'Means bugger all to me,' Randur muttered.
She said sharply, 'It will, soon enough.'
'One question,' Randur said. 'What was that thing you took from the man who was trying to kill you, all those years ago?'
'That's not important now. It was a weapon, it was meant to hurt people, but nothing fancy, nothing world- changing. Nothing prophetic. We just didn't want it in his hands. As I said before, Randur, we're the ones with morals and ethics. We're just trying to keep order, to safeguard things for the benefit of the Empire.'
*
Through the streets of Villjamur once again.
Down a route he wouldn't have noticed existed. Through constricted alleyways, along hidden bridges. Much about the city had faded, died – disused chambers and archways, remnants from another time with no place here any more. As they passed under passageways he could hear carts being hauled above, and if he looked up through drain holes he could see people walking. Down here there were different styles of brickwork, crumbling stone where moss and lichen had colonized profusely near constantly dripping water.
'You know,' Randur said, 'the people who run this city could always ship those refugees from outside and set them up right here. It might be squatting, but still, if it means they don't die…'
She looked at him dismissively and Randur knew when to shut up. Papus gave the air that she knew a great deal, and would put down with great skill anyone who got a bit too clever with her.
They finally arrived at an underground chamber accessed by a door that you could barely see. Papus knocked, then turned to face him. 'These are the only cultists who can help you in what you're looking for.'
The door opened. A bald man in a grey cloak stood there to greet them.
'This is him,' Papus explained to the doorman, an anxious look on her face. She then walked away quickly, and Randur found himself visiting his second cultist sect of the day.
*
'So you see what I was promised.' Randur was sitting across a stone table from the man called Dartun Sur, who was sprawled in the chair opposite. 'And that's why I was told you could help.'
The chamber exuded a wonderful smell that reminded Randur of some herbal wash worn by a girl he once knew. Otherwise the room was rather plain, with none of the carefully arranged relics, containers of strange liquids, preserved specimens, or crazy men with mad hair he might have expected.
Dartun leaned forward in his plush chair. He had an assessing gaze, and there was an unsettling, ageless look to those eyes. They shone too bright for the dim light. 'An intriguing task, I'll give you that. But quite doable.'
As an awkward silence stretched before them, Randur examined the man. Dartun was annoyingly handsome, with his square jaw, gently muscled physique. He had somehow even found some sunlight in this city to give his skin a healthy glow. Despite the greying hair, his looks remained youthful, and Randur placed him at around forty years, even though he gave the impression of being a more experienced man.
'That's a smart cloak you've got there,' Randur said to break the silence – and thinking he'd look good in it himself, with a little customization. 'Very dark. What colour's that?'
'Fuligin,' Dartun replied. 'That's a colour darker even than black.'
Another period of reflection, and Randur said, 'So, d'you think you can help me?'
'Of course,' Dartun replied, looking amused at the naive question. 'That's well within our talents. It's one of my own areas of expertise, shall we say. No, my reflection on the matter is what can you do for us in return.'
Randur knew that the favour Papus had given him was to introduce him to Dartun. He would now have to come to some agreement of his own with this cultist leader. 'Well, if it's any help, I'm on my way to take employment in the household of the Emperor himself.'
'Old Johynn's place?' Dartun said. 'Now that's certainly an interesting point. And what'll you be doing there exactly?'
'This and that,' Randur replied coolly. This encounter was beginning to give him a sense of angst. He waited a moment before he asked the inevitable. 'Would you want paying?'
'A-ha! Now that, Randur Estevu, sounds more like it.'
'I would've thought that, being cultists, you could get your hands on all the wealth you needed. And what would you need money for anyway?'
'I love the way everyone assumes we can do anything, as and when we please. Our technology is rather specific, you see. And, precious though they are, relics don't buy food or sustenance. I have an order to pay regularly: that's what keeps people happy. No, money is useful indeed. I think to cover our time and costs for this task… say, four hundred Jamuns should do it?'
'Four hundred!' Randur stood up with shock. Stunned someone could assign a monetary value to such a request. Was that how they did things deep in the Empire? Where was the fairness in that? He locked eyes with Dartun, but could see that the cultist leader wasn't a man to be argued with.
'Well, what price would you put on a life, Mr Estevu?' Dartun said.
Randur sat down again, feeling miserable. Four hundred Jamuns? An impossible sum. Calculating that a Jamun was worth ten Sota, each of which was worth fifty Lordils, he realized you could buy up most of the farms on Folke with that kind of money. It seemed utterly alien to price up a person's life.
'Don't look too miserable,' Dartun continued. 'Just think about it, you'll be ensconced in Balmacara, where there're many wealthy people hanging about. I'm sure you can use your imagination in finding a way to ensure that some of that money comes your way. You're a handsome lad, and you'll find that being pleasing to the eye gives you a head start in these affairs.'
Randur ignored the man's bluntness. He stared at the stone table nearby, at the small engravings around it, the runes. He wasn't aware of how long he remained lost in thought, but when he looked up, Dartun was still grinning at him.
Randur said, 'Is there a time limit on this sort of thing? I mean, say my mother passed away today, how long would it be before it gets too late to… you know, do whatever it is you can do?'
'A fine question. Well, we experiment all the time, because progress is what I'm after. It's what this entire order is after: to distil the essence of life, to discover just whatever it is that makes us all us. So far we've successfully reanimated a man who had died up to two years before we worked on him, although his mind wasn't quite what it used to be. This is the result of generations of our research, Randur. We're not just some iren trader trying to offload a stack of cheap tat.'
That was a relief to Randur. It provided some time for him to get hold of the four hundred Jamuns.
'A deal?' Dartun said.
'Yeah, a deal.'
They shook hands.
'Could I just ask one thing?' Dartun folded his arms. 'Why the hell d'you want to do this for your mother?'
A wave of nausea surged through Randur's body, as his mind raced back to that night, to the one thing he would forever regret. He needed to repair the damage that his lack of thought and consideration had led to. He needed to prove himself as his mother's son. After all, mothers brought you into the world. They then fed you, clothed you, showed you immeasurable kindness. They gave you everything they had. True, his mother was a bitter woman sometimes, but that wasn't important. All that mattered to Randur, in retrospect, was that the one night she needed him, he had not been there.
He had failed her.
'So,' Randur said, ignoring the last question, 'what… I mean, how will you manage this?'
'Just leave that to the specialists, young man. Believe me, this isn't the first time I've been approached to play about with the laws of the cosmos. I've been in Villjamur for… a lifetime. Women come asking to be made prettier, or slimmer, or younger. Men come asking me to increase their virility. I've had prostitutes ask me to stop the pain they suffer in their jobs, have their internal muscles numbed or senses stopped so doing their work does not hurt them. I've even had drug addicts crying out for help. I've been around a long time, and I've seen it all, and I say to them all – let me see your coin, and I'll investigate if the technology exists.'
*
In a glass orb stationed in the corner of his primary workroom, Dartun watched the young man leave. The orb was linked to another on an external wall, surrounded by marbles as a decorative feature, and it displayed an exaggerated caricature slipping away along the backstreets of a black and white Villjamur.
