City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [74]
Dannan was simply a freak.
The door opened and Malum turned back to face it. ‘I need to see the banHe,’ he announced.
One of Dannan’s gang, the Screams – a short, thin guy with black hair and stubble and a drooping white mask – peered back at him from the doorway. ‘Why d’you wanna see him?’
‘It’s urgent. Tell him it’s about the commander of the army, about that meeting we had.’
‘Wait here.’ The door closed.
Malum shifted in the cold once again and it seemed far too long until the door reopened. They searched him first for weapons, he handed over a messer blade, then he was beckoned in.
Escorted by three men in cloaks and masks, Malum hurried through the building, up a set of stairs sporting an ornate handrail. Lantern light exposed red fabric and furniture, bathing the interior in shades of blood. He had to admit that some of the decor was tasteful, if a little garish, with bold, gold-rimmed portraits of figures that seemed to hail from another world. One painting in particular was central to the room, depicting a figure with its back to a waterfront, holding its head in both hands, its mouth wide open in a scream, with textures of colour swirling all around into a deep orange sky. As if representing a state of existential angst, this painting seemed to come from another age entirely.
Once upstairs, Malum was directed into yet another room. Dannan was seated by the window, slumped, as if drunk, in a chair that was more of a throne, and the same shade of red was everywhere, in the fabrics, the paintings, the lantern-shades. In his hand was a silver comb that he raked assiduously through his long hair. The smell of musk and something sweeter peeled away in smoky wafts from the incense burning on a metal plate in one corner. The men who escorted Malum dropped back to the edge of the room, in a manner that suggested they weren’t at all comfortable being here. Malum was beginning to feel that way himself.
Hunched, with her knees drawn up to her chin, a young woman was sipping cautiously from a bottle. She regarded him with a distant look in her eyes, then laughed to herself. She wore a dark outfit, with unfashionable ruffs and frills of lace, and her face held so much makeup that her skin was practically white like an albino’s. Whether or not she was the current girl in Dannan’s favour, he couldn’t tell, but Malum entertained vague thoughts about what it would be like sleeping with her. And then he realized it would be the same with any woman these days. Frustrating.
Dannan groaned, catching Malum’s attention. He was clothed minimally in black breeches and what appeared to be a suede jacket with a hood pulled up from underneath. The angles of his face were prominent, and now and then his eyes would close as if he was in pain.
‘You all right?’ Malum enquired, more wanting to say something than a question posed out of politeness. He raised an eyebrow at this strange performance.
Again a groan, and Dannan lurched forward suddenly, in a posture that suggested he was going to vomit, but nothing came out of his open mouth. The silver comb skidded across towards the visitor. The banHe tried to cough, and strangely there ensued an intense silence, as if the room itself had become mute. Only then did Malum notice how sharp the banHe’s teeth appeared, and his second realization was that there was almost a smile on the other’s face, as if he was enjoying his pain.
‘Fine . . . thank you.’ Dannan almost coughed the words.
Malum turned to the other men. ‘Does he need water?’
‘I’m fine.’ Dannan’s posture became a little more refined, and he leaned over towards the window, peered out left and right across the harbour. Then back at Malum, tiny red veins crisscrossing his eyes. ‘Someone’s dead, is all.’
‘What do you mean?’ Malum said.
‘Out there.’ He flicked his head in a gesture towards the window. ‘Someone just died.’
‘The fuck do you know this? Is that why