Nights of Villjamur

TWENTY-SIX

Given all the hysteria of a new Empress arriving in Villjamur, Eir had hoped for a better night of celebrations. It was now days after her father’s funeral, but this final evening of celebrations had been talked about and anticipated so highly by everyone from councillors to servants. People in the city had been looking for anything to hang their good mood on given the assault of ice, and Rika’s new position had certainly offered them that.

But as the evening’s festivities died away, Eir found herself seated at a table being lectured on how the general behaviour of ladies in Villjamur had diminished of late. Lord Dubek was a cousin’s stepfather, a gruff old man dressed in the same dreary blue garments he always wore. Though nearing fifty, he was rumoured to have a keen eye for younger women. As his vision drifted across her exposed shoulders, she pulled up her green velvet gown and glowered at him.

‘Thing is,’ he said, swilling a cup of red wine, ‘we live in an age with little war. Your generation is ruined by that. You’ve all grown up without hardly ever seeing real fear in your parents’ eyes…’ He brushed down his moustache, and leaned in a little closer.

As she looked across the hall for more interesting company, her vision settled on Randur Estevu, her instructor. He had nestled himself in among a group of ladies of Balmacara, regaling them with some improbable anecdote, no doubt. Amid the ripples of female laughter, he stood, and it was easy to see how familiar he was with them, touching their arms, nodding in earnest at whatever they said to him. A lingering look, kisses on the hand, smiles as choreographed as his dance.

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of him.

That man possessed more than an air of mystery, especially since he often went sloping off into the city late at night, Caveside of all places, and what could he possibly want there? Yet he was a good instructor of both swordsmanship and dancing, and Eir realized she had learned a lot from him, even though she would hate to admit it.

The gaggle of ladies dispersed, leaving Randur alone with one other, the Lady Iora, a woman twice his age. Eir frowned at this. Although Lady Iora was an attractive woman, there was no longer any spring in her step. A bad narrative raced just behind those sad eyes. It was well known that Lady Iora was a recent widow, her husband having been found dead beneath a naked, if somewhat mortified, servant girl back in Villiren. It was a matter of heart, they said, or rather its failure, and despite the irony, Lady Iora had then sold her husband’s estate, having decided to settle in one of those fine old apartments on one of Villjamur’s higher levels before the Freeze took a grip.

Eir watched with growing suspicion as Randur clasped the ageing beauty’s hands in his own.

He leaned towards her as if telling her rare and private things. She nodded and they both stood up to make for a discreet exit.

On a sudden instinct Eir decided to follow.

Having grabbed a black cloak, Jamur Eir stood in the shadows outside Randur’s room. Only moments ago she had witnessed Lady Iora, in dishevelled clothing, walk off down the corridor.

Eir didn’t know why she was still waiting here, as though expecting something else – and why was she not asleep, like everyone else in Balmacara? Why was she, a princess of the blood, hovering outside some island boy’s chamber? She didn’t even like him that much. Sure, he was good to look at, in some vaguely feminine way, but his arrogance diminished any real attraction: the way he’d strut – not walk, but strut – around the halls like he owned the place, like he deserved to live here.

Maybe she was interested in his life, because, after all, Eir had spent her entire childhood being protected, housed in this place with guards to ensure no one might hurt her. This was all well and good, but it was certainly tedious at times. She remembered when she and Rika used to occupy themselves playing games along these corridors, while their parents would argue. She had seen very little of the far-flung regions her family governed. Dragged around, heavily protected by her teachers, to look at boring old buildings, there was little chance to meet men, and those she did encounter always seemed too petrified to talk to her.

But this Randur was someone who was finally interesting. The fact that she’d heard through servants’ gossip that he went to the caves made him more so. What was it he got up to? For some unaccountable reason she wanted to find this out, but it looked like nothing was going to happen tonight.

No sooner had she thought that, when the door opened. Randur stepped out.

She pursued him down the corridor, her careful footsteps whispering over the tiles. Guards queried her route, but she lied to each of them, stating a Night Guard soldier was to meet her shortly. For a place that pretended to be so secure, it seemed remarkably easy to slip away.

It took Randur half an hour to reach the Garuda’s Head. The door was open, as it nearly always was, throwing a square of light on the street outside. There was little noise from within, but Denlin sat at a table with a fat man, several cards laid out before them under the glow of lanterns. Denlin noticed Randur’s entrance, but remained focused on his game.

A crowd stood around them, whispering amid urgent laughter.

The fat man he played with, dressed in a scruffy brown tunic, held his head in his hands. There were beads of sweat across his forehead as he stared at the cards with his mouth slightly open, as if a knife had been shoved in his stomach.

‘What’s it to be?’ Denlin said to the fat man.

His opponent poked one thick finger at a card in the middle. Denlin flipped it over to a gasp from the crowd. An image of a dragon on the upturned card meant Denlin was the victor.

The fat man simply gazed at the card for some time as those watching gave an almost embarrassed laugh that suggested they’d seen this guy lose a lot of money before, that this might even be his weekly routine before he disappeared penniless into the deep night. He clutched the table, shook his head.

Denlin held out his hands to collect his coins. ‘A pleasure.’ He gathered up the cards, left the table.

‘You’re late this evening,’ Denlin said to Randur, as they walked to the bar.

‘Yes. She fell asleep on me. Twice.’

‘Not during, I hope?’

‘As if.’

‘Well, spare me the tales, lad. Been a long time since I dipped me wick, like. My drought’s moved into its second year.’ Then, to the landlord, ‘Two lagers.’

Randur glanced around, noticed a stranger standing at one end of the bar, a hood pulled over his face.

‘So,’ Denlin said between sips, ‘what you got this time?’

Randur handed over two gold rings, each set with a precious stone. ‘Either of these any good?’

Denlin put the items under the light, tilted them this way and that. His face screwed up into wrinkles, highlighting his age. ‘Not bad at all, lad. Who’s this lot from?’

‘A Lady Iora,’ Randur replied. ‘Recently widowed, and damn wealthy as a result.’

The hooded stranger gasped, then looked down at a tankard.

Denlin glanced quickly over to the figure, then at Randur. ‘You gonna tell me who your mate is?’

‘I’m sorry?’ Randur said.

‘Your pal who came in here with you.’ Denlin indicated the hooded newcomer.

‘I came alone,’ Randur said. Then, to the stranger, ‘Mate, does our business interest you?’

The figure made to leave, then Denlin grabbed one arm. The stranger gave a high-pitched squeal.

‘Den, stop that.’ With a shocked realization, Randur walked over, pulled aside the hood. ‘Lady Eir, for fuck’s sake, what are you doing here? How the hell did you get out of Bal-macara?’

Her eyes widened with uncertainty, then all she could do was stare at the floor. Her hair was dishevelled. No make-up, no jewellery, nothing that might indicate her position, but down here they only knew her as a title, not a face.

Randur drew her hood back up, then took her outside, Denlin following.

‘Eir,’ he hissed, ‘what’re you doing here?’

She spun around in the dark street, and suddenly she was as passive-aggressive as usual.

‘Actually, Randur Estevu, I think it’s you who should be answering that question. I’ve just witnessed you admit to stealing, and from a lady of the court, what’s more. You’ve stolen within Balmacara, so I should have you executed. You’re nothing but a common thief. I should’ve known better.’

‘She’s got a point there, lad,’ Denlin concurred from the doorway of the tavern.

Randur looked back at the old man. Fortunately there was no one else within earshot in the dirty backstreet. ‘Thank you for that, Denlin.’

Randur looked to Eir, sighed. He took some time to think of a suitable answer, then shrugged. ‘You’re right, I’ve stolen. Maybe I can explain. Though I reckon I should be getting you back to Balmacara before the sun rises. It’s not safe here.’

‘I think a common thief is the last person who should be responsible for my safety, don’t you think?’ She folded her arms, glared at him.

Randur took a deep breath. Be careful what you say, Rand. You’ve blagged your way into the city, and now your mouth might get you kicked right back out again.

Denlin stepped forward, stood in between them. ‘This, uhm, who I think it is? Jamur Eir?’

Eir stared at Randur, unspoken questions in her gaze, waiting for reassurance.

‘Go on,’ Randur prompted.

‘Yes, yes, it is,’ Eir said. ‘And who are you?’

‘Friend of the lad, here, that’s all.’

‘A thief too?’ Eir said.

‘Ha! No. Though some might call me that, especially in there.’ Denlin gestured vaguely towards the tavern, then scratched his head, ruffling his already messy grey hair. ‘No, I’m an odd-job man, like. I do a bit of this, a bit of that. You need something, I’ll find it – for a price of course. At your service, my lady.’ He took a bow.

Randur couldn’t decide if he was being sarcastic or not. ‘Den, you think you could leave us alone for a bit?’

‘Anything you have to say,’ Eir snapped, ‘you can say here, in the open.’

Randur looked between them, sighed. ‘I don’t know about you two, but I want a drink.’ He went back into the Garuda’s Head.

Denlin scratched his crotch, followed, muttering, ‘At last, some sense.’

‘What, you’re going to just leave me out here alone?’ Eir protested.

Randur turned in the doorway. ‘You want answers, step into my office.’

‘I’m a thief, yes,’ Randur admitted, then took a swig of his lager, staring at Eir across the table. She clasped a cup of watered wine from which she took occasional sips, making a face as if she’d sucked at a lump of salt. ‘But, I’m stealing with good reason.’

‘Doesn’t every thief?’ Eir said.

‘She’s got a point, lad,’ Denlin said, then belched.

‘Thank you, Denlin.’ Randur glared at him. Back to Eir, he continued, ‘I’m stealing because I need the money to…’ He paused for a moment. He might as well tell everything. ‘To save my mother from dying.’

Eir’s expression softened.

‘From tunthux.’

Denlin whistled. ‘Nasty.’

‘What’s tunthux?’ Eir enquired.

‘The slow death, they call it,’ Denlin volunteered. ‘Can take a few years for someone to die from it. At the end they say you bleed from every orifice, blood pouring from your arse-hole-’

‘Thank you, Denlin!’ Randur interrupted. ‘We don’t need to hear all that.’ Then, to Eir, ‘My mother is dying and I came to Villjamur to find a cure, from a cultist. I need to raise money, you see, since a cultist won’t do it for nothing. And that’s why I’m taking things – jewellery, gemstones – from certain women I give… satisfaction to. As you yourself explained, Eir, I can’t exactly take stuff from Balmacara, so…’

‘So you seduce vulnerable ladies of the court for their wealth,’ Eir sneered. ‘How honourable of you.’

‘I give them plenty in return. I give them excitement and attention, albeit for a short while. They certainly aren’t getting it from anyone else, so is that so bad? That I satisfy them? And besides, who would say a thing if it was a young woman accepting the odd trinket from her older male lover.’

‘That’s different,’ Eir protested, rather uncertainly.

‘Is it really?’ Randur said. He gripped his tankard, took a sip of lager. ‘Is it really so different for a man to expect payment?’

‘Whoring,’ Denlin offered. ‘That’s what that is. At least common whores is more honest about taking money, like. And I’ve known some lovely ones in my time…’

‘Thank you, Denlin.’ Randur wondered if the old man would ever shut up. ‘All I’m doing is giving some emotional and physical attention to certain neglected ladies who need it, and taking an unofficial fee in the unspoken market. The jewellery I take is in order to save my mother’s life. If you’re going to get all moral over this, I still reckon I’ve got the higher ground – so there you have it. I’m working to get my mother’s life back, but I’m still a little short in coin.’

‘How much do you need?’ Eir said suddenly.

Randur tried to read her expression and said, ‘Four hundred Jamúns.’

As he took a sip she said, ‘I can get that for you.’

Randur nearly spat the drink on the table. ‘Really? You can?’ He wanted to be a gentleman, to refuse her kindness, but despite his inherent politeness, despite his pride, he couldn’t refuse something like that – because his mother’s life depended upon it.

For a normally proud man, he wasn’t feeling much pride right now.

‘Yes,’ Eir said, ‘that is, if what you say really is true.’

‘You think I’d lie about a thing like that? If that’s what you think, you can keep your fucking money.’ Randur stood to leave, shuffled along the table. A few customers turned to watch. ‘Fuck you looking at?’

Eir rose with him. ‘Randur, don’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.’

He looked at her for a moment, then sat back down. He wasn’t sure he’d really have walked out, but it was one of those gestures, a little drama in a situation that required it. And it was time for him to show a lack of trust – why was she willing to give him so much money, to help him so blatantly? It made him highly suspicious. For someone so solipsistic, he rarely believed in himself.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand though. Why do you blame yourself for her illness?’

‘Because I was more busy having fun than being there for her – being there for my own mother. I was too young and selfish to notice.’

‘You mustn’t blame yourself…’ Eir began.

‘Well, I do. I have to save her. That’s why I’m here, in this miserable city.’

Her brow furrowed. ‘So, does that mean you’re actually not my genuine sword and dance instructor?’

‘No, I’m not the genuine Randur Estevu.’ He then explained how he’d been able to enter the city.

‘And your real name?’ Eir said.

‘Can’t be much worse than the one you’re using,’ Denlin suggested.

‘I’d rather remain known as Randur Estevu, for the time being anyway.’

‘Fine. And you will at least continue teaching me dance until the Snow Ball is over?’

‘If I’m not hanged for theft, meanwhile, sure,’ he said. ‘Although I’ll need to leave soon afterwards – once I get whatever the cultist gives me – and then get back to my mother.’

Randur wasn’t sure what to feel at this moment. Jamur Eir was sitting here, in a dingy tavern in the roughest area of the city. It was not only bizarre enough that she had followed him all this way, but also was now going to give him all the money he needed to pay Dartun Súr. He had assumed it would take much longer to get the funds, so what did he feel now – gratitude, relief?

‘Why’re you being so kind to me?’ Randur demanded.

‘I think what you’re doing here is quite brave – especially since you’re doing it all for your mother. I in particular can appreciate the importance of a mother in someone’s life… And if it means you don’t have to service every rich widow in the city, then I’d feel – then that’s good.’

Randur tried not to show his sudden confusion at her words. He would never understand the female mind. ‘I truly appreciate it, I really do.’

‘One condition,’ she said.

‘What’s that, then?’

‘That I can come with you back to Folke. I want to see some of the Empire. I’ve been sheltered too long. My sword instructor would certainly seem an acceptable guardian in the eyes of those in Balmacara.’

A smile on his face. ‘You have a deal. Now hadn’t we better get back?’

Eir nodded a yes.

Denlin seemed to have fallen asleep. The old man’s head had tipped back, his mouth slightly open.

‘Den!’ Randur banged the table.

‘Whassa… Oh, must’ve drifted off.’ He slapped his own face to rouse himself. ‘What’s happened then? You two all patched up and in love?’

‘We’re friends again,’ Randur said, standing up. ‘We’re off now. Looks like the sun’s nearly up.’

‘Aye. So, I guess you won’t be coming down these parts again, if the lady’s paying your debt.’

Was he really sleeping all that time? ‘No, I guess not as much as before.’ Randur felt a little awkward. Despite Denlin being crude and obnoxious, they had a bond, had spent a good few nights drinking and laughing together. ‘Thanks for everything. We’ve had some good times down here.’

‘Aye, well, don’t be a stranger, will you.’ Denlin offered his hand. ‘Always welcome at my place, too. Enjoyed those card games we had there, without the riff-raff.’

The two men shook, but Randur noticed how the old man had discreetly returned the rings that belonged to Lady Iora into his hand.

Randur shook his head. ‘Cheers, Denlin. I’ll be back down here sometime soon – only, just for drinks this time.’

‘Well, you’ll find me here, doing a bit of this, a bit of that.’ Denlin glanced to Eir. ‘Look after the lad.’

‘He’ll need more help than I can offer.’ Eir stood up quickly, walked out of the tavern.

As Randur reached the door, he looked back and tossed one of the rings back to him. ‘Buy yourself something smarter to wear.’

‘And waste good lager? You’ve a lot to learn, Randur.’ Denlin peered down into the bottom of his tankard.

A smile was all Randur could offer. Anything else would’ve been too awkward.

Randur and Eir stepped out into a bright Caveside morning.

People newly woken were venturing out into the streets, where boys were drawing carts of dubious-looking vegetables to the market. The sign outside the blacksmiths said ‘No Jobs’. Two officers of the watch were talking to a man sleeping in a doorway, demanding if he had nowhere else to live, and would he mind moving on.

It really is another world down here, Randur thought, turning to Eir. ‘Are people going to worry if you’re not back in Balmacara soon?’

‘Why do you ask?’ She regarded him with those big eyes. He thought for a moment that they might trap a man who wasn’t in control of himself. There was a vulnerability in her expression, he realized, something that made him want more from her. You have to be savvy to avoid situations like that. Trouble was, he didn’t think he was much able to deal with it.

‘I want you to see something. I really think you need to see it.’

‘Well, this is home. Ain’t a palace, mind, but I like to think there are those who’d kill for a spot like this.’ Denlin stood back proudly as Eir gazed around his home. He hastily cleared away a couple of cups, as if the gesture would improve the appearance of the place.

The room was tiny, probably just a quarter of the size of her own sleeping chambers. Two lanterns illuminated the room in a dreary shade of brown. Simple wooden furniture, one small table with several chairs and Jorsalir ornaments scattered here and there. Religious paintings on the wall, in frames that had seen better days. The walls were crumbling, and even the incense burning in an adjacent room could not disguise a smell of dampness in the air.

Outside in the streets a banshee began her keening, and everyone turned to face the window instinctively to confirm it wasn’t themselves.

‘There goes another one,’ Denlin complained, ‘and there’ll be more as these temperatures plummet further – especially down this street, where a lot of oldies like me live.’ Denlin quickly moved aside some wooden plates. ‘Damn sister of mine, but I suppose she does have her hands full.’

At that moment a bundle of noise came piling down the narrow stairway. ‘Uncle Denny!’ three young girls shrilled in unison, as they pawed at his cloak. Dressed in identical white night dresses, they paused to stare at Eir with uncertainty, before turning their attention to Randur. ‘Randy!’

‘Hello, you lot.’ Randur picked up the youngest, a blonde angel with dark smudges all over her face. ‘So how’re Denlin’s little golems?’

‘Oi, we’re not golems,’ the child griped. ‘Denny, tell him we’re not golems.’ She began to pull at locks of Randur’s long black hair.

‘Indeed you are all golems,’ Denlin said, his face creasing with delight. ‘But, girls, I want you to be on your best behaviour now because we’ve a very special visitor.’ He tilted his head towards Eir.

‘Oh no,’ Eir objected. ‘Don’t be wary on my behalf. Pretend I’m not here.’

The girls all stared at Eir with renewed awe.

‘Lovely to meet you all,’ Eir said, self-consciously. ‘Have you all just woken up?’

‘Well, yes,’ the tallest said. ‘Actually we’ve been up for ages, thanks to Opri’s fidgeting. She even woke our mam up with her kickin’.’

Eir looked to Denlin in disbelief. ‘They all sleep in the same bed?’

‘Aye, lady,’ he replied. ‘It’s a small house, like. Big compared to most down here, and there’s only room for one bed. I’m out most of the night, you see, while they sleep, earning some coin. Then when I come back in the morning, the bed’s all nice and warm for me. And when they all wake me up again in the evening, the bed’s all nice and warm for them.’

Eir said nothing to that. Denlin allowed the girls to go out and play in the streets, but only as long as they fetched some water back from the well.

It was then that Eir turned to Randur, her face showing distress. Coming here, seeing how people actually lived in her city, might do her the world of good, he reckoned. The girl needed some enlightening.

‘I’d offer you some tea,’ Denlin apologized, ‘but I ran out last week. And as for food, well… we haven’t got too much in just now, you see. The lad here has been my main employer, so to speak, in recent weeks.’

‘Oh, no, I’m quite all right,’ Eir said. ‘Really. I never realized quite how… well, it’s very tough for you, isn’t it?’ She took a seat at the table, resting her elbows on the grimy wood.

‘Aye, miss.’ Denlin subsided onto the wooden chair opposite her. ‘Times is tough, and not many jobs down this side of the city. I mean, you got your traders and smiths. You got your leather workers, bakers, craftsmen, that sort of thing naturally. You got a lot of gambling going on – dogfights, mainly – and some stranger things happening in the really old caves. You get cultists there – just the rubbish, solitary ones. Ones that’s addicted to their relics like it’s a drug. They make a fair living by tricking people, like. People’ll buy anything with their last coin if they think it might help them. But I ain’t sure how long it’ll all last when the Freeze sets in. Meanwhile, people find odd jobs, and wealth trickles about. There’s usually something that needs doing, like, even if it’s not really legal.’

He gazed silently across the table for a moment, his fingers prodding at the wood delicately as if searching blindly for solutions.

Denlin then continued. ‘Some people get desperate, head right down through the caves to the old mining systems. Sometimes they disappear for days. Older men, mainly, remembering the old tunnels. They come back covered in blackness, but clutching a bit of precious metal, a gemstone found here and there.’ He grinned. ‘Bit of a metaphor, that. In times like these you find people quickly forget coin as a currency. They start bartering, trading things for favours. There’s a lot of whores in that respect – women and men too. This anarchist group is gaining some big interest in trying to stop that sort of thing, aye, and they’ve got the support of a lot of women who want proper equality.’ He absent-mindedly placed his hand on a copy of the pamphlet Commonweal. ‘People’s starting to feel like slaves to those what gives us jobs, like. I shouldn’t be saying this, lady, but if you want to know what the real world is like then… Well, it’s all nice and fancy up there, but you can be blinded by all those sparkling trinkets no doubt.’ Again there was silence, and Randur was surprised by its intensity. Denlin continued. ‘Anyway, trade used to come in from the docks – so you’d get the odd exotic treasure from Randur’s island, and from your Blortath, Tineag’l, Y’iren. Most things pass through Villiren, to be honest. There’s still the odd religious trinket from Southfjords and Jorsalir priests come pushing some text. There’s a lot that rely only on their faith in those two gods to get ’em through the night. Then there’s the gangs, humans fighting against young rumels for no reason other than the right to trade something exclusively. Some nights the banshees don’t stop keening. Other nights you hear nothing at all, and have to wonder if that’s worse.’

Eir was focusing intently on every word.

‘But it’s not all bad! Here am I painting you such a nasty picture of your fair city. No, you get the nice things, too. For instance, there’s a much better spirit of community this side. You get a lot of communal dances on street corners. Drums beat, fires are lit, and then people make pretty shadows, laughing over a bit of drink and food. There’s not much else to do, you see.’

Randur glanced at him suddenly. ‘When does that happen next?’

‘They pretty much occur when people make them happen. I’ll let you know about the next one, soon as I hear word of it.’

‘Yeah, us two can come back and join in,’ Randur said. ‘They’ve got a fancy dance up in Balmacara soon, you see. We could do with getting some practice amongst others.’

‘Oh, it won’t be as grand as your fancy ones up there,’ Denlin grinned. ‘No polished floors or big feasts. No fancy music.’

‘Never mind,’ Randur said, thinking this sounded better all the time. ‘I’m sure the Lady Eir would like to see how dance should be performed properly.’

Glancing up to Randur, she smiled her reply. Then she faced Denlin once again. ‘Thank you for your insight.’

‘Pleasure, miss,’ he said.

She reached beneath her cloak, brought out a gold Sota, placed it on the table.

‘My lady…’ Denlin muttered.

Randur had never seen the old man so short of words.

‘… I can’t accept such generosity. I…’

Eir said firmly, ‘For the girls.’