‘You should. And this is better, Lucan. Herbs, something real. Practical logic. No prayers.’
‘You talk to your spirit gods,’ I said. ‘There’s no difference. We each need help with what we can’t see.’ Leana walked to the door and I called out softly, ‘I don’t thank you enough for what you do.’
‘I will not refuse a pay rise, if you feel guilty about it.’ Leana left the door ajar as she left.
Sleep came intermittently that evening, and I was as sensitive as ever to the grinding carts and night-shouts of Tryum.
When I finally came out of my room, Bellona was standing in the hallway, having only just written a message on parchment.
‘Has someone called already?’
‘You were asleep and I did not want to disturb you.’
Smiling softly, she handed me the letter.
‘It was the priest again,’ she continued. ‘I did what you said and took down more details, but he would not share that much. All he said was that he was a priest from the Temple of Ptrell—’
‘Ptrell?’
‘Yes.’
As in the Mark of Ptrell – the discreet, engraved mark on the wall in Optryx. At the time I had thought it a sign, a piece of esoteric graffiti perhaps, but Ptrell was such a rare god.
It was too rare for this to be a coincidence. Ptrell had some business in Optryx and I wanted to find out what that was exactly.
Leana and I both walked with haste through the streets.
‘The symbol of Ptrell,’ I whispered as we marched through the pale light of dawn, the smell of woodsmoke thick in the air. The city was as calm as it always was at this hour; this serene picture was how I remembered Tryum to be when I used to recall its streets. Our urgent pace seemed very much out of place with this calmness.
‘Do you remember seeing the symbol of Ptrell when we were in Optryx?’
‘The eye within the hand?’ Leana replied. ‘Yes. Scratched in the wall in a storage room.’
‘Hardly anyone follows Ptrell in Detrata – I believe I said so at the time. Polla is the dominant god here, of those who blend intellectual query with matters of the gods. It just seems hard to believe that a priest of Ptrell is also in the city. What if he’s connected to that sign in some way?’
Leana shrugged.
Few people were about so we had to rely on the directions that Bellona had taken, which were accurate. It took less than an hour to arrive at the priest’s dwelling, a small shack somewhere among the backstreets of Vellyum. It was a very old wooden temple, which at first could have been mistaken for a tavern. A corroded brazier stood outside and there were a few food offerings and cheap jewellery draped across a sculpture of a raised, flat hand.
Leana knocked on the door of the temple with her foot, and we waited.
Eventually it opened and, smiling from the shade, out stepped a man I assumed was the priest. He wore green silk robes with fine, gold detailing, an effect that looked rather like a spider’s web, and he was carrying a white staff. Wafts of incense could be smelled inside.
‘My name is Lucan Drakenfeld, son of Calludian. You’ve called on me a couple of times.’
His face immediately showed immense relief, as if he had finally met up with a long-lost friend and any moment now he would embrace me.
‘Since I learned of your arrival in the city, I have tried unsuccessfully to contact you,’ he said.
‘Is it urgent?’
‘Not any more. I’ve given up hope now.’
‘Maybe I can still help?’
‘That is possible. I hope I did not wake you this morning when I left a message? I hoped I could reach you, since you were always out, at the early hour, but that lovely lady wouldn’t let me go until I gave her more details.’
I smiled and we were led inside. The place was every bit as resplendent as the stone temples further in the city, except everything was crafted from oak and ash – statues, benches, altars. A hazy morning light fell in through wooden shutters.
The priest sat down on a chair by the window with a sigh, and he gestured for me to sit down. Leana seemed content with keeping watch by the door, though I doubted we’d have any trouble at this hour, and in this place.
Pockmarks covered the priest’s face, and there was a small burn mark on his hand; that combined with the rope mark on his neck led me to believe that this man had led something of an interesting life. Everything about his expression suggested he was a man of deep serenity; his thick gold rings said he was not short of money.
We sat in silence for a while, until I said, ‘I follow Polla, a sister to your rare Ptrell.’
‘I always like speaking to devout followers of Polla – your hearts seem kinder than many.’
‘Yours is a rare temple indeed. I’ve not seen any like it in Tryum.’
‘Alas, this is the only one.’ He gave a warm laugh. ‘I have noticed that you are a busy man.’
‘Being busy comes with the territory, I’m afraid,’ I replied. ‘Being in the Sun Chamber rather kills one’s private life.’
‘Your father was also a very busy man.’
‘You knew him?’ I leaned forward, hoping for any news of his final weeks.
‘I met him, though I did not know him well enough to say we were friends,’ the priest replied. ‘I met him in his offices, in fact – when I first came to ask him for help. That’s why I have been trying to establish contact at your home.’
‘My father is no longer with us, I’m afraid. He died some weeks ago.’
‘Ah, I know this, but I was hoping I could talk to you instead. Your father had been looking into a small matter for me, but could not, unfortunately, bring it to a happy resolution in time. Then I recently learned that his son had returned. I thought that perhaps this son may know of something, or could find the time himself to look into the matter.’
I didn’t want to add more duties to my day, but seeing as he was a priest of Ptrell, a god so close to Polla, it was hardly something that could be refused. ‘What was the issue?’
‘Many weeks ago I was hoping to set up this small temple in Tryum to Ptrell, and to establish a community of worship for him.’ He continued in soft, regretful tones, the way someone speaks of a loss. ‘I came here four months ago expecting two visitors to meet me on our holy day, a young lay preacher and a priestess, who had travelled from Maristan where I had been conducting rituals. We travelled separately due to our various holy commitments. Only the lay preacher arrived. The priestess never turned up.’ He closed his eyes and whispered something hard to discern. ‘I feared she had been caught by those foul gangs of thieves and assassins who trade in ruining the lives of others. There was talk that she might have been sold into prostitution or into the domestic slave trade, which we pretend does not go on.’
My startled expression must have been rather noticeable.
‘You think you can help?’ the priest asked, a sudden keenness in his voice.
‘Yes and no,’ I replied, my heart beating ever faster. ‘Do you have paper and a quill or reed pen?’
‘Yes. You would… like me to pass you some?’ He looked as if he was humouring me.
‘Please,’ I replied.
‘Very well.’ He stood up and rummaged around in a drawer, retrieving a poorly made scrap of parchment, and then provided me with a reed pen and a tiny ceramic pot of ink.
I hastily arranged myself at his desk and called back to him. ‘I need you to describe the priestess, absolutely everything you can about her, eye colour, hair, any potential places where she may have been marked by religious ornamentation.’
‘Yes, well… She had blonde hair, if I recall correctly – though not bright blonde. A strong jawline. She would have had several earrings in her right ear to denote her relative inexperience…’ He went on in some detail and I nodded to myself as he spoke, pausing only to apply more ink to the pen. After he finished I indicated for Leana to come over.