The Translated Man and Other Stories - Chris Braak [5]
“Sir!” Valetine snapped off a salute, and then led the two trolljrmen down into the Arcadium.
“Wind your watch!” Skinner called after him. Valetine waved his gold pocket-watch back at her. When the young coroner had left, Skinner spoke to her partner in a quiet voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” said Beckett. “Why should something be wrong?”
“I can hear it in your voice. You sound…ragged.”
Beckett shook his head and snorted. He’d only been with Skinner a few months, but had been partnered with one Knocker after another for years, and had gotten into the habit of accompanying his gestures with small sounds. A mounting pain at the base of his skull demanded more veneine. “Head hurts.” He absently rubbed his right forearm, over the veins that he used for his injections.
“And?”
The Coroner sighed. “What is this, the third necrologist in six weeks? He was taking limbs from live people, Skinner. They never used to do that. It was always raided mausoleums and the dead beggars in Rittenhouse field. They were heretics, but they didn’t mutilate people.”
Skinner shrugged. “Times are changing.”
“Yeah, and I don’t like it.”
“That’s because you’re an old fart. Now get in the coach, it’s cold out.”
Beckett climbed into the coach, but had to catch himself as a wave of dizziness swept over him. He threw his lean frame which now suddenly felt so heavy into the coach, and hoped that Skinner hadn’t noticed.
“Shall we to dinner, Detective-Inspector Beckett?”
“No,” Beckett was shaking his head. “Home.”
“Home?”
The Coroner tapped his wrist. “Home.”
Two: Beckett’s Home
To understand the city of Trowth, capital of the Trowth Imperium, one must first understand the Architecture War. Like virtually every aspect of Trowthi society, the Architecture War was the general product of the bitter internecine conflict between the Esteemed Families of the Imperium, and the particular product of the legendary feud between the Family Vie-Gorgon and the Family Gorgon-Vie.
Not long into the reign of Edmund II Gorgon-Vie, about two hundred years before Elijah Beckett’s time, Emilio Vie-Gorgon (second cousin to the reigning Emperor) commissioned a tower built in Raithower Plaza. The tower was ostensibly commissioned to celebrate Edmund’s coronation, and it was built in a new style extremely popular at the time: tall and thin, covered with jagged merlons and sharp parapets, it looked like a huge crooked finger pointing accusingly at the filthy sky.
Of course, Raithower Plaza stands directly between the great windows of the Imperial throne room and said windows’ view of the River Stark, arguably the only good view in the city. The Emperor was not amused. In retaliation, Edmund had a second tower built in the center of Vie Square, directly in front of the Vie-Gorgon mansions. This one was built in a style meant to offend the Vie-Gorgons’ penchant for tall, slender, sharp things: it was short, squat, black, and ugly.
This is how the War began. It got out of hand almost immediately. Architecture became one of the weapons that the Families used to lord their status and their wealth over each other. It was not long before the six wealthiest families had developed distinct architectural styles, to make it clear who had claimed which piece of the skyline; Families had their own personal architects, who had their own schools. The schools themselves were violent affairs. Conflicts of design often were resolved with duels, sabotage, or (as in the case of the Crabtree-Daior and Feathersmith-Czarnecki family architects) a one hundred and twenty man street brawl that lasted for three hours and killed six people.
Trowth was a city defined by crowded, complex architectural schemes. Sharp-edged Vie-Gorgon merlons battled blocky Gorgon-Vie crenulations battled leering Wyndham-Vie gargoyles for every available inch of skyline. Houses and towers were built, demolished, and built taller, each one scrabbling for a higher place in the sky.