'About seven, maybe even eight. I always take a book in there with me, and the time passes.'
'So, you were in the tavern sometime after seven.'
'Yes, and I was sitting alone to begin with, but after a while someone asked if he could join me.'
'This was Delamonde Ghuda?' Jeryd prompted.
Tuya sighed, 'Despite my scarring, he seemed to find me attractive. What can I say? Men seem to think I'm something special.'
'And are you?'
He could see then that something shifted in her mind. Whether or not she now had respect for Jeryd, he couldn't be sure. 'I'm sorry. And then what happened?'
'He sat down opposite, and I thought he was handsome. We discussed literature for a while, and he kept ordering drinks for both of us. He was altogether quite a charmer. I was lonely. He was intelligent. You're a man of the world, so you know how these things happen.'
'Indeed.' Well no, actually, he reminded himself. It's been far too damn long since I've done any of that. Jeryd sat down on the other chair, confirmed that Tryst was noting every detail. 'And you came here afterwards?'
'Yes,' she admitted.
'What time was that?' Tryst asked.
'About ten.'
'He was obviously a quick operator,' Jeryd observed.
Tuya's laugh was surprisingly hearty. 'I was lonely and he seemed fun. We came straight back here.'
'You didn't notice anyone or anything strange on the way?'
'No. Nothing at all. Not that I was paying a great deal of attention.'
'OK, then what?'
'We came back here and… you know.'
'You had intercourse?'
'Yes, investigator, but I prefer to call it making love.'
'A little quick for love, don't you think?' A mild feeling of pique overcame him.
Tuya played with the ends of her gown.
'What time did he leave you?' Jeryd said.
'He was here until early the next morning. I was pretty much asleep when he finally left.'
'And you didn't hear or see anything you would consider out of place?'
'Nothing more than you'd hear on any ordinary night. Drunks quarrelling down below. Horses' hooves on the cobbles.'
There was something about the way she smiled – she didn't seem happy when she did it. Jeryd stood up, looked at Tryst. The young aide got up and pushed his chair back.
'I think that's a start, anyway,' Jeryd said. 'We've got a few more people to interview.' He didn't actually have any immediate plans, but he wanted to make her sweat a little by creating the illusion there was a lot to follow up on.
'You're off already?' Tuya said. 'Surely I must be your main suspect?'
'If we need to ask you some more questions, I assume we can normally find you here?' Jeryd glanced once again at the antiques filling the room.
'Yes, although you might be advised to knock and wait first.' She winked at Tryst.
Jeryd stifled a laugh at the lad's embarrassment.
*
'So what d'you reckon?' Tryst asked as they were walking down the spiral staircase. His voice echoed hollowly against the bare stone.
'Too early to tell. The councillor had a lot of enemies.'
'Maybe his wife found out about this fling?'
'In just one night? Doubtful. This was a one-off thing, surely. Lonely woman, rich crafty man. I've seen it all too many times.'
'Well, maybe my date with Ghale will have a happier ending.'
Jeryd looked to his aide. 'You mean Ghale, our administration assistant?'
'Yes indeed, the very same.'
'Ah, too soft-skinned,' Jeryd muttered, pushing open the exit door. 'You need to get yourself something tougher. Something more like a rumel girl. They're built to last, you see.'
'And when are you going to get another one, now you're a free man?'
Jeryd squinted up into a sharp beam of sunlight, as he stepped outside, and Tryst closed the door behind them. He couldn't think past Marysa: it was too soon since she had gone. There was too much for him to learn again. 'Too old for those sorts of games.'
'You're never too old,' Tryst said.
'Well, I was never much good at all that stuff, anyway.' He remembered immediately all the things Marysa had done for him, and how unfinished he was without her.
He headed off along the street, his thoughts returning to the prostitute and the dead politician.
SEVEN
Brynd waited patiently alongside Eir in the corridor outside the Council Atrium, the chamber where all the plans and schemes for Villjamur and the Empire were debated. They had been sitting there for hours. Brynd understood then that, as a servant to the Empire, his life was spent arriving, departing, or waiting.
The two of them sat in a miserable silence, and he pitied Eir for having to witness her father's death when she was still so young. He tried to convince her that it was not her fault, that it was an accident. She hadn't wept openly, but when Brynd had gone to fetch her earlier that day, he could hear her sobbing behind the closed doors of her chamber.
However, she stepped out to greet him as elegantly composed as could be expected.
After her sibling Rika had left, all those years ago, the younger girl had become more quiet, rather withdrawn. She shouldn't have had to cope with Johynn in his deteriorating state, not at her youthful age. Brynd wondered if she'd eventually come to see her father's departure as a release from his powerful emotional grasp over her.
Eventually, the large Quercus wood doors of the Atrium were opened and they were both summoned inside.
The Atrium itself was a high-domed white chamber about fifty paces wide. The twenty-five councillors, each representing a sector of the city as stated by the old maps, sat in a circle of benches, ranged above them.
The Council had already been locked away for most of a day, anxiously deliberating the consequences of Jamur Johynn's death. They had ordered that the Emperor's mortal remains be cleaned up rapidly. As yet no one in the general population of Villjamur realized that their Emperor had killed himself. Palace servants had been threatened with torture and execution if any rumours were traced back to Balmacara.
Brynd and Eir took their seats silently on a wooden podium at one end of the chamber for esteemed guests, although Brynd felt more like a prisoner. On it was carved the emblem of the Jamur Empire: a seven-pointed star.
A low-level muttering rippled through the Council.
Eir was dressed soberly in a dark red shawl covering a black gown of mourning. Brynd took the opportunity to rid himself of the scars and dirt and memories of military ambush, and wore a freshly cleaned all-black uniform.
Though Brynd had earned the Emperor's trust over the years, he was never quite sure how this parliament reacted to his being albino. Brynd had his own suspicions about these councillors because of what had recently happened at Daluk Point. If he scrutinized them carefully, perhaps one of them would betray guilt in his or her eyes.
Silence fell as Chancellor Urtica stood up.
Brynd glanced at him with secret disdain. You couldn't really trust a man who, it was rumoured, had spent a
