‘I understand, investigator,’ she said. Then added, ‘What was she like?’

‘You mean the woman he was with?’

‘Yes, the woman.’

‘She was a prostitute by profession, although I believe it wasn’t something he paid for in this instance.’

‘That’s a relief,’ she murmured bitterly.

Jeryd contemplated her words. It wasn’t as if he actually understood the female mind these days. He gave her a moment before he spoke again.

‘You know of anyone who might want him dead?’

‘Other than me? Is that what you mean?’

‘No, I mean because of his activities within the Council, mainly.’

‘Well, there were plenty who were jealous of his success, but he was a popular man other than that.’

‘Were you aware of any controversial new policies he was campaigning for?’

‘No, regarding his work, he never really talked much to me. You know, for such a popular man, he wasn’t all that popular here at home.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying, you seem fairly comfortable with his death.’

‘I’m a strong believer in Astrid, investigator. I therefore believe in rebirth, and that he’ll be reborn soon in a position reflecting his behaviour here in this past life. You know, investigator, I did love him in my own way.’

Jeryd felt sympathy and some concern. He himself wasn’t much of a religious type.

‘Over the last year or so I was hurt that he stopped coming with me to church. He wouldn’t pray in the Bohr section, and seemed to forget all about spirituality. I’d even almost say he’d discovered something else.’

‘Something else?’

‘Yes. As if something took his mind. I say this only as I’m a moral and spiritual woman, but it was like he stopped being the man I knew, and began operating with a different set of beliefs entirely.’ She stood, turned to the window. ‘Just look how much it’s snowing now!’

Jeryd stepped alongside her, looked out across Villjamur.

The snow had begun to fall as hard as he had ever seen it, leaving the spire-crowded skies of Villjamur looking even more claustrophobic. By Bohr, this is enough to fuel those brats in Gamall Gata for several weeks now.

Despite the thick drifts building up, it was hypnotic, gentle. Beula began to cry quietly as if the snow itself had altered her emotional state, bringing on some primitive madness. Jeryd walked away to the other side of the room, as he always felt uncomfortable with the intensity and depth of emotions that humans seemed so ready to express.

He watched her crying at the window, framed by the snow falling outside.

THIRTEEN

Randur stepped back with a flamboyant gesture, watched Eir tumble to the cold floor, her sword slipping across the stone in a sideways fall. She cursed at him as she retrieved it.

‘Pretty keen to inflict a wound, weren’t we?’ he remarked. ‘And I didn’t realize you Imperial ladies had such a sweet way with words.’

Eir pushed herself up, panting heavily, much more than anger in her face.

‘With Vitassi, you shouldn’t fight with the heart,’ Randur reminded her, sauntering back to his starting position. ‘Such sentiments are likely to make you appear brave in your obituary, admittedly. You weren’t mindful enough. You weren’t in the moment. You let anger cloud your skills. Remember, it’s not all about the sword – that’s simply an extension of you.’

Eir eyed him with contempt, and he had left many bedrooms in the dawn light to be familiar with that look. She moved in to attack him again, but was then rapidly on the defensive as he forced her into a series of classic Vitassi postures. Metal clashed, boots scuffed on stone, noises so familiar to him that at times like this he could often forget he was still even holding a sword.

‘Good,’ Randur said. ‘That’s much better.’ He sighed as he pushed past her, then slapped her buttocks lightly with the flat of his sword, deliberately fuelling her anger, working her into a rage, forcing her to get more control of herself. He tripped her up, and she fell forwards.

‘I hate you.’ Eir’s lip began to bleed.

He walked over to retrieve her sword. ‘I’m not here to be liked. I’m merely here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed – an unlikely task, as it currently stands. And for the moment, you still need my help.’

‘And you expect me to actually dance with you after all this humiliation?’

‘No, you expect me to dance with you.’

She sat upright with her legs crossed, appearing to contemplate her bruises.

He offered his hand to help her up, but she ignored it and got herself on her feet once again. Randur handed her back the sword. ‘Well, anyway, your sword technique’s improving and I can see you’ve got some good potential. You could be fighting with the Dragoons within the month.’

She said nothing, began walking stiffly away, then she stopped, and he followed the line of her eyes to the window. A cold wind gusted into the chamber.

They stepped together to that opening in the thick stone walls which looked over one entire side of the city. The view was partially obscured by numerous bridges and spires. A thick fall of snow drifted down from the grey sky. In its smothering embrace, the horizon was no longer perceptible.

‘So much of it,’ Eir murmured, lost in her thoughts.

‘Yeah,’ Randur said, becoming lost in his own.

Dartun watched the young boy snatch the relic from the group of cultists. The lad had guts, he’d give him that. Those men weren’t from his order, and were simply holding the device out for all to see. Too cocky, too arrogant, not nearly careful enough. The fuckers deserve to lose it.

Dartun drew his fuligin cloak around him, absorbing shadow, then followed the boy who now ran in his direction, a scruffy little chap dressed in thick rags, obviously from Caveside. Darting down an arterial series of alleyways, the boy had soon lost everyone except Dartun.

Last night he had coughed so much he thought he would emit blood, and he had never felt like this before.

The cobbles were slick with snow in the sun since the last snowstorm. Some streets had already been washed down with salt water. The wind worked its way relentlessly through the cramped alleys. Dartun cornered the boy finally at a dead end where buildings towered up on every side, leaving the pair in shadows. A strange serenity prevailed this far away from the main streets of the city, suggesting that the further he walked down these passageways, the less easily he’d find his way back.

‘Hand it over,’ Dartun demanded.

The boy eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and arrogance, obviously weighing up the cultist. His blue eyes were dazzling. ‘Fuck you, mister.’

Dartun laughed. ‘Some spirit in you, I see.’

‘What’s it to you, wanker?’ The lad shuffled from one foot to the other, looking for a way past.

‘Just give the relic to me.’ Dartun extended his hand. ‘You don’t want any harm to befall you.’

‘No, it’s meant to be mine, it’s my destiny,’ the boy said. Then, he threatened, ‘I’ll use it on you.’

‘You really don’t want to try that.’

‘No?’ The boy reached into his pocket, then was holding up the silver device itself. It looked like a compass, a subtle navigational tool of some kind, perhaps used to divine directions.

‘No,’ Dartun insisted.

The boy ignored him, flicked the relic open, began to press on it at random, looking to and from Dartun with eager eyes, and all Dartun did meanwhile was take several slow steps backwards, guessing what might happen, wondering only what form it would take.

A ball of purple smoke erupted, extending in every direction.

Just enough time to see the skin of the boy peel back before he became a myriad of chunks of flesh and bone, which distorted then liquidized as if it was paint. Dartun had ducked in time before he heard the gentle explosion, bringing his fuligin cloak over his face. He felt the remains of the child hitting him first, then slapping against the cobbles.