jeryd eyed the food suspiciously. 'No thank you… I'm, uh, on a diet.' I don't trust anything now that I haven't seen being prepared.

He had just informed the commander about the fate of the missing people, and what it probably meant about the missing Night Guard soldier, revealing every detail and nuance about the case.

'I find this all rather difficult to believe,' Brynd murmured.

And who could blame him? Jeryd spoke of the confessions. He showed the commander Voland's journal, then his own notebook, tilting it sideways and pointing out the corpses and the various implements he had sketched.

'Human flesh, distributed through the city? And, you suspect this was all at Urtica's request?'

'I do,' Jeryd confirmed. He revealed the incident concerning the refugees back in Villjamur, where Urtica had arranged for large numbers of refugees to be eliminated; that because Jeryd had delved too deep into those affairs, he had had to flee to Villiren.

'So, anyway, Voland basically admitted that he had a contract with Urtica. The guy is entirely honest about his own participation in the events. And it's not just that – it seems the portreeve knew about it also, even supplying the names of political enemies he wanted eliminated, to make his life easier.'

The albino seemed to contemplate this information for some time, and Jeryd could have sworn the man's eyes burned even redder than before.

'I myself am having trouble contacting the portreeve at the moment,' Brynd finally said. 'No one seems to be able to find him. Those close to him suggest he's already fled the city because of the bombs. It matters little, anyhow – I've taken measures ensuring full military control of Villiren. As for following up the allegations of corruption, unfortunately they will have to wait.'

'So it goes.'

'And, Nanzi, your aide – the girl who came in here all this time. You really had no idea?'.

'She's an utter psychopath. You know the two of them genuinely think they're doing a good thing, right? They actually think this helps the city. Keeps everyone else alive. She helps the population with her work at the Inquisition, and in her head it's the same thing as feeding them.'

'A perverse logic,' Brynd admitted.

An interruption to their meeting – a messenger entered the room to whisper into his superior's ear, then left with urgency. Jeryd tried to read the commander's expression, without success – this man did not give much away.

Brynd gave a sad smile. 'I believe, investigator, that a more forceful attack on Villiren is imminent.'

'You reckon you can save the city?'

Brynd located some deep place inside himself and stared into it. 'Let me explain something to you: the portreeve has nurtured a terrible culture here. I'm not sure of his methods, but I've never witnessed more drug use, or known of more brothels. Thieves openly help themselves to goods on the stalls, people pay to watch violent acts in underground theatres. Lutto says that citizens are, on average, wealthier and healthier.'

'I'd suggest those figures are skewed,' Jeryd interrupted. 'From what I've seen, the people on the streets have very little, while the gang members and dodgy traders continue to piss all their wealth up against a wall.'

'The gangs control everything here, investigator,' the commander said, 'and the portreeve rewards them by leaving them to bask in their pleasures and vices, and to sell such lifestyles to the citizens.'

'Barely any crime seems to get reported,' Jeryd agreed.

The commander smiled, as if he had been leading Jeryd to say it was so. 'And what does that indicate to you?'

Jeryd thought about this. 'That most of the people in the city are criminals anyway, or at least condone this culture.'

'So contemplate your question once again, on whether or not I can save Villiren.'

'The city', Jeryd concluded, 'has already fallen.'

'Yet we must press on, out of duty. If you have anyone you love, now's probably the time to get them down to the tunnels and away to safety. I expect you yourself will still be able to fight?'

Those words hit him like a low punch in the stomach. The situation had till now been on the periphery of his conscience – that he might actually have to fight – and being so concerned with the missing persons he had almost forgotten about the possibility.

'I'm ready for anything,' Jeryd lied.