Denlin's little golems?'
'Oi, we're not golems,' the child griped. 'Denny, tell him we're not golems.' She began to pull at locks of Randur's long black hair.
'Indeed you are all golems,' Denlin said, his face creasing with delight. 'But, girls, I want you to be on your best behaviour now because we've a very special visitor.' He tilted his head towards Eir.
'Oh no,' Eir objected. 'Don't be wary on my behalf. Pretend I'm not here.'
The girls all stared at Eir with renewed awe.
'Lovely to meet you all,' Eir said, self-consciously. 'Have you all just woken up?'
'Well, yes,' the tallest said. 'Actually we've been up for ages, thanks to Opri's fidgeting. She even woke our mam up with her kickin'.'
Eir looked to Denlin in disbelief. 'They all sleep in the same bed?'
'Aye, lady,' he replied. 'It's a small house, like. Big compared to most down here, and there's only room for one bed. I'm out most of the night, you see, while they sleep, earning some coin. Then when I come back in the morning, the bed's all nice and warm for me. And when they all wake me up again in the evening, the bed's all nice and warm for them.'
Eir said nothing to that. Denlin allowed the girls to go out and play in the streets, but only as long as they fetched some water back from the well.
It was then that Eir turned to Randur, her face showing distress. Coming here, seeing how people actually lived in her city, might do her the world of good, he reckoned. The girl needed some enlightening.
'I'd offer you some tea,' Denlin apologized, 'but I ran out last week. And as for food, well… we haven't got too much in just now, you see. The lad here has been my main employer, so to speak, in recent weeks.'
'Oh, no, I'm quite all right,' Eir said. 'Really. I never realized quite how… well, it's very tough for you, isn't it?' She took a seat at the table, resting her elbows on the grimy wood.
'Aye, miss.' Denlin subsided onto the wooden chair opposite her. 'Times is tough, and not many jobs down this side of the city. I mean, you got your traders and smiths. You got your leather workers, bakers, craftsmen, that sort of thing naturally. You got a lot of gambling going on – dogfights, mainly – and some stranger things happening in the really old caves. You get cultists there – just the rubbish, solitary ones. Ones that's addicted to their relics like it's a drug. They make a fair living by tricking people, like. People'll buy anything with their last coin if they think it might help them. But I ain't sure how long it'll all last when the Freeze sets in. Meanwhile, people find odd jobs, and wealth trickles about. There's usually something that needs doing, like, even if it's not really legal.'
He gazed silently across the table for a moment, his fingers prodding at the wood delicately as if searching blindly for solutions.
Denlin then continued. 'Some people get desperate, head right down through the caves to the old mining systems. Sometimes they disappear for days. Older men, mainly, remembering the old tunnels. They come back covered in blackness, but clutching a bit of precious metal, a gemstone found here and there.' He grinned. 'Bit of a metaphor, that. In times like these you find people quickly forget coin as a currency. They start bartering, trading things for favours. There's a lot of whores in that respect – women and men too. This anarchist group is gaining some big interest in trying to stop that sort of thing, aye, and they've got the support of a lot of women who want proper equality.' He absent-mindedly placed his hand on a copy of the pamphlet Commonweal. 'People's starting to feel like slaves to those what gives us jobs, like. I shouldn't be saying this, lady, but if you want to know what the real world is like then… Well, it's all nice and fancy up there, but you can be blinded by all those sparkling trinkets no doubt.' Again there was silence, and Randur was surprised by its intensity. Denlin continued. 'Anyway, trade used to come in from the docks – so you'd get the odd exotic treasure from Randur's island, and from your Blortath, Tineag'l, Y'iren. Most things pass through Villiren, to be honest. There's still the odd religious trinket from Southfjords and Jorsalir priests come pushing some text. There's a lot that rely only on their faith in those two gods to get 'em through the night. Then there's the gangs, humans fighting against young rumels for no reason other than the right to trade something exclusively. Some nights the banshees don't stop keening. Other nights you hear nothing at all, and have to wonder if that's worse.'
Eir was focusing intently on every word.
'But it's not all bad! Here am I painting you such a nasty picture of your fair city. No, you get the nice things, too. For instance, there's a much better spirit of community this side. You get a lot of communal dances on street corners. Drums beat, fires are lit, and then people make pretty shadows, laughing over a bit of drink and food. There's not much else to do, you see.'
Randur glanced at him suddenly. 'When does that happen next?'
'They pretty much occur when people make them happen. I'll let you know about the next one, soon as I hear word of it.'
'Yeah, us two can come back and join in,' Randur said. 'They've got a fancy dance up in Balmacara soon, you see. We could do with getting some practice amongst others.'
'Oh, it won't be as grand as your fancy ones up there,' Denlin grinned. 'No polished floors or big feasts. No fancy music.'
'Never mind,' Randur said, thinking this sounded better all the time. 'I'm sure the Lady Eir would like to see how dance should be performed properly.'
Glancing up to Randur, she smiled her reply. Then she faced Denlin once again. 'Thank you for your insight.'
'Pleasure, miss,' he said.
She reached beneath her cloak, brought out a gold Sota, placed it on the table.
'My lady…' Denlin muttered.
Randur had never seen the old man so short of words.
'… I can't accept such generosity. I…'
Eir said firmly, 'For the girls.'
TWENTY-SEVEN
Another one of those icy mornings on which no one wise really wanted to venture outside. But Investigator Rumex Jeryd wasn't one of those intending to stay sensibly in the warm. For once he would have given a lot to go out, rather than be slumped here at his desk. It might have been warm, but paperwork was dull. And unfortunately the arch-inquisitor was visiting later in the afternoon to follow up the Council murders, and Jeryd hadn't progressed a great deal on the case. Not only that, but there was need for an investigation into a surge of organized crime against the refugees camped outside the city gates. Groups of men, and some women, stalked the evenings, launching weapons from the higher walls of the city to rain murder on those they feared would threaten their survival. Apparently some of those were beaten up by the supposed anarchist group from Caveside. All official attempts at dissuasion were ignored, because it was the nature of mankind that these anti-refugee groups wouldn't be persuaded by logic alone.
Jeryd was expecting a visit this morning from Investigator Fulcrom, a relatively young, well-groomed, brown- skinned rumel who, Jeryd suspected over the years, was a homosexual. He could never admit it, but Jeryd thought he could hear it in the gaps of his sentences. Jeryd considered him a damn good member of the Inquisition. Fulcrom had solved the North Caveside Rapist case. He had discovered who organized a raid on the Treasury. He had stopped a vicious child molester as he was about to strike again.
Fulcrom and Jeryd had now been chosen to address the refugee crisis in more detail, but because of his existing workload Jeryd had passed on the bulk of the actual planning to Fulcrom.
Besides, Jeryd wanted to have more time to spend with Marysa. Things kept getting better between them, and he was maybe even starting to really enjoy life. He was not uxorious, but who would have thought that simply holding hands and kissing, as the snow fell about them in a garden of glass flowers, could be so enjoyable?
But she still had the occasional feeling that someone was following her through the icy streets after dark. He imagined that whenever she whirled round, her long coat flowing around her, all she would hear would be boots scuffing the cobbles as they departed in haste. Or maybe a sharp inhalation of breath from some dark corner. He had not told anyone else in the Inquisition about this yet; he felt embarrassed to do so.
