hope he'll find the murderer. I find something unnerving, though.' Urtica shivered as a damp wind stirred his robe. 'I want him to find the killer, yet I don't want him delving so deeply into Council business that he might stumble into Ovinist territory. Not now, with all these plans I have for us. He strikes me as one who takes his work extremely seriously, and I can't risk him exposing us.'
Tryst said, 'You wish me to help in some way?'
'Yes, tell me if there's anything we can distract him with so he does not dig too deep.'
Tryst related the renewed relationship of Jeryd and Marysa, that he messed up things with her before, couldn't afford to do so again.
'This might prove useful,' Urtica said. 'Perhaps you could distract our investigator by somehow disrupting their relationship. I don't know how, but don't kill her or anything. That would knock him off the case completely, and all I want is just a little distraction. Something that will keep his nose out of Council matters and concentrating only on surface issues. Anything to keep him on the streets hunting the killer.'
'I'm sure it can be arranged.' Tryst frowned. 'I only need to find a way.'
'You know, you've proved very useful to me, Tryst. I would like to see you standing a little closer to me in future. We've got some important schemes to develop, particularly regarding the refugee situation.' Urtica waved an arm vaguely towards the edge of the city. 'Those vermin beyond the walls, spreading their filth and disease. I need someone to help me deal with them. When the time comes, it won't be a pretty job at all. So do you reckon you're up to it?'
'Magus Urtica,' Tryst smiled. 'It would be an honour.'
'Good, then let me tell you more about my proposals on the matter, my dear boy…' Urtica turned his gaze once again to Villjamur.
TWENTY-TWO
It was, Randur concluded, pushing himself off the cobbles of an alley next to the tavern, an unwise decision to drink so much and so quickly.
He felt damp grit on his palms, and the muscles in his arms quivered as he levered himself upright. His head ached so much he wanted to cut it off. He looked up to see Denlin perched on top of a small wooden stool nearby.
Still drinking.
Still talking.
'Morning, lad,' Denlin said cheerfully.
Randur collapsed to the ground with a groan, and the old man burst out laughing.
'Trouble with you youngsters is, you think you can keep up with us. But we've been at it for years, lad. I was drinking this horse piss before you could let go of your mother's teat…'
'Bollocks,' Randur muttered, then groaned again. His hair was dishevelled, mud plastered all over one side of his face. There was a faintly foul smell he hoped he had nothing to do with.
So, another night of drinking with Denlin. This ritual had been going on for days, the cycle repeating itself: seduction of a lady, take what pickings he could, then flee into the darkness of the caves where Denlin would soon arrange a buyer. Celebrations would ensue, naturally, and it wasn't normal for him to drink this much, but last night he had a particularly good haul. A diamond bracelet snatched from a sixty-year-old widow. Her age hadn't limited her sexual appetite, but it had taken her an age to reach orgasm, and she lay so still afterwards that he thought she was dead. As he left she kept murmuring thank-yous.
Before he had stepped into the night, he managed to swipe his most expensive trophy yet.
A clock tower chimed, each strike ricocheting around Randur's head. He counted eight hours, and realized that within the next one he had a dance lesson with the Lady Eir. He cursed loudly.
'What's up, lad?'
Randur said, 'I've got to go.' He stood up at last, brushed himself down, his damp clothes stinking of smoke and alcohol.
'Well, I'll be here when you need me,' Denlin said.
'I'll be back as soon as I've got more stuff to sell.' Randur turned and began to hurry away through Caveside.
He abruptly frowned, noticing the unusual light. It shouldn't be daylight down here, not still underground, though it occurred to him that he had only ever visited the caves at nighttime, and now it was morning.
Randur rubbed his eyes again, looked up. 'Well, would you look at that…'
Light ran in strips down the underside of the immense cavern, as if he was standing under the glowing ribcage of some gargantuan beast. These ribs sparkled like glass. At the apex, in the very centre of the cave, shone a bright hub of light that intruded from the outside, directly from the brightening sky above. There were similar smaller hubs located at intervals throughout the caves, each one projecting light to this neglected expanse of city. Perhaps this was the real Villjamur from time immemorial, not the other city that every traveller saw, or the one the wealthy and powerful now lived in.
But this was no time to dawdle, or speculate. He was late, and reeking of alcohol. He sprinted back to Balmacara.
*
It was the same morning that Commander Brynd Lathraea was bringing the new Empress to Villjamur, and a large contingent of the Fourth and Fifth Dragoons was riding towards the city through the mist. The horses' hooves thumped on sodden tundra, leaving a muddy trail. It wouldn't be at all difficult for anyone to follow, but there were so many troops in attendance that you need not fear a surprise attack. Brynd rode directly alongside the carriage in which Rika sat with the windows veiled. Apium was astride his horse, one of those pulling the vehicle, while Nelum and Lupus were riding directly behind. All around them on either side, keeping pace precisely, were columns of Dragoons.
The Lady Rika herself was the centre of all this.
Brynd eyed her frequently, but couldn't tell much from her expression. He suspected she understood exactly what was required of her in her new role, with its responsibilities. He also knew she had not seen Villjamur for several years. Its daunting walls and the three entrance gates had been there seemingly forever, but there were now differences, inside and out. The ice age was upon them, with thousands of refugees huddled outside. Families were being torn apart, there were suicides and murders daily.
And her father, the Emperor, was dead.
*
'Your breath, Randur Estevu, smells as if a horse has just passed wind. I trust you've a decent reason for entering my presence in such a state?' Eir folded her arms as she examined Randur.
'And what would you know of a horse's bodily functions, a pretty little rich girl like you?' Randur slumped into a chair in the minor chamber he had commandeered for dancing lessons. The fire was spitting rather too loudly for his liking, even though tapestries covered the windows in an attempt to exclude draughts. Randur was at least grateful for the dim lighting, since his head pounded even when confronted with a candle. His pupil was today wearing one of her green silk numbers, something he had to admit she looked particularly attractive in.
If only she could shut her mouth for more than a second.
Placing his head in his hands, he began to massage his scalp. 'Oh, Bohr.'
'And may I ask how you managed to end up in this state?' Eir enquired.
'You may not,' Randur groaned, glancing up at her. Her face displayed an expression of disgust he wasn't used to seeing from women. He was a man of style, after all, so maybe things weren't looking so great.
'Do you realize who you're talking to?' Her tone was indignant.
'Sure I do,' Randur replied.
'Yet you obviously have no respect for me?'
'I'm sorry.' Randur stood up, gave her as sarcastic a bow as he could manage, given the pain in his head. He wasn't in the mood for this formal nonsense.
Her expression suggested that she wasn't sure whether he was being serious. 'I thought you requested for a
