Drakenfeld

by Mark Charan Newton

  ‘Hard to say from what they were wearing. I do not remember his face,’ Leana replied with nonchalance, and turned towards her room.

  It was only then I noticed the small collection of bones she had been holding behind her back.

  ‘I see you’ve found something to put towards a shrine for Gudan,’ I called out after her.

  Leana paused momentarily before I saw a flicker of excitement in her composure. ‘On the edge of Plutum I found a herbalist from Atrewe. An old woman who left long ago, because of the troubles. She makes a living from selling herbs, trinkets and very authentic clay pots.’

  Visibly happy, Leana strolled into her room.

  It came as something of a relief that Leana had made a connection. She had come with me from her homeland – not that she ever showed much sign of wanting to return. Our relationship was hard to explain to most people: we expressed our bond in our shared silences, our unspoken gestures. We learned to live side by side through rough periods and rougher places, slowly understanding the way each other operated, building a trust that I doubted could be replicated with anyone. Her presence offered protection and security; sometimes I doubted what I could offer her and hoped that, deep down, it went beyond money and a way to escape bad memories.

  And I recalled the contradictions of Tryum: indeed it was a city of many cultures, and many new accents and dialects; yet from what I had gathered, people feared foreigners more than ever. This was strange – even in the deepest days of the Empire, it was said that Detrata and Tryum especially welcomed people from all over the continent. We considered them Detratan even though they had not been born here.

  Had things changed in the harsher conditions? Had the lack of food led to a natural distrust of people who were not local? Were the senatorial classes sowing seeds of fear so that it might be a popular act to invade other countries? No doubt we would soon find out.

  A little while later, in our finest clothing, we left for the event at Senator Veron’s house. We took no more than seven steps out of the front gate before we found ourselves in trouble.

  Veron’s Party

  They were waiting for us in the shadows, three men wearing hooded tunics and cheap sandals. I couldn’t tell much about them from their faces, but they were soon crowding around us, steering us back against the red wall surrounding my property. Leana had her short sword in her hand before I even thought to draw mine.

  Leana crouched, grabbed some dust from the ground and flung it into the nearest assailant’s face before striking the man next to him with her blade, drawing blood. She then turned her attention to the first man, who was still wiping his eyes, and jabbed the blade into his thigh. Screaming, he crumpled to the ground clutching his leg. I went for the man Leana had injured, making a few lazy jabs and eventually managed to knock his blade to one side. I punched him in the centre of his face, feeling his nose crunch. He, too, fell to the ground; I smacked him over the back of his head with the pommel of my sword and then he lay still.

  The other grounded attacker received the same treatment while Leana dealt with the final standing assailant, who seemed more skilled in the arts of violence. Never wanting to miss any action, a small crowd had gathered to watch, cheering Leana on. Realizing this she delighted in making some utterly unnecessary show moves, delivering rapid punches to her opponent’s face and stomach and kicks to the side of his leg.

  While she revelled in what she did best, I called for someone in the crowd to bring some rope. After being handed some I quickly tied the others’ hands behind their backs. Leana finally finished, much to the admiration and cheers of the locals. I tied up the last of them, and lined up the three attackers side by side outside my front gates.

  ‘You were slow,’ Leana declared, out of breath but with a grin on her face. ‘Bellona’s cooking will only make you worse.’

  ‘I’m out of practice, that’s all,’ I said.

  They were poor, not particularly well-nourished men – clearly the bottom of the chain, as far as I was concerned. Perhaps their employers would seek me out in other, gentler ways. I sent for the Civil Cohorts to come and clean up.

  Constable Farrum arrived on the scene quickly, in his silver sash and brown tunic. I noticed crumbs in his beard.

  ‘Sorry if I disturbed your meal,’ I said, and he started to brush out the crumbs. I told him what had happened, pointed out the crowd of witnesses, and asked him to identify who these men were and what they were doing here.

  He seemed nervous and excited as he checked a few trivial details with me, before calling out to some of his own men. A handcart lumbered forwards and the attackers were hauled up on board, still unconscious, before being taken away. There were very few gaols in Tryum – it seemed that the city didn’t consider dedicating resources to prisoners particularly worthwhile when matters could be dealt with privately, but I instructed Farrum I’d pay him for his troubles.

  ‘Every other day we found a fight in Venyn City,’ Leana commented. ‘I am surprised just how quickly we got into it in Tryum. You told me this was the most civilized city in the Vispasian Royal Union.’

  ‘It is,’ I replied.

  ‘It seems much like others,’ Leana said, ‘if you ask me.’

  It was dark now and, though keeping time in Tryum was a loose concept, we hurried because we did not want to appear too rude to our host.

  ‘I am . . . nervous,’ Leana admitted.

  ‘You just won a fight with three men and now you’re nervous?’

  ‘Spirits save me, you are not helping my mood.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. It’s just a party.’ I laughed. It seemed absurd that Leana could be intimidated by the grand approach to Senator Veron’s mansion and yet easily handle herself when threatened.

  ‘Easy for you to say. You live and breathe such social circles. Me, I belong with ordinary people.’

  ‘I enjoy being with people from all walks of life.’

  ‘So you like to think,’ she replied. ‘You were born into this higher life. Me, I must keep silent when they talk to me, lest I betray my background.’

  ‘Let their words wash over you. Most of it is a lot of pretentious nonsense. Anyway, you’ve not met them yet – you might decide you like them.’

  ‘Just why must we go to this stupid thing?’

  ‘For work and for pleasure,’ I replied. ‘Many of the highest levels of Tryum society will be gathering under one roof. There’s every chance one of them will be able to tell us something about the murder, or at the very least open up some useful routes of enquiry. It’s why we should be glad that Veron has welcomed us into his social circle – that man is giving us quick access to the great and good of Tryum, whether or not he realizes it.’

  Two heavily built servants admitted us into Veron’s wonderful rectangular garden, which was rich and sensuous, filled with wide-leaf plants that weren’t domestic varieties. A dozen scents were being emptied into the evening sky, jasmine, marjoram . . . smells that blended with cooking aromas coming from the house. From inside came laughter and gentle music from a lyre. It seemed ridiculous that a house could be so big in Tryum: built on one level, it was set back from the streets, and designed in the city’s typical style, with regular columns, a symmetrical facade, decorated with thin lines of painted details, but it was too dark to perceive the full array of colours.

  Cressets burned outside and above the entrance way, bright yellow beacons against the indigo sky. There were braziers lit amidst the foliage throughout the garden, encouraging exploration and secret conversations in the half-light.

  We were welcomed by two more of Veron’s serving staff, each garbed in a rich silk tunic, before the senator himself came forward to greet us.

  ‘Ah, Drakenfeld! And . . . Leana, isn’t it?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Thank Trymus you’re here, Drakenfeld,’ Veron said, his annoyance plain to see. ‘Ever since General Maxant arrived he’s been boasting of his bloody conquests. We need some intellectual stimulation.
Quote a philosopher or two. Make something up about the stars. Anything to redirect the conversation away from savage topics.’

  ‘I’ll see what we can do,’ I replied.

  There were at least three dozen people scattered around Veron’s mansion, many of whom I recognized from the night at Optryx. People were gathered in their fineries, in gold-trimmed cloaks, plush tunics, beautiful dresses and necklaces. Faces soon turned to regard us as we mingled. I noticed how the walls of Veron’s house were well painted, with scenes of cities from the myths, where the gods dwelled. Mosaics were many coloured, the lanterns crafted from bronze. It was clear that Senator Veron had great personal wealth and I wondered idly where it came from. Incense mixed with the scent of spiced meats, which were carried about on trays by attentive servants. General Maxant was there, dressed in his military finery and his deep-red cloak, accompanied by two women who appeared to be in awe as he spoke to them.

  Veron pointed out one man, dressed unusually in crimson breeches and a bold red tunic, with all sorts of delicate decorative details, as Cettrus the Red, one of the riders from the Blood Races. ‘Now I know people will frown on us cavorting with people so far down the social scale,’ Veron said, ‘but the riders are popular men. It adds a little excitement to proceedings – not to mention making me seem an eccentric host.’

  ‘Is your wife here?’ I asked.

  ‘Atrella? No, no – she’s away on business. She’s left me with the much harder job of entertaining this lot. Did you meet Senator Divran, by the way?’

  ‘I did, yes.’

  ‘Doesn’t she send a shiver down one’s spine? Did she do it then – murder Lacanta?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so. Do you know how Divran’s husband died?’

  ‘Oh yes, quite a scene – not to mention a mess.’ Very briefly, Veron confirmed Divran’s descriptions to be accurate, though he added his own particular sense of colour.

  There was a strange hush as we were guided through the house, many people stopping their conversations and openly staring at us. I could feel Leana tense at my side.

  Veron clapped his hands for the lyre player to cease.

  ‘Please,’ I whispered, ‘no need for formalities on my account.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Senator Veron announced me with my full title, as the new officer of the Sun Chamber for Tryum, son of Calludian, and assigned to investigate the murder of Lacanta. He then introduced Leana as my assistant and gave a brief version of how we met. ‘We will expect more details of such a story tonight!’ he finished, then turned to me as the chatter rose again, and spoke slyly. ‘You’re not wedded in any way, you two?’

  ‘No,’ I confirmed quickly, as I noted the outrage in Leana’s face.

  ‘Good,’ Veron replied. ‘There are several women here who have been dying to get their hands on you.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not really looking—’

  ‘No one ever looks,’ Veron said, ‘but if the gods decide it’s the right moment, there is no need to fight against their cosmic will.’

  As Leana smirked at my discomfort, Veron steered two young women into view, one a black-haired lady with olive skin and wearing a green dress, the other with lighter hair, yet piercing blue eyes, and wearing an outfit that matched them. The women immediately began talking to me – or rather, talking at me. This had not been my plan for tonight: I did not come here to seek a bride, but answers. Yet they did seem rather charming . . .

  I felt a sharp nudge in my ribs from Leana and a look that told me I’d better not be distracted from the case or abandon her to these people, but before she could glare at me too long, Leana was then guided towards one of the trays of food by another guest.

  It turned out the women Veron forced upon me, Aemilia and Messalina, were wealthy daughters of senators and lining themselves up for the Senate one day. They seemed pleasant company, but I could tell they were more interested in my position within the Sun Chamber than me personally. There was a wide-eyed look about them that made me feel as if I was just another rung on a social ladder.

  When they said they were at Optryx the previous night I steered the conversation immediately to the murder. They had both been disturbed by the events. I asked them if they knew Lacanta in person and, as predicted, they replied in less than favourable terms about her behaviour in the company of men.

  ‘She liked to break hearts,’ Aemilia confided. ‘It could have been any one of fifty men who killed her – and any one of fifty women, for that matter. Though most likely it was someone using illicit magic. It could quite easily have been some servant hiring a soothsayer or curse-trader, someone who has nothing better to do than dredge up discredited gods. Disgusting.’

  ‘Why do you say it was magic?’ I asked.

  ‘Illegal cults,’ Messalina replied, and leaned in as if we were conspiring. ‘I’ve heard tell that such cults brought a farmer back from the dead – from the very hands of the gods, wouldn’t you know? It just isn’t right, if you ask me.’

  ‘You’ve heard tell,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t seem convinced?’ she asked. ‘Oh I know, I know. I’ve met people like you before, people who don’t believe in the other realms.’

  ‘Though I admit my job can make me question matters too much, I believe there are many mysteries,’ I replied. ‘But in my goddess’s writings, we tend to apply logic first and foremost. Only then can we begin to delve deeper into the unexplained – once reasoning has been ruled out. It is how she differs from, say, Trymus, whose followers deal mainly in faith first, questions later – if at all. That is why she remains the only god associated with the Sun Chamber.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Aemilia said, stepping back from me as if I’d been cursed. ‘It is simply not wise to speak ill of the gods.’

  ‘I respect everyone’s faith and everyone’s gods,’ I said. ‘We live in a cruel world, so if people can find comfort, so be it. Trying to play gods, though . . . that’s something else entirely.’

  ‘Well, you might rule out magic, but who are you to say it doesn’t go on?’ Messalina asked. ‘And it seems that Lacanta associated herself with such dark arts, given the number of marriages she ruined.’

  I still could not match these descriptions of Lacanta’s public life with her more austere, private chamber. It was as if she had been putting on a show – but why would that be?

  ‘Was she ever caught in the act with anyone?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh no. Never. She was too cautious for that.’

  I asked for names of those individuals with whom Lacanta was most intimate, but the ladies could only provide gossip and rumour based on lingering glances and suggested dalliances – none of which could provide the foundations of a solid investigation.

  In the corner of the room, Leana was involved in a conversation with Veron and a crowd of guests. ‘I should really see if my assistant is coping.’

  ‘We saw she came with you. Are you comfortable doing business with something like that?’

  ‘Like what?’ I demanded, noting how they viewed Leana with some disdain.

  ‘Oh, you know.’

  Indeed, I knew. Making my excuses to the two ladies, I walked across there, just in time to hear Leana finishing her account of how we met.

  ‘How extraordinary,’ one of the older men wheezed, captivated by the tale.

  Veron was looking at Leana with more than a hint of lust. I felt on my guard – not that he would harm Leana, but that she might harm him.

  ‘Wonderful accent, isn’t it, Drakenfeld,’ Veron said, catching my eye. ‘The way the vowels are extended, that each word is pronounced with consideration. I know you taught her Detratan, but what does she speak usually?’

  ‘Sarcasm, for the most part,’ I replied. ‘No, she speaks our own tongue – at her own insistence, as well as our convenience – but she’s been known to curse me in Atrewen from time to time. I think she’s reached a good level of Detratan. She’s even schooled me in Atrewen, though I’m not sure she’s taught me how to swear
. She saves such choice words for herself.’

  ‘It’s all so fascinating,’ Veron replied. ‘Now, I think it’s time you told these people some proper tales from the road. We long to know of the wider Vispasia. I long to know of anything from beyond the Senate building. What wonders have you seen?’

  Though I was not looking forward to discussions with Veron’s guests, I did not exactly dislike being surrounded by people eager for me to speak. I had been schooled well from a young age in rhetoric – as was essential for all of us in the legal profession – and it was not just a boon in the law courts. People loved a good story.

  ‘I once met the Gold Queen,’ I began, to audible gasps. ‘It was deep in the heart of Dalta, a nation where women have far greater rights and privileges than men.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ a man said.

  ‘It’s true. As a man it makes me really understand the position of women in our own nations – having experienced the opposite. The Gold Queen is the heart and soul of the Vispasian Royal Union, with much of the mineral wealth – and she knows it. She’s more arrogant than any king, and more beguiling than any lady I have set eyes upon. She dresses in nothing but gold-coloured cloth, and her body is weighed down by her excessive jewellery so that she rarely leaves her immense bedchamber. She sleeps there, eats there, bathes there, and dictates the entire business of Dalta from a horizontal position.’ I smiled at one of the more prudish-looking ladies nearby. ‘She experiences a lot of her pleasure at the same angle. When she needs to inspect the provinces of her country, to check on local officials and accountants, a good number of slaves carry her there on her golden bed.’

  ‘Were you on a case when you saw her?’ a woman asked. I took her to be a senator, too, judging by her stately clothing.

  ‘Did you see her in her bed?’

  ‘Was she clothed?’

  I smiled at this bombardment of questions. ‘I like to think she took a shine to me, but as for the rest, I’m afraid I’m not allowed to say . . .’