*
Jeryd wanted a steak that night, and to hell with his diet. He was all this way away from home comforts, investigating crimes that were apparently unsolvable no matter how assiduously he applied himself, and most of all he now wanted to spend the evening with his wife, who he was beginning to miss more and more. As the months slipped by, since he had risked his life in Villjamur, he was becoming ever more the philosopher. On his deathbed, would he be wishing he'd spent more time at work or would he be regretting lost days with Marysa, either way a nostalgia for the never-was?
Exactly. So tonight he would share a steak dinner, perhaps with a bottle of some cheeky little northern vintage, conversing with the woman he loved, then maybe with his personal appetites satisfied, he might be able to work on the crimes of the city more effectively. With that plan in mind, he set out along the streets on a quest for meat and wine.
By its presence alone, the military had slowly crushed the spirit of Villiren, that was certain. Where, only a few weeks back, people had seemed sanguine in the face of an almost-certain war, the company of so many soldiers sifting through the lanes and among the populace brought a feeling of an occupied city. Locals were largely welcoming, but the sight of precision weaponry displayed in an open, brazen fashion was unsettling.
The soldiers had not been buying much in the way of provisions from the markets, relying instead on their own supply routes, so thankfully prices weren't being forced too high.
Activity in the irens carried on as normal. Some were already starting to take down the strips of coloured cloth denoting zones, wares, individual flair. Biolumes arranged in brine-filled trays continued to provide no end of curiosity for Jeryd – they had never had anything like them back in Villjamur. One stall offered an array of masks, in different shapes and colours and materials, and for a moment he even considered buying one to see what the fad for wearing them was all about.
He came to one of the meat sellers, a portly man speaking in an exotic dialect, that Jeryd decided was a bastardization of Tineag'l and Y'iren grafted on a Jamur framework.
'I'm after some steaks,' Jeryd announced to him across the now sparse selection of fish and crustaceans. Hanging from the top of the overhead frame were two large trilobites, about two armspans in length, twisting this way and that in the wind.
'Steak? We got steak. What animal you wanting?'
Jeryd shrugged. 'I don't know. You any beef steaks – pork chops, even?'
The man's eyes settled on Jeryd for a moment, then he nodded, shifted to one side of his stall to retrieve something. When he returned, on the flat of his palm sat two fat, juicy steaks. 'Just the thing,' Jeryd confirmed, reaching into his pocket for a Lordil. 'Keep the change.'
The trader growled his appreciation after he inspected the coin, then he wrapped the steaks in paper and passed them across to Jeryd, who tucked them under one arm and continued on his way to buy some wine.
*
Later, with candles giving their shoddy apartment an aura of nostalgia, he thought he might make the dinner a success. It wasn't ideal, this place, but with some good lighting and incense it could become rather romantic. You can make the most of any situation, Jeryd reflected, when you seek to instil a little romance. The good investigator is always up for any challenge… He'd even bought a biolume just for the hell of it, and the creature oozed gelatinously in a glass jar like a weird living lamp.
He realized that he was even beginning to get attached to the place, and perhaps, with a little effort, he and Marysa might make love like they used to in the old times. Their relationship wasn't quite as perfect as it used to be back in the day, some hundred and fifty-odd years ago, but since they'd repaired things between them a few months previously, they were at least considerably more intimate. They were starting to read the little gestures again, to hold eye contact a little longer. Gentle touches across the other's cheek or ones directed against the side of the neck. Their relationship was being rebuilt in the little details, which made nights like this all the more important.
In rolled-up shirtsleeves, his tail extended well out of the way for fear of splashing it with hot oil, Investigator Rumex Jeryd set about the task of making dinner for two. Marysa had begun to hum a tune in the other room while she stoked the fire, a song he couldn't recognize, but it felt as if they'd begun dating all over again. Her body was becoming noticeably better toned with her martial-arts training, and she was now confident, said she could handle herself in any physical confrontation, a claim that left her open to his innuendo. Though it also helped make him more conscious of his own expanding paunch.
Who'd have thought an old coot like me could still feel like a kid falling in love at this age…
He unwrapped the steaks and laid them sizzling in the hot pan. He turned to unhook some dried rosemary, which wasn't as cheap as it should have been.
Damn rip-off traders.
Within a minute, something began smelling bad.
He lifted the pan away from the stove immediately, and examined the steaks with his investigator's eye.
Marysa popped her head around the doorway. 'They're not done already, are they? You only just put them on!'
Jeryd gave a bitter laugh. 'Something's not right with these.'
She approached him, laid a hand on his shoulder, her perfume a pleasant contrast to the smell emanating from the pan. She said, 'Has the meat gone off?'
'No, I bought these steaks earlier, didn't I, and they looked fresh to me. I mean, they weren't dried out or anything.' It then struck him that the smell reminded him of something – and not something from a wholesome source.
'It can't be…'
'What?' Marysa demanded.
'No, it just can't be.'
'What?' she repeated, now irritated. 'What do you think it is, Rumex?'
Jeryd placed the pan very carefully on the table, and closely scrutinized the contents. 'I remember a similar smell from funeral pyres… which suggests this meat is either human or rumel. I can't be sure though – perhaps it's just some unusual breed of livestock.'
Marysa squealed in shock. 'That's vile, it can't be hominid.'
'Well, I don't know.' Jeryd put the pan aside. 'But in the morning, I'm going to find out where the hell the trader got this from. As I've often said, the good investigator always follows his nose.'
TWENTY-FIVE
Streets were cold and narrow. The doorways of the stores were empty, apart from drunks or the insane hopeless.
Brynd was intoxicated by his own nervousness. He carried none of the money Malum had asked for and he had come without telling the others. This was something he had to do alone. So what if he died; the prospect of death seemed to lessen the pressure of having to protect this city, the pressure of being what he was in a world that hated such beings.
Brynd sauntered into an empty iren site two streets away from the Victory Hole tavern, a vast cobbled courtyard with three-storey buildings built up along each side, with only one or two windows showing lantern light. There was a chill to the air and he paused for some time, listening to the sound of his own breath.
Someone hailed him by rank, the sudden sound resonating within the enclosed space. Malum was leaning against the wall over in one corner, arms folded, face hidden behind a mask. 'You got my money, commander?'
Flakes of snow were beginning to fall with a steady dignity.
'I'll tell you what I have: I have fuck all for you.'
Malum showed no sign of agitation. 'Then why're you here? Got yourself a death wish?'
'I'm here to clear my name, to prove myself more of a man than the likes of you, who don't understand the concept of fighting on behalf of other people. Remember, cowardice takes many forms.'
'Cunt,' Malum grunted. Something changed in his tone then, some bitterness surfacing. Brynd could only see
