Drakenfeld (8 page)

‘No one needs to be in money trouble,’ Leana said. ‘It can happen to the best of us.’

My father’s offices were already unlocked when we arrived. The shabby door pushed back with ease; beyond it lay musky darkness and an aroma that could only be generated
by old legal texts. The place was almost empty, as if someone had begun to move out. There was a door to one side and a bookcase that had seen long service. Dust motes floated notably near the
arched window. The view from it was over a bustling street market. Across the way was a small temple, though I couldn’t see which god or goddess it glorified.

Suddenly, people started to come down the stairs. Leana placed a hand to her short sword, though I waved for her to be cautious. Loud voices suggested that, whoever was coming, they
weren’t bothered about being heard. One of them knocked the door back with his buttocks, and cursed as he dropped one end of a large trunk.

‘Who are you?’ I called out.

‘What’s it to you?’ The man was in his forties; he was a foot shorter than me, with wide shoulders that looked out of place on his otherwise lean body. Skin sagged down his
face, which was burnt by the sun. His shabby brown tunic was a size too big for him. The other man, just behind, was actually much younger, clearly the man’s subordinate.

‘My name is Lucan Drakenfeld,’ I declared. ‘My father rented this office and I’ve come to inspect it.’

‘Aye, Drakenfeld,’ he spat. ‘Never paid his bloody rent.’

‘It was all paid for.’ I produced the contract and waved it in his direction, but he made no move to read it.

‘Master said otherwise. Did well not to chuck him out earlier.’

I approached the trunk that the two had been carrying and opened it. Leather-bound legal texts were piled within. ‘Where exactly were you taking these?’

‘Out.’ The man scratched his crotch and spat on the floor. ‘To the master. He can deal with ’em.’

‘Was this everything?’

‘Nah, we took another trunk yesterday evening.’

‘I want it sent back. Who’s your master?’

The man was starting to look thoroughly annoyed, as if I’d just ruined his day. ‘We work for an intermediate, so we hardly ever see him – chief does all that. Owns a hundred
properties and only cares that he gets his money each month.’

I wrote down the location of my house and handed it to him. ‘This is where I live. If your master wants to come for dinner to talk about this, he’s more than welcome.’

‘You rich types, you do everything in dinners, don’t you?’ He waved away the paper. ‘I suppose you’ll want these texts keeping here then.’

‘If you could just move—’

‘Cock off,’ he grunted. ‘I ain’t lugging this back upstairs. Someone can sort it out later.’ Wiping his hands on his tunic, he and his colleague sauntered to the
door and exited into the busy street.

I opened the trunk and lifted out one brown tome, a fine collection of legal essays by a long-deceased philosopher, and placed it on the desk. The other books here seemed much the same, though
each one a little outdated.

Once again, I wondered how my father, a man rarely short of coin, could have become so poor that he struggled to pay the rent on his offices.

I was in no mood to enjoy the festivities that night. My mind had too much to process. Leana did not head out into the city either, despite my urges for her to find out what
was going on during the grand feast organized by King Licintius. But she declined. Though she would never say it outright, I suspect she felt a little guilty for her hangover this morning.

Instead we ate in a companionable silence out in the gardens while we watched the sun fall behind the rooftop, before eventually heading inside to our separate rooms. There, I concentrated hard
on the conversations that my parents had within these walls, trying to discern something about the past that might inform the present. My parents didn’t really have arguments – they
were both too intelligent, and instead they might have reasoned debates over issues. However, my father could be just as domineering over her as he was over his children. As an adult, I never had
the chance to understand him completely – having somewhat avoided that challenge for the most part. Putting a continent between us would do that. Had he been someone who lived recklessly
though? It seemed hard to match up, though perhaps deep down I wanted to remember him in death as a good and honest person.

Despite the celebrations of the city, which could be heard loud and clear at this hour, and despite the new mystery of my father’s debts, I managed to drift off into a heavy sleep.

A banging on the main door woke me up.

The noise was followed by Bellona calling my name from the other side of the house. I peered out of the window, but could only ascertain that it was the middle of the night. However, it sounded
like the festivities were still ongoing.

I dressed hastily and ran along the corridor, almost slipping on the slick tiles. Bellona directed me towards the open door. Just outside, on the step, stood several cloaked men. One of them was
carrying a torch, the flames casting a sinister glow on their faces. It was obvious that there was a sense of urgency and restlessness about them, something clear even in this dim light.

‘We wish to speak to Lucan Drakenfeld,’ one man declared, a thickset individual with a neat beard. He looked at me with intense eyes, and he wore the silver sash of the Civil Cohorts
– the citizen police of Tryum – across his shoulder.

‘That’s me.’

They all seemed hesitant now they knew my name, wondering who should speak next.

‘I’m . . . My name is Constable Farrum,’ he eventually said, affecting a much calmer and crisper accent. ‘From the cohort – Civil Cohorts. As officer of the Sun
Chamber, your, uh, presence is required. It’s urgent.’ He sounded like an actor forgetting his lines.

‘Well, Constable Farrum, what’s happened?’ I asked.

‘Someone’s dead,’ he said.

‘OK,’ I replied, ‘so where is the body?’ Murders occurred all the time, of course, but it wasn’t often that a murder required so many people to disturb me like this
in the middle of the night.

‘Optryx.’

‘A killing in King Licintius’ residence?’ I asked.

‘Yeah and we ain’t allowed into those halls,’ Farrum said. ‘The likes of us don’t get told the day’s password. We were urged to get you. This means I’ll
get beatings if we don’t do that, so I’d appreciate it if you hurried along. Sir.’

The men from the Civil Cohorts gave Leana a brief look of suspicion and surprise when she stepped outside with me, but she shrugged it off, as she always did. We were both
armed, both wearing cloaks to keep off the chill, though I made certain my golden brooch was in plain view. We were marched through the backstreets of Tryum, which were still full of energy:
drunken crowds in masks flowing from place to place; home-made shrines and private ceremonies under oil lamps; exuberant, torchlit fan-dances.

Soon we entered the relative calm of the Regallum district, where soldiers from the King’s Legion had been stationed along major junctions, though a few were hurrying past in pairs –
and in haste. Their orders echoed sharply around the street, and a few citizens were being stopped and roughly searched in the shadows.

Heroic statues stood tall, their expressions lost to the night. Pillars defined the nearby buildings; there were no cheap stores lining the streets here, no traders harassing passers-by to buy
their dubious wares.

The men from the Civil Cohorts were joined silently by some of the King’s Legion, who guided us along a road that led behind Optryx, an immense, intimidating building without much light.
We banked upwards towards the royal residence; from here in daytime, it would have been possible to look down over most of the city. Only a couple of temples were positioned on higher ground than
this, to be closer to the gods.

The cohort was halted at the door. Eventually, after some fuss and security checks, Leana and I were guided into one of the most impressive buildings I had ever seen in my life
– and I had seen a few.

As a child I often wondered what it would be like to live in Optryx. Back in those days I imagined it to be simply sumptuous, though perhaps with wild animals and spirits gallivanting through
the hallways; in my version of this place there was a constant stream of performers, jugglers, singers and acrobats. There would have been a thousand soldiers standing in polished golden armour
patrolling the rooms. Though it was the whimsical fantasy of a boy, I never imagined I’d be visiting the place as a grown man for work.

Domed ceilings, each with intricate hollow panels, towered into the shadows some fifty or sixty feet above my head. Cressets burned from lushly decorated walls, candles were perched on central
columns; their light cast down on the multicoloured mosaic floors and on thick, pink marble columns. Every other wall was painted with rich frescoes of the heavenly plains of existence – a
logical trend in the arts, of which I approved – as well as gods, kings and emperors of the past. The colours used here were well beyond the everyday palette, and would have cost a small
fortune. Here was a bold statement of power and wealth indeed. The rooms through which we were taken – each one equally as large as the predecessor – forcefully humbled whoever walked
through them.

My pulse quickened as we passed through gold-plated double doors and into a room packed full of people. It was obvious that this was no longer a celebration – it seemed more like a wake
for the dead. People muttered to themselves in small groups, seated on the floor, their expressions glum or exasperated. At regular intervals along the walls, and in larger numbers by the door,
stood soldiers in bright armour. Two of them gestured with their spears for me to pass through the doors. One of them paused as Leana followed, but I stressed that she was my assistant, and she was
permitted soon enough.

Senator Veron veered towards me wearing his finest red robes of state, which contained incredible gold details and religious motifs. Stepping carefully over more people sitting on the marble
floor, or simply shoving through clusters of those who were still standing, he arrived somewhat shaken.

‘Drakenfeld, I’m glad you’ve made it.’ We shook, gripping each other’s forearms.

‘You were the one who sent for me?’

‘I certainly was. I thought you might be available to cast some light on the matter. This isn’t one for the lawyers either – at least, not yet. I only hope you’re half as
good as your father.’ Close up, I could see that he was clothed splendidly in a fine, crimson tunic, and both his belt and boots seemed to be of sublime craftsmanship. His expression was far
more serious than that of the light-hearted senator who’d visited my house.

We turned to face the room. ‘What’s the situation?’ I whispered, suddenly aware of the volume of people around us. ‘All I’ve heard is that there’s been a
death.’

‘I’ll say. This way.’ Veron steered me through the glum faces of the guests. Nearby the guards were closing the door, as if to make sure no one could escape.

‘Can you tell me anything else about the situation?’ I asked.

‘Best if I showed you,’ Veron said turning back.

For some time we walked through the throng – a good few hundred, all in all, each in their most opulent clothing. Platters of food were discarded on side tables, having been pillaged long
ago. A low-level muttering had replaced lively chatter; more than once we stepped through deep silences as conversations suddenly paused at our approach. Along the walls, bright banners of Detrata,
each one bearing either the image of the double-headed falcon or the cross of the founding gods, hung down from an impressive height.

Towards the end stood two copper-coated statues of Trymus in different dynamic poses, and we passed between them and into a small corridor with rooms branching off either side. The aesthetics
remained the same: continuing the bright and bold displays of wealth, the marble, the gold leaf, and the over-the-top artistic statements.

Then before us stood a structure set within a large hall. It was marked by a much larger set of doors, above which stood a stone carving of the god Trymus – wild eyes and big beard. A
solid wall extended for some way on either side, and there were no paintings on this – merely the pure unadorned limestone. Soldiers and a few high-ranking officials were loitering here
– the crowds had been kept well away.