‘So what are our next steps?’
‘We’ve only seen the pleasant side of the city so far,’ I said. ‘Suppose the pieces of the arm of the bishop really were thrown over the wall. We might be able to find the rest of his remains. Besides, I’d quite like to see the real people – I bet some of them might give us another perspective.’
We walked down-city from the temple towards the wall that separated the two prefectures, and headed to the huge gate. The guards at the station point were perplexed that we would want to leave at this hour; but I stressed that I was on official business.
‘You’ll not find much out there but madmen who worship savage gods,’ one said, tipping up the brim of his helmet. ‘All the sanity is this side.’
‘Even a madman thinks he sees the truth,’ I replied.
Without response they shuffled over to the gates and began to haul back the double doors. ‘We’ve had more soldiers return, and there are more coming back later, so the place will be busier – just to warn you. At least you’ll be more secure though.’
‘Where are they returning from?’ I asked, hoping to get a glimpse into the military procedures. All I knew was that these people had a strong military tradition, especially their cavalry, and that their warriors were proud and noble people – even if there were not many excuses to fight these days.
‘They’re coming back from all over,’ one replied. ‘By all accounts the border with Detrata is going to get livelier.’
‘Why do you think that is?’ I asked, somewhat surprised. ‘No one’s at war.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Not yet. But we hear all sorts of strange talk about troop movements on the border.’
‘Nothing will happen,’ I declared. ‘We’re a continent in union. We have been for two centuries.’
‘Aye. Tell that to the soldiers at the border.’
We were ushered through the small gap they made in the gate, and the gate shut behind us. For a moment we stood outside the door, and I felt a little numb at what had been said.
‘You do not think that it is serious?’ Leana asked.
‘It is difficult to say anything on the subject knowing so little about it. I’d wager that Sulma Tan can let us know what is happening from a Kotonese perspective, but what on earth is happening in Detrata? Has the Senate gone mad to start military operations of this kind? Then again, it could just be a skirmish over a trade route – a mere tension between nations that will be settled diplomatically, as happens so often. I will ask for more information from the Sun Chamber when I write to them in the morning. But for now, we have our case to resolve.’
Moonlight caught the angles of the buildings in a particularly sinister manner, which might have explained why few people were around at this hour. Unusual, animalistic utterances were coming from beyond the edges of the streets; unfamiliar dialects and strange-sounding words highlighted the sense of alienation.
A soothsayer collared us in the streets, her rancid breath carrying portentous omens – that we would find nought but death in the city. ‘There’ll be bodies and bodies,’ she muttered. ‘Bodies and bodies everywhere.’
‘Thank you, lady,’ I said, excusing myself, but to no avail.
Leana was a little more forceful with her request to be left alone and at the sight of the blade, the soothsayer bowed and retreated into the darkness.
‘That people believe such nonsense only encourages soothsayers like that,’ I remarked.
‘People will believe anything,’ Leana muttered.
This was not the time for me to bring up Leana’s own strange beliefs concerning living among spirits, so I maintained a diplomatic silence.
A fine mist had worked its way up from the river, leaving only our immediate surroundings fully visible. There was no sign of any soldiers as yet. The place was eerily quiet.
‘So what is your plan?’ Leana asked. ‘Do we walk around here until we get stabbed?’
Looking around, it wasn’t likely that anyone would try to hassle the two of us other than the soothsayer.
‘We should find a tavern,’ I concluded. ‘The nearest one.’
‘You want a drink?’
‘Not exactly.’
We continued walking through the dingy, twisting lanes until we spotted a whitewashed building with timber frames and a brazier burning outside. The smell of spilt wine and urine was strong.
‘This seems to be appropriate enough. And to answer your original point – no, we’ve not come to drink. This place is within a quick walk of the bishop’s temple. Someone in here might well have attended one of his daily sessions, if they had been permitted into the other prefecture. They might have a useful word or two to say about the priest. We’re only ever going to get the clean-living version from officials. It is what inappropriate acts the bishop has committed – if any – that I’m interested in.’
Inside, the tavern was dreary – barely any brighter than the night. A few candles burned on the tables and bar, sitting in holders that had swelled up with years of dripping wax, but their light was absorbed by the darkness. A dozen customers were scattered about the place, tucked into alcoves or sitting alone on benches, staring into their tankards. Sprigs of herbs had been nailed to the walls for scent. Four skinny cats were asleep near to the stove for warmth, but far enough away from any customers who might disturb their peace.
I asked for wine from the young man behind the bar, a lad as slender as the cats and with a face to match. His head was a fraction too large for his frame, his face was broad, his eyes green and almost lifeless. Surprised that anyone else had come in tonight, he served us wine with a jug of water, and placed down two wooden cups. His gaze caught my brooch and when he made eye contact with me again I asked in Kotonese: ‘Did the Bishop Tahn Valin ever come in here?’
A smile grew on his face, just a slight one. ‘Hardly. People of his sort don’t tend to come down these parts.’
‘Do people like you go up to those parts?’
‘Some do, some don’t. I’m too busy. As for religion, my mother has a shrine out the back and we hope for the best. Invite the gods in when we have dinners, that sort of thing. That’ll do for me. Others take their business with the gods more seriously.’
‘Could you point me in the direction of someone who has attended any of his services?’
‘Sure.’ He nodded to a woman sat at a table behind me. She looked a little older than me, and was dressed more smartly than the others in the tavern. ‘Lady there, she goes up quite a bit. One of those who thinks getting involved with people like that will see her right in the next world. Or this one, if she can get her way.’
‘Thanks for your help,’ I replied.
Leana and I walked into the small alcove where the woman was drinking alone. ‘May we join you?’ I asked.
She was wearing a black lace shawl and black dress, with chestnut hair now slightly greying and must have been in her early forties. Her eyes were a pale shade of green. She had a nervous face so I tried to put her at ease.
I explained why we were there, and our business with the bishop, but without letting on that he had been murdered. ‘So you see,’ I added, ‘we merely wanted to know if you knew the bishop so we can find out what’s happened. Many people are deeply worried about him.’
After a moment’s silence, she spoke in calm, clear words. ‘He’s dead. It’s nothing to do with me.’
‘Ah, dead,’ I replied.
She glanced repeatedly between Leana and me, as if uncertain of knowing how to act or what to say. She clearly wanted to be anywhere but talking to me, but I let the silence linger hoping she would fill it with detail.
She did not.
‘Did you attend his temple?’ I asked eventually. ‘The gentleman behind the bar believes you did.’
‘What’s it to you?’ She glanced over my shoulder briefly, at the bar, then back down to the table.
‘If he’s dead,’ I said, ‘it might help me find the killer – if you could share s
ome of your knowledge.’
She continued to be evasive until I produced a silver coin. I hadn’t changed any coin to the local currency, but Detratan silver was never to be sniffed at. She snatched it from my outstretched hand.
‘I went to his temple, that’s right. Good man. Honest. Too few like him around.’ She was obviously proud of the bishop. ‘Helped people like me, too. Gave food when it was needed. Never asked for anything back.’
‘Did he ever create trouble?’
‘Never.’ She almost laughed at the notion, but seemed too dour to comment fully. ‘Not even with non-believers.’
‘And you’re convinced he’s dead?’ I asked.
‘I am.’
‘On what grounds do you believe this?’
Her sudden, feral stare almost startled me. ‘Because I know who’s keeping his head.’
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.<
br />
‘See,’ I said to Leana. ‘He has more use yet.’
‘Of all the miserable places . . .’
‘Of all the miserable places you have taken me,’ Leana mumbled, ‘this has to be the worst.’
‘Which is indeed saying something,’ I replied cheerfully.
In the dead of night, after the worst of the rain, we found ourselves trudging up a festering heap of Polla-knows-what that had been left behind by Kotonese society. With one hand I held a sack that contained a severed head, and with my other I pressed a handkerchief to my nose and mouth to cope with the odour. This was a gentle slope, though the terrain was soft and therefore hard going; occasionally things would crack and splinter, and I could only speculate as to what had been crushed under my feet.
The heap was about the area of the forum in Tryum. Built – if that was the right word – on the edge of the river, it was surrounded by high, thick wooden fences on the other three sides to stop it spreading.
All I could learn from our guide, the half-clothed man, was that this place had grown from an unofficial heap to something later accepted by the authorities – and then used for dumping by those living in the Sorghatan Prefecture. The poorer, Kuvash Prefecture, he claimed, was too thrifty to waste so much. Now the site possessed a culture of its own: there were numerous figures loitering around the perimeter of the site, but even more up on the heap, scouring the waste for anything they could use and storing their finds in sacks similar to the one I carried. They wore little in the way of clothing and had allowed the rain to wash them, leaving grimy streaks down their bodies. Like ghouls from another realm they looked up silently as we passed them.
My theory for such a place as this was simple. A civilization that once moved on regularly had no need to deal with its waste; it could simply leave its detritus and move on. A settled nation or growing empire, however, had long evolved projects to cope with the amount of rubbish that its population produced. But the once-nomadic people of Koton had only settled relatively recently. Despite having had their own territory for two hundred years, they had not yet found a productive way to deal with it all.
Retribution (Drakenfeld 2) Page 5