Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [95]
“And as I keep telling you, investigator,” Urtica said, “I just can’t think of anything.”
There was something intransigent about his tone that Jeryd found frustrating. There was an air of superiority, a suggestion that he considered himself invincible. Perhaps it concealed something darker? Jeryd wanted to challenge him, You know something and you’re hiding it. “Remember your own life might be at risk.”
“We’ll ensure all these corridors will be filled with guards by this evening.”
“May I ask as to what are the most important concerns to the Council at the moment?”
“Is it really necessary for you to know such things?” Urtica sat back in his chair, staring into the fire.
“Perhaps,” Jeryd shrugged. “Perhaps it may offer some clue to the reason for these killings. After all, any of you might be next.”
Urtica merely nodded methodically, as if coming to terms with the threat. People reacted differently to such situations, didn’t they, some not caring much at all, others getting into such a panic that they never left their homes.
“Our main current concern is the Freeze, of course,” Urtica said. “It raises a number of crucial issues, the most important being the refugee crisis. There are already an estimated ten thousand of them camped outside the city gates, as you know.”
“Go on.”
“We’re working on several solutions”—Jeryd noticed Urtica’s expression alter slightly—“but ultimately, it will be up to the new Empress. She will make the final decision on what to do.”
“How are other cities of the Empire coping?” Jeryd said. “Vilhokr, Villiren, E’toawor, Vilhokteu?”
“As well as can be expected. People have flooded in from rural areas. They’re accumulating grain supplies and fuel, building icebreaker longships, imposing rationing. Like us, they see it as a challenge. Investigator, there will be many fatalities because of this ice age, and everyone is working hard to ensure that ordinary folk will survive.”
“And you really care?” Jeryd said boldly.
“It’s not about caring, necessarily, rather it’s about making sure a city continues functioning. If you care too much, you get personal, and if you get personal, you inevitably fail. This is a business, investigator, pure and simple.”
Jeryd observed the body language of this consummate politician. Urtica crossed and re-crossed his legs repeatedly throughout their conversation. Also, he rarely made eye contact, and was obviously uncomfortable being questioned about Council matters.
“Tell me, Chancellor Urtica, do you know if any of the councilors like painting as a hobby?”
Urtica looked up, raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t a clue, investigator. Why do you ask?”
“I found small traces of fresh paint near both bodies.”
Urtica merely shook his head. “I’ve told you all I can.”
Jeryd stood up. “I think I’ve done all I can here.”
Urtica said, “Could you put another log on the fire on your way out? It tends to get very cold in here.”
Jeryd paused by the door. “Yes, I suspect it does.”
On his way down the corridor, Jeryd thumped the wall in frustration. Two murders, linked by only one bizarre similarity: paint. Why was there a dab of blue paint next to each corpse? Were they trying to fight their way out with a paintbrush?
The chancellor was no help so far. Neither was Doctor Tarr.
Suddenly he remembered how the suspect Tuya painted in her spare time. It was an obvious connection, maybe too obvious, but it was the only thing he had to go on. But why would an alienated prostitute want to kill top-level politicians, and so savagely? It just didn’t seem quite right. Perhaps she might have some suggestions to help his thoughts, and he decided he would visit her very soon.
But not tonight. Tonight he would be going home to Marysa.
Everyone deserved a life of their own—even an investigator.
CHAPTER 21
CHANCELLOR URTICA MADE HIS WAY DOWN THE CRUMBLING STAIRWELL, glancing back every now and then, just in case, just to be sure.
He held a lantern high, drew his cloak around him. A gust of wind rattled down from above, transforming his shadow into increasingly