Retribution (Drakenfeld 2)

by Newton, Mark Charan

  ‘Have I offended you in any way?’ I asked her.

  ‘No,’ she called back, striding past a vendor who sold various jars of oils.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ok.’

  Leana merely shrugged, but it was enough of a gesture to know that I wasn’t imagining her attitude towards us.

  ‘Only I was wondering,’ I continued more firmly, ‘why your conversational skills have taken a turn for the worse. My commissioner suggested you would be a good point of contact.’

  It was never easy to tell whether or not such a comment would go down badly, yet this time it was enough to shake Sulma Tan from whatever mood she was in.

  She stopped in the middle of the street, people bustling by around her, and turned to face me. It was obvious from her expression that I’d hit a nerve. ‘I apologize,’ she said. ‘It was rude of me to behave in such a way. You’ve done nothing to vex me – I am unused to outsiders talking about the wider continent.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ I ventured. ‘You’ve much work on your hands, and you do not really want to deal with a dead body?’

  ‘Perhaps that is so.’ She gave me an intense, concerned look.

  ‘Then let us do all the hard work,’ I replied. ‘I represent the Sun Chamber. We really don’t need much help – just a map, somewhere to base our investigation. And suggestions on where to find decent food.’

  There was a smile – or at least a relaxation of her frown. ‘I can arrange those things for you, but can I ask why you are so keen to find the killer?’

  ‘It’s my job to do that,’ I replied. ‘I was sent here to investigate the matter, and that is precisely what I’m doing.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘For some reason you seem suspicious of my answer.’

  ‘Of course. You are a man. A man like every other, who blunders into a situation and thinks that I am incompetent. I have dealt with men many times before you came, and probably will many times after. So far they have all proven to be the same. Those who have worked with me in the past grab me in some dark corner and lift up my dress.’ She jabbed a finger towards Leana. ‘She will know what I mean, am I correct?’

  ‘I do know,’ Leana replied. ‘Though I have my own effective methods for dealing with such cretins.’

  I was honestly shocked at Sulma Tan’s response, but there was little point in protesting about the ways of crude men and the fact that I was associated with them.

  Leana interrupted. ‘As much as I like to see him suffer, he has lived with me for years without so much as making one single inappropriate gesture. Nor has he undermined me. We are like brother and sister. Lucan is annoying for many other reasons, sometimes pompous and sometimes he bores me, but this subject is not a flaw for him.’

  ‘Thank you for that heavily disguised compliment.’ I turned to Sulma Tan. ‘So when I say to you I want to help, it is not out of chivalry, nor is it the patronizing view of a Detratan who is looking down on your culture. I have orders, strict orders, and I will be following them. No matter what work you have on. You have the option to help me out or not. It is up to you.’

  Sulma Tan looked up as a flock of geese shot across the sky above the narrow street. ‘You remember that census the queen mentioned, the one by which our nation will assess itself and celebrate afterwards?’

  A change of subject, an alteration in the tone of the conversation and the tension vanished swiftly in the afternoon heat.

  ‘I am the one who is organizing it all,’ she continued. ‘Every single detail is mine to arrange, command and record.’

  ‘Ah,’ I said, contemplating whether or not the information might be of use to the case. ‘Quite a project.’

  ‘Ah indeed. It is an ambitious project and, though worthy intellectually, it is time-consuming. On top of that there are petty issues such as the monthly games and . . . It is no excuse. Better not to let the daily tasks overwhelm oneself.’

  ‘Understood,’ I replied. ‘We’ll keep out of your way. You can even head back now – we’ll find our own way to Jejal’s establishment.’

  ‘You are perhaps a kind man,’ she concluded firmly. With a faint but detectable smile she added: ‘But a hand out of place and I will castrate you myself.’

  My tongue firmly in my mouth, I watched her vanish through the crowds.

  ‘And so ends your first lesson in Kotonese culture,’ Leana added.

  On the Rooftop

  Back in our room, with the low evening sunlight casting a bright-red glow on the walls and a fresh breeze coming in through the open window, I sat on the bed and contemplated the logistic puzzle that a census must have presented to Sulma Tan.

  It was not merely counting the official number of women, men and children, or amount of land and goods, but the act of compiling the information too, surveying, interviewing, and presenting it in a way that the queen would find beneficial for her to make informed choices about the direction she wished to take Koton. There would be no end of liars and cheats seeing this as an exercise in tax collecting, or simply boasting, not to mention trying to make sense of the numbers of people migrating back and forth across borders like air through an open mouth. No doubt there would be many interfering, so that the census did not highlight any untoward business within the nation. There were thousands of people who lived in tribes across Vispasia, too, and who claimed no nation as their own.

  The Sun Chamber always approved of official efforts to monitor a country like this. It went some way to analysing the large and fluid cultures of the Vispasian Royal Union so that strategies could be formed when the kings and queens met in Free State. They also went some way to keeping the rogue propaganda of a royal in check: artificial tensions would so often be used as a method of funnelling resources in a more favourable manner, and the more official data there was, then the more resources could be allocated evenly.

  I didn’t envy Sulma Tan in her efforts to assemble such vast quantities of information. What were her other roles, once the census had been dealt with? Dealing with people like me, arranging the Kotonese Games, generally overseeing matters of the court perhaps. She mentioned another secretary, which implied there was a great deal of business to arrange on the queen’s behalf. Leana and I began to change into more formal clothing for the evening’s event, both of us utterly oblivious to the dress code. Smiling to myself, I guessed that the queen would admire something that suggested ‘high culture’, and made a remark to Leana along those lines.

  ‘She is a snob,’ Leana muttered. ‘This queen. There’s something about her I do not like.’

  ‘She’s a queen, what did you expect? They’re all snobbish to some extent. Some can be humble, some can be grotesque in their enjoyment of splendour. Royals, and many in their circles, can’t help but view themselves as apart from normal society – because they live unlike anyone else. If people treat them like gods how can they be expected to behave differently? People don’t simply become royals: they’re sculpted by the acts of others. They have no reference to empathize with the people they lead after years of such god-like reverence. Is it any wonder we hear why so many went mad or committed bizarre deeds?’

  ‘It seems more than that in this case. People – do not seem to matter to her at all. Her people. Any people, in fact. Even her own daughter.’

  Leana had a point. There was a tension between mother and daughter that I couldn’t quite pick apart. ‘I’d be amazed if her rule was as progressive as she was making it out to be. But, that said, I do get the impression the old days of Koton are generally shunned in some way, that there’s a keenness to separate themselves from the old country. Quite the opposite of Detrata.’

  ‘Has Koton ever had an empire like Detrata though?’

  ‘No, never. The people here – the tribes and families – have forever been nomadic. It’s a shame she’s hiding from the past – theirs is still a dignified history, as far as histories go. No great genocides. No great wars for centuries. Simp
ly various powerful families jostling for control. Maybe it’s too dull for her extravagant tastes.’

  Leana reacted in a subtle but clear way that suggested something wasn’t right – but her concern was not with my words. She gestured for me to keep talking so I continued, speaking about the queen’s impressive residence and the wonderful ornaments on display, and I focused my attention on where Leana had originally been standing. Meanwhile, Leana stepped cautiously around the room, only to then move along the wall with her back pressed against it, heading towards the window. I continued addressing her previous position, my gaze following her movements, all the while wondering what it was that she had spotted.

  Arcing her body, she dashed for the window. She leapt out through the open gap, feet first, and landed on the rooftop just the other side. I ran after her, climbing outside with caution as she skimmed across the angled plane with her arms held out wide for balance.

  She stopped, placed her hands on her hips and sighed, peering back and forth across the adjacent rooftops. I followed her gaze but couldn’t see anyone up here, only the lovely sunset.

  Down below people drifted around the streets. In the distance, beyond the rooftops, were the dark peaks of mountains, which would soon be lost to the night. Only now, examining the vista, did I realize quite how beautiful this place was.

  ‘What did you see?’ I asked.

  ‘A person,’ Leana replied. ‘A figure.’

  ‘You’re quite certain?’

  ‘I definitely saw someone,’ she snapped. ‘A cloaked figure, at a distance. Just out of the corner of my eye. We were being watched.’

  ‘No other details?’ I asked. ‘What clothing did they have on? The colour of their hair?’

  ‘I could not tell, I had too little time and the light was behind them. It was probably a brown robe.’

  We both crouched and sat tentatively on the sloping roof, eyeing the city below for unusual movements. An occasional, sharp gust of wind reminded me of the drop below, only a couple of storeys, but enough to remind me to be vigilant.

  ‘Very few people know we’re even here,’ I said. ‘Why would anyone be watching us?’

  ‘Sulma Tan,’ Leana said. ‘She knows. She may have told others.’

  ‘She’d be too busy,’ I remarked.

  ‘Or she does not trust us and wants us watched.’

  That didn’t seem either in or out of character. I knew too little about the woman. For someone who frequently conducted surveys and interviews, I imagined she would have a large number of suitable people to hand for such a task. It was possible that word had been spread about the court that the Sun Chamber was investigating the death of the bishop, and that someone else had put a spy to watch – in case I came too close. That was every bit as likely as it being an agent controlled by Sulma Tan.

  While I peered over the edge, I noted several potential routes down for our visitor to have made an escape: a series of smaller rooftops or a ladder. Even the drop down was a manageable jump for a skilled individual. Whoever had been here was likely long gone – their escape route calculated well in advance.

  We spent a little while sat absorbing the sights, sounds and smells of the prefecture. Though I had spent my days in many different cities, I often wondered what it was that made each of them unique, and what made Kuvash so . . . strange. A city’s identity was born from its inhabitants: they created the mood and the design of the streets. The buildings were symptoms of a culture’s art and, ultimately, its political or religious decisions. But from here I could see the mishmash of styles that weren’t the expressions of its own people: these were buildings put up to satisfy the demands of a queen who admired other cultures. Though most of the motifs on the surrounding buildings were Detratan, I noted designs from Maristan, Theran, Dalta – even from the deserts of Locco.

  There was little of Koton’s identity to be found here. Little soul. In a way, then, that was Koton’s expression: it had absorbed the various styles of Vispasia without developing one of its own. A borrowed culture, a denied heritage – a country unsure of its own roots and ashamed of its past.

  Eventually Leana traced her steps back along the rooftop, while I continued to consider the streets. After a moment she called me over, and I went to meet her.

  ‘What have you found?’ I stepped carefully along the gently angled roof to her side.

  Leana was crouching down by one of the tiles that had slipped out of line and jutted out at an awkward angle. She carefully picked off it a piece of brown fabric.

  ‘It is just some cloth. A small piece.’ She handed it up to me. ‘What do you make of it?’

  Tilting it this way and that, there were no discernible markings, no unusual stitching, nothing to really mark it out. ‘Judging by the reasonably fine quality, I’d say that it could have come from a cloak. It’s not wet, and there had been a brief shower not all that long ago. If it was fixed here, it was very recent.’

  ‘There was no need to doubt me then,’ Leana observed.

  ‘I never did, not for a moment,’ I replied, walking back to the window. ‘Though it could have come from anyone. Could you tell from your brief glimpse if they were a threat to us?’

  ‘I do not believe we were in any danger from this incident. I have no idea how long they had been standing there, but if it was someone who had been sent to kill us, they could so easily have fired an arrow or bolt through the open window, into your chest or face. There was plenty of time to make a mess of you.’

  That was a sobering notion. ‘Maybe we should see if we can move somewhere safer.’

  ‘That might be wise,’ Leana agreed.

  No Party Tonight

  Evening parties were something that, generally, I could do without. Yet because of my status I often received many invites to grand affairs, and due to my vaguely diplomatic position, it was usually unwise to decline such offers.

  To my mind, from Detrata to Venyn, these social gatherings of the elite were nothing more than opportunities for cliques of people to show off their wealth to one another. Excitement only ever came from the thinly veiled power struggles in the alcoves. From my experience, such parties seemed to encourage grudges between the socially aspiring. They could exacerbate a family feud, manifesting in public fight, or even start a new political row between rivals.

  But with all that considered, I was ever curious to observe some of the local customs at close-hand. These events always provided an excellent way to discover things about a culture.

  So with a certain degree of reluctance, and with Leana moaning about having to come along as well, we made our way once again to the royal residence of Queen Dokuz Sorghatan.

  There, beside the tall white walls, staring up at the brass beacons that raged with light against the indigo sky, and watching well-to-do groups of people saunter in through the open gate, we waited for Sulma Tan.

  She joined us a little while later, apologizing sincerely for her late arrival. I was impressed at her new attire – a deep-red, high-collar dress, dark cloak – and her hair was pinned up in a way that mimicked the royal fashion. She was deeply uncomfortable at being dressed up like this. Leana, who hated these events even more than myself, would probably identify with that.

  ‘Let me guess,’ I said, ‘you were busy?’

  She gave an awkward smile. ‘You must think me highly disorganized. I can assure you I am not.’

  ‘Given you’re in charge of a census, I would’ve been surprised if you were.’

  ‘The queen had purchased some busts taken from a ruined house in Maristan, but I could tell they were forgeries, which led to a minor diplomatic issue.’

  ‘Let’s hope a war doesn’t break out over art,’ I replied.

  Sulma Tan led us through to where the main event was being held, an enormous room that rivalled some of those in the king’s residence in Tryum. I was quietly impressed. Enormous red and green frescos detailing battles covered the walls, while the ceiling displayed a map of the constellation
s, quite a recent depiction if I understood the latest studies correctly.

  The room was almost two hundred feet long, so I could barely discern the paintings at the far end. Tall braziers stood in widely spaced rows, casting a warm glow upon the bronze statues that stood at regular intervals along the walls of the room. There must have been two hundred people in here, each of them wearing fine dresses, tunics, cloaks and boots, drinking wine from silver cups. People almost appeared to be in various groups, speaking to each other as if they were at a meeting rather than chattering together. Particularly unusual, compared with things I was more used to, was that many people were seated on the floor. Some were positioned on cushions, dozens of which were scattered about the place, but there were no chairs or benches to lounge on.

  ‘Is this traditional?’ I put my observation to Sulma Tan.

  ‘Our people never really used chairs in large gatherings like this,’ she replied. ‘We had no need of them in our yurts. It is a custom that has followed us into cities.’

  ‘No?’ Perhaps the curious methods of polite debate were also leftovers from tribal culture.

  ‘Chairs seem so wasteful, so bad for the body, and besides the floor is much . . .’ Something caught her eye.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  Her gaze was directed at a group of men who were standing in a nearby corner of the room. I couldn’t quite discern who they were from their clothing, but they didn’t look like the other guests and they didn’t seem to be guards – unless they were private operators or bodyguards, something I suspected was common in Kuvash.

  ‘I will find out what is going on,’ she replied. ‘Please, wait here.’

  With that she carved her way through the crowd with some efficiency, being careful not to tread on anyone’s cloak or out-stretched hand.