City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [173]
That conversation had lasted for hours. They talked about her being more use in the escape tunnels, helping lead people out of the city. Jeryd said there’d be people who needed protecting from rapists and thieves, and that it was unfair that all the best fighters would be remaining above ground. There would be men and women and children who needed protecting from each other, and not even the major gangs had offered their services in any way.
He gave Marysa his spare Inquisition medallion as a badge, an object that might be more use to her than him. She sighed and focused on him with those big black eyes – so much was happening in that gaze, so many conversations from the past returning. He kissed her fondly, smelled her hair. It was funny that these would be the things he missed the most, the details he barely remembered in everyday life. He was more afraid of being without Marysa than he was of dying.
A painful goodbye.
Still with a faint hope that they’d see each other again very soon, they made arrangements for meeting after the end of the war, suggesting where they could meet at what hour of any given day. Past the Onyx Wings and the bone archways, by one of their favourite bistros. Or if the city was to fall they would meet at one of the villages further out, a couple of points on a map which he’d scribbled down for her.
Marysa went off first, leaving an overwhelming sense of emptiness, and the hotel room seemed to pause in time.
*
Jeryd put on his hat and marched through the streets. All around him people wrapped in warm layers were shifting through the narrow lanes, their expressions full of melancholy. Aside from the wailing of those who had already lost loved ones, the busy city was eerily quiet. He could almost breathe the tension. Another explosion came, and the massed confusion of battle could be heard in the distance – but closer than before.
Villiren wasn’t his city to protect, so why was he even here? He was doing this for the common good, he realized, a duty that seemed written in his heart. The same sense of morality that had kept him in the Inquisition for so many decades. Private gain didn’t matter. If everyone acted solely on private interests, there’d be no citizen militia, no lifeboat teams around the coast, no soup kitchens for the starving. Jeryd had to laugh at himself. Investigator Rumex Jeryd: now aspiring philosopher.
*
At some point near the Althing district Jeryd realized that he was caught up in the flotsam of new recruits for the citizen militia, men and women and children, with heads lowered against the driving snow, some with expressions of determination, others with a sad disconnection. The flow was moving towards the older buildings surrounding the Citadel, gaining in numbers and intensity. The streets lost consistency here, curving and twisting, a few blocked by the rubble, which was being carted off by soldiers to form defensive barriers. Row upon row of mounted Dragoons waited for engagement, shifting in their saddles, totally emotionless, consummate professionals.
Dozens of men in uniform stood about with hand-held boards taking names, patient and calm, directing people towards the Ancient Quarter. Citizens shuffled off wherever they were told to. There were a fair number of rumel too. Jeryd was asked to stand in line with the rest, silent as a queue waiting for the executioner’s block.
The young soldier eyed him cautiously, noted his details, said very little.
‘Something wrong with us rumel, sergeant?’ Jeryd enquired. ‘I’ve noticed there’s a bad attitude towards us in this city.’
The young soldier regarded him coolly, unspoken narrative racing behind his human eyes. ‘There appear to be a lot of rumel soldiers fighting among the enemy forces. So we have to be cautious, is all – security checks and the likes. I’m afraid I’ll need to ask you some questions about your background—’
Fuming, Jeryd pulled out his medallion. ‘This thing may convince you I’m fighting on your side, just like I’ve been doing for the last