City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [100]
‘Yeah, that’s correct. You’re Malum then?’ Jeryd couldn’t figure out a way around the glass, which was set deep into the stone. A tiny metal hatch to one side seemed designed for dropping in coins.
‘I am indeed. And there’s no way in, Jeryd,’ Malum replied coolly. ‘There’s no point looking. They’re specially designed by cultists for safety.’
‘Safety for who?’ Jeryd asked.
‘Right now, your own – but mostly for my women.’
‘Do they normally just sit there?’
‘They strip behind the glass for money, and lonely men gagging for excitement drop a coin in that hatch to the side.’
‘And the men . . . ?’
‘Watch,’ Malum replied, ‘or masturbate. There’s no sex, the women are protected. Everyone’s happy.’
‘How come I couldn’t see you until you turned that lantern on?’
‘Cultist glass – it’s good stuff. I got a lot of contacts.’ His tone changed. ‘Get to business: why were you asking for me by name?’
‘Someone gave me your details in connection with some bad meat I was sold.’
Malum laughed. ‘That it? Just meat?’
‘I’ve reason to believe that there is meat of questionable origin being circulated in this city. The trader said you helped put it about. All I want to know is where that meat is coming from.’
‘You got guts, coming here, asking for this.’
‘Either that, but quite possibly because I’m stupid.’
Malum grunted a laugh. ‘I like you, investigator. Look, people are beginning to ask those kind of questions, and I don’t like to have my name associated with such triviality. Tell you what, you leave me the fuck alone if I give you a name and an address?’
Jeryd could see through the tough-guy talk, but didn’t want to anger him. ‘Agreed.’
‘Voland. That’s who we get it from. I’ve done some business with him recently – other than distribution – and to be honest, I’m not happy with what he provides. He’s known to me as the niche-maker, among other things, and he’s let me down over poor equipment that just stopped on the job. I’m more than happy to see trouble go his way, by way of the Inquisition. So you see I’m not unreasonable.’
‘What did he do?’
‘You ask a lot of questions.’
‘That’s what I get paid for – not that you can call it much.’
‘People have niches – and remember, I’ve got a permit from the portreeve for this establishment. Look in booth seven on your way out, and you can see some of Voland’s work. I’ll put the light on and activate the glass. And never ask for my name again – otherwise I can’t vouch for your safety.’
Light faded to black, then something clicked inside the hatch to one side. Jeryd opened the little drawer and picked up a piece of paper with an address written on it. ‘Thanks,’ Jeryd said, though he didn’t know if Malum was even there any more.
Voland . . . a strange name.
Pocketing the note, Jeryd got up and exited the room. He lit a match to navigate the corridor and found booth seven at the far end. He twisted the handle and the door slipped back smoothly. Behind the display area, a soft light shone down from above, illuminating a vibrant, crimson-walled area. Jeryd approached thinking about niches and what that might mean, when he spotted the woman’s body on the floor.
No, not a woman.
A . . . thing.
Jeryd pressed his hands against the glass to steady himself, his stomach churning at the sight. Garbed only in white lingerie, the woman-creature possessed the legs of some animal, like a horse – though he couldn’t tell precisely. Hunched in a foetal position, on closer inspection her entire body possessed the texture of fine fur, splattered with blood, a trail of which issued from her mouth. A horn protruded from her forehead, like in some mythical beast, while blood-stained blonde hair tumbled across the floor. And all of this – all of this mess – was highlighted by three other mirrors allowing a full view of the vileness on display.
What the hell was this Voland producing? What kind of person . . . what kind of city permits this stuff? Who would even pay to see this?
Niche-maker.
Jeryd ran to a bucket