Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [151]
All sense of time disappeared entirely as she became lost in the rhythms of the most primeval movements yet … until afterward, with Randur’s back against a wall and Eir in front of him with her head buried in his neck, surrounded by the darkness, and, aside from the thumping of her heart, she could hear nothing.
CHAPTER 34
INVESTIGATOR JERYD REGARDED THE MORNING SKY.
He could almost enjoy it, way up here at the higher levels of the city, away from those Gamall Gata kids and their little missiles of snow. Here, he didn’t have to look over his shoulder at every heartbeat, questioning where they’d be, or if he was in their sights.
The rumel was getting some fresh air while he talked to Tryst about developments. Jeryd wanted to clear his head, hoped for some inspiration regarding the murders of the two councilors. Time was passing, and there were too many things to think about. There had been further tensions developing between the city’s people and the refugees. The mood of the situation had been heavily influenced by Council pamphlets that suggested the citizens of Villjamur ought to stay away from those seeking asylum due to disease or potential criminal activity. Jeryd knew fear was being utilized—there were now more soldiers on the streets, more citizens were being stopped and searched at random to hunt down illegal immigrants. In response to the fear, over the past few evenings, several long-range arrows had been released from the city’s bridges toward the refugee encampment. Just about anyone could have fired them—it was claimed—but names and addresses began to fill the fringe pamphlets such as Commonweal before soldiers could confiscate them and cover up the incident.
Jeryd had to deal with so much.
People shambled by them churning up slush with their boots, while men were heaping the snow on the sides of the streets. Much of it was then taken on carts and dumped in the sea, but as soon as they had cleared one area, it began filling with a fresh layer of snow. This was the sort of scene that might provide a bittersweet nostalgia in his old age.
Jeryd found a kind of stubborn pride in the people, in their dogged defiance of the Freeze. Life went on, they didn’t moan. Small open fires were now permitted at intervals along the streets to keep the traders warm, the constant trails of smoke drifting above Villjamur. Traders couldn’t restock their supplies of furs quick enough, and fights broke out regularly among customers over various new skins freshly imported. There was an awkward moment between a group of rumel and some men he knew to be Caveside gangsters, which reminded him of scenes from the rumel riots fifty years back.
He turned to Tryst. “Found out anything more from Tuya then?”
Tryst shook his head. “She’s very elusive. I’m hoping to get somewhere sooner or later. I’ve found a convenient balcony nearby where I can hang about and spy on her. But she doesn’t entertain that many customers.”
“I suspect she’s made enough money over the years already,” Jeryd murmured, gazing into the snow once again. “Only got herself to look after, and I think she feels trapped by the concept of money.”
Tryst sniffed, shuffled back and forth indecisively, his gaze fixed on the ground. Suddenly he asked, “How’s Marysa these days?”
“Grand, since she’s moved back in with me.” Jeryd gave him a sideways glance. “Why d’you ask?”
“No reason really. Just that I thought I spotted her, at the Cross and Sickle the other night.”
“You what?” Jeryd was genuinely surprised. It was not her sort of venue.
“She seemed to be in a meeting with some gentleman, that’s all. I didn’t actually speak to them, just saw them over in the corner.”
Now what the hell’s that about? Jeryd turned away abruptly. “Come on, I’m freezing my tail off.”
They headed back