Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [94]
“Doctor Tarr,” Jeryd said later, “we’re here, as agreed.”
“Good afternoon, investigator,” Tarr said, beckoning Jeryd into the mortuary. “The human has not come with you this time?”
“No, he apparently had some administrative tasks to see to,” the rumel replied, stomping his boots to rid them of snow. “Maybe the sight of Boll’s chambers was enough to put him off.”
“But not you?” Tarr said, cheerfully.
“No, I guess not then,” Jeryd laughed dryly. “Maybe I’ve developed a stomach for such things after all these years.”
They proceeded into the depths of Tarr’s workplace, where a single lantern struggled to provide light. Its oil flame flickered as he shut the door. Jeryd found himself still pondering Tarr’s presence in the Hall of Life. Why would a man so used to working with death bother to go there in the first place? He had clearly been in a state of intense soul-searching when Jeryd had found him there, so perhaps there was more to Doctor Tarr than his surface demeanor implied.
The doctor led him to a table on which lay a large metal tray about two armspans wide, three long in length.
“What’ve we got here?” Jeryd inquired.
“This is it, investigator.” Tarr gestured toward the contents of the tray. “This is Councilor Boll.”
Even Jeryd was amazed. In all his decades in the service of the Inquisition, he had never seen a body left in this horrific state. He had seen the results of torture, of fierce battles, of poisons that ate a body slowly—but nothing like this.
At one end of the tray were assembled the bones of the late councilor, or what was left of those that had been fragmented into finger-length pieces. The other end contained the “flesh”—a grisly pink and red mound like you might see in the gutters of a slaughterhouse. The stench was powerful.
Jeryd said in awe, “How could this have been achieved?”
“With a large axe, and plenty of time,” Tarr said. “I would reckon the murderer to have been kept busy for nearly two hours.”
“At least he was dedicated to his task then,” Jeryd muttered, scanning up and down the tray. “And yet no one seemed to notice?”
“This was relentless brutality, investigator. It was evil, pure and simple.”
“You were right, doctor, I don’t think there’s anything for me to examine properly here. I’m going back to warn the Council Atrium immediately. If something like this could be done in such secrecy, any one of their members could be next. I’ll see myself out.” Jeryd turned away.
As he stepped outside, he took a deep breath of the sharp evening air. He stroked his chin in disbelief, for a moment not actually wishing to catch this killer. Did he really want to encounter the individual who could turn a living being into slush? And how exactly would that confrontation go? Excuse me, sir, but I think you … Then no more Jeryd.
What had Villjamur come to?
He pulled up his hood, slid his hands deep into his pockets, strode off to find where he had tethered his horse.
“Chancellor Urtica,” Jeryd insisted, “I’m not sure you understand. You’ll need to consider maximum security. Double, triple your guard. I fear there may be someone intending to pick off councilors one by one.”
Urtica stared at him in alarm.
“This is a serious matter,” Jeryd continued, feeling he had got the man’s attention. He was seated opposite a large table, in a pleasant wood-paneled chamber. The fire burning in the corner had nearly died to ashes. The rumel and human had already been chatting for half an hour.
“I see you don’t collect many things,” Jeryd said, looking around.
“It makes for a purer mind, investigator.” Urtica sat back in his chair sipping tea. “It makes my work more efficient. Less to distract me that way.”
“Maybe I should try that and clear the crap out of my chamber,” Jeryd said. “Anyway, as I asked you earlier: what might have linked these two councilors? What common projects could they have been working on? Such a link might help