‘And those bombs the soldiers were throwing,’ Vuldon suggested, ‘they were either to control the crowd or to incite violence. The cynic in me needs no persuading, I’ll say that much.’
‘I can’t believe they turned on our own people,’ Lan breathed. ‘It’s inhuman.’
‘It’s politics,’ Vuldon muttered. ‘No matter who’s in charge of this damn city, it’s always the same. Things going on behind the scenes. You can bet right now that-’
A polite knock on the door and Feror entered the room.
‘Not now,’ Vuldon told him.
Feror seemed not to notice, walking in distractedly without so much as a glance in their direction — he seemed a completely different man from his usual, cheery self. Nervously he began asking questions, the usual, but this time his voice was monotonous, as if he was reading badly from a script.
Vuldon muttered ‘Fucksake’ and gently steered him from the room. ‘Not now, old guy. We’re not in the mood.’ The cultist gave him a defeated look and quietly closed the door behind him.
‘What do you think was that all about?’ Lan asked.
‘Who gives a shit?’ Vuldon replied. ‘We’ve bigger things to worry about.’
‘Where is Fulcrom?’ Tane asked.
‘Maybe I should go and find him,’ Lan offered, pushing herself upright.
Tane snorted a gentle laugh. ‘Maybe you should.’
*
He wasn’t at home, so she walked to the Inquisition headquarters, giving no displays of her power, no signs of her abilities to step out across the air. She pulled her thick woollen cloak so tight that her Knights uniform — and its symbol — could not be seen. She was used to being despised for what she was, but after witnessing such overwhelming hatred when she thought she represented something good.. that was different. Being a Knight had given her something on which she could construct a more positive existence. Having it called into question was difficult.
Taking two steps at a time, she headed into the Inquisition headquarters. A couple of officers tried to halt her as she entered the building then, on noticing who she was, allowed her through.
Continuing down the corridor, she examined the office doors for Fulcrom’s name. Finding it, she knocked on his door repeatedly but there was no answer. Why can’t he be here?
As she was about to turn, he opened the door. ‘Lan, I didn’t want to answer but I thought I heard…’
She entered the office and noticed the bags under his eyes, the set frown. ‘You look worried. What is it?’
‘I’ve had a hell of a night.’ Fulcrom sighed and picked up a note from his desk. ‘And I found this on my return. It claims to be from Shalev, saying that she wants revenge on the Knights for scuppering her plans. It’s probably nothing. We get threats here all the time.’
‘She may be a bitch,’ Lan said with a sigh, ‘but she may have a point.’
Fulcrom looked at her with surprise. ‘I heard the opening of the iren was… eventful. You saved the Emperor. Everyone is impressed. You’re the talk of the town again.’
His words of praise pleased her because they were coming from him, but the content of what he said did little to raise her spirits. While he perched on the edge of his desk, Lan paced, her hands brushing her hair, relating the events of the iren to him, then the attack on the citizens.
His face darkened. ‘That’s not what I heard,’ he said. ‘I was told by the senior officers that there was a minor, violent uprising from the caves, but the military managed to stop those responsible with,’ he paused, and stressed the final part as if it had been read from a statement, ‘minimal loss of innocent life.’
Lan couldn’t believe that such crap was being spread. ‘I wouldn’t call it minimal loss,’ she said. ‘That isn’t how it happened. That isn’t what we saw.’
The city walls of Villjamur were no place for a stroll, but the long grey platforms, nestled behind crenellations, were at least somewhere where they could be alone and talk without being overheard.
On one side was the refugee camp, more sparsely populated than when she had arrived, and on the other archers of the city guarding the walls. She looked at them and shivered, remembering the flights of arrows loosed upon the people. She explained what had taken place, and what the Knights suspected. Fulcrom said nothing, merely allowing her to relate her story. She could see his mind working, weighing up the information, assessing where it fitted in with the bigger picture.
After she had finished, he told her there was nothing they could do. There would be an official statement, and that would be the one that was recorded, issued, discussed, and already trickling through to the future.
‘I’m too tired to be angry,’ Lan said. ‘But just so you know, if I had the energy, I would scream.’
At that point she gazed across at the refugees — those who had been abandoned by those inside the walls. Including herself, she thought guiltily. A raw wind rolled in, deep and chilling, settling ice further into the city.
‘Why do we even bother?’ she asked. ‘People say the world is dying. Seems to me like this culture is already dead.’
‘Because there’s always something worth fighting for, Lan,’ Fulcrom told her. ‘So we don’t have the guilt from having sat around doing nothing while the world caves in. Come on, let’s get a drink.’
The tavern was a tiny, two-up two-down affair that had been converted into a cheap but charming salon. Lined with old fishing and agricultural gear, with cheap candles melting slowly onto ancient wooden tables, it was usually a quiet place, though tonight there was a bawdy bunch in the adjacent room. These days it seemed there was a lot of heavy drinking going on.
Fulcrom swirled a beaker of malt whisky, whilst Lan sipped a warming wine. There were contented, pleasant pauses in their conversation. Occasionally there was eye contact loaded with potential meaning. Where did their tentative plans for romance fit in with all the recent violence?
Fulcrom was nervous. He was terrified that he might see his dead wife — or indeed any other ghosts — at any point. He hadn’t yet reported his findings to anyone — not that he had any findings really. If only a few dead had surfaced, then maybe he could find them one by one, and persuade them to go back down again.
He wanted to share his burden with Lan, this woman who was becoming increasingly more beautiful to him.
‘I shouldn’t stay out too late,’ Lan told him. ‘Vuldon will just get frustrated if we don’t get back to work before long. Have we any plans for how we deal with the anarchists now? We’re loathed by the Cavesiders — who knows what damage the massacre has done to the people there.’
Fulcrom peered into his glass. ‘We stand up, brush ourselves down, and carry on. We have no choice. You take your brief glory for saving the Emperor — and you will have to ignore what happened with the protesters.’
A short man with a ginger beard stood by the end of the table and asked to shake Lan’s hand. ‘Sorry to disturb, lass, but jus’ wanted to say ta for doing a great job keeping us lot in business. Things’d be a lot worse if it weren’t for you Knights.’
Glancing to and from Fulcrom, she obliged, took his thanks, and said little else. An awkward silence came and went, and the man trotted off happily enough.
‘This fame,’ Lan said, ‘I’m not used to it. Somehow it doesn’t feel right. It’s like I’m being thanked for nothing. I don’t feel like I’ve protected anyone.’
‘People are grateful for what you’ve done,’ Fulcrom said sincerely. ‘Enjoy it.’
‘All I’ve done is enforce the law — and I saw what that meant this afternoon. The law is geared up to protect the people in here from the people out there.’
‘I guess so,’ Fulcrom confessed. ‘Depending on where “here” and “there” is.’
‘The Cavesiders, the poor — they have just as much right to our protection as the rich do.’
Fulcrom frowned. ‘You need to be careful who hears you talking like that. That’s what the anarchists’ new slogans say,’ he said. ‘Walls are being whitewashed daily to remove such sentiments.’