Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [88]
Jeryd said nothing, thinking, I don’t give one iota as long as things get done and the streets are safe again.
The air was constantly filled with a bone-chilling sleet, enough to make you think that the sky was breaking up, that you would never again see the sun. People opened doors and windows to the same dismal sight every morning, hoping for a little sun, perhaps naively. It sent disappointment through the city like ripples on a pond of depression.
Jeryd showed his Inquisition medallion to the guards at the city level where Balmacara stood. The three grim-looking men eyed Jeryd and Tryst suspiciously, even more so after Jeryd reminded them of the rights of the Inquisition—including freedom of the city of Villjamur, free pass to all quarters of the Empire, which was the sort of privilege no guard wanted to hear. The pair of visitors left their horses to be led off to the stables to one side, and proceeded to climb the main steps leading to the Atrium.
Chancellor Urtica came to meet them with a well-rehearsed grin, a lightness in his step.
“Ah, the investigator,” Urtica said cheerfully. “I’m delighted to welcome you to our humble chambers. May I ask you how you’d like to proceed?”
Jeryd shook his hand. “I’m Investigator Rumex Jeryd, and this is Aide Tryst.”
“Aide Tryst,” the chancellor acknowledged. “Sele of Jamur to you both.”
Jeryd noticed a strange look in Urtica’s face, a sort of flicker of facial muscles—the classic, knowing look that suggested he might have met Tryst before. And if that was the case, Jeryd wondered how it would have been possible.
“As you know we’re here to follow up on the murder of Delamonde Ghuda,” Jeryd confirmed.
“Good.” The chancellor’s face darkened. “He was … a close friend of mine. Any idea yet who might have committed such a foul crime, investigator?”
“Some leads,” Jeryd said. “But there’s a lot of questions that still need asking. I’d like to see Ghuda’s chambers, and trust that everything has been left exactly as it was?”
“I can’t guarantee that precisely, but much of it is how it was.”
“Have you been in there yourself?” Jeryd inquired.
“Of course. Many of the documents were worked on by the two of us.”
“You were close then, it seems. Did Ghuda have any enemies? Anyone who would’ve wanted him out of the way.”
“We all would,” Urtica smiled. “It’s the nature of our position. We can’t hope to please everyone, all the time.”
“That’s not really answering my question, is it?” Jeryd said, perhaps more sharply than he should have.
“I can’t think of anyone who would specifically want him killed, let’s put it that way.” The chancellor glanced past Jeryd, down the corridor. Jeryd followed his stare. Some of the other Council members were heading through a large marble arch. “You’ll have to excuse me, investigator, but I’ve a meeting to attend. Feel free to contact me again, once I’m finished.”
Urtica brushed past him, proceeding down the corridor.
Tryst meanwhile was staring absentmindedly at a tapestry on the wall.
Jeryd turned to the guard escorting them. “Show me Ghuda’s chamber.”
Smooth stone, dark wooden panels, the smell of decay—such were the chambers in which every Council member performed his or her administrative duties. The decoration and carvings were old yet rich, as if, Jeryd thought dryly, to remind each official of the wealth they enjoyed at the top. Something that said Look how far you’ve come. Plinths held small busts of the Emperors of the current dynasty: Haldun, his son Gulion, Goltang, and of course mad old Johynn himself. Parchments were heaped upon a large wooden desk situated beneath a window that was carved in the mock-Azimuth design: simple rectangles, elegant precision. The view wasn’t spectacular: a dreary sea and the sheer cliff face. Pterodettes had nested in the crevices of the latter, and their faces stained it in bold gray streaks. Nonetheless it was certainly an improvement on Jeryd’s office.
The investigator had sent Tryst to interview one of the guards about the councilor’s daily movements, something to get an impression of his typical