Drakenfeld

by Mark Charan Newton

  ‘Maxant was to wear that for his triumph,’ Veron commented when I paused by it. He added dryly: ‘Soldiers aren’t known for their sense of fashion.’

  ‘Who lit the incense?’ I asked, examining the smoke. Gentle blue wisps carried the deep woody aroma around the temple. Several small, unlit pyramids stood to one side. ‘It’s been burning for some time now.’

  No one seemed to know the answer to my question. I inhaled the smoke, noting that it was the same kind of sandalwood that could be found in any temple in Vispasia.

  ‘It must have been like that when everyone entered,’ I continued. ‘This incident occurred around an hour or so ago, it seems, and may I confirm that no one had come in for some time beforehand?’

  Veron consulted with one of the soldiers from the King’s Legion, who stood resplendent in his purple robes and polished armour. ‘Not even so much as a pontiff,’ he confirmed. ‘As I say, none of the guests saw anything.’

  ‘I have many more questions, but let me summarize to be clear: around midnight, the king’s sister Lacanta was found with her throat cut. The weapon is not here. None of her jewellery has been removed and she has – I will assume for now – not been tampered with. The temple was locked and sealed, and the key left in the door, on the inside. There’s no other way into the temple unless one was a god; no way out, apart from through those doors.’ I pointed towards them. ‘There is no blood outside that we have seen thus far and, finally, it appears that whoever was in here with her lit incense at the altar of Trymus.’

  Leana moved in closer. ‘All of this on the night of a big celebration.’

  ‘Maybe the killer wanted to scare the guests,’ Veron offered.

  ‘Perhaps, though there are more subtle ways of scaring people.’

  ‘The killer might worship Trymus.’ Leana indicated the statue and offerings.

  ‘Another possibility – it’s a rather morbid sacrifice, if it is one. It’s not uncommon for his temples to receive blood donations, though it is usually from oxen, goat or chickens. How long do you think Lacanta has been dead?’

  Veron moved to stand next to us. ‘One of the soldiers claimed her body was still warm when we found it, though it is a hot night and this temple rarely gets cold. Obviously it’s colder now and she’s becoming fixed in place by Malax in his Underworld.’

  ‘The gods don’t hang about. We’re going to have to get statements from as many people as possible,’ I said.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought that will be a problem,’ Veron replied.

  ‘Who had access to the key?’

  ‘There are a few copies kept in the back offices, copies are kept for every lock in the building. Though it’s a private temple, Trymus grants access to all. This section of Optryx isn’t anywhere near as secure as the other side, where the king resides.’

  I made a note to ask the temple’s pontiff about copies. ‘Where’s King Licintius? I take it he’s aware of this?’

  Veron gave a sad laugh. ‘Poor Licintius followed the soldiers into the room when they found her. He fled to his private quarters in an immediate rage. I’ve never seen him so angry. General Maxant first sent his soldiers to close all the doors in Optryx and to stop people leaving, and then went up to join the king. I don’t think any of the soldiers have the nerve to approach him just yet – in his mood, he might well turn them into eunuchs.’

  ‘So this is Calludian’s son,’ came another voice. A small, hunched old man shuffled towards me, pushing past the guards on the door with a scowl on his cleanly shaven face. Thin wisps of hair clung to his sweaty head, and he used a stick to prop himself up as he walked. He gave me a look of utter contempt. ‘I never did like the Sun Chamber. Ideas above your station, if you ask me. No one votes for you.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,’ I offered. ‘Please, don’t come too close to the body, you might contaminate the scene.’

  ‘See what I mean?’ the man scoffed to Veron. ‘Ideas above his station in life.’

  Veron looked apologetic. ‘This is Senator Chastra. Senator, this is Lucan Drakenfeld, officer of the Sun Chamber.’

  ‘I’ve heard all about him and his dark bodyguard,’ Chastra muttered, examining Leana with his bright green eyes and a sneer on his face. His mind was still active, even if his body wasn’t up to much. He turned to face me. ‘A woman, too. That must make you feel quite effeminate.’

  ‘If you’re keen to prove your masculinity, you could always challenge her to a fight.’

  Veron placed his face in his palms at my reply. Leana remained impassive.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to dirty myself with foreigners,’ Chastra replied. ‘Besides, the only fighting I do is with my words.’

  ‘He certainly does,’ agreed Veron. ‘You should hear him in the Senate – he still gives a rather devastating speech on occasion.’

  ‘Senator Chastra,’ I said turning to face him. ‘Presumably you’re not here to dazzle us with your charm. You are a man of words so what have you to offer about this incident?’

  ‘All I have to say on the matter is that it’s unlikely you’ll find the killer. This one was struck down by the gods. Struck down for living an immoral life. A murder in a place like this brings bad omens to the city.’

  ‘Is that so?’ I asked.

  ‘Look around you. Solid walls and a sealed door. Struck down by the gods. I’ll be damned if I can work it out.’

  ‘That’s why you’re not in the Sun Chamber,’ I replied, noting a rare smile on Leana’s face as she continued to examine the temple.

  ‘If it isn’t the gods, maybe Senator Divran is right with mutterings of magic. But I’ll wager some divine power was at work.’

  ‘Did you see Lacanta at all tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Chastra spluttered. ‘We all did. Earlier this evening she was mingling with her brother and General Maxant, talking to Veron, me, half a dozen other senators. In fact, some of us saw her – and were conversing with her – no more than a few moments before the temple doors were opened. A matter of minutes.’

  ‘Ridiculous, if that’s what you claim,’ Veron declared. ‘People were standing just outside the door as part of the celebrations for the better part of a whole hour. Dozens would have seen her killer leaving the room if the murder was so soon after you saw her.’

  ‘You might think it impossible,’ Chastra said more calmly, ‘but I saw what I saw.’

  Not impossible, I reassured myself – just baffling.

  Impressed by the clarity of his recollection, I listened to what the old senator had to say, and began to patch together a narrative timeline of the evening.

  As was clear, Licintius had been holding a huge celebration for General Maxant and his conquests. The two of them were practically inseparable all evening, the king proud of what was happening to his nation, bringing it more prestige and power within the Vispasian Royal Union. Lacanta had been with them for a short while, before going on to blend in with the crowd, regaling people with her tales, using her charm on many of the male senators in front of their own wives. She was, by all accounts, not only rich and alluring – but beautiful, too, a powerful combination of traits, yet her antics, getting thrills from playing mind games, seemed at odds with the other aspects of her personality.

  Veron commented that perhaps it was a way to feel vaguely human in her position, but Chastra scowled at him for such naivety. ‘She was a manipulative bitch, plain and simple. Her brother’s no better.’ He waved down Veron’s protests. ‘No, I’m too old to care for the consequences of what I say, and I have little time for royals, but I am not surprised in the least that she ended up this way.’ He gestured to her corpse with his free hand, his other firmly on his cane for support. ‘The gods will punish the wicked.’

  I noticed the derogatory way the old man spoke about women, his patriarchal and archaic attitude if they did not conform to his beliefs of how they should behave.

  Chastra’s account of events continued. There had bee
n small theatrical productions all evening, improvised shows in alcoves. Many of the senators had apparently grumbled at having to share this grand event with mere thespians, who then had the audacity to try to talk to guests who were far above them in social ranking.

  ‘So there were a lot of people from all walks of life in the building,’ I offered. ‘People who would not normally be permitted.’

  ‘Everyone had been given the password,’ Veron said. ‘Security had to be relaxed tonight, but usually there’s a new password each day, known only to a select few.’

  ‘We had many different types of people here, many of whom could wield a blade to cut a throat. Even a senator could do that. Even one as old as you.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ Chastra spluttered. A part of me enjoyed his enraged expression. ‘I have committed no murder. Such crimes are for the young and ambitious.’

  ‘You said it was the gods a moment ago,’ I said. ‘Now, I’d like the soldiers present to take details and accounts of people’s movements this evening.’

  Chastra’s face reddened as he glared at me. ‘This is outrageous. A god of some sort has clearly seen to it that this woman’s life was not to be. I am a senator—’

  ‘And a potential suspect in a murder investigation,’ I reminded him. ‘Of course, your reluctance to conform to protocol will be noted.’

  Names and addresses were taken from those who were still here, which I would later match against the guest list I’d asked for. I requested that those soldiers in the King’s Legion who could write put down any useful information. Those who could not write, I asked to continue searching the building. Eventually, people grew tired and protests came from the heads of powerful families to be allowed to go home.

  I didn’t want people leaving immediately, not when things were fresh in their memory, though I did not mind if anyone came to me later with information. Faces or snippets of conversation could crystallize in the mind days, even weeks after a crime, and still prove to be useful. Afterwards, my details were circulated to anyone in a position of authority in the room.

  People could not be kept on site for much longer, despite my efforts, and the sun soon began to rise on a new day. When the guests commenced their exodus, I returned once again to the outer doors of the temple of Trymus. Leana was still there, sketching out the inside on a piece of parchment.

  ‘I am convinced it is sealed,’ she said. ‘No way in. No way out. Apart from that battered door.’

  ‘You would have thought we’d have a few days to relax before being thrown straight into a murder investigation,’ I remarked, staring at the temple door.

  The face of Trymus looked down upon me, his severe expression somehow appropriate for the mood.

  ‘What does Trymus even stand for?’ Leana asked. ‘I never can understand why there are so many gods. You people have a fixation with them.’

  ‘Trymus and his wife, Festonia, built Tryum. They are the god and goddess of war, among other things. He made himself king and defended the original settlement against waves of strange invaders. Apparently during the Detratan Empire one couldn’t move for his temples. He’s seen as a blessing in wartime – and for agriculture. No doubt in times of food shortages, like now, people make as many offerings as they can so that he’ll heal the crops.’

  ‘It does not seem to have done much good,’ Leana remarked.

  I eventually came to an agreement with some of the senators that we would return to Optryx later, after everyone had rested. If the killer was in the building, the soldiers stated in no uncertain terms that they would find them – though given the amount of skills he or she might possess, I doubted that. If the killer had indeed escaped, they were likely to be far from Optryx by now.

  As we were about to leave, Veron informed me that he had arranged, with the administrative staff of the residence, for me to be granted a meeting with King Licintius later in the day.

  What would my father have thought about all of this? Would he, too, be making the same decisions?

  The matter needed to be resolved as quickly as possible – it was a chance to prove myself to the people of Tryum.

  First Steps

  Though the remainder of the night was humid, I slept peacefully enough, and dreamt of falcons soaring over my house in a most unnatural manner.

  After waking, I was prompted to make an offering to the small shrine to Polla, which my father had kept in immaculate condition. There, in the corner of the open hallway, with a cool breeze passing across my back, I muttered the purifications in an attempt to clear my mind, channel some of her essence, and to think logically.

  How had Polla coped in a crisis? When she had been alive all those centuries ago, before she had become a goddess and assumed a position of power, she had been a remarkable lady, living through times of deep religious and political strife, when women were treated abysmally by their societies, and never failing in her quest to understand the world better, to fathom her position within the universe. Praying to such a figure each morning was always inspiring.

  Bellona provided a hearty breakfast: despite the events of the previous night I was famished, and devoured the minced pork and flatbreads. Leana had been up for a little while and joined me just as I was finishing. She had been to the Forum to see what people were saying of the murder, but it seemed no one had even heard the news yet. Or if they had, they were too afraid to talk about it.

  After breakfast, I took a moment to walk around the house trying to familiarize myself with my past once again – it was an uncomfortable process because in some ways I didn’t like to be reminded of the person I had once been. The small details were fascinating: indentations in chairs that had come from years of sitting; the well-worn wooden surfaces on the sides of tables. The echoes of my father lived on in these areas of wear and tear.

  Also, I noticed that an item had gone missing from a table in my father’s bedroom. There was a square within the dust that indicated something had stood there once, but had been taken away. Perhaps a few weeks ago, since some dust had settled in its place. Was it significant in any way?

  While Leana worked through some martial exercises in her room, in my study I looked at the sketch she had made in the temple on the night, examining the structure and dimensions, where the shrine was located, where the body of poor Lacanta had lain, and where the doors stood firmly barring entry to the chamber.

  So Lacanta had been spotted moments before she had been found dead. That meant, in five or ten minutes, someone had managed to break her away from the celebrations in the main room, steer her into the temple, and kill her, before going back outside. But the celebrations were at their height and, as Veron pointed out, at that point those temple doors would have been watched by guests right up until the moment General Maxant entered to don Trymus’ mask. What’s more, the door was locked on the inside and murderers do not just vanish into the air.

  Who had one of the keys to the temple?

  Tracking Lacanta’s final moments last night was going to be crucial. It was essential to find out who she had spoken to in the evening, who was nearby, who might have been following her, whether or not there were any strange occurrences. Perhaps the witness statements would prove fruitful. It would require a good day or so ploughing through their observations – that is if the soldiers could be trusted to record a reliable account.

  Also, I needed to get a better idea of who would want Lacanta murdered, though that would not be an easy task. By Lillus’ account at his barber’s shop, a concise summary of rumours, she was both popular and despised, depending on whether or not one was the recipient of her alluring gestures.

  Conscious not to be late for my appointment with King Licintius, I washed, changed and made to head out into the morning sun. But before I did I asked a favour of Leana: to see if the people of the city were talking. So often a lead had come off the back of local gossip that turned out to be more than just idle chatter. It was also useful for Leana to begin exploring the more
marginal parts of the city, the hidden taverns and the backstreet dice dens, which might develop into useful points of contact in future.

  We were going to be around in Tryum for a while.

  The soldiers manning the entrance to the open courtyard in front of Optryx were not interested in my badge of office, though I did need to give the day’s password, which Veron had told me last night. Security was tighter now – was this a reaction to the murder? If indeed it was, it had come far too late.

  The building was quiet, not at all what I assumed would be the bustling residence of servants, administrative staff and politicians in full flow. Senator Veron met me and steered me towards a small side room with a highly polished desk, marble floor, and shelves full of books. Judging by the abacus, it must have been some kind of accounting or stocktaking room.

  Inside was a dark-haired man in his early forties wearing military garb, a deep red tunic, leather breastplate, and with a sword sheathed at his side. Dark, short and well-oiled hair, and with a wide yet lean face, he was muscular, confident and relaxed. Reaching out with his right hand, he stood to greet me. His forearm was incredibly solid, and it had been a while since someone had gripped my own arm so tightly. Though I was a relatively tall man, he looked down on me. Small scars of battle were dotted about his face.

  Senator Veron conducted the introductions: ‘General Maxant, may I present to you Lucan Drakenfeld, Tryum’s new officer of the Sun Chamber.’

  Maxant stared intensely with his bold, hazel eyes. His manner was proud. ‘The son of Calludian returns home.’

  The words sounded like some kind of accusation. ‘You knew my father?’

  ‘Not well, but we met many years ago. I remembered him to be a good man. Honourable, reliable. Keen eye for detail. I hope this remains a family trait.’

  ‘As do I. I’m sorry to meet you under such circumstances.’