City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [146]
‘You work on providing food?’
‘Indeed, and there is an ample meat supply – essential during the ice age, and also a period of war. I am responsible for that supply – or rather, Nanzi and myself are.’
Jeryd had a bad feeling about this conversation. He thought back to the garuda he had witnessed being carried into the abattoir building. ‘Garuda meat?’ Is that why it smelled off?
‘On occasion, yes, but mainly human or rumel meat. Good, lean chunks of it, distributed though the markets. To feed the people, and nourish our city. Our culture does the same to animals, so what difference does it make regarding humans?’
Was the man lying just to show off?
Jeryd turned to catch the expression of shock on Bellis’s face. ‘How can this even be possible?’ she managed to say, but Jeryd had already put together the picture in his head.
‘Quite simple, really,’ he offered. ‘Nanzi here ventures out at night in her other form. She drags citizens from the streets, leaving no evidence – hence they’re considered missing persons, and not murder victims. Then she brings the corpses back to Voland. He performs whatever sick rituals he needs. They then sell the cuts of meat to the gangs, who in turn sell it on to the traders. In essence, the city is now full of unwitting cannibals.’
‘And we once suspected you weren’t all that bright.’ Voland was clearly getting some pleasure from listening to this explanation. The man pushed himself up to his feet, flicked back his sleeves and approached Jeryd, till the two stood almost face to face. There was some sinister elegance about the man, some deep connection with thoughts that were too sickening for Jeryd to contemplate. ‘Why did you kill soldiers? You knew they’re helping the city.’ ‘They provided good meat that would feed numerous families.’ ‘Where did you draw the line? Women, children?’ ‘We never took children,’ Voland declared with pride. ‘Couldn’t look into their innocent little faces? Too much guilt?’ Jeryd suggested.
‘No, too little meat,’ Voland replied. ‘There was no point.’ Scumbag . . . ‘This high-level contract you mentioned, is it in any way connected to Emperor Urtica?’
‘You know him, then! He’s an old school chum, from back in Villjamur. Never thought he’d rise so high in the Council, let alone become Emperor.’
‘You’re not one of his cult, are you?’
‘I know of no cult. He merely wanted his people here fed, and this is such a simple solution, isn’t it? For me, it’s an interesting little job, and it keeps the money rolling in – certainly a more interesting challenge than making trophy beasts for the gangs. In a free-market economy such as ours, dear investigator, everything has a price. All those deaths . . . well, they’re merely the externalities of the market. Would you rather have people starving?’
How free do you think the market is, in an Empire like ours that cripples one endeavour and props up another? Jeryd thought. Bohr, how can anyone even begin to justify any of this?
‘Is it just Urtica you’re working for?’
After a moment’s reflection, staring into the darkness and absent-mindedly rubbing his arm, Voland declared, ‘Might as well drag the rest along with us: our Portreeve Lutto knew about it, for a start.’ A grin slid up one side of his face.
Jeryd composed himself from the shock, turned away, then methodically paced the room in a soundless rage. He was not at all surprised to learn that Urtica was at the root of this evil. Even from afar, the Emperor seemed able to disgust him with his sick machinations, his secret dealings, his whispered words and cult worship. In this Empire, the innocent were considered merely numbers and statistics, overlooked in a relentless drive for expansion and the centralization of power. But Lutto too? Would Jeryd even be able to report this connection, and risk being hunted down by the portreeve’s henchmen?
He glanced at Nanzi, who still sat hunched on the floor, knees