by Lloyd, Tom
‘A family now. The same creature, I assume. More of those symbols, but this time it looks like a bear went berserk in there. Only clue’s a scrap of velvet snagged on a chair. You had word of those symbols yet?’
Antern had promised to enlist one of the king’s wizards to decipher the bloody writing, but no word had been forthcoming, much to my annoyance.
‘A bear you say?’ purred the other man, cutting Antern’s attempted reply short. ‘I’ve never seen one that could write before, might be a valuable creature. Still, I suppose that explains why it’s able to dress in velvet.’
My temper almost got the better of me, but Antern came to my rescue and got there first.
‘This is, ah, Nimer. A man of special qualities, the king feels. He is here to assist the investigation – you will extend him every courtesy.’
Only then did I notice the golden clasp that held Nimer’s cloak and marked him as a servant of the king. Unassuming in size, but a contrast against the black silk and velvet of his doublet, the bee device was the personal emblem of the king. It declared him as a bad focus for my ire for only clerks of the council and King’s Men wore the bee emblem.
From the way his hand lounged on the hilt of his longsword, I could tell which Nimer was. Clerks tended to do little that endangered their eyes, while King’s Men were not expected to grow old, let alone emerge from their service unscathed.
‘Very well,’ was the best reply I could muster.
‘Now then, Captain, what is your best guess?’ Nimer asked in a clear, aristocratic tone. He was perhaps not quite as young as I had first thought, the small beard and clipped moustache belonging to a younger generation, but still I felt old by the way he looked at me.
‘With the last one, a vampire. With the two sets of symbols, a sacrifice for summoning daemons. With the mess and noise he made here, no fucking idea. I don’t think the symbols are even the same, ’cept for that cross in the centre.’
Nimer gave a strange little smile and tapped his cheek with one finger in exaggerated thought. After a few seconds he looked up and stepped through the wrecked doorway, into the despoiled kitchen. Curiosity was all I saw on his face at a scene army veterans found sickening. I tried not to wonder what were these ‘special qualities’ Antern had spoken of.
‘Interestingly enough I’m informed the symbols are most commonly used in the banishing of daemons, not summoning as you had quite logically surmised. As for the cross, it looks to be an elven core rune.’
‘Meaning?’
He looked up at me with the look a spider might give to a fly that had spoken out of turn.
‘Runic systems are not my forte, but leave the matter with me. If it proves to be important I shall rush to inform you. Now, don’t let us keep you from your duties.’
And that was my first meeting with the man called Nimer. A man with special qualities. A man who had answers to the strangest questions, and asked even stranger ones. A man whose mind seemed to be able to shrug off all concerns and mould itself to any bent or problem he required at the time.
I have no doubt that in another life Nimer could have been an actor without peer, but his stage was a greater one. I saw him most days after that, we even ate together once or twice. I found myself truly liking the man – for all that not once did I come close to understanding his brilliantly reflective mind. Some days he deferred to me and acted as my young assistant would, on others he adopted a regal authority that I obeyed without thought. The only consistent feature of the man was the remarkable colour of his one good eye, a pale blue glow that both bewitched and chilled.
One conversation we had during that time remains perfectly clear in my mind. Nimer had arrived at the watch-house one afternoon about a week after our first meeting. He claimed to have been just passing and called in to collect a copy of a statement. Having secured the papers he required, Nimer looked me straight in the eye and asked a most curious question.
‘When I was younger I knew a man who claimed to be a native of no single place. Having lived in this city from an early age, he nevertheless claimed lineage from four separate states, and called each one home. When I asked him why, do you know what he said?’
I could think of no suitable answer and merely stared in puzzlement. Nimer’s face blossomed to life for a moment and he gave me an affectionate pat on the shoulder before turning to leave. As he approached the door, his cool mocking voice called out.
‘He said, that way, no matter how successful he was in life, he would always have a cause to fight for.’
That was not the only time he bemused me, nor the only time I suspected I did not understand the full implication of his words, but it stayed in my memory as my lasting impression. That was Nimer’s way; to bewilder and puzzle those about him, and keep any answers he might have close, but always it was clear that he would have not bothered to perplex someone he lacked respect for. In themselves, I saw his games of condescension as a mark of respect and felt glad he was not my enemy.
The fact that he was a well travelled, highly educated Narkang native – possessing a face I didn’t recognise despite glimpses of the familiar – deepened my suspicions that he was an assassin of the king’s, perhaps separate even from his elite agents, the Brotherhood. A killer of breeding who possessed a ruthlessness none of the vermin on my streets could hope to match. It was an aspect I could never quite reconcile with the countenance he shrouded himself in, but I think I could have been a friend to the man I got to know over that time.
Over the next few weeks, two more attacks occurred; connected to the others by a variety of strange symbols, scripts and the rune. Nimer spoke sparingly of them, his one eye glittering to tell me he withheld as much as he was revealed. Instead he would expound upon irrelevant points of scholarly antiquity. He was well aware such tomes of research were not available to me and took some obscure amusement in the fact.
I say obscure because he held no notions of class that I ever heard, only those of intellect. While I could not match him there either, Nimer still gave a measure of respect for what I did possess. I did my best to ignore those clues that were beyond my scope and hoped ultimately they would prove unimportant. My belief was that if I caught this fiend, evidence would probably be either in abundance, or unnecessary.
With ten bodies on our consciences we had come no closer to stopping the horror, and the pressure was mounting on all sides. Panic reigned on our streets and riots brewed, with vigilantes already responsible for the deaths of four more men. There was also the more subtle anger over our failures, in the eyes of my friends and family as well as city officials, although of course Nimer exhibited no sign of the weight I felt bearing down. To add to our problems the last two victims were a scion of some eastern suzerainty and the son of a marshal. Obviously they had been seeking the glory of catching whatever beast we hunted, but they had instead been deprived of their heads.
Powerful families now bayed for blood with the commoners, only louder and with pointed words. Count Antern had taken it upon himself to berate me daily for our lack of progress in the name of the king, but in Nimer’s company he was far more restrained – a disquieting observation considering Antern’s position in the government.
The royal assassin, as I now termed him privately, had advanced a theory that for the latest two attacks, the third being the slaying of two beggars in the next district, the symbols and invocations were growing more extreme. His reasons for this were either continued failure, or a ritual to culminate later. Neither theory gave us much cheer but we had very little else.
Nimer’s time with a prominent mage had proved as equally fruitful as my own surveillance and draconian hours for my officers. The rituals were impossible to decipher. ‘A mess of complexity’ was how the mage had described them. The consensus among his select colleagues was that an ancient and forbidden text was involved, one beyond their experience.
As for my efforts: glory hunters, the morbidly curious and a variety of religious fanatics had
actually swelled the numbers walking the streets of my district. How to watch for suspicious behaviour in that collection? They suspected each other and fought, incited mobs and, on two occasions, managed to fall from rooftop vantages. Blood ran freely across the city and the frenzy of fear continued to build – while through it all, Nimer sauntered with a cold, distant interest and my officers feared to tread.
The first snows of the season arrived after another ineffective week, to find me again on the watch-house balcony, staring out over the city in late afternoon and praying for a clue. In truth I knew I was praying for another death. That tells a sad tale of desperation, but desperate we certainly were.
As I watched the soft flakes drifting slowly past my face, the morbid depths of my soul tried to see how many of the murder sites were visible from where I stood. From my high vantage I easily picked out the sharp peak of the whorehouse, and the chimney marking where that poor tailor’s family had been butchered. The other two were hidden from my sight; resting on a lower plane and hidden by buildings since they had occurred in alleys that faced away from my chilly sight.
It was an almost casual observance that reminded me both the first two scenes bore windows that looked in that same opposite direction. A cold prickle of realisation and dread accompanied the thought. For a moment I felt light-headed, as though the breeze had swept up my soul and lifted it into the air before I grasped the rail and steadied myself. Still my knees trembled as I pictured what type of man would have an opposite view to myself.
In the distance I could see only one building of sufficient elevation; one point to see each and every mark that featured on my map downstairs. I knew there could be no coincidence – whatever skill or instinct had earned me my position over men of family connections, it strained at the bit now. I was in a saddle within twenty seconds, bellowing incoherent orders to a bewildered sergeant and galloping off so fast they had neither a clue where I was headed, nor the time to pursue.
I reached the city offices in record time, knowing I would feel the full fury from the Watch’s master of horse, but determined to retain the frame of mind that had produced my revelation. The building then housed all of the administration needed to run the city and support the Public Assembly, which presided from the famous domed chamber at the heart of this place.
Of all the city’s high officials, only the Commander of the Watch was not based there and the bustle and swarm around the wide stone stairway was typically chaotic. A statue of our king wearing armour and a flamboyant hat, atop a rearing warhorse, stood at the centre of the courtyard, the few yards surrounding that bronze sculpture the only part of this gravel arena that was deserted. Coaches stood on hand for the important people, an odd assortment of citizens scuttled around in all directions and I added to the problem by walking up to the huge stone stairway with my head nearly turned around on my shoulders.
Uncaring of who I collided with I barged my way up, head craned to look out at my city over the courtyard wall and unheeding of cries and curses flying my way. To my intense irritation I found my view blocked by the pocked face of a soldier of the Kingsguard at the summit of these steps, who earned a tap around the cheek for his impertinence.
In the ensuing struggle with a pair of guards who had no better way to fill their day’s duty, it was none other than Nimer who pulled them off me, his bee device sufficient to halt their interest in damaging me further.
‘I hope you hold greater respect among your own men,’ he declared with a thin laugh. ‘And what brings you here? Have you any news?’
I looked deep into that inscrutable gaze for a moment while I regained my breath and was struck by a most disagreeable, but palpable, sense of suspicion.
‘Ah, no. It was another matter. I’ve been neglecting my other duties and found a task I’d forgotten, so I wasn’t in the mood for bored guards.’
Nimer, as I have already mentioned, was master of his own demeanour, but I hope it is not mere vanity when I say he accepted my words with no further question.
‘Can I offer you a drink before you go about business?’ he asked, guiding me inside to the high corridor that ran down the side of this whole building.
To my left was the city, visible through a row of eight immense windows. The lead lining of the panes was inlaid with gold leaf so that, as one looked out, the view was framed in rich border. To the right was a blank wall of the great chamber covered with enormous tapestries. I felt unaccountably revolted by the opulence of the place all of a sudden and turned to the view instead. Hands on the sill, I looked out to where I could just make out the tower of my guardhouse in the distance.
‘This is where you work?’
‘On occasion. I have an office down this hall,’ Nimer said, joining me at the window.
‘Do you still notice the view these days?’
I gestured towards the scene framed in gold. My hand was trembling at that point so I ended up pointing more with a fist than a finger as I strove to control my emotions. Without making it obvious I raised myself up a little on my toes, to better appreciate the view of a man one or two inches taller than I.
Nimer frowned. ‘What a curious question.’
‘But do you?’
‘I suppose not,’ he said with a shrug, ‘when one is accustomed to the sight there is little need to take in the panorama daily. Are you sure you’re all right? Your colour’s decidedly odd all of a sudden.’
‘Oh yes, just tired. I can see the watch-house from here – all I can think about is crawling under my desk to sleep for the rest of the shift. How about you? Now that you’re looking, what draws your eye?’
The cold blue of his eye seemed to glitter in the light. It reminded me of when he had mimicked my voice and manner for the benefit of my men, but now bereft of humour. Another wave of nausea gripped me, but I was too far gone to stop now and forced myself to look him straight in the eye.
‘Well, let me see,’ he said, peering past me through the increasing gloom of dusk. ‘Ah yes, the tavern on the far side of the Queen’s Square. If I could choose I’d soon find myself there with a jug of wine and a girl. Unfortunately, my working day appears to only be beginning. We’re due for another unfortunate occurrence, likely you’ll be sending for me later unless some humble watchman gets lucky.’
I took one further look at the city and affected a weary nod to the prospect before turning back to face the King’s Man. That drink sounded decidedly less attractive in his company, no matter that I could almost taste the brandy he usually carried in a hip flask. I muttered some excuse about waiting outside for the Commander of the Watch and he made no question of it, also eager to be elsewhere.
My legs carried me back to the guardhouse in a dazed meandering, the horse I had ridden there walking patiently by my side. A sickening whirl of emotion and confusion filled my head, with one image burned into my memory for ever.
Five locations, all sitting on a golden line that this admirable and terrifying man passed each and every day. Four places of horror, and one tavern as yet unscarred by events.
The evening passed slowly for my impatient spirit. The only man I confided my thoughts to was my trusted sergeant. He agreed that Nimer seemed to have been laying down a challenge – to pit me against his aristocratic talents. An array of faces he’d come to know these past few weeks would merely drive him away. I was also unwilling to risk my men by setting them against a killer of such breeding.
My sergeant was an old soldier who knew how to stay alive, while the rest were good watchmen who had never dealt with sober, trained swordsmen. Their job was to pacify and arrest rather than kill, and Nimer would give no second chances. As for myself I confess I failed to think; through arrogance or rage I cannot say but as many would have called it idiocy as gallantry.
We made our way to a private house overlooking the square, the only reputable corner of my district. We arrived well into the ghost hour when the lamplighters had already passed. Three of the four crimes had taken place deep i
n the night and it was unlikely he would have rushed now. I felt certain such a man would spring surprises only once his game had started.
As we waited I found plenty of time to think about these killings and the motives behind them – trying to piece together the meagre scraps Nimer had teased me with as he supposedly reported the conclusions of others. My head was pounding by the time our generous host – a man whose friendship I had earned two years previously by bringing a nobleman to justice – arrived with a cupped candle and his cook bearing sustenance.
His anxious face, tight with anger, reminded me of my purpose and I forced myself to focus on the task at hand rather than vague questions. The house afforded us an excellent view of proceedings and we spent a long while scrutinising faces, clothes and gaits for any sign of our foe. There were none for several hours, but the Queen’s Square was well lit and the choices relatively few given the recent events.
As the tavern was emptying of all but a few regular drinkers and my eyes were wilting, a furtive figure in a long hooded cloak crossed the cobbled square. His path took him past the tavern and to the adjoining building – my instincts blazed at the very sight of him. The figure bore little resemblance to Nimer at this distance, but I knew to expect a disguise and had already assumed the tavern would only have been a starting clue. Clutching at my comrade’s arm in wordless excitement I indicated the doorway and rose to leave. We both carried short-swords suitable for fighting in corridors or the cramped, overhung alleys of this city, while I hoped pistol-bows would even the balance between us. Though neither of us were strangers to weapons, I feared meeting any King’s Man in a fair fight.
I was a man of the Watch, trained to make my eyes my greatest tools so it had not gone unnoticed that for all his silks and velvet gloves, Nimer wore a proper soldier’s blade at his hip rather than some duelling accessory. Though obviously a beautiful weapon and finished with all finery, it was no fop’s toy but a heavy length of steel as cold as his stare. I was resolved to use my small crossbow to wound or arrest him. Once he was winged I might have time to think about what came next, or it might give me a fighting chance at least.