Instead he muttered, 'They never liked the fact that I didn't complete my paperwork on time. It turns out that this benighted hole of a city is the best place for me.'
The commander frowned, gave a discreet nod. 'Fair enough.'
'What about you, commander? Not the prettiest town about for you either.'
'No, but it still needs defending. This city faces military threats, and we're here to oversee the defence operation.'
'You surely don't want me to help with that, do you?'
'No. But one of our soldiers has gone missing, a Night Guard named Private Haust. He was tall, thin, blond, blue eyes – typical of the south-west islanders. He'd only been in our unit for a couple of months, and was incredibly proud to be serving here. There's no reason for him to simply leave his post, especially with duties still to be carried out. He'd be thrown out of the army for ignoring them, yet he's been missing for six days now.'
'What took you so long to come here then?'
'We've conducted our own searches for the first couple of days, but our resources are limited – and the local Inquisition claimed they were too busy, then someone mentioned an officer from Jokull in the city, without many cases to deal with. I applied gentle military pressure until we got your name and address.'
For a moment Jeryd wondered how easy it would be for his present location to be given away to some clever sod from Villjamur. If they would even bother to come looking for him, of course.
'And I've heard about other people who have gone missing, too – not just Haust. A surprisingly large number, in fact.'
'They could just be getting the hell out of here because of the Freeze,' Jeryd suggested, while considering his options.
'Not that many without leaving some hint,' the commander argued. 'Most people in this city seem preoccupied with just getting through each day as it comes, rather than trying to escape the ice – or even the threat of war. Besides, where else would they go? No, from all that I've heard, they've simply vanished from their homes.'
Jeryd asked him for the usual details about the missing Private Haust, seeking minor clues that might help out immediately. To his mind, every detail mattered. From what the commander said, it sounded as if this could have been a murder, yet there was not a lot Jeryd could do in a city as unruly as this, with so little to go on. People went missing all the time. From his experience, such disappearances were an all too common mystery.
'This would usually be the sort of thing I'd send some of my men out to investigate,' the commander explained, 'but what with events in the north, and events anticipated in the future, we're all too busy planning and training. I need someone else to trust on this.'
'You're a very suspicious man, I see,' Jeryd said, approvingly.
'I've reason to be. I don't even trust our Chancellor – who's Emperor now, of course. Apologies, I'm still not used to the overthrow of the Jamur lineage.'
'We've something in common there, commander.'
Jeryd remembered all too clearly the events that transpired in Villjamur. The information he himself had uncovered. The replacement of the Jamur family line with a new ruler. The conspiracies of the religious cults. How Urtica had moved from Chancellor to Emperor overnight, by cunningly manipulating facts and words, money and people.
The albino smiled at him and nodded, confirming a shared opinion. Jeryd then decided that they had an agreement; that he would look into this matter first thing in the morning.
As the lithe commander strolled off down the corridor, Jeryd shuffled back to bed in his controversial breeches, put his arm around Marysa, his curves moulding closer into hers, and began to contemplate just how the hell he was going to navigate his way around a city about which he still knew next to nothing.
TWO
A roll of thunder, loud enough to have been generated by an invading army, the noise from the auditorium could be heard well in advance of them getting anywhere near it, as Brynd Lathraea and Portreeve Lutto descended into the underworld of Villiren. Down here there were moments of such deep disconnection from ground level that Brynd wondered if he was strolling through some nightmare.
Rank waters trickled across their path as the snow melted under treatment from above, and it began mixing with the sewage and something else he didn't dare name.
'Lutto is aware of the smell,' the Portreeve of Villiren mumbled, 'but in times of crisis, the odour of my fair city – that is to say, the Empire's fair city, ha! – is the least of my concerns.' He waddled like a duck through the dark and featureless passageways, arms splayed out either side of his rolls of fat, a candle in one fist, and he continued leading them ever downwards – towards the riotous din. At least Brynd now faced the man's back, so he didn't have to look at his mendacious face, with that strangely hypnotic wedge of moustache. He thought the man grew it just so people wouldn't search his eyes for any residue of truth lurking in whatever he said. Lutto hadn't quite taken the ultimate plunge into full stupidity but, judging from the few conversations they'd shared, there was such potential evident in everything he said. Behind that, however, something else lurked, a vicious and spiteful intelligence that was known on occasion to be tapped. Some whispered that it was actually Lutto's wife, and indeed, how this man could successfully lead a city was beyond Brynd. He'd only been in Villiren for a few weeks, and already he was becoming distinctly annoyed by Lutto's manner, his way of speaking, his way of treating people – of treating Brynd himself.
'How far?' Brynd demanded.
'Such impatience. A soldier, I would have thought, should-'
'How far?' Brynd growled.
'Apologies, commander. Not much further, just ten minutes, Lutto promises.'
'You going to tell me sometime why you're bringing me here in civilian clothing?' A basic brown tunic, a dull grey cloak, a wide-brimmed hat pulled down low, and Brynd had even smeared some dirt across his face to disguise his albino colouring.
'Secrecy is essential, with some of these peoples,' was all that the fat man muttered in response, and Brynd was used, by now, to the mysterious and elusive manner in which he spoke. It pissed him off immensely, but there was no getting away without the loaded sentences, the hidden meanings.
And it wasn't as if Brynd wasn't burdened by a few secrets of his own.
This little trip, Lutto had said, could be vital to the defence of the city, and Brynd was keen to examine all opportunities that he had before him. Preparing properly for a likely siege against an unlikely opposition was essential.
This passageway reminded him of those in Villjamur, twisting and dark and apparently purposeless, although these were more recently built, the stone still sharp at the edges where time had not eroded them. Five minutes later and they had reached an even lower level, Brynd could feel it by a gentle shift downwards in the angle of the path. Rats flew across the ground ahead, chasing shadows. The odours of incense became intense, the noise of a crowd somewhere became defined, and Brynd's heart beat a little faster.
'Just about there…' Lutto whispered, pointing.
Through two featureless doors, and they were into the auditorium, a wide circle of stone seating stepping down to an arena in the centre, where there was a roped-off square about forty paces along each side. Pillars clearly separated the two rival tiers of spectators chanting and whistling, maybe four or five hundred of them already, and filling up quickly. Dozens of urns raised on pedestals burned violently with some kind of liquid fire, casting a surprisingly strong light, all the way down here beneath the city.