Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [28]
Suddenly the creature began to peel itself off the canvas in fast, vacillating movements. It bubbled upward, shook itself …
And fell to the floor.
Tuya laughed and cooed as she picked her creation up and placed it on the windowsill. It crawled along, then stood up properly on four legs. Its wings spread. Tuya gave a cry of delight. She didn’t know how she made it happen each time and, if she was honest, she didn’t really care, because her art didn’t just reflect life—it created it.
The creature flapped its newfound wings, then threw itself out the window. A gust transferred it to a new current, and it drifted across the spires and away from Villjamur, leaving her once again with that same sense of loneliness.
Randur found the door eventually, an inconspicuous entrance on an inconspicuous street. Certainly nothing to suggest it concealed a haven for cultists. He might have expected some kind of inscriptions in the pale stonework surrounding the door, some elaborate decoration, something to indicate an elite building associated with the Order of the Dawnir, the oldest and largest sect of all. A nice plaque even. There was merely bare stone and a single hanging basket with thrift sagging over the sides. A city guard on horseback was riding by, and there was something in his brief glance that made Randur feel guilty.
He knocked on the door.
The hatch opened, exposing a man’s face to the daylight. “Yes?”
Randur held up the coin. “I’m looking for someone called Papus.”
The man’s gaze was fixed on the coin. “Hang on.”
The door opened with the doorman gesturing for him to come in. The doorman wore a black cloak, underneath which Randur could see a dark, tight-fitting uniform, almost military in its design.
“Wait here,” the man instructed, and walked away.
The room was dark, but Randur could make out elaborate wood paneling, a few framed sketches on the wall. Incense burning gave a strangely comforting feeling about the room. It wasn’t unlike the church of Bohr that had been built on Folke in the name of the Empire.
The man shortly returned with a chubby blond woman dressed similarly. The pair of them searched Randur for weapons, then sat him down on a wooden stool.
They asked his business in Villjamur. And questioned his request to see Papus.
He held up the coin again, explaining how she had given it to him. The pair looked at each other.
“She’s busy right now, but if you want to wait here, we’ll inquire if she can see you sometime,” the woman said.
They left him slumped on the chair in that cold dark room. As his eyes became accustomed to the light, he had started to see the framed sketches in more detail. Diagrams of devices that he supposed to be relics, strange lettering surrounding each. He couldn’t read Jamur as well as he could speak it, but this must be some older form of the language.
He waited there for the best part of an hour before he was finally summoned.
He was led into a large stone chamber that obviously served as an office judging by the books and papers that littered the shelves and floor as if it hadn’t been tidied in years. Tiptoeing around the clutter, he was told to sit on a chair by the large pointed-arch window. It seemed these were the chambers of Papus. The two leading him used the bizarre term in reference to her: the Gydja of the Order of the Dawnir. A bit much, really …
As he was left alone, staring through the window, a strange blue creature caught his eye. It flew down from one of the balconies on some higher level, arced awkwardly out of sight, then back into view briefly before banking up to one side.
The ancient chamber had a musky smell, with broken bits of masonry here and there. He knew the city was old, but had never imagined buildings like