Retribution (Drakenfeld 2)

by Newton, Mark Charan

  My respect went further, as Sulma Tan had marked in red ink the location of the victims’ dwellings. Where bodies had been found she marked with an ‘X’. Then, in much smaller blue circles, she had plotted the location of several hundred people who had completed the census and matched the kinds of trades I thought might be of interest.

  It was where my optimism came to a halt. There were so many people who fitted the profile of the killer, and there were no discernible patterns in their location. Though the murders were in the same prefecture, with allowances made for the bishop’s dismembered body, they were far apart – potentially a mile or so. Their houses were not close to each other either. If I was going to force a solution from these details, it would not be easy.

  ‘What does it take to murder someone?’ There was an air of general curiosity about Sulma Tan’s question, and it was not asked with intent. As if she wanted to expand her horizons.

  ‘Money. Or status perhaps. A wish to gain more power or land, and a certain individual stands in the way of that wish.’

  ‘So much desperation to climb life’s ladders that the only solution was to have another’s throat cut . . .’

  ‘It is the way of things, I’m afraid. Rage is another factor. A fight that gets out of hand – too much alcohol with a sword close by. Sadly I’d seen too many men kill in their own homes, too – poor women cut down for senseless reasons by individuals who’d lost control, who were part of a culture that chose to ignore such brutality. Friends could fall out over a loved one and a casualty would result from the competition. Slipping poison in a husband’s dinner to rid a family of a tyrant . . . I could go on.’

  ‘Human emotions are fragile,’ she replied. ‘It is something I forget in my work. At times a whole society becomes numbers and columns on parchment. Or,’ she gestured to the map, ‘coloured markings.’

  ‘Human emotions are why murders are commonplace. Though I must add that I have described normal murders. Normal people could commit them. Normal people could find themselves with blood on their hands. That does not forgive the crime, of course, but I’ve worked on hundreds of such cases and they are an everyday occurrence. But here we are dealing with something entirely different. Someone who makes a ritual out of the killing. We must ask ourselves: who would spend their time torturing not one but three bodies in such a way? And yet, it pays to remember that these victims have not been buried or hidden away. There’s a certain confidence and almost pride in the placing of them. I suspect we are looking for someone who is not poor, who is educated, who has access to the routines of very influential people. They can kill these people and then leave their bodies in public, without themselves being seen.’

  ‘It sounds as if these are very personal motivations,’ Sulma Tan put forward.

  ‘The murders were very personal,’ I agreed. ‘Whose clan were they aligned to?’

  ‘None – save the Sorghatan family. But the clans do not engage in this kind of behaviour.’

  ‘Well, it’s certain this is no mere grudge over some spilt ale. From my experience ritual murders suggest a few things: cult sacrifices, revenge for a truly hideous deed – or a killer who enjoys their work and makes a game out of it.’

  She frowned. ‘There is nothing here I’ve seen that corresponds with religious rituals or cults, even in our own dark past. We have not seen strange symbols or offerings near the victims, am I correct?’

  Rubbing my chin I glanced across the markings on the map once again, entranced by just how many there were. A breeze passed through the building, making the candles and the edges of the parchment flutter. ‘Well that leaves the other options. How about revenge? Revenge for an unknown reason against some of the most powerful people.’

  ‘It will be important to look into their affairs in more detail. There must be common ground. Where their lives intersect, we will find the reasons for the murders.’

  ‘A bishop, a naval officer and a businesswoman,’ Sulma Tan said. ‘To my knowledge – and I can use the queen’s diaries as reference – they had little interaction with each other at the palace. How had their lives crossed over?’

  ‘They were all of similar age,’ I suggested. ‘They were all upstanding members of society. Unless the bishop has been quietly hiding a fortune, only two were wealthy. Grendor and Bishop Tahn Valin owned similar-looking stones, but there was no sign of such a gem with Lydia’s belongings. But it is possible that these virtuous members of the Kotonese community were not as honourable as their image suggested . . .’

  I left the question there for Sulma Tan to answer, but if she harboured secrets, she did not reveal them. In the ensuing silence I pinned the note from Lydia’s body alongside the map.

  REMEMBR, OFICER DRAKENFELD. WE ARE INNOCENT.

  ‘Thank you for this arrangement,’ I said to Sulma Tan, gesturing to her admirable work.

  ‘So long as it helps. I trust it does?’

  ‘Oh absolutely, yes.’ I wasn’t quite so sure about my answer though. Despite the census information, there were too many blue circles on the map. The killer, provided they were of the type I had imagined, could have been any one of several hundred people, and that excluded the hundreds of soldiers patrolling the prefecture.

  These thoughts followed me as I returned down the corridor, back to my quarters. Cressets lined the way to the chamber. When I entered, I found Leana crawling on her knees in the semi-darkness but with a blindfold across her eyes.

  ‘What are you doing, Leana?’

  Leana stood up from the foot of the couch and brushed herself down. ‘I am finding my way around this room without sight. We have no natural light. If all the candles go out, we will need to know our way around.’

  ‘It pays to be prepared, I suppose.’ I lay back down again as a throb of pain shot along my ribs. ‘I never thanked you by the way.’

  Leana continued to prod and touch her way around the room. ‘For what?’

  ‘Saving me. Again.’

  ‘It is useful – such incidents allow me to refine my skills. Besides, you do not mind me killing people when it is to save your life and when you are unconscious you cannot warn me off. There is pleasure to be found in such work when you are not there on your high horse.’

  ‘Glad I can be of help,’ I muttered. ‘Is Nambu all right on her own?’

  ‘She is. I have been teaching her the basics of defence, and she has learned well.’ Leana’s countenance displayed pride, if only for a brief moment. ‘She is a bright and attentive pupil and less of a liability than when we first met her. Of course, she complains of aches and pains from using muscles she did not know she had. This is to be expected. We progressed greatly during all that time you were lying around.’

  ‘You know, I was actually recovering from life-threatening injuries, not merely lounging about like a decadent king.’

  ‘Spirits save us. You were not exactly active, though,’ Leana replied, tapping the floor with her hand.

  ‘I’ll give you that.’ I smiled as she struck her knee on a table leg. ‘But with Nambu, I really meant is she all right after the incidents earlier – after seeing a corpse for the first time? I’m not sure this is part of our “look after the princess” duties, but if she’s going to be in our company, it is unavoidable.’

  ‘She is a little put out by the body, admittedly, but it is important that she sees such things. There is no point shying away from them. Though it would be best if we did not tell her mother we are showing her dead bodies.’

  I exhaled a gentle laugh, but it hurt to do so. ‘A wise decision.’

  Naval Exports

  The purple sky was brightening to pink. A gentle, mild breeze rolled in from the south, bringing with it woodsmoke from the rest of the city. After a few days and nights of no rain, the prefecture’s streets appeared to have changed colour – the stone becoming considerably paler, the mud sandier, and the place more attractive. My good mood was heightened by the fact that I was no longer limping from my injuries.
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br />   A couple of vendors were out selling food, but I couldn’t understand why so few people were about.

  ‘The place seems unusually quiet,’ I remarked.

  ‘People are scared,’ Leana replied.

  ‘Why?’ Nambu asked, stifling a yawn.

  ‘They are your people,’ Leana said. ‘Do you not know them? If you do not know them, how can you lead them?’

  For me, Leana’s comments were now in the context of knowing that she had once been destined to lead a nation. Nambu didn’t seem to be put off by her stern words. In the few days I had been unconscious a new level of respect had grown between the two.

  We continued through the empty lanes and decided to eat some street food for breakfast. Nambu said she wasn’t hungry. While Leana and I chewed on our flatbreads, a unit of a dozen soldiers marched past us in green and white, their bows slung across their shoulders.

  Without expression or comment Nambu turned to watch them as they proceeded down the street. It couldn’t have been more than a minute before we saw another unit marching by at the top of the road, turning into the distance.

  ‘Well, I certainly feel safer,’ I muttered. ‘Don’t you feel safer, Leana?’

  ‘The killer will most definitely not strike again with soldiers rattling through the streets,’ she replied dryly. ‘After all, how could they concentrate with that noise?’

  We went through the gates of the prefecture and around the main wall, a region with an entirely different atmosphere. Hundreds of people filled the uneven roads. Woodsmoke drifted up out of ramshackle buildings. To one side, a priest in a green cloak, bearing the symbol of a bull, brought a knife across the throat of a goat. He spilled its blood into the outstretched hands of his faithful, who knelt on the floor in front of him.

  ‘Nambu, this hasn’t anything to do with Astran and Nastra, has it?’

  ‘No. That is the Cult of Hymound.’ She gave a laugh of disbelief. ‘That priest is mad to be doing that sort of thing so close to the Sorghatan Prefecture. Mother hates the cult. She hates all the old gods. Look how savage they are – the people are drinking blood!’

  The people who knelt before the body of the goat brought their cupped hands to their lips as the priest gibbered in a much older form of Kotonese.

  ‘Who is Hymound?’

  ‘I do not know much, because it is forbidden to teach his ways, but his other name is the King of the Multitudes. Our people worshipped him when we roamed the plains. Well, when we roamed them a thousand years ago. He has a small but stubborn following.’

  The priest fell to his knees and plunged his fingers into the open wound in the animal. Before long the act became obscured by the crowds.

  ‘It frustrates Mother that she cannot reform out here as quickly as in the Sorghatan Prefecture,’ Nambu continued. ‘She wants to help people get better, eat better and live better. She wants them to have the same luxuries and rights as those in the Sorghatan Prefecture.’

  ‘It cannot happen overnight,’ I offered.

  And indeed it had not in this part of the city. Everything was a shade more drab. The colour of the other prefecture had gone, and instead crude, dirtied furs and cheap leather were all around us. The decay of rotten fish and stench of manure was intense to the point of being overwhelming. In little passageways between wooden buildings and tents, men sat half-naked in the warm light insulting passers-by. Many of them wore animal horns around their necks. Weird, brutal-looking implements were strung up from windows. The main thoroughfares were packed, however, with people going about their business as best they could. I was almost certain we would not find the murderer among them. The killer was probably behind us, in the other prefecture, but for now our investigation carried us elsewhere.

  It took us the better part of an hour to reach the dockyard walking down from the Kuvash Prefecture.

  The dockyard was like a whole new city. Nestled along a wide, serpentine river, which went round part of the Sorghatan Prefecture, was a vibrant community. From the white walls separating the two prefectures, large and gleaming in the morning sun, the city descended gently, and then very suddenly down to the river. Shacks, timber houses, precarious constructions – only a few of which were crafted from stone – stretched as far as the eye could see. Long grasses stirred in the breeze. The river looped back and forth across the landscape, widening towards the sea, which stood as a thin grey-blue line on the horizon. The smell of marine food and dubious vegetation was intense and, combined with woodsmoke, horse-shit and the tang from a tannery, it made for an assault on the senses. Though there were hundreds of boats of all types in the river, people still managed to find gaps to wash themselves or their clothing – or to pour dubious-looking fluids away into the water.

  ‘What is it that you’re looking for exactly?’ Nambu asked, pulling the top hem of her brown cloak around her mouth and nose.

  ‘The office building of Naval Exports,’ I replied.

  ‘I know that. I mean when we get there.’

  ‘If we are to investigate the affairs of Grendor of the Cape, then his offices are bound to give us a clearer picture of his businesses.’

  ‘So . . . what are you hoping to find?’

  ‘I don’t know, if I’m honest. We’ll have to wait and see. At the moment it is a case of sketching out the lives of those who have been killed, and identifying where there is any overlap.’

  ‘There’s a lot of uncertainty in your job, isn’t there?’

  ‘Of that, we can be certain.’

  We passed a large, rectangular building, in notably better condition than the rest of the street, surrounded by a large perimeter fence made from wood. Between the posts I saw dozens of children dressed in rags, running around a courtyard and playing games with pebbles.

  ‘Is that a school?’ I asked Nambu.

  ‘No, it’s Kuvash’s largest orphanage.’

  Some of the children came forward to stand at the gates and held their arms out towards us. Only then did I notice how malnourished they were – and just how many had been crammed into this area. I felt a sudden guilt at my own upbringing – a relatively comfortable one, with the exception of my mother’s death when I was a few years old. I had everything I needed and more. A stable family, good schooling, wealth and interaction with the higher ranks of Detratan life. And when I contemplated the day I could settle down and raise a family myself, safety and comfort were absolutely what I wanted to offer. That was on the assumption my life would ever get to that stage.

  Nambu stood alongside me to regard the children.

  ‘They are the same age as me,’ she whispered in reflection.

  ‘The gods have given you a good place in life,’ I said. ‘The question is, do you realize the fact?’

  ‘I think I do,’ she replied. ‘I used to watch this place from the walls of the prefecture, from one of the viewing points. I had no idea that they were so . . .’ She never finished her sentence.

  A farmer called for his two oxen to control themselves, as they lumbered past, nearly knocking Nambu over before trudging on through the dusty streets. He shouted back an apology.

  Once the hubbub had died down, we continued on our way.

  The business end of the docks, the trading area beyond the long grasses, looked no less decrepit and sprawling than the residential areas. Wood yards, woodworkers and craft stores were doing a roaring business. Merchants wore gaudy costumes. Towards the banks of the river, men were mostly topless, their skin glistening with sweat. Some wore stained, ragged shirts as they hauled cargo aboard the boats.

  The ships and boats were of all kinds. Curious figureheads were fixed to each vessel: quasi-religious figures, dragons, naked men or women, half-human hybrids.

  Various types of grain in sacks, wool and leather in bales, were being lugged aboard the ships. Gang-members loitered with little subtlety by some bales, suggesting there was even more precious cargo to be found passing through.

  We passed along a line of faded business-fr
onts, which were as to be expected – little more than cheap wooden shacks with a painted sign to indicate the owner. Most of them featured the names of individuals, and presumably it was those individuals who were standing proudly with their hands in their jacket pockets regarding the workers. Some would shout orders or random insults now and then, before spitting on the ground. Others dozed in the sun.

  Naval Exports was a considerably larger structure than the surrounding shacks, and of better quality. Its wooden walls had recently been constructed, or upgraded, and it was the only building to feature wooden shutters that faced out onto the vessels berthed a few yards in front. There was nothing on the sign to indicate that the property belonged to Grendor.

  A stubbled young man who looked like he could do with a good meal shoved his head through the open shutters and leered at Nambu. ‘What d’you lot want?’ he drawled in a particularly coarse form of Kotonese. ‘This is a place of work, not somewhere to pro-men-ade your wife.’

  Leana grabbed the man by his collar and hauled him out from the other side of the window and onto the wooden decking with a thud. She placed a boot over his neck as he spluttered his apologies. ‘I meant no harm, sir – m-madam.’

  Leana eventually rolled her boot away and glanced casually at the surrounding labourers, who had stopped working to watch the spectacle. She unsheathed her short sword, but made no threatening gesture with it. It was a simple statement: get back to work. I wasn’t so sure this lot would get back to work, though. They were huge men, a dozen or more, and many carried machetes. Eventually, after the scrawny man waved them away, they went on with their work.

  ‘They’re a lively lot, so you want to watch yer manners. They’ve killed stronger folk than you, madam.’

  Leana remained indifferent to his comments.

  The man picked himself up. Garbed in a scruffy white shirt and tattered black waistcoat, he looked far too weak to do any manual work. His eyes were cold, distant and bloodshot. His nose was thin and long, and he had the kind of facial hair that never got past a promising start. An insincere grin widened across his face. ‘And how can I help sir and madam.’