whispered every other day in the Inquisition headquarters, more in awe and fear than otherwise. This individual had myth wrapped around him so tightly that Jeryd wondered how he could even breathe.
He glowered at them both, then at the leaked bits of offal that had slipped onto the cobbles, then back at their street-warrior faces. 'I don't need paying to go away,' Jeryd declared. 'As I said, I'm not like the others – if you understand what I mean.'
*
Jeryd had to pass the gaol cells in the Inquisition headquarters in order to get to his office. Despite the fact that crimes were rarely investigated properly, it seemed that prisoners were still being herded in daily, all types, including many that did not look like typical prisoners. Jeryd made enquiries.
'Just between you and me, right,' one of the aides confided, a short, skinny individual with a mop of blond hair, 'we arrest such people as get in the way of Lutto's progress. You know, he wants a street cleared to let the army pass through, and people disagree and protest, he calls it a crime, and suddenly we've got our cells filled. He wants traditional traders disposed of to make space for more profitable ones – ones that can offer cheaper goods. When the politicians clear 'em out, it makes for a free market. But you know how it is, some folk don't like change, and want to kick up a fuss, don't they? And space is precious here, you see. City's got to make money, like. And those miners who lost their jobs and started getting violent during their protests… well, they came straight in here too. Meanwhile we got murderers running much of the show out on the streets. As for being a criminal – well, I s'pose it's all a matter of perspective, right? Anyway, just doing my job, like, so don't you complain to me about it. And this stays between you and me, all right – not worth my job, this.'
Jeryd was growing more and more disillusioned with this city as each day passed, and as he entered his office was inhabiting a deeply reflective state.
Nanzi was already waiting for him.
'Morning, Nanzi.' Jeryd placed his hat on the desk and slumped into his chair with a thundering sigh.
'Good morning, investigator,' Nanzi said. 'Would you like something to drink?'
'No thanks, I had a big breakfast on the way here.' He rubbed his face to make himself more alert. 'Now, it transpires we have some leads.'
'Clues?'
'Yeah, from the Citadel party. I found an interesting and unusual substance there. I'm slowly becoming convinced it's a step in the right direction.'
'What kind of substance?' she demanded coolly.
'No idea yet. I've already given a similar sample to the commander to analyse yesterday – he has a cultist working with him who might know something about it. I'm not sure if it's linked to the disappearances.'
'Investigator Jeryd, you seem to take these cases so seriously. It is an admirable quality, but do you not need some time off? You must have a personal life that needs attending to. I can follow things up with the commander and give you some relief.'
'Yeah, you could be right, lass. I do take it seriously.' He didn't have the heart to explain just how much he felt he owed to life. He was devoted to his wife, and his conscience was dedicated to seeing that there was a little good put back into the world.
How could he explain to her that he was transferring his secret guilt to every single action in his life? That incident with his wife back in Villjamur had changed him. He had tried hard to put it to the back of his mind, but the after-effects were still there, asking questions of him.
He once thought that the only way to cope with the dark events in his life was by helping other people, but maybe that was wrong: maybe he was running away from them instead, viewing their world from the other side of his desk, resisting his problems with a medallion and a thousand hunches and a wrap-around theory.
'I'm not sure what I'd do with any time off. Spend it with my wife, most likely going on some trip, but there's sod-all places to visit in this ice age anyway, and we do go out regularly in the evenings. No, all I have is my work – and I'm determined to find out why so many damn people keep vanishing from these streets.'
'It seems a most impossible case,' Nanzi declared. 'There are easier crimes we could solve, ones where we could put criminals in gaol and make some progress. There's the trade in pirated relics… another man lost his arm yesterday, one of the lucky ones. Just before you arrived in the city, a child set one off in an iren, killing three other people besides himself, and injuring dozens.'
'It is indeed a tragedy,' Jeryd agreed. 'But a good investigator refuses to give in even when it seems nothing can be done. Sometimes there will be a clue, the tiniest discovery that'll give you massive consequences. I don't know. It just seems so odd that I know so little about this case – and such a lack of control makes me feel uneasy.'
Nanzi smiled softly at him. 'When will we see the commander again? I'm interested in hearing what news he has affecting the city.'
'You and me both, lass.'
SIXTEEN
The main island of Folke certainly wasn't how Randur remembered it. There should have been carts full of something or other trawling back and forth through the day, farmland communities trading with one another, people travelling between villages, but instead there was nothing.
In between the open vistas was the familiar sight of forests, providing some shelter from the elements – abies or betula trees – but there was now something that suggested the people who worked the land were seldom here any longer, either having died from the cold or moved on to more temperate regions.
And Randur himself had changed since he'd left here for Villjamur. He'd grown used to throwing sweet lines of chat at the women in the Imperial Residence, the soft sheets and subtle lighting and gold-trimmed furnishings. Warmth and good food and decadent surroundings. It had very nearly corrupted him, turned him into something he despised and, if he was honest, it was difficult for him to now cope with the harshness of life on the road: finding his own food, trying desperately not to allow water to seep into his boots.
Eir, on the other hand, had blossomed in the absence of her former power. It was as if the strictures of Villjamur had stopped her from feeling truly free. She dressed more like a boy these days, which was ironic considering the comments Randur used to get from others about dressing like a girl. She'd become tougher and more resilient. The realities of life out here had very quickly shaved away the accoutrements of her former wealthy existence. She had developed the ability to fight and showed it with confidence.
The enforced celibacy of being out on the road was not for him. Rika had already killed the mood more than once when he thought he'd stolen a rare moment alone with Eir. The Empress would have wandered off on some solitary contemplation, braving the cold like a she-bear – even when you meditate, you can tune the cold out, she would declare – and then he'd lie down in some shelter, Eir in his arms, groping under her clothing, feeling the warmth and… Then Rika would step back into view, after her soliloquy to the heavens, and his arms would snap back to his side.
A man can only take so much.
The territory of Folke was a collection of three islands, comprising one major land mass, and two sparse little outcrops in the sea to the south, Folke Mikill and Folke Smar. Apparently communities of banshees lived on one of those islands, the only group of them outside of Villjamur, and people said they lived deliberately alone, away from other human or rumel, so they could remain in peace, since on their own they would not have to announce so many deaths. But how could a group of women survive so long without producing children to keep the line going, without it dying out? Randur had often fantasized about what it would be like to be the only male there…
Eir nudged him in the ribs, as if telepathically channelling his thoughts. From behind him, on horseback, she pointed across the line of forest towards a collection of rooftops appearing in the distance.
They were travelling along the western shore. To their left the sea, choppy again today, met with a murky grey horizon; to their right extended a forest, arcing gently towards a low range of hills. Having not seen a soul for days, this promise of human contact was mildly unsettling, a sudden reminder that they weren't the only people around.
'Drekka,' Randur muttered through his smile of recognition. 'Gets its name from the old word for drink. Used
