Retribution

Show Us the Head

‘It’s common knowledge down here,’ she said. The woman led us out of the tavern and back into the lanes of the city. She still wouldn’t give her name.

She pulled up her hood and relaxed at the sanctuary it offered her. After that I only ever caught a brief glimpse of the angles of her face. She appeared to thrive on the fact that she had knowledge of use to someone, that it gave her purpose, yet she didn’t seem particularly comfortable in the company of others. The only response she gave to my incessant questions about herself were shrugs of indifference. For all I knew she could have been leading us into a trap — but no one knew why we were in the city, and we had not done anything to cause much trouble — yet.

She guided us through the winding, mystifying passageways. Wooden buildings leaned precariously out of the mist, though it might have been the angle of the poorly laid road creating an illusion. Bamboo had been used in the construction of buildings, as well as a damp, dark wood I couldn’t identify, but it all went some way to give a sense of local identity. Little coloured lanterns glowed warmly from second- and third-floor windows, only heightening the isolation down on the ground. Though the night wasn’t exactly cold, the wind was surprisingly strong and bringing wraiths of fog.

‘How long ago was the head found?’ Leana asked.

‘Two days,’ the woman muttered. ‘Word spreads quickly around here. Everyone knows each other. That’s why I know about it. And everyone in the taverns talks about the house with the blue door.’

‘Did you not think to tell the authorities?’ I asked.

The woman simply laughed at that. ‘They live in their own world. A heaven and hell, that’s this place. Two gods and two cities — that’s what the bishop used to say, though he could do little about it. Besides, they must know themselves. They know everything else. This way now. Might not be here for all I know. People say that a strange man owns it. Loner, like.’

A left, right and left again and if it wasn’t for our guide I would have been utterly lost. Leana had drawn her sword long ago and, judging by the shadows that were lingering in doorways or leaning out of alleys, I couldn’t blame her. The strong winds had led to a mass of clouds obscuring the starlight above the city. A few flecks of rain began to fall.

‘Here.’ She stood rooted to the spot with her hands deep in her pockets.

We had arrived at a small wooden door, situated at the end of a cobbled lane. Though the light was bad, it looked as though it could have been blue paint that had been slowly peeling from it over the years.

‘Thank you for bringing us,’ I said.

‘I’ll leave you be.’ She turned to leave with a sudden keenness to be away. She ran back into the fog, and soon there was only the sound of her footsteps leading away.

‘Well, we might as well get on with it,’ I said to Leana.

I knocked on the door and we waited patiently in the damp evening. While I wondered just what type of person would claim the head of a dead bishop, Leana stepped cautiously around the building, examining the place for any traps. The rain became heavier, fat drops striking the cobbles and pinging off the door.

Eventually it opened. A man in his fifties, wearing only a pair of trousers, peered out at us from the gloom. In need of a good meal and a shave, and with long, straggly hair, he also wore several necklaces bearing symbols similar to ones I’d seen in the temple earlier.

‘It has been made known to me that you have the head of Bishop Tahn Valin,’ I said in Kotonese, but he didn’t reply.

His eyes grew just a fraction wilder. He stumbled back inside. Leana shoved her foot in front of the door before he had the chance to close it.

I held out my hand in a gesture of peace. ‘We want to see the head. No harm will come to you if you just let us in and show us where it is.’

Nothing. He stared at me with such intensity, but it wasn’t until I produced a silver coin that he deigned to notice my presence. The rain hardened to the point where Leana finally lost her patience.

‘Oh enough of this.’ She barged past him and I followed her, before suddenly placing my hand to my nose.

His room reeked of decaying matter. Food remains were scattered everywhere, on the table, on the floor. Two ill-looking black dogs regarded me from next to the smouldering embers in the grate. There were bones, too, heaped in crates and upon the table — I took a step closer and was relieved to note that most of them had come from animals. The man nervously followed us as we navigated the islands of rubbish strewn across the floor. He came towards me with his hands outstretched, but Leana thumped his chest with the hilt of her blade and sent him crashing into the wall.

‘I don’t think he’ll try to harm us,’ I said to her. He certainly didn’t look capable of causing any damage. Judging by his house, he didn’t seem capable of anything other than festering in his own waste.

Leana shrugged. ‘He will not harm you now, at least. A polite warning does some people good.’

I turned to him as he cowered against the wall, perhaps mystified at our Detratan conversation. ‘The head,’ I stressed, in as much Kotonese as I could manage. ‘Show us the head of Bishop Tahn Valin.’

Nothing again. Leana directed her sword at his breast and he gave a coarse, guttural reply: ‘Next room. Shrine.’

Leana lowered her blade and he scurried through a dark passageway. We followed him into an even darker room. With a match the man lit a candle and metal glimmered on one side. I could just about make out the formation of a shrine.

‘Light more candles.’

He obliged, moving to light them around his room.

Each new glow confirmed my suspicions — it was indeed a shrine, upon which were small bronze statues of Astran and Nastra. They were adorned with dozens of small bones, trinkets and beads. But right in the centre of the display was a rotting head: its closed eyes had sunken into the sockets, it had changed colour, become darker, the lines of the face exaggerated, the fleshier parts, such as the lips, shrivelled and distorted. Though not entirely clear, through the small gap of the mouth it appeared that his tongue had been cut out.

‘Is this really our friend the bishop?’ I wondered out loud.

‘Looks about the right level of decay,’ Leana said. ‘Not inconsistent with the other parts.’

‘That is true. There’s only one way to confirm it’s genuinely the bishop’s head and that’s to take it back to Sulma Tan tomorrow morning.’

‘And you propose to take this from the house, just like that?’ Leana asked somewhat mischievously. ‘Our friend here has become quite attached to it.’

‘No, I’ll pay him.’

‘I knew you would. You cannot just take things.’

‘But people are more useful when you’re nice to them.’ I turned to the man once again, who by now had wrapped his arms around himself, and was rubbing his skin for warmth. ‘I’ll give you two silver coins for the head.’

He looked to the head and back to me, visibly weighing up his options.

‘Three coins,’ I continued, ‘if you can tell us where you found it.’

And to that he nodded eagerly.

‘See,’ I said to Leana. ‘He has more use yet.’