Nights of Villjamur

TWENTY-ONE

Chancellor Urtica made his way down the crumbling stairwell, glancing back every now and then, just in case, just to be sure.

He held a lantern high, drew his cloak around him. A gust of wind rattled down from above, transforming his shadow into increasingly esoteric shapes. Urtica was descending into a little-remembered quarter of Villjamur. Deep underground. Messages were etched across the stone, bearing the names of lovers and enemies from across the ages. Bats, rodents, lizards, all competed for dark corners, like a reverse image of life on the surface. The smell of their faeces was intense, but this did not deter Urtica. He had dealt with more shit than this in his time.

For half an hour he descended, knowing the way well.

Faintly, he heard chanting. It meant he was nearly there. Voices were raised in an ancient variant of common Jamur, the language in which the Ovinists still sang. They were engaged in prayer – but not to Bohr or Astrid, or any approved deity – and that would change, wouldn’t it, when his time came.

A battered wooden door heralded the end of his route. After knocking seven times, the hatch slid open, curious eyes appeared. A flicker of recognition, then the door was unbolted, opened, and Urtica stepped inside.

A hundred candles were reflected in wall mirrors to create an unlikely brightness. Incense filled the air, as smoke wafted across the far side of the immense room. Dozens of black-robed, black-hooded men and women sat on benches facing the far wall, which was hung with ornate tapestries. Below them was a plinth supporting a metal tray containing a selection of pigs’ hearts rescued from the city slaughterhouses. The chanting continued as Urtica walked towards the front of the chamber, the hoods turning minutely as everyone’s gaze tracked his progress.

When he arrived directly before them, a young blonde girl stepped out from their ranks, leading a pig on a leash. She was dressed in white silk, which clung to her slender frame as she approached him, the pig shuffling behind her absent-mindedly. No sooner had Urtica stepped before the congregation than his audience drew out their rapiers simultaneously, brandishing the narrow blades in the air until silence fell. Urtica beckoned the girl to stand behind him, then raised both hands above his head. The swords were lowered and, once they were all seated again, Urtica began speaking.

‘Neophytes, minorus, majorus,’ he intoned.

‘Magus Urtica…’ the congregation replied in a chorus reverberating against the ancient stone walls.

‘My brothers and sisters, I have grave news on certain matters. Last night our esteemed Majorus Boll was brutally murdered in his sleep. This is the second member of our holy order to have been killed recently.’

Murmurs all round. Beneath the hoods were familiar faces, their eyes glistening like those of beasts reflected in firelight. Among them there were several Council members, in shadow, all of them concerned for their own safety.

Urtica held up his hand for silence. ‘Jamur Rika will arrive in Villjamur shortly, and I feel this interim period is an excellent opportunity for us to profit. I intend to make myself Emperor of the entire Jamur territories, and once in position, I can assure you all greater powers, greater influence.’

‘How will you remove Jamur Rika?’ someone enquired from the front row.

‘All will be revealed in good time. But now, for our holy rituals!’

Applause filled the huge underground chamber, then solemn chanting in the ancient language. The little pig squealed in fright and the girl had to struggle hard to keep it under control. Urtica beckoned her over to stand in front of the sacrificial plinth. He loomed down over the tethered creature, tucked it under one arm, produced a knife from his sleeve. He held the blade high, smiling wildly, the room heady with smoke and adulation.

Quickly, he lunged across the young girl and slit her throat.

She crumpled to the floor, her white silk robe reddening like blossoming roses. The pig eagerly thrust its snout in her lifeblood.

‘I promise that the sacred pig – our god reincarnate – shall feed well under my rule!’ Urtica thundered. The swords were held high again, the cheers and chants rising to an eerie crescendo. Urtica stood with his arms raised, breathing heavily with excitement. Sweat glistening down his forehead, he indicated for several men standing in the front row to approach him. The first was Aide Tryst, his head covered slightly by the hood, the lanterns casting subtle shadows across his face. The handsome young investigator held out his hands as Urtica lovingly offered him a pig’s heart.

‘A word with you later,’ Urtica whispered.

‘Of course, Magus.’ Tryst retreated with a deferential bow, and the next man stood ready to receive his dripping reward.

After the proceedings, Urtica walked with Tryst back to the city proper.

As they traversed one of the bridges, Urtica paused to lean on one of the thick stone parapets, examining the city from this great height. A sea mist had come in, now filtering through the city. Occasional citizens appeared, walking like ghosts with lanterns held out in front of them. There was the stench from crates of rotting vegetables discarded in corners behind bistros and taverns, disturbed occasionally by cats rooting through them for rodents. One of the tavern doors opened spilling light, and a group of men piled out into the cold evening air, singing wildly about a previous Emperor who had wreaked carnage all across Jokull.

Urtica glanced up to some of the narrow windows on the spire towers. Faint dabs of light, shadows moving inside the warmth. After a nod of confirmation from him, Tryst lit some pre-rolled arum weed, the embers glowing at the tip. Urtica didn’t mind a few bad habits now and then.

‘I love these bridges, Tryst,’ Urtica confessed. ‘They offer such a wonderful view, you can see nearly everything going on. And still, even after all these hundreds of years, the citizens below us always forget that other people can watch their movements at any time.’

‘Indeed, Magus,’ Tryst said, stepping up alongside the chancellor. ‘Anyone would think the whole place was designed with voyeurism in mind.’

‘Perhaps,’ Urtica sighed. ‘Yet I love this city. There is so much that it can do.’

‘A pity the ice age restricts it,’ Tryst said.

‘Not a lot we can do about that,’ Urtica said. ‘However, it’ll only last for a few decades. We inside can outlive that.’ He then eyed the refugee camps, and the smoke-striated sky. ‘It’ll mean we come back stronger, afterwards.’ Urtica slapped the stone with his palm, turned to face Tryst directly. ‘Your commander. Investigator Rumex Jeryd. What do you honestly think about him?’

‘Honestly?’

‘Honestly.’

He took another drag on the roll-up and breathed slowly into the night. ‘Well, Magus, it’s complicated. I mean we used to be good friends, and admittedly, he has helped me a lot. But now I feel differently because he’s thwarting my promotion.’

‘All about the age thing?’ Urtica suggested.

‘Indeed. Because I won’t live as long as a rumel, he reckons I’ll never become experienced enough. So, he won’t do anything to help me. He won’t even try.’

‘Of the fellow himself, then – is he a competent Inquisition officer?’

‘Oh, yes, he’s good at his job. But he’ll never break with tradition. Won’t even try.’ He scowled. ‘I think I deserve better.’

‘Well, I’m not sure I like the sound of him too much,’ Urtica said. ‘Now, I don’t want him removed, either. That would only draw attention. It might suggest corruption in the Council. No, if he’s as good as some folk say, then I hope he’ll find the murderer. I find something unnerving, though.’ Urtica shivered as a damp wind stirred his robe. ‘I want him to find the killer, yet I don’t want him delving so deeply into Council business that he might stumble into Ovinist territory. Not now, with all these plans I have for us. He strikes me as one who takes his work extremely seriously, and I can’t risk him exposing us.’

Tryst said, ‘You wish me to help in some way?’

‘Yes, tell me if there’s anything we can distract him with so he does not dig too deep.’

Tryst related the renewed relationship of Jeryd and Marysa, that he messed up things with her before, couldn’t afford to do so again.

‘This might prove useful,’ Urtica said. ‘Perhaps you could distract our investigator by somehow disrupting their relationship. I don’t know how, but don’t kill her or anything. That would knock him off the case completely, and all I want is just a little distraction. Something that will keep his nose out of Council matters and concentrating only on surface issues. Anything to keep him on the streets hunting the killer.’

‘I’m sure it can be arranged.’ Tryst frowned. ‘I only need to find a way.’

‘You know, you’ve proved very useful to me, Tryst. I would like to see you standing a little closer to me in future. We’ve got some important schemes to develop, particularly regarding the refugee situation.’ Urtica waved an arm vaguely towards the edge of the city. ‘Those vermin beyond the walls, spreading their filth and disease. I need someone to help me deal with them. When the time comes, it won’t be a pretty job at all. So do you reckon you’re up to it?’

‘Magus Urtica,’ Tryst smiled. ‘It would be an honour.’

‘Good, then let me tell you more about my proposals on the matter, my dear boy…’ Urtica turned his gaze once again to Villjamur.