FORTY

There were times in his long life where Jeryd had been afraid. Cornered in an alley with a sword against his throat. Going undercover with gangs in his youth. Chasing suspects along icy bridges and precarious rooftops. Dealing with crime, you’d expect that.

But as he now awaited Marysa to wake from her slumber, he was truly frightened.

She had slept right through for two nights as if under some spell. His life was balanced, waiting for these moments for her to wake up. He’d already forgiven her for her misdemeanour. Didn’t matter that she’d found something, momentarily, with someone else. That wouldn’t be the first thing he would think about when she finally opened her eyes. His tactic was to pretend it had not happened. He loved her so much, it caused him an entirely new level of pain inside.

As the milky light of day began to filter through from the window, he looked around at the clutter of junk filling the bedroom. It was all hers, of course. Jeryd was one of those who didn’t care to accumulate anything much. As soon as he’d finished with it, it was gone. His rooms had been bare, before she was around. She’d filled the void systematically, buying steadily over the years, nearly all of it antiques. Maybe much of it was junk, but it was her junk.

He had got comfortably used to her filling his otherwise empty life with objects of uncertain purpose, and he’d often wander around the house, simply to uncover items he’d have no recognition of. It seemed to suggest something deeper about their relationship.

As he rested a hand affectionately on her arm, she finally stirred, her fingers gripping the white bedsheets gently. He sprang to life, a silent prayer to Bohr on his lips.

She lifted herself up, and stared at him vacantly.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘You’ve slept through two nights without waking. I hope someone didn’t try any love potions on you. There’s a lot of it about these days.’

‘Two nights?’ she said, her eyes focusing on him intently, a million thoughts clearly darting through her mind. ‘I had such a weird dream… I dreamt I came home and you were really angry. It’s strange how real it all seemed. The mind can do scary things…’

With those few words he knew he was safe. All he had to do now was behave as normal.

Jeryd knew he had to leave the house before too long. Minor cases were mounting up in his office, and he still had to solve the councillor murders. Today not even that tiny snowball army, the Gamall Gata kids, annoyed him. Jerrryd.

As he walked the ice-slicked streets of Villjamur he felt in a particularly strange mood. His eyes felt heavy, barely took in the constant streams of people passing him. The keening of a banshee echoed somewhere unnaturally far away. His mind was left abandoned on a melancholy plane neither here nor there.

In the melting sun, an icicle detached from one of the high ledges and shattered on the cobbles near his feet. Not even that could interrupt his torpor.

Reaching the headquarters of the Inquisition, he opened the door of his office to find Tuya Daluud standing there with her back to him.

She turned her head, her thick hair flowing in an alluring arc. You couldn’t really see her scar in the dim light. She was wearing a thick black coat and smelled of a decent perfume. She stared at him in discomforting silence, and her eyes looked red and sore as if she had been weeping.

‘Can I help?’ Jeryd said at last, indicating the visitor’s chair in front of his desk.

She shook her head, but he didn’t know whether that was in response to the question or to his gesture.

‘You look as if you need help,’ Jeryd suggested.

‘I… I have some information,’ she said eventually, and sat down. ‘It’s serious. I feel I need to… confess. But I don’t know how you’ll react and I’m scared that he’ll come to get me.’ The gaze she fixed on him then was deeply penetrating. ‘I’m so frightened. I’ve no one else to turn to. You must be the only person in this city who I can trust – you seem like such a genuine man.’

Jeryd lay his dark-skinned hand on hers, and she felt peculiarly tender. ‘You can trust me.’ He walked to the door, locked it, then started a fire to get the room warm again. He pulled his chair around the desk so he was next to her, wanting her to know he was on her side. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. You said someone was after you?’

She sobbed fearfully. ‘I escaped him, at least for now.’

‘Who?’ Jeryd tried to meet her eyes, but she kept looking away from him, to the floor, to the desk, to the walls.

‘Your “aide”, Tryst.’

Jeryd leaned back with a shocked frown. ‘Go on.’

She began to tell him everything that had transpired recently: how Tryst approached her, the drugs he used to subdue her, the beatings once the drugs wore off, her uncanny ability to bring to life creatures through her art, how Tryst had abused that secret by demanding a clone of Jeryd’s wife so as to play a cruel trick on the investigator. And in the stunned silence you could hear the crack of wood splitting on the fire as it burned. ‘He hated you to an extent. I think he just wanted to teach you a lesson for something. It was obvious you didn’t know what he was up to, and since you seemed to be his enemy, I thought you could help.’

His enemy? Jeryd thought morosely.

And then, reluctantly, she confessed to the murders of the two councillors, thus revealing the key piece of information that Jeryd had suspected, but had no proof of – the diabolical plan devised by members of the Council itself to eliminate thousands of the refugees.

About a million thoughts raced through Jeryd’s mind. His world had suddenly become so much more confusing, so much more dangerous. He realized that Marysa hadn’t actually cheated on him. It was this ‘clone’ that he had witnessed. Despite the surge of relief, in that moment the guilt of his subsequent actions became unbearable.

‘Investigator?’ Tuya prompted.

He faced her. ‘Forgive me, Miss Daluud. You’ve given me such a huge quantity of information that not only affects myself, but this entire city, this Empire. But you say Tryst may be coming after you.’

‘Yes… he humiliated me and beat me.’ Then she collapsed into sobbing, burying her head in her palms. It didn’t seem natural for a woman previously radiating such confidence, such strength.

Jeryd clasped her hands in his own. ‘Tell me everything again – absolutely everything you remember.’

The specific details regarding the actual slaughter of the refugees were limited, and Tuya could give only one other name at the centre of the conspiracy. Chancellor Urtica, it seemed, was setting the pace on this matter, although the actual means of achieving this remained uncertain. Jeryd realized he would have to alert others within the Inquisition – but only a select few he could trust. If this went to the top of the city’s ruling hierarchy, who else might be involved? Could he risk informing his superiors? Or should he handle this on his own? Either way, what would be the consequences? Regarding Tuya herself, should he arrest her or let her free? Tryst would soon find her again, and Jeryd now saw his subordinate in a chilling new light. He realized that he would have to hide her away somewhere safe, for now. For her own good. But she has committed murder. Yet it seemed she had killed the councillors to prevent the slaughter of thousands of innocents. Sometimes this city was so sinister, so complicated, he wished he could leave it completely.

He made up his mind. ‘Don’t worry about anything. For the moment, you’ll be safe. I’ll take care of that, but I’ll need your help.’