'I am, to be honest.'
'Could it be fear of the war?'
'Nah, I thought that,' Jeryd replied. 'But folk are safer here than out in the wilds during the Freeze. Plus, they don't seem to care much – haven't you noticed?'
'I have actually. I've found, by and large, that people focus on what's in front of them, rather than the big picture. And, with this severe weather, I don't blame them. Any other thoughts?'
'Well, I don't know why it should be the case, but most of the missing have vanished – that's if they're reported at all – from between the Scarhouse area and the Ancient Quarter, also around the Citadel, Althing, Shanties and the Old Harbour.'
'The wealthiest areas, more or less,' Brynd observed.
'Right,' Jeryd agreed. 'Now don't you find that all a tad strange?'
'Could be, investigator. So what are your thoughts?'
Jeryd paused to finish a mouthful of crab. Damn this is tasty. 'Well, I've a couple of theories. It could just be that the poor don't bother reporting their missing people. And these aren't murders, either, as we've got too few corpses to support that suggestion. Deaths, otherwise – well they're mainly gang-related affairs. No, these are people being taken straight off the streets, in my opinion, and then completely vanishing.' He waved his fork as he voiced his thoughts. 'Could be that the wealthier ones are simply being kidnapped.'
'Being held to ransom, you mean? There's plenty of money around,' Brynd observed. 'Half the city has been thriving here in recent years, what with Lutto's expansion policies. Some people are much better off than ten years ago. Many less so.'
'Exactly. Except we've got no evidence of demands for ransom, no contact so far from whoever's snatching all these people.'
'So how many, precisely, are we talking about?'
'Four hundred and eighty-five reported so far in the last six or seven months – and that's just reported.' Jeryd nodded at Brynd's reaction of surprise. 'Yeah, that's a lot, isn't it? Doesn't take into account anyone missing who lived alone, those who didn't have any friends, things like that. People vanish all the time for any number of reasons. And this doesn't fit with any conventional theories about criminals that I've come across. They'd almost certainly die out there, on the ice.'
'They certainly would,' Brynd agreed.
'So,' Jeryd said, fancying a change of subject, 'you any closer to knowing when the fighting will begin, or what the rest of the city'll be doing?'
'Goes no further,' Brynd warned, and Jeryd nodded. 'Enemy units are gathering on the opposite shore in frightening numbers – reaching tens of thousands at the moment. They mass like a swarm of insects, and I've witnessed their capabilities for violence first-hand. Meanwhile, our own army is spread too thin. I'm calling in as many Dragoon regiments as we can get – the Fourteenth, Sixteenth just came in, and we soon expect more of the Regiment of Foot. Garudas are constantly on patrol, or dropping Brenna devices to serve as ice-breakers – anything to stop the enemy simply walking across the ice to us. And although the city is well prepared for evacuation through its numerous escape tunnels, the mass of people themselves… they will have to fight. Could do with some of the gangs agreeing to join us, too, but they're reluctant to help anyone other than themselves. It's likely to be an occasion where every man will count. You think you yourself can be a soldier when the time comes?' Brynd finished, with a dry smile.
It wouldn't be the first time Jeryd had put his life on the line for the greater good. 'When duty calls,' he sighed.
*
If Jeryd needed any further guidance along the path to total disillusionment with the world at large, that evening provided it.
As a treat, he took Marysa to the Citadel's masked ball, a more glamorous affair than he had thought could be staged given the Freeze and the forthcoming war. There must have been a hundred people fluttering around each other in the hall, a strangely opulent place with eclectic decorations derived from every corner of the Empire.
People milled about dressed in their finery, clutching delicate glasses. Everyone wore fancy eye-masks, with gold trim and ribbons in dozens of striking colours. The whole atmosphere seemed so unnaturally decadent to Jeryd: this was an ice age, for Bohr's sake, and a war was looming around the corner. Women were necking wine or vodka copiously, men admiring them. How could they party like this, appearing all so carefree? Lute players sat up on a stage in the corner, harmonizing their chords, though Jeryd thought them worse than the city buskers he'd seen earlier in the day.
Marysa was more than happy for this opportunity to meet new people and within a few minutes she was off mingling with other guests. How was it she could just go off and chat to strangers like that? It wasn't his own style. He could speak to people, of course, but not in casual situations like this. Usually he needed a dead body at hand to prompt him into conversation.
A couple of the young Inquisition rumel had gone off chasing after a couple of pretty rumel girls, grey skins, and all big eyes. Within moments, each of them had succeeded in kissing one of the girls in turn.
I'm more out of touch with things than I realized, Jeryd decided, mildly envious of them.
Still, at least without Marysa at his side, he could sneak a few of these delicious-looking nibbles. Diet, my arse. And if he was going to be miserable and not talk to anyone, he might as well wander around and listen in, to get a flavour of Villiren, maybe pick up on a little gossip, perhaps even fill in some information gaps. He badly needed to learn more about the city.
Jeryd circled the entire room a few times, loitering while pretending to sample dishes. The wine was far too sweet for his liking, but he drank it anyway. Jeryd was a skilled eavesdropper and so, through snippets of conversation, Villiren's history gradually came alive.
Portreeve Lutto had been elected for a third term after the success of his expansionist economic policies, namely trading with as many of the other islands in the Empire as possible, and thereby turning Villiren into a centre of negotiations. People said that Lutto had delivered economic growth consistently since new deposits of ores had been discovered. The previous portreeves, Fell and Gryph, had never capitalized on the minerals coming from Tineag'l. Apparently there had been several assassination attempts on Lutto's life, but none were successful.
Lutto's wife was the plump Lady Oylga, daughter of the largest estate owner on the island of Y'iren. Depending on who Jeryd listened to, Lutto either had numerous whores visiting his private chambers, especially rumels for those hard-skin kicks – or else he was having an affair with a star of the local theatres, called Felina Fetrix, spending exuberant amounts of taxpayers' money entertaining her and buying her jewels.
Jeryd listened with great interest as two guests, wearing plush masks and robes with matching gold features, had a heated debate at a corner table.
'The poor are no longer as poor as they once were, dear boy,' declared one man, an ill-favoured fellow with a moustache. Even the eyes of his mask sloped downwards, giving him a permanently sinister expression. 'At least that is on average. Admittedly, yes, there does exist a few – namely the bigger landowners – who are benefiting most, but that's for the best. Meanwhile, you and I-'
'Fucksake man,' the other shouted, slamming his hand on the table, rattling cutlery. 'Look at this place! Look at it. We're pissing away money on wine and food and dancing while not two streets away a family makes do with a bowl of oats that must last them a week.'
'You're drunk again, you soft sod. Think of the success of our city and have some more whisky.'
Jeryd shook his head in weariness. How many of these rich kids would ever deign to pick up a sword once the war began?
A scream-
It came from near one of the exits, a woman's voice. A murmur of dismay rippled across the room towards Jeryd.
He pushed his way through the throng, stepping this way and that, saying 'Excuse me, pardon me' as he squirmed under flickering candelabras and between chinking glasses to investigate, his instinct to investigate aroused. The cold air from the open doorway hit him refreshingly hard, and there stood a woman in a thick green dress and cloak, her hair pinned up ornamentally. She was sobbing into her partner's robed shoulder, and both their masks lay discarded on the floor.
