Drakenfeld

Would She Have Screamed?

I waited on my own, sitting on the floor beneath the altar of Trymus, just in front of the spot where Lacanta had been found dead. No hard evidence remained now, of course, but I could clearly recall the position in which she had been found. What must she have been thinking in her final moments?

Some people preferred to see out their time surrounded by statues of deities, but they had usually lived a long and successful life; they had the luxury of choosing how their time would end. But not Lacanta.

Would she have screamed? Would anyone have heard?

The room was solid, and there had been a celebration in process, potentially loud enough to drown out any noise that might have left her lips. If one was intending to murder to make a statement but not be discovered, this was an ideal location.

Standing up, I looked at the bearded stone face of Trymus, and wished that, as the only witness to the crime, he could speak to me right now. But communicating with the gods was the job of priests; I’d have to rely on my own investigations.

The double doors were crafted from a very fine wood, possibly oak, and the grain was heavily polished. There were gold-leaf shapes pressed decoratively in a thin, rectangular line around the edge, and in the centre the ornamentation was of trees or flowers. The key was still in the lock, on the inside. There were no signs it had been tampered with. The other door bore the brunt of the damage from Maxant’s men – a testament to the strength of the lock – and had splintered where the bolt had been.

‘It seems only Trymus saw what happened last night.’ A short man, garbed in a green shirt, brown trousers and black boots, approached. He was balding, the remaining strands of hair left to him slicked across his head, and stood with the slight hunch of a man who had spent many years as a scribe or at a workbench. A short ornate dagger hung by his waist, though he didn’t seem nimble enough to use it. He gripped my forearm lightly and we shook. ‘You’re a tall one, I’ll give you that. We’ll just have to see if altitude reflects intelligence.’

My face must have shown my confusion.

‘Didn’t anyone tell you I was coming?’ He shook his head and looked to the gods. ‘I am Yago Boll, the king’s physician.’

‘Ah, of course, I’m delighted you could meet me so soon.’

‘Oh, a pleasure. Anything to get away from his insufferable majesty at the moment. He is not one to cope well with his sister’s death, it seems. But you don’t see the rage like I do. At least he’s accepted it this morning. You’d better solve this soon or I’ll be forced to bring more cases of wine from the kitchens and drown my sorrows.’

Licintius hadn’t been at all angry with me, though his face certainly showed the potential for such rage. Maybe he was calmer because I could help him, or maybe his long history with the physician exposed the man to purer emotions.

‘Did you look at Lacanta last night?’

Boll regarded me as if I’d asked a ridiculous question. ‘No, this morning. I deal with the living, for the most part. Let priests handle the rest, I say. Only the servants have been washing her body since then, so she’s easier to examine.’

‘May I see her now then?’

‘Yes,’ he sighed, ‘this way.’

On Licintius’ orders, Lacanta’s body had been laid out in her room and cleaned and dressed in her finest clothes and jewellery. Her hair had been arranged to flow down across her shoulders and a well-placed thin scarf covered the grisly wound that had been the killing stroke. The room was bright and airy, presenting a glorious view down the hill and over Tryum’s rooftops. Pale yellow walls, a polished marble floor, a ceiling painted with deities, it was a pleasant place to be. A huge amount of perfume filled the air.

‘Best not to ask questions about why she’s in this room again and not resting in a temple,’ Yago said, shaking his head. ‘It isn’t right; the gods will not like it. King’s orders though. Now, come then, Sun Chamber boy, son of Calludian, tell me what I cannot see for myself.’

‘I get the idea that you’re not much impressed with me.’

‘I don’t like people telling me about my job.’

‘I’m not here to do that. I want to know what you think, as it happens – please, talk me through how you think she was killed.’

‘Isn’t that obvious?’

‘Tell me what you see,’ I replied.

With an exaggerated sigh, though with notably more energy than before, Yago Boll lumbered across to the other side of Lacanta’s bed.

Leaning over the body, his fat hand pulled aside the scarf. Only when he glanced up at me did I realize how wild his eyes were. ‘This cut across the throat would have done the serious damage. It caught a major artery. Secondly there have been four further slashes across the face, causing minor disfigurement. She received further knife wounds to her chest and stomach, and a stab wound in her right side, though none of these were deep enough to have been the finishing strokes. The servants haven’t done a bad job of covering the damage, to be honest.’

‘It all seems rather vicious when a neck wound would have been sufficient,’ I said.

‘I cannot tell you if this was because of a struggle or something more ritualistic. There do not seem to be any wounds or bruises that suggest she put up a fight.’

‘What kind of blade would have done this?’

‘It wasn’t a big weapon – I’d say a hand-knife, possibly even something one might find in a kitchen, easily concealed.’

‘You’re quite sure about this?’

He looked proud of himself, as if his years of expertise had built up to just such a moment. ‘I would say it is more likely than not. Fruit knife, even. Something sharp enough to create these cuts one can see here. A sword would have made more of a mess.’

‘Not something an assassin might carry?’

He shrugged. ‘Not really, but it depends on the assassin, of course. You think this might have been a professional job.’

It came as a statement not a question. ‘Something the king said about Maristan. Lacanta rejected the advances of one of their princes.’

Yago Boll shrugged. ‘I try to stay out of such matters. Those things do not interest me.’

I nodded and contemplated the scene. ‘Out of interest, did she suffer from any other illnesses? Did you ever have to treat her for anything?’

He shook his head and moved across next to me again. ‘Lacanta was the picture of good health so I hadn’t seen her in three years. Apart from the king, I tend to deal with senators mainly these days – a paranoid lot. I generally just prescribe the occasional starling or hare when they need the entrails. Lacanta ate rather too well, if you ask me, but her evening antics probably kept her from becoming excessively overweight, if you follow.’

I did not approve of his sneering tone, but it reminded me to ask, ‘Had Lacanta been assaulted in a sexual manner before she was killed?’

‘No, that was certainly not the case,’ Yago Boll confirmed.

‘Did you see her, casually, at all last night?’

‘No. As I say, I haven’t really seen her for years. And, though I was invited as a guest last night, I would not be permitted within ten feet of her unless she suffered illness.’

The lack of ostentation in the room was surprising, considering her high position in society. Drawers revealed clothing, jewellery, strange trinkets and so on but nothing particularly expensive or luxurious. There were a few books on the bookshelf by the window, arts and travel, enough for a thorough classical education but, again, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to fit such a flamboyant lifestyle, if the rumours were to be believed. From the paintings on the ceiling to the choice of bed linen, everything was of conservative taste, seemingly reflecting a woman who understood and appreciated her position in life – but didn’t flaunt or rebel against it. There weren’t even any notes from a lover. The room was rather dull.

Something seemed out of place. There was a shape within the dust on one of the side tables; something had been removed. The object looked to have been around two handspans long, and rectangular – like a book.

I addressed Yago Boll once again. ‘Though you had few dealings with her, may I ask what you heard about her private life?’

‘Oh, Trymus’ balls, where to start,’ he said, looking down at her finely dressed corpse.

‘How about last night? People must speak.’

‘From what I heard, she was the same as ever. Flitting like a butterfly from person to person. She knew how to work the room. She was tempting enough to make any sane person behave out of character.’

‘Do you think that someone could have been jealous of such behaviour? Was there anyone serious in her life?’

Yago Boll shook his head and scratched his breastbone. His shirt showed signs of perspiration as the day grew hotter.

‘Can you give me any names of men you saw her with on the night?’ I asked.

‘If I did, you’d spend the next few days of your life speaking to them all.’

‘You exaggerate, surely.’

‘I never exaggerate.’ His manner darkened. ‘There could have been perhaps ten, eleven men I saw her flirting with – and that was just at a casual glance, I was not going out of my way to keep track of her.’ He gestured to the bed dismissively. ‘Who knows how many men – or women for that matter – had the privilege of seeing this ceiling.’

‘Indeed,’ I replied, somewhat curious. The rumoured outlandish behaviour of Lacanta just didn’t seem to match the simplicity of her bedroom.

Later, Veron handed over a large box full of statements from the party guests. He suggested that I might want to take them home with me to comb through for intriguing facts.

‘I tell you one thing,’ Veron added shrugging, ‘and that’s if you solve this, you’ll be as famous as your father. You’re well known already. So why not stop by at mine to dine tonight? Oh, and bring your servant… Leana, I think you said? I want to invite a few other guests and they’ll be fascinated to see someone as interesting as she is. You say she can fight?’

‘She’s not some wrestler or some gladiator.’ I gave an awkward laugh. ‘There are plenty of people just like her across Vispasia. I’m sure there’s even a community of Atrewens in the city, if you cared to look.’

‘They must have taught you some bizarre things in Venyn. Where did you find her?’

‘I didn’t find her.’

‘Buy her?’

‘She’s not a slave.’ I placed the box to one side while I explained how I’d met her.

I had been on business in Atrewe, beyond the southern seas and the borders of Vispasia. My investigation took me to one of the Vispasian Royal Union trading posts. There, tribes were fighting to secure a mineral deposit – there were bloody massacres, and it was like the gods of hell had taken vengeance. The loss of life – and of such remarkable ancient relics – was painful to witness.

Leana had been one of the few members of her tribe left alive after one such massacre, somehow managing to survive the violence in which twenty thousand people were slaughtered. What I didn’t tell Veron was that, as I stepped among the ruins of a broken temple away from my entourage to gather my thoughts, Leana tried to kill me. Her sword missed my neck by a matter of inches as I knocked her weapon aside.

I shouted something at her, I can’t remember what, but when she snapped at me in broken Detratan I was taken aback. She accused me of scavenging among the dead for trinkets, and I said what dead? That was when she led me to the bodies of her people, a sight I’ll never forget – Leana won’t either.

She asked me for work, said there was nothing left for her. That she wanted to get away, to put a sea between herself and these horrors. As it happened, I had recently lost my previous assistant because he wanted to stay at home to care for his family. Even if the gods had arranged it, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Both of us benefited from the deal.

‘Well, it’s a splendid tale,’ Veron sighed. There was something about the man’s mannerisms that suggested he longed to be far away from here. ‘You must both come tonight then. It’s absolutely settled. My guests will love such a story. We will have good wines, artisanal breads, unusual meats, and music while you provide entertainments.’

Smiling awkwardly, I picked up the box of statements again, wondering if everyone in Tryum was this superficial.

Before I left, though, I asked one final question of the senator. ‘I don’t suppose you know where Senator Divran lives, do you?’

‘I’d stay away from that mad old witch if I were you. What do you want her for?’

‘Answers as always. Does she live far from here?’

‘Not at all. Only a few streets away as it happens.’