Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [154]
“It’s okay,” Tryst said. “She’s a criminal.” Why was he talking to this thing? It certainly didn’t feel right. Did this creation have emotions? It still stared at him unnervingly.
He threw the artifact on the bed. “Don’t go anywhere,” he muttered, then walked out into the cold night.
Clouds had obscured the stars, but that meant it wouldn’t be as cold as it had been recently. Out in the street, he glanced up at Tuya’s balconied window, the lantern still alight inside, and he wondered again at the powers that the Ancients had once possessed before they disappeared from history.
CHAPTER 35
HE KNEW THAT YOU GOT GOOD DAYS AND YOU GOT BAD DAYS. IT WAS THE life of an Inquisition officer. It wasn’t the sort of career that just anyone could do, because you saw some harsh things on the streets of Villjamur.
Dawn on a Priests’ Day, a hundred and forty years back: the bodies of three children found naked and butchered in the good side of the city. Their internal organs littering the cobbles, fresh blood sparkling in the light. It was his first solo case and according to the Council they had to make sure none of the nearby wealthy residents saw it. That’s the thing about this city: you’ve always got to keep the rich ones happy. They eventually traced the deaths back to a Jorsalir priest, and had to keep that quiet too—the rules were that the Inquisition had to keep the Jorsalir happy. Jeryd caught the bastard, made sure justice was served, but it wouldn’t be talked about in any of the taverns.
Given all the horrors he’d witnessed, he expected that he would be able to cope more easily with the crap life threw at him. Hell, he’d even put up with those little buggers on his street, allowing their snowballs to crash into him, into his house.
But Jeryd was a broken man.
Tryst had suggested they go for a quick drink after work and Jeryd thought why not? He could do with putting a few opinions about the world across a table.
Snow was frozen solid along the streets before it could be scraped away, and he had to cling to windowsills along the terraced housing to make sure he didn’t fall over. He noticed however that Tryst was taking him toward Cartanu Gata, where Councilor Ghuda was murdered.
So, there they were, finally, the two Inquisition officers, enjoying a drink. They made it to a nighttime tearoom called Vilhallan, named after the original city, and, judging by the decor, Jeryd assumed it had been around for just as long.
“Nothing’s original,” Tryst confessed. “Everything’s a carefully contrived copy: the furniture design, the bars, the colored lanterns.”
He was right. It was a dreary looking place.
Jeryd said to him, “Not really my scene,” as they took their seats at a small wooden table in a secluded corner.
It wasn’t much to speak of otherwise. Little candles clustered on tables threw light upward onto the faces of the customers. It made everyone look sinister, as if they were here for any reason other than pleasure. There was a tribal drummer in the room beyond and someone playing an instrument he’d never heard before. Jeryd got the feeling he had arrived on some far-off island of the Empire.
“So, you come here often?” Jeryd said, and laughed.
Tryst merely smiled and gestured to the serving girl, who was dressed in some mysterious black outfit with over-elaborate collars and cuffs. Jeryd could never keep up with fashions. He could never keep up with Villjamur. Sometimes he thought the world was now something he’d never understand anymore.
“What’ll you have, gentlemen?” she asked.
“I’ll just have black tea,” Tryst said. “And if you’ve got any pastries, I’d love to take a look.”
“Of course,” she smiled. “And you, sir?”
“Tea with milk, thanks. No pastries for me. I’m watching my weight.”
“You’ve been up to that Council Atrium quite a bit recently …” Tryst offered, obviously curious.
He’d been to the Atrium four times already to interview a selection of councilors but he’d been coming up