Retribution (Drakenfeld 2)

by Newton, Mark Charan

  Leana was not at all interested in my ideas at this point.

  ‘At least the view is good,’ I offered facetiously, indicating all the lanterns of the city that could be seen in the middle and far distance. It was probably a good thing it was dark out here, as I could not observe the expression on her face as she muttered something about me in her native Atrewen tongue. She had never taught me the fouler words.

  Our bone-hoarder friend scampered up ahead with a newfound enthusiasm. He was more talkative now we were out and about, away from the confines of his home. Even so, his conversation seemed to be largely between himself and some other, more distant region of his mind – it would have been a lie to say we were part of that discussion.

  Eventually we arrived at a point near to the water’s edge.

  ‘Is my patch,’ the man declared proudly.

  The river glistened in the moonlight; it curved through the nooks and crannies of the city. There were little wooden shacks at the edge that blended in with the boats that had been crammed in along the banks. Further out, the river opened up considerably, carving up the rolling landscape. As for the man’s ‘patch’, it was difficult to discern what exactly marked the boundary of this particular area – this was the same kind of refuse to be found elsewhere in the heap.

  ‘Is still here,’ the man said, before entering a coughing fit.

  Pressing my handkerchief to my mouth a little firmer, I looked on as he scurried to a point nearest one of the wooden boards. There he crouched down, pulling some of the surface detritus away. The way he moved around this heap, with a slick agility, revealed his intimate knowledge of it.

  A gust of wind groaned as it moved past us. Sharp flecks of rain came and went once again.

  Presently he waved us over and pointed out what looked like a torso emerging from the refuse. Lowering myself to get a better look, I noted that it was missing both its arms and its head.

  ‘What happened to the other arm?’ Leana asked. ‘Only one arm in two pieces has been found.’

  ‘It might be here, somewhere.’ I gestured to the detritus surrounding the torso.

  What little clothing remained was sodden, smeared with grime. In this light and without a head it was difficult to tell who it might have been. The body’s boots had been removed, too, though that could have been done by anyone. Anything that could be learned from this corpse was going to be highly dubious due to the nature of the scavenging culture here.

  ‘If you think I am carrying this thing back, you can think again,’ Leana said. ‘Give your friend here another coin to do the hard work.’

  ‘That might not be a bad idea,’ I replied.

  I didn’t want to ruin the body as so much had been lost already through natural decay. So we wrapped the body up carefully, in several layers of hessian, which we’d bought from a woman who made her living scavenging the site. We never did find the other arm.

  Our scavenger friend didn’t seem to mind helping to drag back the remains of the bishop. In fact, the chore appeared to relax him somewhat, and he began to sing a surprisingly tuneful melody.

  When I asked him how he had found out about the corpse in the first place, he replied only: ‘People say his body here.’

  ‘Which people?’

  ‘Everyone. Tavern talk. They say someone left the body here, yes, so I follow, I follow. Always follow the talk. Some other find it first, but I fight, fight good. Got myself good offering for the shrine, yes. The best kind. A bishop himself!’

  ‘There were people who got to the body before you?’

  ‘Yes, but who wants a body? Some too scared to touch it, but I know I make a fine job of my shrine.’

  ‘Was his head attached to the body when you found it?’

  ‘No. Already separated. Clean cut. Relieved ’bout it. Heads very hard to remove. Very hard. Had to search nearby – nearly made its way into the river!’

  The man, still half-clothed, exhibited surprising strength. He held the torso in front of him, like an offering, as we headed towards the gates to the Sorghatan Prefecture.

  He laid down the sack and knelt next to it for a moment, an imploring expression upon his face. I paid him more than was strictly required, because he had been incredibly useful, and it was obvious he had tried to overcome his lack of conversational skills in order to help. Though they were not much to me, he was awed at the coins I placed in his palm. He continued stroking them and looking back and forth at the sack as he rose to his feet.

  Soon he scurried away into the darkness.

  Leana liaised with the guards through a hatch in the gate and, within a moment, the immense doors opened. Lantern light shone our way. The guards stepped forward and said, with great uncertainty, ‘You were the two who left earlier, right?’

  ‘Excellent observation,’ I said, kneeling down and beckoning them closer. ‘Now, can either of you help me out? Do you know who this fellow is?’

  I opened the bag and let them see the severed head. One of the guards immediately turned to the wall and vomited against it. The other looked across at me and gave me the answer I was looking for.

  ‘That’s the bishop, aye,’ he groaned. ‘The missing one.’

  ‘Well, there you go,’ I said to Leana. ‘A bit of perseverance does wonders.’

  I turned to the guards, one of whom was still leaning against the wall. He realized suddenly what he’d done and a look of deep shame came over his face.

  ‘Now,’ I said, ‘which of you brave fellows would like to give me a hand with this corpse?’

  Morning in the City

  We decided to store the fragments of the bishop in a couple of large sacks deep in Jejal’s cellar, where the temperature was cold, and they were safely away from prying eyes. Curiously, Jejal did not seem to mind at all that we wanted to store human remains in his establishment. In fact he declared, with great insouciance, ‘Of course I will oblige. Though you must know, I will be forced to add a small fee to the cost of the room. Just because they are dead does not mean I will not accept payment for their use of my facilities! It is a mistake to draw such matters to a close when life has departed. Who is this fellow anyway? Should I fear some sort of reprisal attacks in my humble dwelling?’

  ‘For now,’ I said, ‘it’s probably safer you don’t know anything.’

  ‘You sound like one of my former wives.’

  ‘I mean we should tell the authorities first.’

  ‘Agreed, agreed. Always the secrecy with the Sun Chamber! Alas, at least a few secrets make life interesting, do they not?’

  At Jejal’s insistence both Leana and myself washed thoroughly before we went to bed – it was only then that I realized just how much we must have reeked after our time in the refuse area.

  I rested well that night – enjoying a deep and peaceful sleep that I had not known for a good while. When travelling on the road, working on a case, I always felt on edge, agitated to make progress lest I found my end thanks to some rogue agent or a criminal in the dark wilderness, leaving the case unresolved. Sleep didn’t come easily when one spent most of the time with one eye peering into the shadows, wondering when an attack might come.

  Even with Leana, a warrior of considerable talent guarding me, it was not easy to relax. I had not experienced soldiering since the token training we received in the Sun Chamber, almost a decade ago, and so I willingly accepted that I was someone who relied upon basic securities: safe lodgings, armed protection.

  To be completely honest with myself, part of me suspected that my curse of seizures would somehow leave me more vulnerable, especially in the countryside. Sometimes I could shake uncontrollably in the night and know nothing of it – who knew what attention that might attract out in the wilds?

  In the city there were any number of strange noises and events to distract from those of my own creation. Fortunately Leana said I had no episodes in the night. She reminded me that I needed to find an apothecary or herbalist who could recreate the mix I had bought in Tryu
m, in order to stabilize my seizures.

  After a hearty breakfast of flatbreads and local fish, which we ate on a small bench beside a street vendor in the sparsely populated marketplace, we checked with Jejal about somewhere safe to stable our horses.

  They had been kept overnight in Jejal’s stables, but would need to be taken somewhere else, to better conditions. What Jejal owned wasn’t much, frankly, and was generally for those who were just passing through. Even the boastful Jejal admitted that it could get crowded and uncomfortable for the animals.

  He told us of better quality stables deeper in the Sorghatan Prefecture, so we led our horses along the short journey there, with the body of the bishop in a sack slumped over the back of my mare, Kinder, and the head hanging in a bag over the neck of Manthwe, Leana’s own horse.

  Though I was glad of my black cloak, whatever gusty chill might have pervaded the streets at night had long since gone. The day promised something more sultry, and there was a fug of woodsmoke lingering as the city awoke. The comforting, symmetrical lanes of the prefecture were filling up with those heading towards the markets. Scrawny livestock were being driven past new stone buildings. Carts carrying bright cloth clattered along the roads. There were a lot of highly skilled craftsmen here: woodworkers through to silversmiths, and many of them were making equine equipment of the highest quality. But it was the animal-based industry that impressed me most: several small tanneries could be found alongside butchers and shops selling leather goods. The level of ingenuity on display in such a confined space was like nothing I had seen throughout Vispasia. And the stench of urine being used in the process was equally as staggering . . .

  I was beginning to recognize just how important animals were to the Kotonese, not just in what was sold. Subtle symbols were rendered on many of the signs around. Then there was the raised stag on the nation’s flag, the statues of horses and the creatures in stone reliefs on major buildings.

  This idea was strengthened further when we arrived at the sumptuously decked-out stables, which were good enough for humans to inhabit let alone animals. A large pale stone quadrangle was framed with wooden chambers for horses, all of which looked out onto a wide cobbled courtyard. The site was huge, full of nooks and crannies, workshops and filled with the noise of industry. Everything here was clean and in good order; there was plenty of food and water for the animals, and a good number of workers to hand.

  ‘Everything about the place looks good,’ Leana said. ‘Manthwe and Kinder will be happy while we remain.’

  ‘Not too comfortable for them?’ I asked wryly, but there was no smile in response.

  ‘Comfort is good for animals,’ she replied. ‘But not for you. An animal will remain strong with a bed of straw. You go soft.’

  I caught the gaze of a well-built farrier, who had cropped blond hair and bright-green eyes. After brief introductions he offered to take care of our mares for the duration of our time in the city. I started the conversation in Kotonese, but he continued it in gruff Detratan.

  His name was Sojun and he came across as a kind-hearted man, not one for long sentences and small talk, but judging by how he was with the animals, our horses would be well looked after and they would not mind the lack of conversation.

  There was an air of patience about him; he was someone who took pleasure from his job. Very quickly it became apparent that he cared more about the animals than humans; he was more natural with them than us. More skilled. If the animal themes I noticed earlier were anything to go by, it was possible that many people in Kuvash were the same.

  We discussed rates as he rubbed the nose of another handsome mare. His suggestion was more than reasonable, and I told him so.

  ‘Outside of the military stations,’ he grunted, ‘you can find several smaller stables, scattered about the city. We must remain competitive with them. It is not ideal, because they cut corners, but we have deals with the tanneries.’

  ‘For the horses?’ I tried my best not to look startled.

  ‘No,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘For their piss.’

  With that he took the reins of Manthwe, since we would still be using Kinder to carry the bishop’s body up to the royal palace before dropping her off later. I began to lead her away when another three horses cantered by, with only the one rider on the foremost animal.

  Dressed in military uniform was a young woman with a broad face and black hair that stretched down to her waist. I smiled to myself as she exchanged a lingering glance with Sojun, with startling blue eyes, and wondered at the relationship – if any – between them.

  It reminded me of my brief moments with Titiana, in Tryum, and suddenly I couldn’t summon the emotions to continue happily with my expression.

  I wondered why army personnel would be here in a civilian stables – it was a sign of growing military activity elsewhere, but perhaps I was being overly suspicious. I asked Sojun.

  ‘You like your questions,’ he replied.

  ‘Merely curious,’ I added. ‘I’m trying to build up a picture of this place. I’m a stranger in a strange city.’

  Sojun’s gaze followed the girl as she rode across the cobbles to the other side of the courtyard. ‘She trains the queen’s horses, and helps others from time to time.’

  ‘What do your soldiers do here usually? What trouble do you get?’

  ‘Some tribes have never accepted Koton and they carry out occasional raids around towns, villages and trade routes. Reckon the old clans have a hand in that. Sometimes we get ships landing. Bands of warriors come from abroad to take what they can. Women, children, young men to be sold or used as slaves. That’s not as often as I remember. Our queen makes sure we’re protected. It’s damn good pay being in the military. She makes sure of that. And with soldiers being much better off than a tradesman, they’ll make sure she’s well looked after in return. Less likely to be open to corruption that way.’

  ‘That would explain two decades of stability.’

  He grunted something close to a laugh. ‘That’s what outsiders will think. Not everyone likes it. Couple of the clans think it’s giving the masses too much power by training them as soldiers and giving them military coin. Reckon it’s dangerous in the long run.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  ‘Job’s a job.’

  ‘Either way, all that military coin flowing through the city can’t be bad for tradesmen like yourself,’ I commented.

  But, with a shrug, Sojun made it clear that he was done talking, so I figured it was a good idea to move on.

  Leana and I exited the stables and made our way back towards the royal palace.

  In the distance stood the snowless mountains, which I hadn’t been able to see in yesterday’s murkier weather. The terrain of the city was flat, and the buildings rarely rising more than three storeys high, so it was impressive to see how far that mountain range stretched.

  Little square flags of various different colours had been strung up between buildings, some of them containing writing that appeared religious. Two priests had set up on opposite sides of the street, and I wondered if that had any symbolism in relation to the two gods or if they were simply competing with each other on who could preach the loudest. Their words seemed to spar with each other, causing many passers-by to pause as if unsure which way to turn their attention.

  Finally we arrived outside the front of the palace. Here it was styled like a white-walled citadel, though all the decorative flourishes indicated that this place saw little in the way of combat. It was without doubt the largest building in the city, with narrow glass windows spaced at regular intervals and reaching five storeys in height – though it looked as if there were more layers to be found further in. Looking up, there were four turrets on this face, spaced about thirty paces apart; passing back and forth in between them was the glistening helmet of a soldier. All in all, given the number of royal palaces I’d seen – from King Licintius’ residence in Tryum to the ziggurat of Prince Bassim in Venyn Cit
y, not to mention the palace of the Queen of Dalta – I was not much impressed. Here was a fairly basic structure that had been built long before the country had a taste for fine designs.

  I spotted a large, arched black gate manned by four soldiers armed with bows, and that was where we headed. I informed the archers, who on closer inspection wore ornate green and white uniforms with brightly polished helmets, exactly what was in the sack.

  After their own private, urgent conversation, we were led through the gate and into the royal compound, whereupon I lifted down the body and we were told to wait. Here, the entrance appeared to be an even less grand affair, with exposed red brickwork showing and a garden full of herbs.

  ‘The staff entrance,’ Leana muttered.

  We watched a man come out of a small door to empty dirty water down the drains.

  Eventually two soldiers returned and declared, ‘Sulma Tan will see you now.’

  Two other men in the red and blue of the City Watch helped us carry the body inside.

  Knives and brutal barbed implements hung on racks along the wall, and I wondered where we had been brought. This brick chamber, Sulma Tan informed us after noting my suspicious looks, was used for training students of medicine. White paper lanterns glowed under the large arched ceiling. Sulma Tan moved one of the lanterns over beside a ledger before I had the chance to glimpse what was on it. As she did so, I told her about my discussion with Priest Damsak and of the bishop leaving the city.

  ‘Was that true?’ I asked. ‘Or do you need to confirm it with the Astran officials?’

  ‘It was true,’ she said. ‘The queen had already asked me to look into the process of adding a new bishop to that district. She is a great admirer of those gods, given they are not representative of the barbaric cults of our past. She is keen to see their forward-looking ways are continued in the city.’

  ‘And do you believe in such progressive ways?’