'You've never, uhm, done this before, I take it?'
'If I said anything, would it matter?' she replied, and he seemed to like that.
'Wouldn't you at least prefer to be somewhere more comfortable?'
'I've spent my whole life being somewhere comfortable,' she said, then pulled his shirt off him, dropped it to one side.
Randur spun her around so that he was stood behind her, a perverse version of one of their dances. Gently, he then guided her through manoeuvres that seemed so natural simply because he made it all so uncomplicated, his stubble brushing down her shoulder, his hand gliding across her stomach, then lower. She groaned with relief as it finally worked its way between her legs.
All sense of time disappeared entirely as she became lost in the rhythms of the most primeval movements yet… until afterwards, with Randur's back against a wall and Eir in front of him with her head buried in his neck, surrounded by the darkness, and, aside from the thumping of her heart, she could hear nothing.
THIRTY-FOUR
Investigator Jeryd regarded the morning sky.
He could almost enjoy it, way up here at the higher levels of the city, away from those Gamall Gata kids and their little missiles of snow. Here, he didn't have to look over his shoulder at every heartbeat, questioning where they'd be, or if he was in their sights.
The rumel was getting some fresh air whilst he talked to Tryst about developments. Jeryd wanted to clear his head, hoped for some inspiration regarding the murders of the two councillors. Time was passing, and there were too many things to think about. There had been further tensions developing between the city's people and the refugees. The mood of the situation had been heavily influenced by Council pamphlets that suggested the citizens of Villjamur ought to stay away from those seeking asylum due to disease or potential criminal activity. Jeryd knew fear was being utilized – there were now more soldiers on the streets, more citizens were being stopped and searched at random to hunt down illegal immigrants. In response to the fear, over the past few evenings, several long-range arrows had been released from the city's bridges towards the refugee encampment. Just about anyone could have fired them – it was claimed – but names and addresses began to fill the fringe pamphlets such as Commonweal before soldiers could confiscate them and cover up the incident.
Jeryd had to deal with so much.
People shambled by them churning up slush with their boots, while men were heaping the snow on the sides of the streets. Much of it was then taken on carts and dumped in the sea, but as soon as they had cleared one area, it began filling with a fresh layer of snow. This was the sort of scene that might provide a bitter-sweet nostalgia in his old age.
Jeryd found a kind of stubborn pride in the people, in their dogged defiance of the Freeze. Life went on, they didn't moan. Small open fires were now permitted at intervals along the streets to keep the traders warm, the constant trails of smoke drifting above Villjamur. Traders couldn't restock their supplies of furs quick enough, and fights broke out regularly among customers over various new skins freshly imported. There was an awkward moment between a group of rumel and some men he knew to be Caveside gangsters, which reminded him of scenes from the rumel riots fifty years back.
He turned to Tryst. 'Found out anything more from Tuya then?'
Tryst shook his head. 'She's very elusive. I'm hoping to get somewhere sooner or later. I've found a convenient balcony nearby where I can hang about and spy on her. But she doesn't entertain that many customers.'
'I suspect she's made enough money over the years already,' Jeryd murmured, gazing into the snow once again. 'Only got herself to look after, and I think she feels trapped by the concept of money.'
Tryst sniffed, shuffled back and forth indecisively, his gaze fixed on the ground. Suddenly he asked, 'How's Marysa these days?'
'Grand, since she's moved back in with me.' Jeryd gave him a sideways glance. 'Why d'you ask?'
'No reason really. Just that I thought I spotted her, at the Cross and Sickle the other night.'
'You what?' Jeryd was genuinely surprised. It was not her sort of venue.
'She seemed to be in a meeting with some gentleman, that's all. I didn't actually speak to them, just saw them over in the corner.'
Now what the hell's that about? Jeryd turned away abruptly. 'Come on, I'm freezing my tail off.'
They headed back into the Inquisition chambers, where Jeryd began lighting a fire. He remained silent while it built up to a fierce glow. Tryst pulled up a chair to sit alongside him.
Eventually, Jeryd spoke up. 'Cross and Sickle, you say? When was this?'
'Two days ago,' Tryst replied. 'It was fairly early in the night – I'd say about the eighth or ninth bell. Is everything all right, Jeryd? You look a bit worried.'
Jeryd said, 'Yes… Yes, well, it's just that she told me she was out with a friend, that's all.'
Tryst leaned back, stretching his legs before the flames. 'Oh, well then. Nothing to it.'
'What did he look like?' Jeryd said.
'Tall, dark rumel, but no one I knew of. A swarthy chap, with a decent set of robes on him. They seemed like good friends, anyway. There was a lot of laughing, you know, like people who go a long way back. Old friends.'
Jeryd said, 'Doesn't sound like any of her old friends that I know of. Anyway, she told me she would be meeting a woman.'
'I wouldn't worry too much. Probably a chance encounter. You know what people are like.'
'Right…' Jeryd said. What Tryst just said had made things worse.
Tryst stood up. 'Now I'd better get back to watching Tuya.'
The rumel watched Tryst leave the room and was left alone with the crackling fire. He became increasingly lost in his thoughts, his suspicions.
*
That evening he arrived home early to the smell of warm bread. It should've filled him with anticipation, but he possessed little appetite.
He took off his cloak, shook the snow from his boots, and placed them by a fire in the kitchen, where Marysa was busy baking. She was humming one of those popular tunes from ten years back, the sort they would be singing in all the bars, and that poignant memory seemed to unbuckle time in his mind.
'You're home early,' she observed as she kissed him on the cheek.
Is she surprised? Was she expecting someone else?
'Yes, I couldn't seem to get any work done today, so decided I needed time off to think.'
She returned to kneading dough. 'I'll be finished quite shortly. I just want to make a few more rolls. It makes a change from all my other work.'
'Great,' he said half-heartedly, then left the room only to berate himself. Why was he feeling so negative towards her? He didn't know anything for certain, yet he was already being short with her. What would he be like if something really was going on? He took a step back to watch her, but far enough away so that she couldn't see him in the shadow of the doorway. And he watched her, as if for the first time, because it seemed important now, to think of these little things.
Slender for her age, she had kept her figure well, and was certainly attractive. Other men would be interested in her. Jeryd's mother had always said that if anyone, male or female, wanted a good night's sleep, then they should choose a plain-looking partner, but he rarely shared opinions with his mother on matters like that.
Maybe Tryst was mistaken, maybe it wasn't Marysa that he had seen.
Jeryd couldn't help but feel a deep pain when he thought about her with another man. It made him feel weak, vulnerable, angry. Had it had been months earlier, when she was no longer living with him, it wouldn't have been so difficult. But it was the fact that she had come back to him, and he loved her with an intensity greater than he could remember.
He deliberately clunked against the door frame, and Marysa glanced his way before returning her concentration to the rolls. 'Everything OK, Jeryd?'
He stepped back into the kitchen. 'I never asked about your evening with Lanya.'
