Drakenfeld

The Mausoleum

‘Lucan…’

Leana’s soothing voice woke me. The first rays of the morning sun poured in through the tiny window and met high up with the opposite wall. Brightness warmed my vision and I remembered that I wanted to be up early: another busy day lay ahead, another day in which to try to find Lacanta’s murderer. My groggy vision settled on the small bone charm Leana was wearing around her neck, some unfathomable creature’s skull pale against her skin.

‘You had a seizure during the night,’ she said.

‘Did I?’ I sighed. ‘For how long?’

‘One of your longer ones. You settled soon enough.’

She was already dressed, ready for another day’s work, while I remained in a dream-like state, not yet fully awake. To be so punctual and in control of one’s sleeping habits . . .

‘It seems the apothecary’s little potions were no use,’ I said.

‘You took what she said, before you fell asleep?’

‘Well, uh, no.’

‘Spirits save me, you only have yourself to blame.’

‘You make a fair point, Leana,’ I replied. ‘Actually, I wanted to go to the apothecary today anyway, to check whether or not the blue vial had contained poison.’

‘Would you like me to come also?’ Leana asked.

‘No, I’d like you to do me a favour. General Maxant is making a political speech to the people in the lower districts today. I would like it if you could just track the movements of his people beforehand.’

Leana faced me, more attentive now there was a firm plan for the day. ‘What are you hoping to find?’

‘It’s more out of curiosity than anything related to the murders. While we won’t hear anything but a well-rehearsed speech when he’s presenting his case for election, I’d be interested to see what the preparations are like… see just how keen he is on being elected to the Senate. In the meantime, I’ll be off to the mausoleum.’ I spun my feet onto the floor. ‘And Titiana will be coming with me.’

‘I see,’ Leana replied. ‘How did it go?’

‘We had a pleasurable evening,’ I yawned, casting my mind back to the most minute details, smiling inwardly. ‘Nothing happened, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘I am in your employment only – your own life remains yours. You need tell me nothing more.’ She moved to the doorway.

‘You know I think of you more like a sister than someone I employ,’ I said, ‘and normally I’d tell you more. All I can say is that I don’t think she hates me any more.’

‘Then you must have been trying very hard,’ came the reply, before she left the room.

Many people would think it unbearable to work with someone who liked making such comments, but I rather enjoyed them. In her own way, she was keeping me in check.

After arranging a rendezvous point with Leana for the afternoon, I wrapped the glass vial and put it back in my pocket, before heading out through the brightening streets. The route was more obvious in the pink light just after dawn, but the narrow street was still concealed nicely from the thoroughfares. I enjoyed being out and about at this hour: it was as if this was how Tryum wanted to be seen, calm and cool, without the throng obscuring the wonderful mishmash of architecture or crowding the temples. One could appreciate the smaller details of buildings, or the arrangement of statues along a colonnade.

Eventually, as I reached the apothecary, the scent of some blissful concoction wafted up the street towards me. There was a small rack of her samples standing on the tiny window ledge. I knocked on the open door, announcing my arrival.

The same blonde woman was there; she was smiling as she stood over a pan of boiling liquid and wore the same dirtied robe she had worn the other night. Herbs and bottles were spread about the place, just as before, and the ledgers were more neatly arranged now. There was an acute sense of peace in the room.

‘Welcome again.’ She looked up once before regarding her pan again. ‘How’s your father coming along with the treatment?’

‘He forgot to drink some yesterday,’ I replied, ‘and suffered a seizure in the night.’

‘Oh that’s not good! He’ll need to take it regularly if it’s to be of any help at all.’

‘He can be a bit forgetful, you see, but I haven’t come today to talk about his treatment.’

‘You have another ailment?’

‘Not exactly.’ I considered the best line of approach and thought it was about time I started being more honest with her. ‘My employment is as an officer of the Sun Chamber.’

She paused and gave me a quick look of concern, before returning to work.

‘You’re in no trouble, have no concern on that matter. I’m actually here for your advice.’

‘Tell me your question, lawmaker.’ She continued to stir the liquid in slow, precise movements.

Law-enforcer, I wanted to correct her, but that would have been petty. I reached into my pocket and took out the blue glass vial, holding it in front of her by its long neck. ‘This is related to an investigation I’m working on. I don’t know where it comes from or what it originally contained, but I would like your expert opinion.’

She took it from me and brought it under the light from the window, rolling the vial between her thumb and forefinger. While she did this, I glanced quickly at a piece of paper to one side, which looked like something attached to a delivery – it contained the address of this place and featured a name at the top:

Mordia Lapmus.

There was no expression on her face to suggest she knew what the vial was – until she unplugged the stopper and raised it to her nose. She jerked it as far as she could from her face, placed the stopper inside again and, angrily, handed it back to me. ‘Where did you get this?’ She thrust it back into my palm.

‘I’m afraid I can’t say. But I take it you know what it is?’

She laughed incredulously. ‘Oh yes. I do. It is hemlock.’

My eyes widened in astonishment. ‘Are you quite certain of this?’

‘One cannot be completely sure with poisons, but I would say this probably contained a poison made from hemlock. I was schooled early on in my life to recognize such vile odours.’

‘Is it easily available?’ I asked.

‘If you know where to look, anything is easily available in Tryum,’ she replied.

‘No, I mean are there many apothecaries in Tryum who genuinely trade in such things? Other than the quite legitimate Mordia Lapmus, of course.’

Her eyes widened at the mention of her name, and she opened her mouth to reply, but seemed to consider her words more carefully. ‘It was certainly not me. I specialize in making people feel better, not in the arts of death, though there are those who practise such things in Detrata. The last time you came here, you mentioned henbane, and now you bring hemlock. If you work with death, I’d rather you took your work elsewhere.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t deal in such sinister arts myself and I share your appreciation for the living. But with a little help I might be able to track down who sold this or, more importantly, who bought it.’

‘Whoever buys hemlock wishes to kill another – or themselves,’ Mordia replied. ‘It’s very simple. No good comes of the substance. There is no justification for owning it.’

‘OK, so do you know who might sell similar blue vials? Or is there anyone who trades in hemlock in Tryum?’

‘The vial is not common,’ Mordia said. ‘But neither is it rare. I wouldn’t be able to match it, off the top of my head, but I can give you a list of other apothecaries who work in the city.’ She paused, and looked around with impatience. ‘I will write down a list for you. I only ever know the reputable traders, though – it may well be that your search will put you in contact with more unscrupulous traders.’

She reached across to one side and, with a reed pen, scrawled on a ledger, while I regarded the vial once again. What would my father be doing with poison? Had his personal situation become so bad, had his debts caused him so much anguish, that he felt the need to take his own life?

‘There.’ She ripped out the thick page from the ledger, folded it up and thrust it at me. ‘I know only of seven other apothecaries who may be able to help you further. If there are illegitimate tradesmen, which there may well be, then I make a point of not knowing them.’

Many of the addresses were situated in the higher or mid levels of the city. None of them were in Plutum or Barrantum.

‘Thanks for your time, Mordia.’ I moved over to the door. ‘I promise not to bother you any more.’

‘Just make sure your father keeps drinking his tisanes,’ Mordia replied, more warmly than before, but now distant – utterly focused on the contents of her pan.

Seeking to hire a horse, I wandered the backstreets of Tradum to the biggest of the city stables, a large, noisy and pungent courtyard. An array of tradesmen, blacksmiths and armourers laboured around the perimeter of the structure, forming a lively, self-contained community.

I examined some of the remarkably ornate signs and chatted to the workers. Paying fifty pecullas for the day, apparently, I could be riding a wonderful brown stallion fit for the military. But given my finances, instead I paid ten pecullas for an old white mare with a huge personality. She seemed happy to go anywhere today and I was happy to ride with her.

From there I rode down to the Temple of Polla, where the pontiff was waiting for me, to collect my father’s ashes. In the shaded entrance he gave me the key to our mausoleum, which was stored safely within the temple. A smell of incense pervaded from the never-ending fire. Calludian Drakenfeld’s ashes were contained within a large urn, on which a battle scene from the Visions of Polla, with relief lines around Polla herself, was painted. There was a remarkable level of skill involved in its creation – this was a beautiful send-off for my father. Two rings lay buried within the ashes, the pontiff told me, which were found on his body at the time.

I thanked the pontiff for his assiduous and respectful preparations, wrapped and placed both the urn and the key within a shoulder bag, before heading back to my house.

While I waited for Titiana, I took a quick look around my father’s room to see if there were any other items to take to the mausoleum with me, something that might make for a good send-off. He had not been a great collector of trinkets and my mother would always hassle him not to hoard useless items. In the end I settled on his Sun Chamber brooch, which was located in a drawer, deciding that it was more than appropriate.

But then it struck me: if he was wearing his rings at the time of his death, when he was found in his offices, why was his brooch of office here in a drawer? What was the reason for him taking it off ?

I placed the brooch within the urn, sealed it once again and tucked it away. The knock on the main door moments later was Titiana. She stood before me in a long blue tunic and black cloak, her hair tied in thin silver bands and brought forward around her neck; her sensual, olive-brown skin seemed to glow in the clarity of the morning sun.

On seeing her I realized how grateful I was not to be taking my father’s ashes to the mausoleum alone.

Mausoleums, crypts, tombs and exposed sarcophagi – the houses of the dead were scattered throughout the hillsides near Tryum in all directions, and my father’s lay to the south-east. In that way, it was deemed that the dead should surround the living, ensuring we did not forget their presence. I could certainly vouch for the effectiveness of that plan: my father’s own departure through to the Underworld and beyond had certainly overshadowed my arrival in Tryum. Even in death he managed to be sending me about the city and, for better or worse, I felt I knew him more in death than when he was still alive.

With Titiana sitting behind me, we rode towards the south gate and the day was already starting to get hot. The road was full of tradesmen and shoppers, wanderers and home-comers. Aqueducts towered across neighbourhoods, casting even tall buildings in shadow. Plutum lay to our left, Barrantum to our right, the south road dividing the poorer districts in two. Not that anyone would notice a difference between them – poverty did not discriminate, after all. But it was heartening to witness at least two priests wandering the slums and giving alms to the poor.

Pairs of soldiers from the City Watch marched up and down the wide road at regular intervals, maintaining the sense of order here, though a glimpse into the streets beyond would suggest there was very little order to be found. The old city wall, built during the Detratan Empire, had long since been looted for stone, and stood as an impotent barrier, where only two watch-towers now remained. Tryum had bloomed over the years and the resplendent new city wall loomed in the distance in all its limestone glory, cracked and weathered already, but a good deal more robust than its predecessor. It was reassuring to see such scrutiny from the soldiers as they assessed who was going in and out.

Eventually we managed to head out of the gates to the countryside beyond. The mare was a reliable companion for us, and she soon picked up her pace once she was free of the streets.

Titiana held on to me. A decade disappeared in an instant.

As the sun rose ever higher, we continued on the road through farmland. Hills shimmered and in the distance were the outlines of the monuments to the dead. The yellow and black banners of Detrata rippled in the wind above them. Such structures, for reasons I never fully understood, tended to cluster around auspicious hilltops that were important in Detrata’s history, or for religious reasons that had largely been forgotten. It’s strange, sometimes, how rituals become established practice and no one ever knows their true origins. We just do what we’re told, and act in certain ways, until it’s engraved on our souls.

The weight of the shoulder bag, which contained the urn, seemed greater with every few yards of travel.

‘This is it,’ I said.

Found by the hill of Four Gods, the Drakenfeld mausoleum was a tiny structure compared to those nearby. Our family was wealthier than most people of Tryum – and I was conscious of my good fortune on this matter – but it was clear that there were a great number of people who were richer than us. This gap was especially obvious when looking at family monuments.

The first Drakenfeld to be buried here was my grandfather, who was the first senator to gain his position based on his exploits as a general in the military, rather than because his fortune was large enough to bribe the right people to prove he was a citizen of good standing. I never knew whether or not he approved of his son, my father, joining the Sun Chamber – the subject wasn’t one that was raised all that much. He built up his wealth yet remained true to his mild-natured and humble roots: this small, domed mausoleum contained just four pillars no taller than me, and a relief of Polla. The elaborate structures either side featured intricate facades and bold architectural statements.

Nearby a few people walked with offerings in their hands through a ruined colonnade, and a family was dining at the foot of one nearby structure, chatting merrily in the sun.

‘What an incredible place.’ Titiana gestured to the row upon row of fascinating monuments surrounding us, each one unique in some way. ‘This really is a whole other city just for the dead. They say on auspicious nights that such places become alive with ghosts, and figures of bone lose themselves in the surrounding hills.’

‘That’s why we make sure to keep the mausoleums locked,’ I said and smiled. ‘I can’t be doing with dead relatives hassling me in my sleep.’

‘I’m serious,’ Titiana said, with the wonder of a much younger woman. ‘All stories have their roots in truth. Besides, I’ve used such tales more than once to make the children behave and go to bed on time.’

We dismounted from the mare and for a moment simply ambled along the path in separate directions, each in our own world of awe and respect. Titiana seemed happy enough so I wandered among the stones noting the family names and trying to recall their position in the city.

Suddenly a figure caught my eye walking among the structures, and following me. He – at least, it was dressed in the clothing of a man – wore a tattered and ripped cloak, but otherwise his tunic seemed fine, if a little colourless. He looked at me, wide holes in place of his eyes; and no sooner had that thought registered, than he turned to flee through a wide avenue of mausoleums. I moved quickly to catch up with him, but could no longer see him.

Senator Divran told me to walk among the tombs and a small part of me wondered if the figure had been her creation. Shaking my head, I retraced my steps – I knew better than to believe in such fantasies.

Titiana was waiting by the mare, but didn’t seem interested in where I’d been – she was too entranced by my family’s mausoleum. I reached into my bag for the urn carrying my father’s ashes, and passed it to Titiana momentarily, before pulling out a heavy key. After unlocking the iron gate, which had rusted somewhat, we stepped into the dark sanctuary of the mausoleum.

I left the key in the lock, out of the way.

After the brightness of the daylight it was difficult to see the details at first, and there was a prevalent musty odour. Beneath our feet was a yellow mosaic floor featuring the two-headed falcon. Alongside it was the icon of the cross of the founding gods, representing where both Trymus and Festonia marked on the ground the very position where Tryum would be built. I searched around for the right spot, slid back a stone cover and placed my father’s ashes down alongside my mother’s.

‘You rarely spoke of your mother,’ Titiana said.

‘I hardly knew her, if I’m honest,’ I replied. ‘She died when I was no more than five summers old. I know far too little about her, because my father didn’t often mention her name. An aunt once told me that it was because he never really let her go after she died. I have memories of her, though, glimpses that come back to me now and then.’

‘What was her name?’

‘Mawya. She came from the deserts – from Locco. People often told me she possessed such beauty that passers-by would stop her in the street to tell her so. I think people’s memories can be kinder than the reality, but I’m reassured she was kind and gentle-natured, and always thought the best of people no matter how they treated others. I vaguely remembered her singing songs of the desert to me but… well, after that my upbringing was with my brother and my father.’

‘That would explain your inability to talk plainly with women,’ Titiana joked, and I was glad of her lightening the mood. ‘Will you be buried here one day? That must be a sobering thought.’

‘So long as there is someone here to remember to bury me – and someone who can be bothered to bring my ashes all the way up that hill, then yes.’ Solemnly, I drew back the heavy stone lid and set it in place with a clunk.

We stepped outside into the daylight once again. With my mind somewhat exhausted by now, I lay down in the long grass with a sigh, regarded the pearlescent blue sky and enjoyed the warmth. The leaves and branches of a nearby tree stirred in the soothing breeze. Titiana lay down next to me, resting her head against my shoulder, her sweet floral fragrance drifting over me.

I wanted never to rise from that spot.

When the sun reached its zenith I felt it was time to return to Tryum. I decided to take one last look at the mausoleum to preserve the image in my mind, as I did not know when I would return, but then realized the key was still in the lock with the metal gate closed. It hadn’t locked – of course it wouldn’t, because the key had not been turned – but for a moment it looked as if the ghost of my ancestors had placed the key there.

Placed the key.

Of course.