‘Nice work, Lan,’ Brynd said. ‘I’m impressed. That was a skilful display.’
Despite his positive words, he seemed deeply uneasy, as if uncertain what he would now do.
They had placed the bound Empress in a gaol cell within the Citadel. Only Brynd, Fulcrom, and two Night Guard soldiers were there.
Lan leant back against the bars with her arms folded, happy that she had proved herself to the most important person on the island.
‘We used to keep these cells,’ Brynd said, ‘to imprison any Okun we captured from the war. We wanted to observe them, study them to see if we could get any information from them to use in the war. We got very little, it turned out. But I never thought we’d be using this room to imprison our own Empress. Would you mind stepping out of the cell for a moment? This could get a little tricky.’
‘Of course,’ Fulcrom replied.
Lan followed Fulcrom then turned to watch.
Brynd gestured to his soldiers and they both nodded their acknowledgement of the order, stretching out Rika’s body horizontally, grabbing her legs and arms, pressing her down on the floor at one end of the cell until she stopped resisting. When she quietened, Brynd moved towards her feet and cut those restraints. Then Tiendi, who held her arms, looped a piece of rope around Rika’s waist before handing it to Brynd, who then tied it around the cell window bars. The soldiers by her feet stepped away and both of them came out of the cell. Now only Brynd remained. He signalled something again with his hands before quickly cutting the restraints on her wrists, leaving just the bag over her head.
He walked out of the cell, slammed the barred door shut and locked it.
Everyone waited. The bars were as thick as Lan’s thumb, spaced an inch apart, and crafted from iron, so Lan had no fears that their lives were threatened. It all suddenly seemed as if she were back in her circus days, watching one of the beasts in its cage. Rika pushed herself to her hands and knees, before staggering to her feet. Then she began pulling at the bag restraints, and managed to untie them quickly.
Rika pulled away the bag and dropped it on the floor. She turned, slowly, to face her captors.
‘Dear Bohr. .’ Brynd breathed.
Her face was clearly once beautiful, yet it had distorted into something hideous: her eyes were enlarged slightly, her teeth so big that her mouth had become misshapen, and her nostrils flared like some furious beast. With alarming speed she flung herself against the bars and everyone either flinched or took a step back; as if Rika could have actually snapped the metal and leapt for their throats.
Brynd stepped forward until he was an arm’s length away from the cell. ‘Rika,’ he called. ‘Lady Rika.’
Lan watched the woman for a reaction, but there seemed no acknowledgement of her name.
‘I am Brynd Lathraea, Commander of the Night Guard,’ he said louder. ‘Do you recognize me?’
Again, nothing. Rika merely glanced aggressively at everyone who had gathered to watch her. Cursing, Brynd turned to address them. ‘It seems as though she may be beyond help. For now, no one is to enter this area. Tiendi, Mikill — I’m putting you two on the door. No one comes in, no one comes out without my say-so.’
‘Yes, commander,’ they replied.
Mikill said, ‘Should her sister know?’
Brynd considered the question, but replied in hushed tones: ‘Soon.’ He looked at Lan and Fulcrom: ‘Obviously you’re both now witnesses to this — and Lan, while I do indeed appreciate your remarkable efforts, I would be grateful if no one was to find out about this. The ramifications could be huge.’
‘You have our word,’ Fulcrom announced. ‘And if you need any assistance in the matter, you only have to ask.’
Brynd nodded his thanks before escorting them out. Two doors closed behind them. Two sets of lock mechanisms clicked into place.
TWENTY — ONE
The morning was wet and miserable, but Fulcrom and Lan headed across the city to the address given to them by Commander Lathraea. They were surprised at the lack of life in the area, as if everyone had simply been evacuated.
‘Maybe the people here were lost during the war?’ Lan suggested.
‘Could be. Or perhaps they left as a result of industry lost after the war, who knows. There’s a lot we don’t know about this city.’
‘Why have you asked me here today?’ Lan asked. ‘Wouldn’t you rather have me back at headquarters than getting in the way?’
Fulcrom laughed. ‘No, you’re part of the Inquisition now.’
‘I’m not particularly good at questioning though. You’re the brains of the operation.’
‘If that’s so, then you’re the brawn,’ he replied. ‘I’m still aching from the way I was treated in the cells of Balmacara.’
‘You should’ve said something,’ Lan replied.
‘I’ve not let on because rumel skin doesn’t bruise and I didn’t want to make a fuss. You know what I’m like. It’s strange that, during the escape and fighting, I couldn’t feel much in the way of pain — I guess adrenalin kicks in and I just continued as if nothing had happened. But now we’ve relaxed, now we’re settled somewhere else, the echoes of it are coming back.’
‘There’s only one thing you can do then,’ Lan said, ‘and that’s to throw yourself back into the thick of it.’
‘Which is why we’re here.’
They located the vast structure called Factory 54, an unusually bland name. They tied their horses around the end of the massive structure and, locating the door, Fulcrom gave a loud knock.
There were a few curious sounds from inside, and eventually a young man opened the door. ‘Hell do you want?’ he said grumpily. ‘We’re busy.’
‘We’re here on behalf of the Villiren Inquisition.’
‘Ain’t no Inquisition any more. Barely was in the first place, bunch of corrupt buggers. We’re not paying any protection money, if that’s what you want.’
‘No no,’ Fulcrom interrupted. ‘I’m not sure you understand. We’re here on behalf of Commander Lathraea.’
‘The albino?’
‘That’s correct,’ Fulcrom said. ‘Now, I’m not sure what went on before, but the Inquisition is being reconstructed and I’m not here to ask for money.’
‘So what d’you want then?’ The young man slouched in the doorway, then suddenly turned back and bellowed, ‘It’s the Inquisition!’ Then, back to Fulcrom, ‘Sorry — go on.’
‘I want to know if you can help me. The commander suggested you people create monsters, is that right?’
‘Yeah, what’s-’ He was cut off by the arrival of a young woman, no older than twenty, Fulcrom guessed.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said. ‘Coren, why don’t you head back and let me deal with this.’
The man shrugged and skulked off into the darkness. The girl smiled and introduced herself as Jeza.
After repeating who they were, Fulcrom reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded it and held it up to Jeza. ‘Do you recognize this?’
‘Sketches of a grotesque, by the look of it.’ She handed the paper back to him and, despite her attempts at nonchalance, looked incredibly sheepish. She was someone who could not tell an effective lie.
‘This was found yesterday in a major iren near Port Nostalgia, and it was made to look as if it had strolled in there before dying. There was blood. It had been staged so that it held a dead child in its claws.’
‘It shouldn’t have been, um, able to do that. .’ Jeza started.
‘Because it was dead in the first place, right?’ Fulcrom said.
Jeza nodded.
‘Did the grotesque come from here?’
Again, she nodded.
‘I’m guessing you sold it to someone,’ Fulcrom suggested. This didn’t look as if it was going to be his most demanding case to date.
‘I did, yes, but I really can’t tell you, because. . because I want to keep all my clients a secret — cultists can’t do good business without confidentiality. We just don’t tell.’