Nights of Villjamur

FORTY-ONE

Another one of those melancholy nights of Villjamur, in which a pterodette called out across the city’s spires so loudly it sounded like a banshee. Up here on the top floor of the Imperial residence, starlight clearly defined the rooftops, meaning the evening would be cold and cloudless. Incense burned somewhere, mere hints of it on the breeze, prompting thoughts of some wild ritual being performed in a forgotten corner of the city.

Tryst loved this city and he could easily see how it invoked such passions in people – in Chancellor Urtica, in himself. Raising a corner of the tapestry preserving the still warmth of the chamber, he stared idly out of a window, waiting for Urtica to arrive. There were occasions, in the chancellor’s presence, when Tryst felt so much reverence for him that he wanted to be part of his consciousness and see the world through his master’s eyes.

The door opened and Urtica marched into the ornate room, with its glittering trinkets arranged around the immense fireplace.

‘Sele of Jamur, chancellor,’ Tryst greeted him.

‘What happened to your face?’ Urtica paused as he moved closer. ‘A fight, I suspect? I hope you’re not attracting too much unwarranted attention.’

‘No, not at all. It was just… well, Investigator Jeryd had some sharp words to say to me.’

‘What about?’

Tryst met his gaze boldly as they eyed each other across the glow of the flames. Tryst had used Tuya to all advantage, now simply wanted her out of the way. He probably would have killed her if she hadn’t escaped him and run to Jeryd. Now the damned rumel knew everything. No matter, Tryst would soon have her hunted down, with a reward on her head. ‘I strongly believe that a prostitute is responsible for the councillor murders.’

‘A prostitute?’ Urtica wore a look of utter amazement on his face.

‘Yes, from what I gather, Ghuda spilled certain secrets across a pillow. Disclosures that linked him with you, sir. She learned about your plans for the removal of refugees. She knows who was involved and decided to take matters into her own hands.’

Urtica interrupted, ‘We can’t have her blabbing such rumours in case she brings attention to me. She must be removed promptly.’ The chancellor paused. ‘Does Jeryd also know of this?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ Tryst said, feeling guilt now for having put his own interests above those of the chancellor. ‘You see, I had her under confinement, but he took her off my hands. I merely wanted to protect your honour, sir.’

Tryst watched his idol with hope, heart thumping in his chest.

‘Very good, young Tryst, you did well.’

‘Sir, I’d do anything for you,’ Tryst said eagerly. ‘Anything.’

‘Still, I need to be able to trust you totally. I’ve seen that you’re a sharp man, but can you be loyal?’

‘Of course,’ he breathed.

The chancellor paced back and forth before the flames. ‘Good. Then I want you to kill both Investigator Jeryd and this prostitute. They must not have the chance to inform others.’ He leaned forward, continued with a whisper. ‘Now, I’m about to initiate my plans with the Empress Rika. She’ll be arrested tomorrow at the Snow Ball for maximum publicity, with an order for her execution coming the following day. All the Ovinist councillors are ready to support me. Tomorrow night some Ovinist colleagues in the military will begin guiding in some of the refugees in small numbers to meet their fate, all on the quiet of course. They’ll make use of some of the precarious tunnels under the city – and it doesn’t matter if they collapse on them, does it? They’ll think they’re being taken to temporary housing within the city, and we can finally start poisoning them one by one. As they are dying we can move them to tunnels nearer the coast. Then I think we can just dump them out at sea. Tryst, I want you there with me, at the centre of things. Can you do that, lad?’

‘Indeed, chancellor. Anything for you, and for the Ovinists.’ Tryst swallowed, bowed his head slightly. ‘One thing, though: what about the banshees?’

‘What about them?’

‘This many deaths – on a large scale. Surely their screams may attract rather too much attention?’

‘Leave that to me,’ Urtica said grimly, and paced around momentarily. ‘Now, in getting rid of the rumel, I’d suggest some explosives. Make it look like something other than an assassination. I know a cultist open to persuasion, so you can get armed with the necessary equipment to take out his entire house – in case he may have documented his findings. Set a timer to make certain you’re clear, but I can guarantee you a good alibi.’

A strange emotion overwhelmed Tryst, and suddenly his stomach felt sick. He really didn’t want to kill Jeryd. Certainly he had resented the old rumel, but he only wanted him to suffer. Killing him was going too far. But he had to prove himself to Urtica, the man who would soon be Emperor.

Tryst had been travelling so far under Caveside that he feared he’d never see daylight again. Urtica had given him the address of a cultist who worked alone, and, somewhat dubiously, occasionally helping out people when the coin was right, no questions asked.

The bag of money he carried was slowing him down. Coloured lanterns lit the way sporadically, casting light on rats and dogs and grubby children playing games among discarded poultry bones.

Eventually he came to a narrow, solitary street, whose habitations were carved into the cliff. After peering carefully around him, Tryst approached the one he wanted, then knocked on the door three times in quick succession.

It opened to reveal an old woman wrapped in a dark red robe. ‘What d’you want?’ she enquired harshly.

‘I was sent by the chancellor,’ he explained. The lines etching her face creased even further, though her eyes were dazzling in the dreary light.

‘Urtica, eh?’ she said, with obvious interest.

Tryst revealed the bags of money. ‘I need some devices making tonight.’

She eyed it carefully, then himself. ‘By all means, come in.’

The room beyond the rough wooden door was lit by dozens of thick candles. Tryst had to walk awkwardly around piles of books that littered the floor to reach a central table. There were items in bottles on shelves which he couldn’t discern, maybe organs of some hybrid beast, and he swore that one of them was moving.

She indicated a chair and he sat down, placing the bag of money on the table. She turned to face a mirror. She removed her hood, combing her hair with her fingers, pulling long, grey strands to either side of her face. There was something distinctly childlike about her manner.

Eventually, she came over to the table, sat opposite him.

Her eyes were blue-tinted, and she regarded him with a soft intensity, as if thinking him someone from her past. ‘What d’you need?’ she asked.

‘Brenna devices for destroying an entire house. And the person within it.’

‘Four small ones should be enough.’

‘You’ll need to show me how to use these brenna things. I’m not familiar with handling relics.’

She leaned forward, her old eyes sparkling. ‘Don’t worry, lad. I’ll help you out.’

‘Much appreciated.’ Suddenly he felt a little nervous, as if the quality of the conversation had changed. ‘I’ll need a time delay of a few hours before they explode. Could you work that into the magic?’

She said unexpectedly, ‘Down here, it’s not often I get to see someone so… handsome.’

Tryst murmured, ‘Thanks… Sorry, I don’t know your name.’

‘Sofen,’ she said. ‘Not that it means much down here, where so few people ever use it.’

‘What order of cultists do you belong to?’ Tryst said, keen to change the subject.

‘I belong to none. Plenty of cultists prefer to work on their own, lad. Less politics that way and you’re not bound to follow any particular creed. How’s this sound, lad. You stay and keep me company for a couple of hours, while I get your devices made to your exact requirements.’

‘Company?’ Tryst said, beginning to comprehend her innuendo.

She’s sick… Surely she’s kidding? Or is this some test to prove my loyalty to Urtica?

‘Don’t look so surprised,’ Sofen continued. ‘You see old men getting the services of young women all the time, so it should work just as easily the other way.’

‘Right.’ Tryst was beginning to feel desperate. He couldn’t hope to get Jeryd and his house destroyed properly if he didn’t obtain the relics.

‘What’s wrong?’ Sofen interrupted. ‘You don’t find me attractive?’

‘It’s not that,’ Tryst blustered. Although, let’s face it, hag, not even the tide would take you out. ‘No, it’s just that I’m a man of principle.’

‘Principle,’ she said. ‘Ha! What kind of principle is there in asking me for the means of killing another?’

‘It depends,’ Tryst said, ‘on why and who you’re killing.’

She observed him thoroughly. ‘At least you’re honest. I like that. Still, my price remains. You pay me and satisfy me.’

Tryst considered his options again, and didn’t like what he was being faced with.

‘Shall I make it easier for you?’ Sofen said.

‘How d’you mean?’ Tryst said, a little uncertain whether or not this was some form of threat.

‘Wait a moment.’ Sofen walked over to a doorway leading into darkness beyond. After reaching to lift what appeared to be a metal mirror off the shelf, she stepped into the umbrae.

Purple light spat outwards, no sound with it, only a thin waft of smoke drifting like incense.

Tryst stood tensely alert, reaching for the short sword he carried under his cloak. A strange, almost floral smell caused him to frown.

‘Sofen?’ he said, and made a step towards the darkness.

A beautiful woman walked out of it.

Tryst was shocked at this apparition and its obvious similarity to how Sofen must have looked when sixty years younger. Her hair was now luxuriant, a glossy black, her eyes still a dazzling blue. Full lips, prominent cheekbones. She removed her outer robe to reveal an elegant white dress, plain but cut to cling to a slender frame, revealing just enough about the body beneath to win his approval.

The new woman spoke, with a smirk. ‘You can now pick your jaw up.’

‘Who are you?’ Tryst said.

‘The same woman you were disgusted with moments earlier.’ She grunted a laugh. ‘Magic: it’s all wish-fulfilment really. This is an illusion of how I once was, and you’ve got me in this state for an hour, more or less, so take your time.’

The transformation was so remarkable, he was truly lost for words. ‘I… don’t know.’ He hesitated.

She leaned in so close he could smell the clean fragrance of her skin, the freshness of her breath. Breasts were pressed up against his chest. All her wrinkles, all the sadness in her expression were gone.

His hand in hers, she steered him towards the darkness.