The Messenger

by Mark Charan Newton

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  Contents

  The Messenger: A Lucan Drakenfeld Story

  Retribution

  Waiting

  BY MARK CHARAN NEWTON

  About the Author

  The Messenger

  A Lucan Drakenfeld Story

  It Starts with a Letter

  The heat of Venyn City was relentless, and people arranged their lives to avoid the worst of the humidity. Dawn and dusk became the busy periods in which serious work was conducted. Often, as a consequence, business spilled into the evening and – from there – into enjoyment.

  As an Officer of the Sun Chamber, I’d seen a lot of different places but nights here were livelier than in any other nation I’d visited, with a flourishing trade in the taverns and backstreets behind the temples. The scythe-like curve of the harbour became a meeting place for a different type of clientele from those of daylight hours. Drinking, music and pleasures, legal and otherwise, were the order of the night and morals became as loose as the city’s baggy fashions, with even some of the city’s priests losing their holy grip on righteousness.

  Loccon curse-traders and Atrewen astrologers converged on the city for this particular season, dispensing spurious advice in dark alleyways and creating a business in fuelling feuds that escalated with the heat. As the temperature rose, so too did the numbers of the City Watch. They charged from one neighbourhood to the other, sweating under heavy bronze armour, dark green tunics and trousers, all in an effort to stamp out the fires of unrest.

  So with the city reaching its annual peak of violence, just how much time could I afford to dedicate to a simple letter?

  Even before I unrolled the letter from the tube, it had already aroused my curiosity. Hardly surprising considering someone had broken into my home to leave it there – that kind of desperation would have alerted any fool to its importance.

  My apartment was in a rough, inexpensive area, so I should not have been surprised at the broken window that greeted me, but for the past five years I had found the building to be reasonably secure – as much as any place could be in Venyn City. A city renowned for its lawless nature. The small wooden shutters above the table had been levered open, and I looked through them to the courtyard beyond. A few traders were leading their mules to the evening markets, a mad semi-naked priest, who was a familiar figure, was urinating up against the red stone wall opposite, but there was no trace of an intruder.

  After examining the rest of the apartment to check if anything had been stolen, I sat down and examined the message tube in more detail. It was about the length and width of my forearm, newly crafted from expensive leather, and similar to those carried by private messengers but without any identifying seals or markings.

  I opened it up and pulled out the letter which, at first glance, appeared to be written in blood:

  Lucan Drakenfeld, representative of the Sun Chamber for Venyn City, heed my words. Everyone will see Prince Bassim’s death. The stupid boy-prince will be no more. Everyone in this city will be witness to his cessation of life. Everyone will marvel at what I have done.

  The door opened and, expecting the worst, I slid back my chair, knocking it to the floor. But it was only my colleague, Leana.

  ‘You were expecting trouble.’ She’d already drawn her sword before I replied. There was always a sense of barely restrained violence in Leana’s movements and this, combined with her standard warrior garb of drab-brown breeches and leather breastplate, was rather reassuring right now.

  I gestured for her to put away the weapon. ‘Whoever it was, they’ve now gone,’ I said, and explained what had happened.

  We sat opposite each other, examining the letter in the fading daylight.

  ‘Why send it to you?’ she asked. ‘If this person wishes to kill Bassim, why not just do it and spare us the bother of reading their gabble?’

  ‘I’d been wondering the same thing,’ I replied. ‘Whoever did it probably wants the attention. An audience for the act.’

  ‘So why give them what they want? Throw it away. These are the fantasies of some madman.’

  ‘But it concerns me – this parchment is high quality material, and the tube is well crafted. We should take it seriously.’

  ‘Spirits save me, if it was a poor man who did this, you would just dismiss it – is that what you mean?’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ I replied.

  ‘You wealthy people are all the same.’

  ‘I’m hardly the same,’ I snapped, indignant at her tone. ‘Look at this place – I might have been fortunate growing up, but I hardly live like a king.’

  ‘That may be so.’ Leana turned her attention to the letter once again while I tried to calm myself. To be honest, I liked Leana’s confrontational attitude, as it kept me vigilant about my own flaws. And she was very good at pointing out any I had overlooked.

  ‘The prince has lots of protection,’ Leana said. ‘The youth is never left alone. He doesn’t even dress himself. No one can get near him. We should tell the head of his personal guard that there will be an attempt on his life, and they will deal with it.’

  ‘Well, we’ve no evidence of an actual attempt, only a letter. Though I do question these words . . . Whoever wrote this says “everyone will see”. That suggests any effort to kill the prince would be in the public gaze. As Bassim is a protected, private boy, that leaves few options.’

  ‘The Festival of Zanth? That is only a matter of weeks away.’

  ‘It is,’ I replied. ‘As a precaution, I’ll notify the Sun Chamber and wait for their advice. We’ve enough to be working on at the moment.’

  Business as Usual

  I continued with my business in Venyn City, thinking little about what were probably the ramblings of a madman. However, four days later, another menacing letter arrived, once again through another shuttered window.

  I will show you how close I am to Bassim.

  Seven days passed after that note – long, sultry summer days when it was too hot to do any work, and I longed for the change of season. Even at home in Detrata there would be snow on the hills come winter, but there was not much in the way of relief here. I made repeated requests to the authorities about a potential threat to Prince Bassim’s life, but each one was met with silence. I bought cups of good wine for my informants in the city’s underworld, to see if they had seen or heard anything. But they knew of no wider conspiracy being planned by the lords of the underworld.

  Much of my current work in Venyn City had been on behalf of the nation’s ruling council, and for the royal family whom I had never met. As an Officer of the Sun Chamber, I ensured no one stepped out of line with regard to the two-hundred-year-old laws of the Vispasian Royal
Union. Some of the time I acted as a diplomat, but I spent most of my hours investigating those who might have committed fraud or treason. We also tried to maintain laws in the face of royal opposition. The most recent occurrence had been when Prince Bassim’s people claimed trouble with tribal warlords intercepting trade routes, but the Sun Chamber would not allow him to simply purge rebels without any evidence since it could inflame already sensitive border tensions, which were our primary concern. I was informed that such matters frustrated Bassim’s court, but they bowed to ancient conventions – they would not kill without evidence. Generally speaking, monarchies approved of our investigations and diplomacy, and it was in our mutual interest as it helped bind the nations of Vispasia together more firmly, allowing trade and peace to prosper.

  This was what I kept reminding myself in the job’s more mundane moments.

  My current case involved investigating a tenement manager, Jasilla, who was using her properties as brothels without a royal licence, in order to avoid tax. She was a smart lady in her forties, who had managed to evade all attempts to track her down. Soldiers from the City Watch were reluctant to divulge information to me, either, and I could guess why.

  After investigating another of her properties, again with no success, Leana and I had walked back to the harbour.

  The walk that morning had put me in better spirits. After buying bread from the market we headed back down a wide road towards the estuary, which was rammed with dhows and larger merchant vessels. In the light of the early morning sun they cast all kinds of shadows on each other. Beyond the curve of the bay and white arc of sand, a few ships were out in the clear waters. In the shallows, however, people moved in between the boats to wash away the detritus of city life. I never grew tired of the sights on offer in Venyn City. Yet I would always feel a stranger here.

  ‘Lucan Drakenfeld,’ a voice called.

  To one side, a light-haired, bearded man about twenty years my senior, and a black-haired woman perhaps a couple of years older than me, walked towards us. Leana moved to block their way, but I waved her back. They were no threat – far from it. They each wore similar clothing, black trousers and a pale-coloured shirt, but most importantly they wore a golden brooch of a flaming sun – the badge of the Sun Chamber.

  ‘Your message was received,’ the woman said, ‘and we were dispatched immediately.’ She held out a letter, one with the waxed seal of the Sun Chamber. I opened it and felt watched as I scrutinized the contents.

  It had come from one of the Commissioners. I was surprised that the message had reached that high. The letter explained that the man and woman in front of me, Marcius and Jaleh, were the most senior officers and would be assisting me in the business of the threats to the prince’s safety.

  ‘We want to examine the original letter,’ the man, Marcius, said. ‘Can you show us?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I replied. ‘Do you think it serious?’

  Jaleh nodded. ‘One of our agents has given me good intelligence that there may be a plot against Bassim with respect to the Festival of Zanth.’

  ‘Then you need to know I received another letter.’

  Jaleh raised her eyebrow. ‘This is indeed serious,’ she said. ‘It’s of great importance that Bassim is not removed from his position. He’s needed to provide stability to the region.’

  ‘He’s only sixteen,’ I replied. ‘Who’d want him dead?’

  ‘You’d be surprised. His relative youth has meant very little effective governance for the region. That in itself is a good thing, for trouble happens when royals get the idea they need to make bold decisions.’ Marcius offered his hand and forearm, and we shook. I repeated the gesture with Jaleh.

  ‘How did you find me?’ I asked.

  ‘We knew where you lived from our records,’ Jaleh said. ‘But when you weren’t there, we enquired with your neighbours and followed your trail. There are not too many people cursed to wear the Sun Chamber cloak in this heat, so you tend to stand out in a crowd.’

  ‘Come, I’ll show you to my home properly – though I must warn you, it probably isn’t to your high standards.’

  ‘We know,’ Jaleh replied.

  Homeless men and women crowded into the darker corners of the city, seeking relief from the blazing sun, shading their eyes as we passed them. The sharply angled, black-slate roofs glistened in the midday light. The city grew quiet.

  We arrived at my lodgings, whereupon we found the door ajar and a third tube – identical to the first – lying on the floorboards. I picked it up and it rattled; so we gathered around the thick pine table and opened it up.

  This time it contained a silver ring, on which there was a white ship set into jet – this was the symbol of Venyn, evoking its ancient maritime heritage. The craftsmanship was incredible. The letter, written again in blood, read:

  A token of my intent, as promised.

  ‘What does he mean by that?’ Marcius asked.

  Jaleh lifted up the ring to examine it. I noticed the grains of desert sand in her hair. She looked at me with those startling green eyes and said, ‘This is a Venyn symbol. Who wears a ring like this in the city? Would the prince own a ring like this?’

  ‘I’ve only ever seen it on soldiers of a more senior rank,’ I replied. ‘It’s rare, but not rare enough for Bassim. Where would our letter-writer get a ring like that?’

  ‘By killing a soldier,’ Marcius said. ‘Or by being one himself.’

  ‘Are there any more markings?’ I asked, but after a few moments’ scrutiny Jaleh shook her head.

  I made my guests mint tea while they continued to analyse the third letter and I collected the other tubes for them to examine.

  In the same way I had, they noted the craftsmanship of the leather before reading the contents, and then they compared them to the most recent letter. The parchment appeared to match, and all three appeared to be written in blood.

  All the while, Leana stood by the door watching the small courtyard beyond, keeping a lookout, but I half suspected she just didn’t want to be a part of the conversation. She never liked to participate when I talked to other Sun Chamber officers, despite my efforts to include her.

  We ate a simple supper of fish and bread. We talked. Marcius and Jaleh had travelled from Gippoli, which was to the south of Venyn, a largely desert nation where they’d been stationed for the past five years. They said they’d heard of my father in Detrata, and then asked me a dozen questions of a more personal nature: how long had I been here, did I have a wife, had I been ill recently, and so on.

  ‘Where did you meet the dark lady?’ Marcius asked.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  He tilted his head towards Leana. ‘Black skin and a lot of muscle on her. Tough little lady.’

  I noted Jaleh’s disapproving expression at his tone, which I shared. Her reaction was brief enough for me to suspect they didn’t work together – I could see that she didn’t have much time for him.

  ‘I met her in Atrewe,’ I replied, and handed him a cup. ‘And she is remarkably tough – much more so than I. Have you two been together for long?’

  ‘No,’ Jaleh said without hesitation. ‘We’re not together. I’ve been stationed in the north of Gippoli, Marcius to the west.’

  ‘Nearer Locco,’ he added, prodding around his teeth to retrieve a stuck piece of food. He wiped it on his trousers.

  ‘We are the nearest officers to hand, so we volunteered ourselves when fast-messengers were sent around the main cities. As I said, I’d had reports from an agent who said there might be news, so I stepped forward.’

  ‘Me, I needed a change of scenery,’ Marcius said, still ogling Leana. If he wasn’t careful, she’d wipe that look off his face – and I wouldn’t blame her if she did.

  After looking at the letters again, Jaleh said to me, ‘We will arrange to meet with Bassim’s people tonight to warn them.’

  ‘What can we do that his private guard cannot?’ I asked.

  ‘Marcius and I have bo
th had many years of practice in organizing security for large gatherings. I worked in Locco and Koton with senior figures, so hopefully young Bassim will not decline our help.’

  ‘If you can get near enough to ask,’ I said. ‘He’s well protected and you have to communicate through his military network, not to mention those priests that surround him.’

  ‘I never understood that,’ Marcius grunted. ‘What can priests do?’

  ‘It’s what he does for them,’ Jaleh replied. ‘Bassim is their spiritual leader as well as royal ruler – he’s protected for his abilities to channel their god as much as his royal blood.’

  I nodded my approval of her wisdom.

  ‘Perhaps we can get a message through his gods, then,’ Marcius replied, smirking. ‘It might be quicker.’

  ‘God,’ I corrected, stressing the singular form. ‘Or more specifically, his goddess.’

  Bassim’s Palace

  I had not often walked near Bassim’s palace, having conducted most of my official duties with the city’s sprawling civil service. I was in awe. There were no buildings in the city that even came close to this grandiose three-storey white ziggurat. It was a statement of separation in itself – though the huge walls helped to confirm that stance.

  Jaleh produced a document from the Sun Chamber that contained sufficient gravitas to placate the palace guards. We were led inside.

  After walking along marbled corridors lined with bronze statues – some of them garish former royals in unnatural poses – we were guided into a large hall with highly polished floorboards and wall-spanning tapestries made with deep red and purple thread. Gold leaf had been used to finish the central pillars and define the ancient text written across the ceiling, presumably from one of Venyn’s spiritual books; though this language was rarely spoken – every nation used Detratan – I could recognize the words for ‘she’ and ‘only one’. We were instructed to wait, and only then did I notice the opening at the end of the room, which presented a view of the city. The sunlight bled across the horizon, a gust of wind brought with it the scents of the harbour.