Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [92]
“What … what d’you want?” Boll stammered, drawing his night robe tighter with his free hand.
There was no response, and Boll noticed the creature possessed no reflection in the adjacent mirror. He quivered with fear as it came nearer, seeing directly through the gaps in the glowing bones. The thing barely owned a face, just crudely assembled features of two sockets for its eyes, a black circle for its mouth. “I have money …” Boll began pleading.
As the ethereal skeleton towered over him, Boll slashed the blade in some vague attempt at self-defense. It merely stood there regardless, the sharp metal passing through it as if slicing water.
The axe in its hand seemed real enough. As the blade descended Boll twisted to one side, but it still crunched into his shoulder generating an explosion of pain. He howled, sprawling flat on the floor, his right arm now functionless, blood pooling around him. The next blow gashed his groin, severing an artery before thudding into the floor tiles.
CHAPTER 20
INVESTIGATOR JERYD WAS NOT AT ALL AMUSED.
He just stared thoughtfully at the wall, sipping a cup of tea, and for a long while no comment issued from his lips. Eventually, with a sigh, he said simply, “Another councilor?”
“Councilor Boll,” Aide Tryst confirmed, standing close by Jeryd’s desk.
“Councilor Boll.” Then, contemplating the paperwork, Jeryd said, “Bugger.”
“I understand the body is now in the possession of Doctor Tarr, but he’s spent all morning in the House of Life.”
“What the hell’s he doing there?” Jeryd grumbled. “Bohr, he’s a miserable git.”
“Meditating, I believe,” Tryst said.
“Well, let me guess,” Jeryd pondered. “Bizarre wounds again, no useful evidence, a general waste of time and utter confusion for all involved? Just more stress and paperwork for you and me?” Jeryd pursed his lips. “How many people know about it?”
“Well, according to the servant who found him, not many. He contacted another member of the Council who lives nearby, who in turn contacted Doctor Tarr’s people to remove the body immediately, then he sent word straight to us.”
“Well, that’s one thing to be grateful for, at least,” Jeryd said. “So, we’ve got ourselves a murderer with a taste for butchering members of the Council?”
“So it seems,” Tryst agreed.
“Let’s drop in on Tarr again, then I think I’d better have another chat with Chancellor Urtica.”
The Hall of Life was one of the more depressing places in Villjamur. Though close to the astronomer’s octagonal tower, it was located at a much lower level. The only access was via several stairways that spiraled deep down into the city. Reaching it required negotiating a complicated labyrinth of dark passageways, and rumor had it that if visitors strayed too far off the main route, they might never be seen again. It was like a route to one of the lower realms, a symbolic reminder of the final journey.
If Doctor Tarr even needed reminding of death, he had come to the right place. There, deep underground, in a high-ceilinged cavern, it was said that a candle was lit for every child born in the city. They burned there in the thousands, arranged in neat rows that extended on all sides.
It was an ideal place for meditation, as encouraged by the Jorsalir tradition—somewhere for contemplation. People entered and departed, some to sit quietly, some weeping, others staring blankly at the candles.
Time became lost in deep contemplation.
Doctor Tarr was seated on a wooden bench to one side, surrounded by shades of darkness, a metaphor for death.
The doctor glanced up briefly then resumed his contemplation of the burning candles. Symbols of the fragility of existence, the slightest draft could blow out these flames, at any moment.
“Right, let’s go talk to the morose git.”
Tarr sat up sharply as the words echoed across the vast chamber. He recognized Investigator Rumex Jeryd, emerging from one of the stairwells with his human assistant.
“Ah, Doctor