Mark Newton - Retribution

We decided to store the fragments of the bishop in a couple of large sacks deep in Jejal’s cellar, where the temperature was cold, and they were safely away from prying eyes. Curiously, Jejal did not seem to mind at all that we wanted to store human remains in his establishment. In fact he declared, with great insouciance, ‘Of course I will oblige. Though you must know, I will be forced to add a small fee to the cost of the room. Just because they are dead does not mean I will not accept payment for their use of my facilities! It is a mistake to draw such matters to a close when life has departed. Who is this fellow anyway? Should I fear some sort of reprisal attacks in my humble dwelling?’

‘For now,’ I said, ‘it’s probably safer you don’t know anything.’

‘You sound like one of my former wives.’

‘I mean we should tell the authorities first.’

‘Agreed, agreed. Always the secrecy with the Sun Chamber! Alas, at least a few secrets make life interesting, do they not?’

At Jejal’s insistence both Leana and myself washed thoroughly before we went to bed — it was only then that I realized just how much we must have reeked after our time in the refuse area.

I rested well that night — enjoying a deep and peaceful sleep that I had not known for a good while. When travelling on the road, working on a case, I always felt on edge, agitated to make progress lest I found my end thanks to some rogue agent or a criminal in the dark wilderness, leaving the case unresolved. Sleep didn’t come easily when one spent most of the time with one eye peering into the shadows, wondering when an attack might come.

Even with Leana, a warrior of considerable talent guarding me, it was not easy to relax. I had not experienced soldiering since the token training we received in the Sun Chamber, almost a decade ago, and so I willingly accepted that I was someone who relied upon basic securities: safe lodgings, armed protection.

To be completely honest with myself, part of me suspected that my curse of seizures would somehow leave me more vulnerable , especially in the countryside. Sometimes I could shake uncontrollably in the night and know nothing of it — who knew what attention that might attract out in the wilds?

In the city there were any number of strange noises and events to distract from those of my own creation. Fortunately Leana said I had no episodes in the night. She reminded me that I needed to find an apothecary or herbalist who could recreate the mix I had bought in Tryum, in order to stabilize my seizures.

After a hearty breakfast of flatbreads and local fish, which we ate on a small bench beside a street vendor in the sparsely populated marketplace, we checked with Jejal about somewhere safe to stable our horses.

They had been kept overnight in Jejal’s stables, but would need to be taken somewhere else, to better conditions. What Jejal owned wasn’t much, frankly, and was generally for those who were just passing through. Even the boastful Jejal admitted that it could get crowded and uncomfortable for the animals.

He told us of better quality stables deeper in the Sorghatan Prefecture, so we led our horses along the short journey there, with the body of the bishop in a sack slumped over the back of my mare, Kinder, and the head hanging in a bag over the neck of Manthwe, Leana’s own horse.

Though I was glad of my black cloak, whatever gusty chill might have pervaded the streets at night had long since gone. The day promised something more sultry, and there was a fug of woodsmoke lingering as the city awoke. The comforting, symmetrical lanes of the prefecture were filling up with those heading towards the markets. Scrawny livestock were being driven past new stone buildings. Carts carrying bright cloth clattered along the roads. There were a lot of highly skilled craftsmen here: woodworkers through to silversmiths, and many of them were making equine equipment of the highest quality. But it was the animal-based industry that impressed me most: several small tanneries could be found alongside butchers and shops selling leather goods. The level of ingenuity on display in such a confined space was like nothing I had seen throughout Vispasia. And the stench of urine being used in the process was equally as staggering. .

I was beginning to recognize just how important animals were to the Kotonese, not just in what was sold. Subtle symbols were rendered on many of the signs around. Then there was the raised stag on the nation’s flag, the statues of horses and the creatures in stone reliefs on major buildings.

This idea was strengthened further when we arrived at the sumptuously decked-out stables, which were good enough for humans to inhabit let alone animals. A large pale stone quadrangle was framed with wooden chambers for horses, all of which looked out onto a wide cobbled courtyard. The site was huge, full of nooks and crannies, workshops and filled with the noise of industry. Everything here was clean and in good order; there was plenty of food and water for the animals, and a good number of workers to hand.

‘Everything about the place looks good,’ Leana said. ‘Manthwe and Kinder will be happy while we remain.’

‘Not too comfortable for them?’ I asked wryly, but there was no smile in response.

‘Comfort is good for animals,’ she replied. ‘But not for you. An animal will remain strong with a bed of straw. You go soft.’

I caught the gaze of a well-built farrier, who had cropped blond hair and bright-green eyes. After brief introductions he offered to take care of our mares for the duration of our time in the city. I started the conversation in Kotonese, but he continued it in gruff Detratan.

His name was Sojun and he came across as a kind-hearted man, not one for long sentences and small talk, but judging by how he was with the animals, our horses would be well looked after and they would not mind the lack of conversation.

There was an air of patience about him; he was someone who took pleasure from his job. Very quickly it became apparent that he cared more about the animals than humans; he was more natural with them than us. More skilled. If the animal themes I noticed earlier were anything to go by, it was possible that many people in Kuvash were the same.

We discussed rates as he rubbed the nose of another handsome mare. His suggestion was more than reasonable, and I told him so.

‘Outside of the military stations,’ he grunted, ‘you can find several smaller stables, scattered about the city. We must remain competitive with them. It is not ideal, because they cut corners, but we have deals with the tanneries.’

‘For the horses?’ I tried my best not to look startled.

‘No,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘For their piss.’

With that he took the reins of Manthwe, since we would still be using Kinder to carry the bishop’s body up to the royal palace before dropping her off later. I began to lead her away when another three horses cantered by, with only the one rider on the foremost animal.

Dressed in military uniform was a young woman with a broad face and black hair that stretched down to her waist. I smiled to myself as she exchanged a lingering glance with Sojun, with startling blue eyes, and wondered at the relationship — if any — between them.

It reminded me of my brief moments with Titiana, in Tryum, and suddenly I couldn’t summon the emotions to continue happily with my expression.

I wondered why army personnel would be here in a civilian stables — it was a sign of growing military activity elsewhere, but perhaps I was being overly suspicious. I asked Sojun.

‘You like your questions,’ he replied.

‘Merely curious,’ I added. ‘I’m trying to build up a picture of this place. I’m a stranger in a strange city.’