examined the front and then the back, and then he held it up to the light. 'The finest bronze, of course,' he said, 'but it doesn't take an expert to see that. You don't see many of these, Captain. Can I ask where you obtained it?'
'There was a murder,' Winterburne replied, 'a few nights ago, and this was found close to the victim's body.
The Professor looked surprised. 'A murder? How fitting.' He continued to inspect the object. 'You know this image, of course?'
'No, Professor,' Winterburne replied, 'I was hoping you might be able to tell me about it.'
'Yes, of course.' The Professor looked down at the medallion again, and then up to Winterburne. He pointed at the image on the front. 'It is the Angel of Death, but I'm sure you know that already.'
'The who, Professor?'
'You must know of the Angel, surely?' Harman looked over at Winterburne. 'I can see from your expression that you do not. Forgive me,' he said, 'I forget, sometimes, that young people these days are not so familiar with the old stories and legends. I suppose,' he added, 'that this is the very reason the University exists, is it not? To preserve knowledge.'
'I suppose so, Professor.'
'Well,' Harman explained, 'the Angel of Death was, or is for all I know, the vengeful tool of one of the gods of the First Empire. A nasty piece of work, by all accounts. I mean the angel, not the god. Although, of course, he might well have been too, I don't really know.
'The lightning symbolises the striking down of the god's foes. They used to particularly like this kind of imagery, once upon a time. It's a bit over the top, if you ask me, which of course you are, but there you go, it's just my opinion. No accounting for the tastes of those throughout history, I suppose.'
Winterburne looked at the Professor. 'But,' he said, 'what does it mean?'
'Legend tells us, Captain, that when the god wanted revenge on one of his enemies he, or she, of course, we are never really told in the legends, although for the purposes of this explanation, let's call the god a he. Is that acceptable?'
'Professor, please,' Winterburne said.
'I'm sorry, dear boy, am I wandering? I always wander, it's a particular fault of mine, all my students say so. Anyway,' he said, 'legend says that when he,' the Professor looked over the rims of his glasses at the two men to see if there was a reaction, 'wanted revenge he would send the Angel to do the dirty deed, if you know what I mean.'
'But I don't understand the significance of the medallion, Professor?' Winterburne still felt none the wiser, and was finding the whole conversation confusing. 'And the Angel,' he said, 'why is she on there?'
'Oh, it's not a she, my dear boy. It's not even a he for that matter. Angels, in general terms, and as far as we can tell, are androgynous beings, of course. Whether this particular character is an exception, we are not told, although I suspect not. You see, there is no sex in heaven, apparently. According to the books, it is just not required, which is a pity.' His face looked disappointed, and then he peered over at Winterburne. 'You do know the meaning of the script, I take it?'
Winterburne maintained his blank look.
'The writing? No? I don't suppose you speak the language of the Old Empire, do you, Captain? No of course you don't,' the Professor added. 'It means ''Vengeance Restores Balance''.'
'Is that significant?'
'My boy,' Professor Elyot said, jumping into the conversation, 'it is key.'
'Oh, absolutely,' Professor Harman declared. 'Many people have been confused by this motto, interpreting it as ''vengeance equals justice'', but of course that is nonsense. In any civilised society that is never true, and it was never the meaning.'
Winterburne was finding the conversation highly confusing and the meanderings of the professors were not helping him.
'What I don't understand,' Harman said, 'is what this girl was doing with it?'
Winterburne looked at the Professor and scratched his head. 'To be honest,' he said, 'I don't think I am any closer to understanding that, either.'
'Yes, I agree,' Harman said, 'especially when you consider what it is.'
'Which is what exactly, Professor?'
'My boy, this is the medallion of an assassin.'
'A what?'
'This medallion belonged to an assassin,' Harman repeated. 'They all wear these. In fact, they're not allowed to work in the Empire without one, or else...,' he drew his finger across his throat.
'I see.' Winterburne took the medallion from the Professor, gripping it tightly. He looked into Harman's eyes. 'An assassin?' he said. 'Honestly?'
Professor Harman, wide-eyed, nodded back at him.
13
Highport's South Quarter always threw Winterburne constant reminders as to why none of the rich inhabitants had set up their home here. Many of the buildings had been allowed to fall into a great state of disrepair, at least in comparison to the rest of the city. Plaster had fallen from the walls of many and the timber frames spoke of extreme stress and old age with cracks opening in some of the beams, some wide enough for a child to slide in their hand. Very few shops or cart vendors lined the streets for there was no money to be had, and those that did come were the worst of the worst. Those people who lived here tended to ply their trades in other areas of the city, if they had any work at all.
Up the road, ahead of Winterburne, were two of the most imposing properties anywhere in this district and he had always been struck by the stark contrast they made when compared to the rest of the dwellings on the street. The Guild of Masons, with its large square sign showing two hammers crossing, stood proudly on one side of the road, a beacon for honest men's toil. Its opposite pole, silent and dark, stood the headquarters of the Assassin's Guild. In many ways it was an anonymous building and there were no outward signs that it was even a Guild Headquarters at all, except that its immaculately dressed stone and treated wood timbers made it stand out by its difference from the those around it. Two well proportioned floors made up the Headquarters and it was clear that plenty of money had been spent on its upkeep.
Winterburne approached the Guild from the main street. Many of the cobblestones were missing, gaping holes in the road; the carts did not usually come down this far, so the grip provided by the stones was not generally required. The little money that people had in their pockets around here meant that cobblestones were the least of people's worries, especially when they had a family of mouths to feed.
A small pitched roof sat over the top of the front door of the Assassin's Guild, supported by two painted columns on either side. Winterburne assumed that they must be stone, although if that was not the case they were a superb imitation. He carried on across the street and stepped up onto the plinth.
Just as he was about to knock on the well-painted door it opened, and a young man wearing a dark shirt and pale-coloured leggings, stood in the doorway. His black hair was cut short and Winterburne guessed that he must be about nineteen or twenty years old.
'Please come in, Captain,' the man said.
Winterburne was surprised by the welcome. The only way that the man could have performed that particular trick would be if he was watching from a spy-hole in the door. He hadn't seen one, but it was there, it must have been, placed just in the right place where it was not an obvious feature. That would be so typical of these people, he thought.
'Thank you,' he replied, as he entered the building.
'The Arch Chancellor is expecting you,' the man said, closing he door, 'do come this way.'
The young man motioned for Winterburne to follow, taking him along the corridor and up a flight of wooden stairs. The railings on the bannisters had been carved with elaborate decoration, the curls winding up the spindles in a gentle spiral. Considerable work must have been been used in their production, but it was definitely in keeping with the décor that he had seen elsewhere.
The two men crossed the landing and the young man opened the first of the three doors that lined the hallway.
'Please, go in,' he said. 'You are expected.'
Winterburne frowned at the remark. He was not comfortable that his movements were being watched, but, he supposed, it might be expected in many ways. He wondered how many of the other senior people of the city were being tracked in the same way that he evidently had been. Then he answered his own question, it would be all of them, he imagined.
He passed through the door, into a large rectangular room. Immediately opposite him stood a large oak desk, columns carved into the wood at either end, reminiscent of those at the front door. Two large windows occupied the wall behind it, and seated behind the desk, was the Arch Chancellor. The man's elbows rested on the tabletop, and his fingers were interlocked, the index fingers of his hands forming a triangle through which the man watched him. The man's thin face was framed by dark brown hair and his pointed nose added to Winterburne's feeling that the man resembled a mantis poised to grab his prey.
The Arch Chancellor rose from his seat. 'Thank you, Chapman,' he said, and his hands moved to the chain of office that hung around his neck, fiddling with it.
'Winterburne, Captain of the Watch,' Winterburne said, introducing himself.
'William Lytton, Captain. I am the Arch Chancellor of this establishment,' the man said. 'Please, do make yourself comfortable.'
Winterburne walked over to the chair and lowered himself into it. His eyes were still fixed on the man. 'Your...man,' he did not know what else to call the attendant who showed him in, 'said that you were expecting me, Arch Chancellor.' He looked around the room as he spoke the words. Despite the nature of the place he had never had cause to enter, until now.
'That is true,' Lytton said, seating himself back down again. 'I have heard the terrible news, of course, it is all around the city. Poor young girl.'
Despite the man's words, Winterburne noticed no evidence of any sincerity that passed either across the man's face, or in the tone of his voice.
Lytton gestured with his fingers. 'I did assume, of course, that you would be talking to me at some stage in your enquiries. Although, I would say that I am somewhat surprised that you have visited us so soon.'
'Oh?' Winterburne replied. 'And why would you assume that I would want to talk to you?'
'The word on the street tends to be extremely reliable, Captain, if you know which words to believe and which to discount. But, I suppose you are aware of that. Sometimes we do get to hear details of such events, but in this case, sadly...,' Lytton shook his head.
'I understand that most likely you are a very busy man Arch Chancellor, and I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice. But I do have some questions.'
'It is no trouble, Captain.' Lytton placed his hands on the table. 'What was it in particular that you wanted to ask me?'
Winterburne reached into his pocket and withdraw the medallion. He placed it on the desk before the Arch Chancellor. As he did so, he noticed Lytton's eyes moved down to look at the object.
Lytton reached across and picked up the medallion spending a few moments looking at it. 'May I ask, Captain,' he said, 'where you obtained such a thing?'
'What, this trinket? Winterburne replied. 'This is evidence, Arch Chancellor.'
'Evidence?' Lytton looked puzzled. 'Evidence of what, may I ask?'
Winterburne could tell from the way that the conversation was proceeding that the man was going to make him work for every ounce of information he could glean. It was true, he did enjoy a good game of cat-and-mouse, so, for now at least, he was happy to let it continue as it may.
'Evidence of an unexplained nature, Arch Chancellor.' Winterburne conceded that the man was a very accomplished player; but then what else could be expected from a man in his profession. 'You could say that it is evidence which tends to point to this guild as a possible source of some answers. I was hoping you might be able to enlighten
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