The Broken Isles

TWENTY

Investigator Fulcrom was hoping to have a day or two’s rest, but apparently that was not going to happen.

His and Lan’s quarters were luxurious compared with life on the road. There was warmth and comfort, and most of all peace from the constant demands of leadership. A slender, arched window offered a view towards the far east of the city, which seemed relatively untouched by the brutal war.

While Lan was changing into her freshly laundered Knights outfit, Fulcrom stood browsing the selection of texts on a high shelf, most of them on fishing or local history. His musing was interrupted by a loud thump on the door.

‘Fulcrom, it’s Brynd.’

‘One moment, Lan’s just getting changed,’ Fulcrom called through to him.

Lan glowered at him. ‘Can’t you learn to lie from time to time?’ she whispered, hurriedly yanking on her breeches.

When she had finished, Fulcrom opened the door and the commander strode in sheepishly. Only now, in this calm situation, did Fulcrom realize how striking the commander’s white face and red-tinted eyes were.

‘Is everything well, commander?’ Fulcrom enquired.

‘As well as can be expected here, yes, but I came to start you up with a few tasks, if you’re willing.’

‘Of course, yes. Is this for the Villiren Inquisition?’

‘If you want to call it that, yes. At the moment the city is under military law, and I would like to work on a transition to something more stable, local and meaningful. That is, if you are both happy to get started immediately?’

Fulcrom looked to Lan, who nodded back.

‘The Inquisition is just the two of you at the moment.’ Brynd reached into his pocket and pulled out two small leather cases. He handed one to Fulcrom and one to Lan.

Fulcrom opened his and found an Inquisition medallion inside, much like the one he wore in Villjamur, with the same triangular crucible stamped upon it. The ribbon was black. Fulcrom put it on over his head; it felt good to have one there again, after having discarded his old one in disgust at his superiors in Villjamur. Lan followed suit, smiling then staring down at the medallion. ‘Our deepest thanks, commander,’ Fulcrom said.

‘As for what I’d like you to do,’ Brynd continued, ‘well. . we’ve heard reports this morning of a creature being found in the middle of a large new iren. A creature that has apparently killed a child. It’s causing a bit of a stir and the iren has been closed for a while. It seems the whole city is talking about it, and we’re the last to know.’

‘Killed a child?’ Fulcrom frowned. ‘What sort of creature are we talking about?’

‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ Brynd replied. ‘Come.’

Fulcrom and Lan, wearing thick robes to cope with the colder conditions, followed the commander on horseback across the city to the iren. The sky had quickly become grey, filled with the promise of snow, though none came. When they arrived, they tied their horses and dismounted in silence, Fulcrom too fascinated by his new surroundings to talk.

The city was busy, much more so than Villjamur, which surprised Fulcrom. The buildings were old and frail, in much need of repair. Slates were missing from rooftops, some lay on the ground in shattered pieces. On closer inspection there was poverty here, even more than he had seen in Villjamur’s caves, but it was kept to side streets, alleys in which people clustered around pit fires — he could see people’s blankets stacked to one side, food rations piled alongside weaponry. Exotic smells drifted from houses, spices he wasn’t familiar with, colours and sounds that seemed a world away from Villjamur. It could take a lot of getting used to.

‘It’s this way.’ The commander led them into a busy thoroughfare and then into an enormous open iren, now up and running again. For a post-war city the amount of trade was incredible: everything from grain and vegetables to metalwork from other islands, from spices to scribe services. The economy was certainly starting to recover again.

‘We cancelled pitch rents for the poorest,’ Brynd said proudly. ‘The previous portreeve had privatized the irens — which was public property would you believe — in many districts, so that landowners were taking profits from the traders and the market barely made any money. The prices were ridiculous. We took the irens back, slashed rents, prices fell and now look at the place — it’s busier than it was before the war. I think that speaks for itself.’

They moved forward through the crowd until they reached a sealed-off military area. Thirty or forty Dragoons were standing casually in a line, but stood to attention when they spotted the commander advancing towards them.

‘At ease,’ Brynd called, but they weren’t half as slack as they were a moment ago.

A gap parted, and the newcomers moved in to examine the scene.

Fulcrom was admittedly shocked. On the floor was a truly strange creature, in all its gruesome multi-limbed glory. It lay there giving off a strong aroma of decay. He had never seen anything quite like it. Not even the new races who had helped out the refugees on Jokull were so alien.

Lan cringed in disgust, but Fulcrom coolly crouched down to get a better look. ‘I’m going to ask the obvious — this isn’t part of the local habitat, is it? Something that lives further out of the city?’

‘There’s nothing natural about this,’ Brynd said.

‘Is it a hybrid creature often talked about but rarely seen?’

‘No — hybrids are more coherent, more logical than this. Besides, we’ve done research into what creatures there are and there is nothing like this.’

‘Look over here.’ Lan was crouched down pointing to foam surrounding the body.

‘Well spotted,’ Fulcrom said. Then, aloud, ‘Who washed away the blood? There are soap bubbles here and here.’

Brynd looked over to a Dragoon soldier, who answered, ‘A couple of traders cleaned it away, sir, so they could get on with business.’

Fulcrom sighed. ‘We could have done with knowing just a little more about where that blood came from.’

‘You don’t think it was from this thing itself?’ Brynd enquired.

‘The cobbles have bloodstains over too wide an area to have come from the creature.’ Fulcrom gestured in a wide circle to denote the extent. ‘And the creature itself does not look as if it has lost that much blood. Not that I know much about the creature’s anatomy, of course.’ Fulcrom stepped around the giant corpse, examining it in detail. Could’ve done with my notebook. . ‘Can someone help turn it over?’

No one moved for a moment; the soldiers just looked at each other sheepishly.

‘For Bohr’s sake, you heard the man,’ the commander called out. ‘Four men, you three and you, one of you get an arm and the rest of you shove from the other side.’

The four Dragoons moved into place and reluctantly began to try to lift the monster. They struggled a little before giving up.

‘Sir, it’s rather heavy,’ one of them said.

‘Oh, really — I’ll give you a hand.’ Lan marched to the side with the three soldiers, who looked askance at her. Fulcrom smiled as Lan took hold of the corpse, closed her eyes and gently tuned in to her powers. The creature’s body began to lift up from the cobbles and soon the rest of the soldiers joined in, not to be outdone by her. With them all helping shove it, the thing eventually collapsed onto its front.

‘Thanks for your help, lads.’ Lan winked at the soldiers as she rejoined Fulcrom. The men shyly stepped back into line, muttering to themselves.

The creature’s hairs were soaked with blood, and yet Fulcrom couldn’t help think something wasn’t quite right with the scene.

‘Strange,’ he said to Brynd. ‘There are no wounds anywhere on its body, and yet there must have been quite a bit of blood on the floor — until it was cleaned away, of course. So unless the creature has somehow vomited up such blood, which, I have to say, usually has a particular scent not present today, this was made to appear as if it had died here — but I don’t think it actually did. And look.’ Fulcrom crouched down by the creature’s immense hand, which was leathery and clawed, and which had lain by the child’s corpse. ‘If this thing had actually killed the child, why are there no wounds or tissue damage? There are no signs of a struggle. There is no ripped flesh to denote any hunt, not to mention it seems that rigor mortis has begun to set in. . No, none of this sits right with me, commander.’

Fulcrom tilted his head to suggest they step aside, and Brynd obliged.

‘Everything here says to me that someone has placed the corpse here deliberately and, given that we’re in an iren, this seems as if it was staged to catch the eyes of as many of the citizens as possible. Someone, somewhere in this city, wanted people to think a monster had come here to kill. Now that presents us with a few questions, admittedly. The first one, where did they get the creature’s corpse?’

‘I have a suspicion,’ muttered Brynd, but seemed reluctant to expand on the issue.

‘Really?’ Fulcrom asked.

‘It’s only a thought, mind you — there’s a factory in the city that specializes in things like this. You could start there, but I can’t see why they would be involved in staging something like this.’

‘What makes you say this?’

‘They’re business people. And they go to great lengths, generally, to keep such things away from public eyes. No, they wouldn’t want this out here in this state.’

Fulcrom nodded. ‘If I could take the details of this factory, back in the Citadel, along with any other information, I’d be very grateful, sir. Now, point number two then: if this corpse was acquired, somehow, that leaves the question of why it was left in public view like this. Why would someone create a scene? What is there to gain from the act? And there’s little to follow it up, either — so what was the purpose of something so isolated?’

Brynd looked around at the iren, which by now had returned to normal.

‘Given we’re in a public place, the purpose could have been to get people talking and, possibly, for people to be frightened of the creature.’

‘Why do you think someone might want that?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘You know this city better than I do, of course.’

‘There are plenty of tensions here,’ Brynd admitted. ‘I had considered, since the war, that most of those concerns were no longer valid — that it was a fear that came from the war itself.’

‘This invasion came from the north, am I correct?’ Fulcrom asked.

‘Indeed.’

‘And the alien threat, that’s nothing for people to be worried about?’

‘There may well be concerns about those from the otherworld who are camped south of the city.’

‘I can understand that.’ Fulcrom nodded. ‘Do you think someone wants to make a point of their dislike of this arrangement?’

‘People are going to have to learn how to cope sooner or later.’

‘If there’s anything I’ve learned, it is to never underestimate the will of the people,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘They can be overwhelming if a notion spreads wide enough.’

Brynd sighed and glanced at the corpse one more time. ‘Do you think you can find out who did this? After Jokull, you’ve earned my trust.’

‘I will give it my best shot,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘At the same time, I’d like to seek permission to build a team — volunteers at first, most likely — but if an Inquisition needs forming, we’ll need people — perhaps even some surviving members of the Villiren Inquisition.’

‘I probably wouldn’t bother with them,’ Brynd urged. ‘Start fresh. Get smart, honest people.’ He marched over to the gathered Dragoons and said, ‘Right you lot, Investigator Fulcrom is hereby in charge of this situation and you’re to follow his orders, do I make myself clear?’

A chorus of ‘Sir’ came.

‘Good.’ Brynd returned to Fulcrom. ‘If they give you any trouble, let me know. This is all yours now.’

Back at the Citadel, Fulcrom had requested a cool basement room to use as a temporary office. As it happened, Brynd had already located a little network of chambers and antechambers situated a couple of levels underground, beneath the kitchens, and offered them to Fulcrom’s operation. Some of the rooms still contained crates of foodstuffs and bottles of wine hoarded during the war, but a few insouciant Dragoons carried them elsewhere while Fulcrom and Lan settled in.

In the furthest room from Fulcrom’s intended office, the corpse of the iren creature was brought in. Soldiers stacked packs of ice around the body so it didn’t decay further and reek the place out.

Fulcrom and Lan studied it in detail and made notes, before abandoning this in favour of a better idea: Fulcrom decided to send messengers to bring in whatever medical staff there were at hand. At first these people protested, said they didn’t want to see any monsters, but Fulcrom went out of his way to charm them into helping him.

One woman obliged, a plump former nurse with a penchant for art, and who seemed to want something more interesting to do with her days; she set about scrutinizing the beast, humming a little tune as if she was baking. She prodded it and sketched it, and Fulcrom left her to her own devices for an hour or so. When he returned, he asked her if she had found any visible wounds; she’d located none, just a few casual grazes where its body had been seemingly dragged along a harsh surface — such as a cobbled street — and her report confirmed much of what Fulcrom had suspected.

Lan, meanwhile, set about creating an office out of their intended chamber. She hauled huge pieces of furniture about the place with apparent ease. This had been, in the past, some kind of accounts room, and there were ledgers running way back — books that covered the movement of grain, ore, gemstones and money. She opened them up and was startled to see how intermittent they were; in some of them, whole years of accounts seemed to be missing. Lan acquired a rag, dusted down a desk. She arranged the chairs. She managed to find some scented oil and lanterns to scatter about the place. Within a couple of hours, she had transformed the room from a reasonably large but forgotten dusty corner of the Citadel into a welcoming office.

‘There,’ she said to herself, ‘we’re going to do things properly or not at all.’

Fulcrom came in and his expression pleased her greatly. ‘This looks fantastic, Lan!’ He walked over to the desk, where he immediately began arranging some of the books and pencils into something more orderly.

‘You just can’t leave things be, can you?’ Lan suggested.

Fulcrom smiled. ‘You’ve found a notebook too — excellent.’ He pocketed it and looked around. ‘We can put up some legal texts here.’ He pointed to a shelving unit.

‘Yes, and I’ve even found a blackboard you might find useful,’ she said, and lifted up a large, four-foot-wide board. She stood it on the desk, leaning it carefully against the wall. She picked up a piece of chalk, wrote the word ‘monster’, and circled it.

‘Your handwriting is messy,’ Fulcrom said.

‘Stop being so damn neat,’ she replied.

Fulcrom moved closer to her and said, ‘And that’s why you love me.’

‘Yeah,’ she said, pausing. ‘I do love you.’

They said it so little recently, but now things had calmed it seemed more powerful than before.

‘We should do something tonight,’ Fulcrom said. ‘Just have dinner in our chambers. No one else. Get some candles, make a night of it.’

‘That’d be nice.’

‘Just nice?’ he asked.

‘OK, that would be great,’ Lan replied.

‘That’s better.’

‘So have you had any more thoughts about the creature?’ she asked.

‘Many,’ he replied. ‘Once I make a detailed sketch of it, I’ll be satisfied that we can probably burn the corpse and be done with it, the poor thing. If it has a soul, we can at least free it. In the morning, I’m going to head to the factory the commander spoke about. I’d like to speak to some people in the irens, too, to see if they witnessed anything out of the ordinary beforehand.’

That evening they acquired some roasted meats, cheese, bread and even commandeered a bottle of red wine Fulcrom had spotted being carried out of his new headquarters. They had both washed in hot water, and dried off, by the firelight, eating the food in its warm glow, sitting semi-naked together on a bearskin rug.

They took their time. They ate slowly. Fulcrom enjoyed the fact that he could finally enjoy the lines of Lan’s body — the cold conditions had always denied him this luxury. She was wearing a long, dark silk skirt and a wraparound top that only really covered her breasts. He could see her firm stomach as she lay on her side. Her long dark hair, drying in the firelight, seemed healthier than ever. She had trimmed her fringe so that it was as short as he remembered in Villjamur.

Her skin glowed in the light and she seemed too hot to touch — but touch her he did. He placed a palm on her hips and ran it onto the small of her back. He pulled her towards him so that he lay on his back and she on top of him, her hands on his chest. She seemed more relaxed than ever before, which was the most important thing. He pulled the knot holding her top together and gently slipped it to one side; everything in her eyes told him that she wanted him. He kissed her collarbone, kissed her neck, kissed-

A banging at the door.

‘Are you in?’ came a voice. ‘It’s Brynd.’

‘Just a moment,’ Fulcrom spluttered.

Lan glanced at Fulcrom wide-eyed, then climbed off him, pulled on a robe and sat on the bed with her legs crossed.

Fulcrom stood up hastily, and shambled over to the door. He looked back to Lan to check she was all right before he finally opened the door. ‘Commander,’ he said. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Not disturbing anything, am I?’ Brynd asked tentatively.

Yes. Yes, you are abso-fucking-lutely disturbing something. ‘Not at all, commander,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘How can I help?’

‘It’s Lan I’m after actually,’ Brynd told him.

‘Oh, really?’ Lan said, coming to the door in a rush.

‘Yes, we’ve a bit of situation I’m afraid.’

‘Anything serious?’

‘That depends on what you mean by the word serious. . Now, I believe you have quite a few powers, by all accounts.’

‘That’s true, yes.’

‘How are you at scaling buildings?’ he asked.

‘Could scale a couple before breakfast,’ she muttered. ‘Why d’you ask?’

‘It would appear that Lady Rika, formerly the head of the Jamur Empire and now head of whatever future civilization we’re building, is currently three-quarters the way up the south wall of the Citadel. We’d like to get her back, somehow, without her presence being known to the entire building.’

‘Give me a second to get changed into something more appropriate and I’ll join you.’

The commander nodded. ‘I’ll leave an escort outside the door to guide you to our location.’ Then he left the room.

Fulcrom closed the door and began to laugh to himself. Lan placed a hand on his back and breathed, ‘We’ve waited long enough. Another day won’t hurt us.’

Lan wore her Knights outfit proudly, and had acquired a few loops of rope, which she slung across her chest. Their escort led them to the balcony, where a small number of the Night Guard had gathered. They weren’t enjoying the view of the harbour — they were looking directly towards the sky.

No one said anything on her arrival until the commander introduced her as a hero of Villjamur, and then they gave her a salute that made her blush.

‘I’ll explain to them fully who you are once you’re up there,’ he said. ‘We need to be quick about this.’

‘How did she get up there?’ Lan asked.

‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

‘Have you got any idea where she is precisely?’ Lan craned her neck to get a better view. The sheer height of the Citadel was intimidating. It was a fairly featureless structure, apart from the crenellations situated at the very top. That would make it difficult to get up there, she thought. Few nooks and crannies to use as assistance. Few gargoyles to hook her fingers on.

‘Be careful when you’re up there,’ Brynd warned. ‘We don’t know how volatile she will be.’

‘Volatile?’ Lan said. ‘I thought she was just a bit mad.’

‘Well, that may be the case — however, she has been spotted by one person engaged in potentially violent conduct. This could be something similar or nothing to worry about at all — either way, we’d like the ruler of what’s left of the Empire safely ensconced in a secure cell as soon as possible.’

‘Right,’ Lan replied. ‘Anything else that I should know about?’

Brynd shook his head. ‘This remains as much a mystery to us as it does to you.’

‘You’ll be OK?’ Fulcrom whispered.

‘Don’t worry,’ she replied, squeezing his hands. Then she moved into a clear space on the balcony, closed her eyes to tune in to her powers, and glanced directly up. The wind buffeted her, sending her hair spiralling in front of her face. She tied it back, and then stepped up into the air and glided onto the stone rail of the balcony; a window ledge up above caught her eye and she levered herself up even further; she misjudged the angle, slipped and clattered into the glass, though it didn’t shatter. Luckily, no one down below saw her error.

Peering up, left and right, she couldn’t see anyone. The wind was even stronger, a bitterly cold breeze from the east. The lantern lights of the harbour and the windows of the city were mesmerizing, but she didn’t let them distract her. Instead, she scanned the walls for another window ledge; the jump up would be difficult, she thought, because she had to go in an arc. She gave it a go, knowing curve jumps were more dangerous, and luckily the wind blew her back against the building anyway.

Another look around, and this time she thought she saw something horizontally to the east. She flattened herself against the structure, hoping not to be seen; she wanted a better look.

It looked like the pale skin of someone’s arm.

Lan looked up again, and noticed that she was only twenty feet away from the crenellations at the top of this section. Another push and she scrambled up the wall with all her might — she reached the top, banging her shin against the stone, but she was careful not to let out a cry of pain.

Once at the top, she found she could dash easily along the rim of the wall. She lifted one loop of rope off over her head and tied a quick, firm knot as she ran. Then she paused to check over the side along this section of the wall.

There. Down below was, very definitely, a female figure, bizarrely twitching and clawing her way on the wall — not ledges, not on the crenellations, but clawing the actual stonework itself. It didn’t seem possible. Lan tied one of the ends of the first piece of rope to a crenellation and made a loop at the other end, which she attached to her waist. She made it long enough for the fall; then she took the second length of rope and jumped effortlessly through the gap in the crenellations.

Her passage through the air was as gentle as she could manage with her powers; she focused on Rika, with the rope ready in her hands. It happened as planned: as she fell inches behind Rika, Lan dragged the rope over her body, snapping it tightly around the woman’s torso. Her own rope snagged, stopping her descent. Rika was bound and snarling, like a trapped wolf, pressed up against the stone. The Empress lurched back, her face twisted and cortorting, her teeth a little too long to be human.

From her pocket, Lan withdrew a small hessian sack. With one hand firmly on Rika’s throat, Lan climbed up her bound body, and eased the sack over the viciously struggling woman. She pulled the ends tight, being careful not to strangle her. Satisfied she had the woman bagged, Lan tied her own rope around Rika’s waist, tied her hands, layered the rope around her again and again, and moved down to bind her ankles. Lan breathed out, relieved.

It had been simpler than Lan thought. Tuning in to her powers, she hauled Rika up with a jump and dropped her gently onto the walkway at the top of the crenellations. Lan landed gracefully alongside her.

The night sky was gathering clouds; a few flecks of snow began to fall, but Lan had her woman. Rika was now trying to tear her way out of her restraints, and Lan wanted to deliver her to the commander as soon as possible. The only way to get her down was back through the Citadel, so Lan dragged the Empress along the stone floor like a pugnacious dog.

‘Nice work, Lan,’ Brynd said. ‘I’m impressed. That was a skilful display.’

Despite his positive words, he seemed deeply uneasy, as if uncertain what he would now do.

They had placed the bound Empress in a gaol cell within the Citadel. Only Brynd, Fulcrom, and two Night Guard soldiers were there.

Lan leant back against the bars with her arms folded, happy that she had proved herself to the most important person on the island.

‘We used to keep these cells,’ Brynd said, ‘to imprison any Okun we captured from the war. We wanted to observe them, study them to see if we could get any information from them to use in the war. We got very little, it turned out. But I never thought we’d be using this room to imprison our own Empress. Would you mind stepping out of the cell for a moment? This could get a little tricky.’

‘Of course,’ Fulcrom replied.

Lan followed Fulcrom then turned to watch.

Brynd gestured to his soldiers and they both nodded their acknowledgement of the order, stretching out Rika’s body horizontally, grabbing her legs and arms, pressing her down on the floor at one end of the cell until she stopped resisting. When she quietened, Brynd moved towards her feet and cut those restraints. Then Tiendi, who held her arms, looped a piece of rope around Rika’s waist before handing it to Brynd, who then tied it around the cell window bars. The soldiers by her feet stepped away and both of them came out of the cell. Now only Brynd remained. He signalled something again with his hands before quickly cutting the restraints on her wrists, leaving just the bag over her head.

He walked out of the cell, slammed the barred door shut and locked it.

Everyone waited. The bars were as thick as Lan’s thumb, spaced an inch apart, and crafted from iron, so Lan had no fears that their lives were threatened. It all suddenly seemed as if she were back in her circus days, watching one of the beasts in its cage. Rika pushed herself to her hands and knees, before staggering to her feet. Then she began pulling at the bag restraints, and managed to untie them quickly.

Rika pulled away the bag and dropped it on the floor. She turned, slowly, to face her captors.

‘Dear Bohr. .’ Brynd breathed.

Her face was clearly once beautiful, yet it had distorted into something hideous: her eyes were enlarged slightly, her teeth so big that her mouth had become misshapen, and her nostrils flared like some furious beast. With alarming speed she flung herself against the bars and everyone either flinched or took a step back; as if Rika could have actually snapped the metal and leapt for their throats.

Brynd stepped forward until he was an arm’s length away from the cell. ‘Rika,’ he called. ‘Lady Rika.’

Lan watched the woman for a reaction, but there seemed no acknowledgement of her name.

‘I am Brynd Lathraea, Commander of the Night Guard,’ he said louder. ‘Do you recognize me?’

Again, nothing. Rika merely glanced aggressively at everyone who had gathered to watch her. Cursing, Brynd turned to address them. ‘It seems as though she may be beyond help. For now, no one is to enter this area. Tiendi, Mikill — I’m putting you two on the door. No one comes in, no one comes out without my say-so.’

‘Yes, commander,’ they replied.

Mikill said, ‘Should her sister know?’

Brynd considered the question, but replied in hushed tones: ‘Soon.’ He looked at Lan and Fulcrom: ‘Obviously you’re both now witnesses to this — and Lan, while I do indeed appreciate your remarkable efforts, I would be grateful if no one was to find out about this. The ramifications could be huge.’

‘You have our word,’ Fulcrom announced. ‘And if you need any assistance in the matter, you only have to ask.’

Brynd nodded his thanks before escorting them out. Two doors closed behind them. Two sets of lock mechanisms clicked into place.