People were even alleging rape. Accusations were flying everywhere. Meanwhile, the hygiene standards in the refugee camps were plummeting. There had been demonstrations by Villjamur's extreme right-wing activists. They didn't want these types stealing what was 'rightfully theirs' in the face of the Freeze. They didn't want disease brought into their city. Things were now happening at a level of hysteria no one was familiar with.
People were getting angrier, and more desperate.
*
He spent an hour writing up notes from yesterday, while finishing a cold cup of tea the administrative girl, Ghale, had brought him earlier. She was dark-haired, attractive, but she didn't have a tail and her human skin was too soft for his tastes.
Jeryd peered again at his observations so far. Delamonde Ghuda was forty-three years old. Married, with no known children. Once elected, Ghuda had spent fifteen years on the Council, regularly endorsed by popular vote. Whatever the masses wanted, he was with them, and their vote was with him. He helped push through various educational and tax reforms, spent one year as Treasurer of Villjamur, before being promoted to overseeing all of the Jamur Empire's resources on behalf of the chancellor. That was a position he had held for four years.
So, who specifically would want to kill him?
At that moment, Aide Tryst entered the room without knocking. 'Investigator, we've got a lead.'
Jeryd looked up, stifled a yawn. 'Great. Out with it, then.'
'Witness statement has the deceased sighted the evening before in a tavern, drinking with a woman in her forties.'
'Nothing unusual there, lad.'
'They were seen leaving together, and rumour has it that she's a prostitute. Has a noticeable wound on her face. Another witness has the same two spotted entering a residential tower next to the gallery.'
'Great, we now have a city councillor using whores. Like to explain that to his partner and the other councillors? I can bet you we'll have orders to keep that little fact quiet. And considering the Council's supposed to be a symbol of truth and probity…'
*
Tuya wiped him off with a towel, which she then threw into a basket in the corner. The guy had only wanted a handjob in the end, which suited her fine. Said he didn't want to cheat on his partner, a last-minute change of mind. He lay on his back, panting for a while – men looked so pathetic after they'd come.
As she walked out of the room she said, 'I'll leave you to get dressed. Just leave the money on the side and let me know before you go.'
In fact he left her enough money to last her a week – four Sota and ten Lordils – and she watched him leave, dressed again in his smart robes on his way back to his office in the Treasury. It no longer amazed her just how ordinary her customers could be. They went back to their families, their wives, to their jobs, to their commonplace negotiations, and all the time nursing this guilty secret. Ah well, was what she did for a living wrong if no one got hurt? She wasn't one of those poor street girls who suffered sleepless nights under the guilt and shame, men coming and going like ghosts in their lives.
How had her existence got to this point?
Was the reason that she had become capital – goods and services? – was that why she would remain trapped in Villjamur? She suspected that her position was shared, in some ways, by many other ladies in the city. Mothers and housewives, and women like her who might actually earn money. For as long as women could be viewed in such transactional manners, their emancipation would remain incomplete. When had it become too late to change everything? Did she even choose this lifestyle or did it force itself upon her?
Sighing, she went back to her bed, lay down, drew the sheets over her. Watched the light through the window. Listened to the busy sounds of the city.
And closed her eyes.
*
Jeryd knocked, and a woman eventually opened the door. She wore just a flimsy gown that wasn't going to keep out the chill. Red hair, a fuller figure, the sort that came with a little expensive dining now and then. Down one side of her face was a livid scar and Jeryd tried desperately not to focus on it.
'Investigator Rumex Jeryd, Villjamur Inquisition.' He held up his Inquisition medallion. 'And this is Aide Tryst. We're investigating the murder of Delamonde Ghuda, and we're hoping you can help us with our enquiries.'
'Delamonde Ghuda?' she said. 'Oh, my… Come in, please. Can I offer you something to drink?'
'No, thanks,' Jeryd said.
Tryst took out a pencil and notebook.
She found two ornate wooden chairs, and placed them for the men to sit on near the window.
'Many thanks,' Tryst said, seating himself.
'These are impressive.' Jeryd indicated the chairs, but remained standing. He decided that he didn't want to get too comfortable. 'Antiques?'
'Yes. Do you yourself collect, investigator?'
'Nah,' Jeryd replied, glancing over at Tryst who merely stared around the room. 'My wife was once a collector of sorts. Sometimes I tagged along with her to various markets. Never got into it myself, but I can recognize something half decent.' For a moment he appreciated the fact that Marysa had taught him enough to pick out a decent antique. Then appreciation transformed into pain, again.
'Was once a collector. You're no longer married then?' Tuya said, sitting down on the bed, her crossed legs revealed in the gap in her gown.
Jeryd sighed. 'We're here to investigate a murder, Miss…?'
'Daluud. Tuya Daluud.'
Tryst began taking notes as Jeryd started his routine. 'You were seen with the victim on the evening of the murder.'
'Yes,' she agreed. 'Yes, that's right.'
'What exactly is it you do for a living, may I ask?'
She said, 'You two are men of the world, I take it?'
Jeryd glanced at Tryst, then back to Tuya. 'Where's this leading?'
'Follow me.' She gestured them over to the elaborate door leading to her bedroom, paused them briefly with her outstretched arm. 'Just a quick glimpse, OK.' Then she opened the door.
It was clearly a whore's boudoir. Luxurious bed, oils, candles, the large mirrors, the smell of sex. Jeryd stepped back out of the room, nodding to Tryst, who blinked rapidly. Tuya closed the door and turned back to them.
Only then did Jeryd realize just how tall she was. 'None of this is of any concern to us, Miss Daluud.'
'I know.'
Jeryd placed his hands in his pockets, walked slowly around her living room, noting further the fine ornaments, paintings, furnishings. 'Still, it obviously pays well.'
'Yes, and there's no one else for me to spend the money on. But at least I get time to myself, and to pursue my other pleasures.'
Jeryd paused, looking over at Tryst who was sitting by the window again.
Jeryd noticed the covered canvases in the corner. 'You dabble in the Arts, Ms Daluud? We allowed to take a look?'
'I'd rather you didn't,' she said. 'I'm rather shy of some things.'
'Miss Daluud, would you be so good as to explain your dealings with Councillor Ghuda on the night in question?'
Tuya looked quickly between the two officers, before her gaze settled on Jeryd. 'I was drinking by myself in that place next to the street iren.'
'The Amateurs' Tavern?' Jeryd enquired.
'Yes, that's the one.'
'And you go there regularly?'
'Quite a bit. I like its character, and the view from its windows. When the first of the winter rain comes in from the sea, it makes the cobbles and the roofs all around it shiny black.'
'Huh.' Jeryd liked her engaging description. This woman obviously loved the city, but he needed questions answered. 'What time was this exactly?'
