Nights of Villjamur

TWENTY-TWO

It was, Randur concluded, pushing himself off the cobbles of an alley next to the tavern, an unwise decision to drink so much and so quickly.

He felt damp grit on his palms, and the muscles in his arms quivered as he levered himself upright. His head ached so much he wanted to cut it off. He looked up to see Denlin perched on top of a small wooden stool nearby.

Still drinking.

Still talking.

‘Morning, lad,’ Denlin said cheerfully.

Randur collapsed to the ground with a groan, and the old man burst out laughing.

‘Trouble with you youngsters is, you think you can keep up with us. But we’ve been at it for years, lad. I was drinking this horse piss before you could let go of your mother’s teat…’

‘Bollocks,’ Randur muttered, then groaned again. His hair was dishevelled, mud plastered all over one side of his face. There was a faintly foul smell he hoped he had nothing to do with.

So, another night of drinking with Denlin. This ritual had been going on for days, the cycle repeating itself: seduction of a lady, take what pickings he could, then flee into the darkness of the caves where Denlin would soon arrange a buyer. Celebrations would ensue, naturally, and it wasn’t normal for him to drink this much, but last night he had a particularly good haul. A diamond bracelet snatched from a sixty-year-old widow. Her age hadn’t limited her sexual appetite, but it had taken her an age to reach orgasm, and she lay so still afterwards that he thought she was dead. As he left she kept murmuring thank-yous.

Before he had stepped into the night, he managed to swipe his most expensive trophy yet.

A clock tower chimed, each strike ricocheting around Randur’s head. He counted eight hours, and realized that within the next one he had a dance lesson with the Lady Eir. He cursed loudly.

‘What’s up, lad?’

Randur said, ‘I’ve got to go.’ He stood up at last, brushed himself down, his damp clothes stinking of smoke and alcohol.

‘Well, I’ll be here when you need me,’ Denlin said.

‘I’ll be back as soon as I’ve got more stuff to sell.’ Randur turned and began to hurry away through Caveside.

He abruptly frowned, noticing the unusual light. It shouldn’t be daylight down here, not still underground, though it occurred to him that he had only ever visited the caves at nighttime, and now it was morning.

Randur rubbed his eyes again, looked up. ‘Well, would you look at that…’

Light ran in strips down the underside of the immense cavern, as if he was standing under the glowing ribcage of some gargantuan beast. These ribs sparkled like glass. At the apex, in the very centre of the cave, shone a bright hub of light that intruded from the outside, directly from the brightening sky above. There were similar smaller hubs located at intervals throughout the caves, each one projecting light to this neglected expanse of city. Perhaps this was the real Villjamur from time immemorial, not the other city that every traveller saw, or the one the wealthy and powerful now lived in.

But this was no time to dawdle, or speculate. He was late, and reeking of alcohol. He sprinted back to Balmacara.

It was the same morning that Commander Brynd Lathraea was bringing the new Empress to Villjamur, and a large contingent of the Fourth and Fifth Dragoons was riding towards the city through the mist. The horses’ hooves thumped on sodden tundra, leaving a muddy trail. It wouldn’t be at all difficult for anyone to follow, but there were so many troops in attendance that you need not fear a surprise attack. Brynd rode directly alongside the carriage in which Rika sat with the windows veiled. Apium was astride his horse, one of those pulling the vehicle, while Nelum and Lupus were riding directly behind. All around them on either side, keeping pace precisely, were columns of Dragoons.

The Lady Rika herself was the centre of all this.

Brynd eyed her frequently, but couldn’t tell much from her expression. He suspected she understood exactly what was required of her in her new role, with its responsibilities. He also knew she had not seen Villjamur for several years. Its daunting walls and the three entrance gates had been there seemingly forever, but there were now differences, inside and out. The ice age was upon them, with thousands of refugees huddled outside. Families were being torn apart, there were suicides and murders daily.

And her father, the Emperor, was dead.

‘Your breath, Randur Estevu, smells as if a horse has just passed wind. I trust you’ve a decent reason for entering my presence in such a state?’ Eir folded her arms as she examined Randur.

‘And what would you know of a horse’s bodily functions, a pretty little rich girl like you?’ Randur slumped into a chair in the minor chamber he had commandeered for dancing lessons. The fire was spitting rather too loudly for his liking, even though tapestries covered the windows in an attempt to exclude draughts. Randur was at least grateful for the dim lighting, since his head pounded even when confronted with a candle. His pupil was today wearing one of her green silk numbers, something he had to admit she looked particularly attractive in.

If only she could shut her mouth for more than a second.

Placing his head in his hands, he began to massage his scalp. ‘Oh, Bohr.’

‘And may I ask how you managed to end up in this state?’ Eir enquired.

‘You may not,’ Randur groaned, glancing up at her. Her face displayed an expression of disgust he wasn’t used to seeing from women. He was a man of style, after all, so maybe things weren’t looking so great.

‘Do you realize who you’re talking to?’ Her tone was indignant.

‘Sure I do,’ Randur replied.

‘Yet you obviously have no respect for me?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Randur stood up, gave her as sarcastic a bow as he could manage, given the pain in his head. He wasn’t in the mood for this formal nonsense.

Her expression suggested that she wasn’t sure whether he was being serious. ‘I thought you requested for a drummer to help us with the timing?’ she persisted. ‘Maybe he has got himself into Astrid-knows-what trouble, like yourself.’

‘I wasn’t in any trouble,’ Randur protested, rubbing his eyes. ‘I can handle myself just fine on these streets.’

‘I’m sure you can,’ Eir said tartly. ‘Now I demand that you tell me where you were and what you were up to.’

‘Caveside, if you must know.’ He began to pace around the room in the hope of walking off his headache, occasionally stepping over to the window. Right now the cool air was the freshest he’d ever breathed.

‘Caveside?’ Eir said, frowning. ‘Whatever were you doing down there? While you’re in residence here, you ought to conduct yourself with more decorum. It’s a bit reckless, don’t you think, fraternizing with all those thugs? I’ve heard stories about serving girls who ventured down the wrong street and-’

‘D’you have any idea what actually goes on down there?’ Randur snapped, glancing despairingly at her. He shook his head. Bohr, how damn spoiled are people around here?

‘Well,’ Eir replied, ‘I have been told of all sorts of thieves and murderers. Soldiers gone bad.’

‘Yeah, well maybe there are some of those,’ Randur admitted. They were so silent for a while he could hear the wind racing through Balmacara. Upon understanding the words she spoke, he said, ‘You’ve lived here all these years and never actually been down there?’

Eir gave an impatient shrug. ‘I don’t really have much time for the business of such people. Why should I risk stepping foot in that darkness?’

Randur grunted to suppress a laugh. How could this girl be even temporarily in charge if she doesn’t have a clue about half the type of people in her own damn city? It makes me glad I never grew up in a place like this.

Randur was feeling tired, knew he was getting grumpy as he always did when he hadn’t had enough sleep. That, combined with his hangover, meant he was pretty pissed off. ‘What is it with this place, this legendary city of sanctuary? The jewel of the Jamur Empire, the largest city in the Archipelago, yet you’ve got thousands of refugees camped right outside the gates, while the city’s rulers turn a blind eye on the millions of ordinary citizens who don’t own huge acreages of land, or who haven’t grown fat off tribal slave labour, or what’s practically wage slavery. They’re just not real to you, are they?’

‘Everyone’s real to me,’ Eir said.

‘Reckon you’re even real yourself?’ Randur sneered. ‘What kind of life have you ever led to make you so real?’

‘A dutiful one, thank you. I’ve had pressures and responsibilities.’

‘Responsibilities. Right. I bet you’ve always had every last thing done for you.’

‘And who exactly are you to tell me this? I should have you strung up from the city walls as an example.’

‘That’s exactly my point, see?’ Randur continued, unabashed. ‘You just deal with life the way a spoilt child would. You want to eliminate someone just because he tells it how it is. What kind of ruler does that make you, if you can’t even deal with ordinary people?’

She walked to the tapestry covering the window, drew it back and gazed over the countless spires of Villjamur. ‘This is the only city I’ve really known. I’ve heard of the other places – Vilhokr, Vilhokteu, Gish. I’ve never visited them, never needed to, was always advised not to. Maybe I’ve been fortunate in my position and upbringing, but…’ Anger now flared in those eyes, and frustration. ‘… Just because I haven’t had to work for my living, doesn’t mean my entire life has been worth less that anyone else’s.’

Randur suspected he’d hurt her, though right now it was difficult to care. He had a throbbing head, a mouth as dry as a desert rock. He was angry at this rich girl. Her superior attitude added a whole new rancour to his thinking.

‘For your information,’ Eir said, ‘there’s perhaps a little more to me than you might think. I’m not a bad person. I’ve not wished ill on anyone. Every time we practise dance or combat you make a reference to my fortunate upbringing as if it was something you missed out on. Well, it isn’t that lucky being imprisoned in a life you don’t necessarily want. So maybe I’m a little short with people at times. To use a phrase of your own, maybe I do get pissed off. Some of us can’t just go on pretending to be someone we’re not.’

If she knew anything of his past, of his own secrets, she didn’t show it. This was all getting a little bit near the knuckle.

She continued, her voice significantly softer, ‘Perhaps you yourself should show me the other side of this city then, if you really think it would do me some good?’

‘Like I’d be able to sneak you out of this place with no one noticing. I’ll probably lose my head for that – but sure, why not? If you’re genuinely up for it, we can find a way. But, look, we should be doing dance practice. Let’s learn a few steps, shall we? I’ll count time for us, in the absence of our drummer.’

Eir approached him. They assumed position, fingers locked, a close embrace, and more than ever she seemed small and vulnerable in his arms. She was now in one of those moods where she didn’t seem to want to look at him, wanted to pull as far away as possible in each dance step. Maybe he would try to patch things up between them by just shutting up.

The door opened to reveal one of the resident guards. ‘My Lady Stewardess, there is some urgent news.’

Eir stepped away from Randur quickly, as if she had been caught in some lewd act.

‘What news?’ she demanded.

‘Your sister Jamur Rika’s entourage is getting near the city, my lady. Garudas have sighted her carriage just under two hours away.’