The Broken Isles

Only when she saw the small sack by her feet did she realize what Malum meant. Glancing up, she watched the cart move away into the distance and on through the streets.

She lifted the sack, noted the weight of the coin and, peering around sheepishly, headed back into the warmth of the factory.

Malum knew that if he was going to do this properly, to create the right amount of public fear, it would have to be in one of the most public places possible, an iren. The large one recently set up behind Port Nostalgia, where all the traders would be going about their business, would be ideal, and the irens were always busiest first thing in the morning.

He worked through the pre-dawn darkness, getting everything ready. A stall had already been rented right in the centre — something in a prime location. He had his men set up a few trinkets on display, cheap cookware and the likes, in order to make the stall look genuine, but beneath a sheet weighed down with stones was the grotesque.

They had bought a bucket of pig’s blood the night before from a butcher’s shop in Althing, and spread it liberally on the cobbles around the creature. Previously Malum had ordered one of his gang to locate the body of a child. He didn’t ask how or where they got it, but they managed to find one and the young boy’s body was intact. The corpse was placed by one of the creature’s outstretched paws, which poked up from under the sheet.

‘It has to look as if the creature killed the kid,’ Malum ordered, and his men began making the necessary adjustments.

The city architecture began to define itself against the light of the pale dawn sky.

‘C’mon, you guys,’ he ordered. ‘We need to get this done before the sun’s up, and be clear of here as soon as possible.’

Finally, they peeled back the sheet, rolled it up and stuffed it in the far corner of the iren, just as the first traders rolled their carts to unload their wares. The monster was unveiled in all its hideous glory.

Malum ordered his most presentable men to knock on the doors of local administrators and politicians, anyone who was someone in the Ancient Quarter. They were woken up from their slumber or dragged from their breakfast table to listen to the hottest rumour of the day, and the lines the gang used were simple:

‘Hey, have you seen what’s kicking off in the iren in Port Nostalgia? They say a monster’s come to the city from the south. It’s just died right in the middle of everything. They say it tried to eat a kid. There’s blood everywhere. Come quick!’

It wasn’t a truly calculated plan, and certainly wasn’t his finest hour, but Malum was happy enough watching, from a distance, as influential people moved towards the harbour, alarmed at the alien threat. After a short while, he decided to go back to see what was happening at the iren.

Upon entering the area, Malum smiled widely.

Everyone else’s stalls were not fully set up, trade had not commenced, and there were a good few hundred people — traders and customers looking to fill their baskets with supplies — clustering around where Malum had left the beast. He recognized the faces of influential people, cowering behind or their faces half-hidden beneath hoods. He pushed his way forward, in the game now — he knew people would recognize him and he had to be careful.

The nearer he got the more hysterical people’s conversations were.

Two or three traders built like barbarians were investigating the corpse, which in the morning light was clear to see in all its glory. The thing’s skin was almost reptilian, with scales along its underbelly; four crude, fur-covered arms jutted out from this, and two legs that seemed more at home on oxen. The head was a mash-up of all sorts of creatures, with a cluster of eyes and two long fangs. From head to foot, stretched out like this, it must have measured a good ten feet long. Blood had soaked into the fur nicely, and the overall effect was that it appeared to have killed the child and somehow had died in the process.

It was a marvellous design, truly horrific, and it was having the desired effect on the gathered throng. It would also make the commander’s dream of alien integration a lot more difficult.

Malum could overhear one or two of his men, deep within the crowds, shouting the message he had ordered them to spread:

‘This is one of those monsters from south of the city, I know it.’

‘I can’t believe we’re not being protected from these alien immigrants.’

‘The army needs to kill these brutes and quick.’

‘Do they really expect us to live alongside such foul things?’

It didn’t take long, either, for people in the crowd to mutter their agreement. Opinions were that easy to change, when confronted with the right image.

A unit of Dragoons came a little later, parting the crowds and invading the iren. People were steered to one side of the iren while the army sealed off the area. A lot of people clambered around the walls and rooftops to see what they were up to, and it seemed they had no clue what to do or what to make of this turn of events.

They were as dumbstruck as the citizens.

TWENTY

Investigator Fulcrom was hoping to have a day or two’s rest, but apparently that was not going to happen.

His and Lan’s quarters were luxurious compared with life on the road. There was warmth and comfort, and most of all peace from the constant demands of leadership. A slender, arched window offered a view towards the far east of the city, which seemed relatively untouched by the brutal war.

While Lan was changing into her freshly laundered Knights outfit, Fulcrom stood browsing the selection of texts on a high shelf, most of them on fishing or local history. His musing was interrupted by a loud thump on the door.

‘Fulcrom, it’s Brynd.’

‘One moment, Lan’s just getting changed,’ Fulcrom called through to him.

Lan glowered at him. ‘Can’t you learn to lie from time to time?’ she whispered, hurriedly yanking on her breeches.

When she had finished, Fulcrom opened the door and the commander strode in sheepishly. Only now, in this calm situation, did Fulcrom realize how striking the commander’s white face and red-tinted eyes were.

‘Is everything well, commander?’ Fulcrom enquired.

‘As well as can be expected here, yes, but I came to start you up with a few tasks, if you’re willing.’

‘Of course, yes. Is this for the Villiren Inquisition?’

‘If you want to call it that, yes. At the moment the city is under military law, and I would like to work on a transition to something more stable, local and meaningful. That is, if you are both happy to get started immediately?’

Fulcrom looked to Lan, who nodded back.

‘The Inquisition is just the two of you at the moment.’ Brynd reached into his pocket and pulled out two small leather cases. He handed one to Fulcrom and one to Lan.

Fulcrom opened his and found an Inquisition medallion inside, much like the one he wore in Villjamur, with the same triangular crucible stamped upon it. The ribbon was black. Fulcrom put it on over his head; it felt good to have one there again, after having discarded his old one in disgust at his superiors in Villjamur. Lan followed suit, smiling then staring down at the medallion. ‘Our deepest thanks, commander,’ Fulcrom said.

‘As for what I’d like you to do,’ Brynd continued, ‘well. . we’ve heard reports this morning of a creature being found in the middle of a large new iren. A creature that has apparently killed a child. It’s causing a bit of a stir and the iren has been closed for a while. It seems the whole city is talking about it, and we’re the last to know.’