Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [124]
He indicated the rows of books with his massive arm.
“I don’t know, though. Maybe sitting around reading all day is better than seeing what I might do.”
Jeryd tried some small talk. He already liked the Dawnir, despite his apparent tendency to perorate. “Must have a lot of knowledge, all these books.”
“Yes, but they don’t offer answers to the real questions of the world. Our world is so old, the sun so red. Philosophers have speculated things should surely end at some point, and I would agree, if only to confirm the air of melancholy that everyone seems to possess. So, rumel, what is it you seek?”
“Your wisdom, Jurro.” Jeryd reached under his robes to bring out the scroll, then handed it to the Dawnir, who stood towering over the rumel, as he examined it held between forefinger and thumb.
Jeryd said, “This is confidential information, I hardly need to tell you.”
“Why would it be confidential, since you obviously can’t read it.”
“Yes, true.” Jeryd grunted a laugh. “Anyway, it’s between us, if you can translate it for me. They say you’re an Ancient.”
“Ancient in body only, I fear. I have no memory before my days here in the city.”
“Does that mean you can’t read it?” Jeryd said, feeling disappointed.
“I didn’t say that,” the creature thundered, possibly frowning under heavyset brows, Jeryd couldn’t be sure. “No, I have all my books, and I have studied many ancient languages in the hope of tracing my past. I learn new words all the time. Even yesterday I discovered our word for the Jorsalir has deep origins.”
Jurro gazed for some time at the scroll, then brought a candle closer to it. Jeryd flinched, thinking that his only real piece of evidence might be about to go up in flames.
“Yes, I think I can interpret this for you,” the Dawnir said eventually. “Would you like some ink and paper to take it down?”
“Please.”
The creature searched for several moments under stray piles of books until he found a blank piece of parchment and a quill. “Here you are.”
Jeryd sat down at a table, ready to write.
“It reads: ‘We have the facilities and the capabilities. We could probably remove five thousand in a few days, then bury the dead at sea. This can be done secretly and with ease. I can confirm there are enough underground passages to facilitate your plans for cleansing. I refer to the old escape tunnels, so the very age of our beloved city suggests she would permit the removal of such a blot on her surface.’ Then the rest of the writing seems to be smudged, blurred with damp perhaps.”
Jurro ceased reading, looked up at Jeryd. “Have I given you news you didn’t wish for, investigator?”
Jeryd inhaled deeply, considering what he had just heard. He rolled up the parchment with his notes and placed it under his robes. “Jurro, you did just fine. Many thanks for your trouble.”
Five thousand dead? Jeryd thought. What the hell’s going on? Is this really something planned to happen in the city? And even so, why would the Council want to kill five thousand?
“Where did you obtain this document?” The creature handed the scroll back to Jeryd.
“Somewhere too high up for my liking,” Jeryd said.
“You rumel, tell me, you live longer than humans, yes?”
“Three or four times as long. Why?”
“And that’s why there are so few humans in the Inquisition?” The Dawnir fingered a tusk idly.
“The older an investigator, the better, because we can remember cases from a long time back. We’re wise to the ways of the city. That’s what we tell ourselves, anyway, but the legend has it that this custom was from the original treaty when we jointly founded the