Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [128]
Since his training as an Inquisition torturer, Tryst possessed a secret stash of subtle powder, sannindi, that he could use to his advantage. Essentially a truth powder, supposedly it could only be obtained through official Inquisition channels, but it still found its way into the hands of illicit dealers as “love potion.” Just a little sprinkle of it into food or drink, and people became remarkably amenable. Jeryd certainly wouldn’t approve of him using it, but Tryst didn’t care. He reached into an inside pocket, pulled out the paper wrap. The red powder was inside, not enough to make her pass out, but it would alter her mind enough to make her very helpful with his inquiries.
He picked up his glass and the bottle of Black Heart rum, and headed across the smoky room to her table. “Looks like you’ve got no company either. Mind if I join you?”
She looked up at him then stubbed out her roll-up of arum weed. “Well, well, it’s the human Inquisition officer. Your life’s obviously as dull as mine in that you find yourself in this low-down joint. And I had you for a worthier sort.”
She indicated the chair next to her. “So what brings you here? How’s your friend, Jeryd?”
“He’s fine.” Tryst sat down and began pouring each of them another drink. He offered her some more arum weed, pre-rolled.
She took one, saying, “Thanks. It’s a nasty habit. So has he got back with his wife yet?”
“Yes, they’re together again.” Tryst set the bottle on the table. She seemed genuinely happy at the news. Strange, he contemplated, living through other people’s happiness.
“That’s nice to see true love lasting, not just strangers shacking up with anyone convenient to hide from the ice.” She pulled out another roll-up from her pocket, lit it in the candle flame. “So, are you here to spy on me?”
Tryst chuckled, glancing up at the stage. “If only.” He locked eye contact with her, then released it. “No, I’m just killing an evening on my own. You know how it is.”
“Another night in Villjamur,” she sighed, exhaling smoke. “I suppose being in this city does that to you. So many people everywhere and none of them cares for you. Not one bit.”
“A little morose.”
“The city, or what I said?”
Tryst liked that. She was certainly entrancing, despite the melancholy, maybe even because of it. “I’m going to get us another bottle.” He motioned for a serving girl to come over. The girl gave that typical waitress nod-and-smile, then turned to leave.
Tryst said, “What do you think of that one? Pretty or not?”
As Tuya studied the girl as she walked away, he covertly reached out and sprinkled some of the sannindi powder into her drink.
She shrugged. “All right, I suppose, but you could do a lot better.”
“Well, I’m usually pretty picky, so it must be the Freeze, like you said.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to shacking up with anyone.”
She laughed dryly, joining him in the toast.
Half an hour later they were back in Tuya’s room. It had taken them some time to climb the intervening levels as the streets were so icy. She was already drowsy, because of the effects of the sannindi. Her place was dark as they entered, so Tryst lit a lantern, and as soon as it came to life, he could see the copious amounts of ornaments and antiques crammed into every available space. With so little else in her life, she had to fill it with something, he guessed.
She was now getting amorous as a side-effect of the drug, but he didn’t take advantage. After all, she was now under suspicion of murdering two of the most senior administrators in the city.
One of the doors to the balcony was fractionally open. Because of the noxious smell of paints in the room, he assumed she left it open to let in some fresh air. He walked over to shut out the eternal winter. The landscape had been reduced to a few lights. Everyone was where they should be, in bed, or somewhere warm. Then faintly, he heard some chatter from the streets, two blades clashing, a cough of laughter. Probably a couple of youths testing each other’s ability with a sword.
Tuya slumped