There was no response, and Boll noticed the creature possessed no reflection in the adjacent mirror. He quivered with fear as it came nearer, seeing directly through the gaps in the glowing bones. The thing barely owned a face, just crudely assembled features of two sockets for its eyes, a black circle for its mouth. 'I have money…' Boll began pleading.
As the ethereal skeleton towered over him, Boll slashed the blade in some vague attempt at self-defence. It merely stood there regardless, the sharp metal passing through it as if slicing water.
The axe in its hand seemed real enough. As the blade descended Boll twisted to one side, but it still crunched into his shoulder generating an explosion of pain. He howled, sprawling flat on the floor, his right arm now functionless, blood pooling around him. The next blow gashed his groin, severing an artery before thudding into the floor tiles.
TWENTY
Investigator Jeryd was not at all amused.
He just stared thoughtfully at the wall, sipping a cup of tea, and for a long while no comment issued from his lips. Eventually, with a sigh, he said simply, 'Another councillor?'
'Councillor Boll,' Aide Tryst confirmed, standing close by Jeryd's desk.
'Councillor Boll.' Then, contemplating the paperwork, Jeryd said, 'Bugger.'
'I understand the body is now in the possession of Doctor Tarr, but he's spent all morning in the House of Life.'
'What the hell's he doing there?' Jeryd grumbled. 'Bohr, he's a miserable git.'
'Meditating, I believe,' Tryst said.
'Well, let me guess,' Jeryd pondered. 'Bizarre wounds again, no useful evidence, a general waste of time and utter confusion for all involved? Just more stress and paperwork for you and me?' Jeryd pursed his lips. 'How many people know about it?'
'According to the servant who found him, not many. He contacted another member of the Council who lives nearby, who in turn contacted Doctor Tarr's people to remove the body immediately, then he sent word straight to us.'
'That's one thing to be grateful for, at least,' Jeryd said. 'So, we've got ourselves a murderer with a taste for butchering members of the Council?'
'So it seems,' Tryst agreed.
'Let's drop in on Tarr again, then I think I'd better have another chat with Chancellor Urtica.'
*
The Hall of Life was one of the more depressing places in Villjamur. Though close to the octagonal Astronomer's Tower, it was located at a much lower level. The only access was via several stairways that spiralled deep down into the city. Reaching it required negotiating a complicated labyrinth of dark passageways, and rumour had it that if visitors strayed too far off the main route, they might never be seen again. It was like a route to one of the lower realms, a symbolic reminder of the final journey.
If Doctor Tarr even needed reminding of death, he had come to the right place. There, deep underground, in a high-ceilinged cavern, it was said that a candle was lit for every child born in the city. They burned there in their thousands, arranged in neat rows that extended on all sides.
It was an ideal place for meditation, as encouraged by the Jorsalir tradition – somewhere for contemplation. People entered and departed, some to sit quietly, some weeping, others staring blankly at the candles.
Time became lost in deep contemplation.
Doctor Tarr was seated on a wooden bench to one side, surrounded by shades of darkness, a metaphor for death.
The doctor glanced up briefly, then resumed his contemplation of the burning candles. Symbols of the fragility of existence, the slightest draught could blow out these flames, at any moment.
'Right, let's go talk to the morose git.'
Tarr sat up sharply as the words echoed across the vast chamber. He recognized Investigator Rumex Jeryd, emerging from one of the stairwells with his human assistant.
'Ah, Doctor Tarr.' Jeryd approached him. 'Sele of Jamur to you.'
'And to you, investigator,' Tarr replied, standing.
'What on earth are you doing down here?' Jeryd enquired. 'Surely you're familiar with the trappings of death by now?'
The doctor gave a gentle smile that rather unnerved the investigator. 'Familiar, yes, but prepared, no. I've seen too many mutilated corpses, and Councillor Boll's murder has to be one of the most horrific sights I've ever encountered.'
Jeryd said nothing, merely glanced across the sea of candles before them. Finally he said, 'I don't understand why you're here, though. Surely you should be examining the body?'
'There's not too much left of it to examine, truth be told,' Tarr said. 'I've come to realize through the years, investigator, how life can be so easily, and so horrifically, taken from us. This Empire has led an easy existence over the last few decades. No major wars, no great plagues, no crop failures on a large scale. Every single one of us has been safe, as if we have never left our mother's knee. Look at the flames, both of you. Yet we are a besieged city, investigator. Disease attacks within our city walls, and every sunrise takes us yet another step towards our inevitable death. One wonders what happens afterwards, on the other side.'
'Will you tell us what you've found, doctor?' Tryst interrupted.
'Of course,' Tarr said. 'You're quite right to ask. Come to the mortuary later, though. In all honesty, there's little to see, since his body was hacked into mincemeat.'
He sighed gently. These days anything seemed possible in Villjamur.
*
'I honestly knew nothing about it,' Chancellor Urtica confessed, the shock on his face genuine enough for Jeryd. He ran his hands through his hair, now clearly lost for words.
They were standing inside the door of Boll's chambers, staring at the huge bloodstain covering the floor. They stared, for what seemed like an entire bell. It had spattered the walls, too, and even the glass on the window was smeared with gore.
Jeryd was quietly grateful that at least the body had been removed.
'First Ghuda… and now Boll.' Urtica's gaze flicked about anxiously.
And next you? Jeryd wondered, recognizing the fear in the councillor's expression.
'Please excuse me,' Urtica turned, and left the chamber.
'Bit of a mess, all this,' Jeryd sighed.
Tryst approached the worst of the carnage with a narrow step. 'Guess we should have this cleaned up before we examine the room thoroughly?'
'Soon enough,' Jeryd agreed, 'but let's just take a look around first.'
For over an hour, Jeryd and Tryst examined every corner of the room. They rooted assiduously through all of Boll's books, documents, even ornaments. All the time Jeryd was careful to keep his tail well tucked in, away from the crimson mess. He finally did a search for hidden drawers, checked for concealed panels – but found nothing out of the ordinary.
He was about to give up when he noticed a stain on a mirror. As he brushed his finger against it, Tryst stepped next to him. 'What've you got there?'
'Blue paint,' Jeryd said in surprise, holding up his hand to inspect it.
'Was he an artist in his spare time?' Tryst suggested, staring at Jeryd's finger.
'I doubt it,' Jeryd replied. 'There're no sketchbooks. Not even any paintings on the walls – only tapestries. So how did he get blue paint on the mirror?'
'You reckon it's important?'
'Everything can have some importance, Tryst. The good investigator must always think that.'
Tryst walked away stiffly, as if wounded by the minor reprimand.
