Footsteps approached along the top of the stone wall – the figure of Investigator Fulcrom. The wind picked up, racing across the tundra and blasting directly into his face, and it brought him to some new state of alertness. Despite his thick rumel skin, he shivered, drew his cloak tighter around him.

‘Jeryd, you’ve not looked yourself these past few days, and I’m getting worried about you.’ It was unusual these days for anyone in Villjamur, let alone another rumel, to show such concern, but he knew he could trust this colleague. So Jeryd began to relate everything that had gone on recently – about Tryst and Tuya, the truth about the councillor murders and how these murders were linked to a conspiracy to eradicate the refugees. Behind it all was the secret cult of the Ovinists.

They were clearly involved.

‘Jeryd, that’s so awful,’ Fulcrom said, after a moment’s silence. ‘But who is heading up the Ovinists in the Council?’

‘Urtica,’ Jeryd said bluntly.

‘Chancellor Urtica?’ Fulcrom said in dismay.

‘The prostitute insists he was involved somehow. Amazing what a man will tell a woman across a pillow when their business is done.’

‘I wouldn’t know too much about that,’ Fulcrom admitted.

Jeryd grunted a laugh. ‘Anyway, something’s going to happen soon, but I don’t know when. For all I know it could be already happening.’

‘I can’t believe we’ve got corruption at so high a level,’ Fulcrom remarked. ‘It’s disgusting, when you consider these people have been voted in by our citizens.’

‘The Council has always been about maintaining the illusion that a vote gives the people a say in affairs, when all the time they control communication – like generating fear against these helpless refugees. That a democracy? You tell me. But in such an organization the Ovinists would fit very well. What’s worse is that this cult has attracted so many powerful members. They could be operating anywhere – even in the Inquisition.’

‘D’you really think people higher up in our own organization already know about it? The refugees, I mean.’

‘It’s possible. Thing is, I don’t want thousands of innocent men, women and children dying through the devious machinations of my Empire. Not in my name at least. I don’t care what the hell happens, but we’ve got to do the right thing. We must show ourselves to be good people.’

Good people…

He liked to think that there were some moral absolutes in the world, that Villjamur’s rulers had not been reduced to moral nihilism. That good was to be done and to be pursued, and evil avoided. Some things, to Jeryd, seemed natural, an essential part of existence.

It helped, being an investigator, to believe in law.

‘What can we do?’ Fulcrom rested his hands on the wall, staring out over the refugee encampment. ‘If something’s going on this high up the ranks… We’ll find ourselves on our own.’

‘Probably. But, maybe you know other people we can trust?’

Fulcrom said, ‘Sure. Some good types in the Inquisition. I’ve inside contacts with the city guard, too, for that matter.’

‘Good. I’m now going to organize weaponry of some sort. Meanwhile if you can ask every man in the Inquisition you can trust, to watch out for any unusual movement of men. It would need a sizeable operation to remove so many people from outside the city, so there’ll be plenty of visible activity. But we’ve got the law and morality on our side, so if anyone finds out what we’re doing, they’ll not be able to stop us easily.’

‘Unless they kill us first,’ Fulcrom suggested.

‘Yes. Unless they kill us.’

‘But still, if we don’t know how Urtica plans to achieve this massacre, it’ll remain difficult to foil his plans. How would one eliminate so many people without others soon knowing about it?’

Jeryd was silent as he reflected on this, and could not think of a plausible answer.

It had been a long time since Jeryd had been required to participate in an armed mission, and never on a scale such as this. The last time he had fired a crossbow was before Johynn was born, against a corrupt network of the city guard who were abusing their position to kidnap young girls in Caveside and sell them as sex slaves to private landowners on the outer islands.

This was not a bunch of renegades, but the chancellor they were up against. Obviously Urtica was power-mad and hungry for control, prepared to go to any lengths to achieve his insane objectives. Clearly, in his eyes, removing the nuisance of the refugees was a good thing, reducing the strains on the city’s resources that would, ultimately, lead to great political unrest. For Urtica to retain his seat comfortably, the refugees had to go.

Both rumels stared out at the familiar evening scene. Theirs would be no easy task, but it was the right thing to do. Jeryd felt a great sadness at the corruption overtaking his beloved city. All that mattered now was that he would do all he could.

FORTY-ONE

Another one of those melancholy nights of Villjamur, in which a pterodette called out across the city’s spires so loudly it sounded like a banshee. Up here on the top floor of the Imperial residence, starlight clearly defined the rooftops, meaning the evening would be cold and cloudless. Incense burned somewhere, mere hints of it on the breeze, prompting thoughts of some wild ritual being performed in a forgotten corner of the city.

Tryst loved this city and he could easily see how it invoked such passions in people – in Chancellor Urtica, in himself. Raising a corner of the tapestry preserving the still warmth of the chamber, he stared idly out of a window, waiting for Urtica to arrive. There were occasions, in the chancellor’s presence, when Tryst felt so much reverence for him that he wanted to be part of his consciousness and see the world through his master’s eyes.

The door opened and Urtica marched into the ornate room, with its glittering trinkets arranged around the immense fireplace.

‘Sele of Jamur, chancellor,’ Tryst greeted him.

‘What happened to your face?’ Urtica paused as he moved closer. ‘A fight, I suspect? I hope you’re not attracting too much unwarranted attention.’

‘No, not at all. It was just… well, Investigator Jeryd had some sharp words to say to me.’

‘What about?’

Tryst met his gaze boldly as they eyed each other across the glow of the flames. Tryst had used Tuya to all advantage, now simply wanted her out of the way. He probably would have killed her if she hadn’t escaped him and run to Jeryd. Now the damned rumel knew everything. No matter, Tryst would soon have her hunted down, with a reward on her head. ‘I strongly believe that a prostitute is responsible for the councillor murders.’

‘A prostitute?’ Urtica wore a look of utter amazement on his face.

‘Yes, from what I gather, Ghuda spilled certain secrets across a pillow. Disclosures that linked him with you, sir. She learned about your plans for the removal of refugees. She knows who was involved and decided to take matters into her own hands.’

Urtica interrupted, ‘We can’t have her blabbing such rumours in case she brings attention to me. She must be removed promptly.’ The chancellor paused. ‘Does Jeryd also know of this?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ Tryst said, feeling guilt now for having put his own interests above those of the chancellor. ‘You see, I had her under confinement, but he took her off my hands. I merely wanted to protect your honour, sir.’

Tryst watched his idol with hope, heart thumping in his chest.

‘Very good, young Tryst, you did well.’

‘Sir, I’d do anything for you,’ Tryst said eagerly. ‘Anything.’

‘Still, I need to be able to trust you totally. I’ve seen that you’re a sharp man, but can you be loyal?’

‘Of course,’ he breathed.

The chancellor paced back and forth before the flames. ‘Good. Then I want you to kill both Investigator Jeryd and this prostitute. They must not have the chance to inform others.’ He leaned forward, continued with a whisper. ‘Now, I’m about to initiate my plans with the Empress Rika. She’ll be arrested tomorrow at the Snow Ball for maximum publicity, with an order for her execution coming the following day. All the Ovinist councillors are ready to support me. Tomorrow night some Ovinist colleagues in the military will begin guiding in some of the refugees in small numbers to meet their fate, all on the quiet of course. They’ll make use of some of the precarious tunnels under the city – and it doesn’t matter if they collapse on them, does it? They’ll think they’re being taken to temporary housing within the city, and we can finally start poisoning them one by one. As they are dying we can move them to tunnels nearer the coast. Then I think we can just dump them out at sea. Tryst, I want you there with me, at the centre of things. Can you do that, lad?’