Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [30]
“They—the Order of the Equinox, they’re called—like to … take the world apart. We prefer to put it back together. That’s as easy as I can make it for you.”
“Make it harder,” Randur said. “I’m curious.”
“They want to take the world to pieces, to find out all its secrets. To know how everything works, and they won’t let anything like ethics get in the way. They’re ruthless, cruel, and destructive. Whereas I like to unify, to keep order, observe a high level of morals. We give our help to the Council of Villjamur, and the Emperor, whenever they need us. But, nevertheless, it is to the Order of the Equinox that I must take you, if you’re ever to find that which you seek.”
“There are two sides to every coin.” Randur had the token in his hand again. “How do I know that you’re not just finding an easy way of getting rid of me?” He flipped the coin in the air so that it shimmered in the light.
She grabbed it even as it spun, and handed the coin back to him. “Come,” she said. “I’ll take you to meet them.”
“Who exactly?” Randur said, his head tilted slightly.
“Dartun Súr,” Papus replied, turning to leave the room. “He’s the Godhi of the Order of the Equinox.”
“Means bugger all to me,” Randur muttered.
She said sharply, “It will, soon enough.”
“One question,” Randur said. “What was that thing you took from the man who was trying to kill you, all those years ago?”
“That’s not important now. It was a weapon, it was meant to hurt people, but nothing fancy, nothing world-changing. Nothing prophetic. We just didn’t want it in his hands. As I said before, Randur, we’re the ones with morals and ethics. We’re just trying to keep order, to safeguard things for the benefit of the Empire.”
Through the streets of Villjamur once again.
Down a route he wouldn’t have noticed existed. Through constricted alleyways, along hidden bridges. Much about the city had faded, died—disused chambers and archways, remnants from another time with no place here anymore. As they passed under passageways he could hear carts being hauled above, and if he looked up through drain holes he could see people walking. Down here there were different styles of brickwork, crumbling stone where moss and lichen had colonized profusely near constantly dripping water.
“You know,” Randur said, “the people who run this city could always ship those refugees from outside and set them up right here. It might be squatting, but still, if it means they don’t die …”
She looked at him dismissively and Randur knew when to shut up. Papus gave the air that she knew a great deal, and would put down with great skill anyone who got a bit too clever with her.
They finally arrived at an underground chamber accessed by a door that you could barely see. Papus knocked, then turned to face him. “These are the only cultists who can help you in what you’re looking for.”
The door opened. A bald man in a gray cloak stood there to greet them.
“This is him,” Papus explained to the doorman, an anxious look on her face. She then walked away quickly, and Randur found himself visiting his second cultist sect of the day.
“So you see what I was promised.” Randur was sitting across a stone table from the man called Dartun Súr, who was sprawled in the chair opposite. “And that’s why I was told you could help.”
The chamber exuded a wonderful smell that reminded Randur of some herbal wash worn by a girl he once knew. Otherwise the room was rather plain, with none of the carefully arranged relics, containers of strange liquids, preserved specimens, or crazy men with mad hair he might have expected.
Dartun leaned forward in his plush chair. He had an assessing gaze, and there was an unsettling, ageless look to those eyes. They shone too bright for the dim light. “An intriguing task, I’ll give you that. But quite doable.”
As an awkward silence stretched before them Randur examined the man. Dartun was annoyingly handsome, with his square jaw, gently muscled physique. He had somehow even found some sunlight in this city to give his skin a healthy glow. Despite