Mark Newton - Retribution

‘A very thorough job, whoever did this,’ he concluded. ‘They probably wanted to make sure the man was very much dead, eh? These religious types might know something the rest of us don’t about coming back from the dead.’ He chuckled at his own joke.

‘Have you any experience of this kind of incident before?’ It was the same question I had put to Sulma Tan. ‘Something you’ve seen in the past or on your travels?’

‘Oh I’ve seen plenty of people chopped into pieces. Cuts here and there. Severed limbs aplenty! But nothing quite with this. . consideration . Many, many cuts — a slow way to die. It’s a barbaric masterpiece.’

‘Was he tortured or dead before they did this?’ Leana asked. ‘That could say a lot about the murderer.’

‘A fine point, which I was just about to raise,’ the physician replied. ‘Torture. . execution. I can see signs of something around the neck — perhaps rope? — but nothing to suggest restraints around the legs and arms. Though when you’ve a broken leg you’re not exactly going to be running very far, and you’d have little need to restrain him. The cuts, well. . they could indeed come from a thin blade. So we could say that the murderer merely wanted to ensure that the bishop experienced pain. Also, the numerous puncture wounds in non-vital locations seem to support such a view — though that said, they each appear deep to me. Torture, yes. But you don’t often torture people for the sake of it. Information is usually required, yet how can a cut tongue speak? Such an act has so little use. Perhaps information was not needed this time.

‘So I would say — and the corpse isn’t doing us any favours here, being so long gone — that whoever did this wanted to cause an excruciating amount of agony for the bishop. This may be stating the obvious, yes, but the murderer wished to cause a slow and painful death, but most importantly that it be one the bishop would have been all too aware of. He would have been conscious up until the last moment, most likely. That says a lot. Yet as I theorize, his mood was quite calm even in those last moments — which gives us something to be grateful for, yes.’

None of us could really speak at that point. We just stood there, dumbstruck by the seriousness of the injuries.

‘As I suggest, he’s too far gone for a more rigorous analysis, I’m afraid,’ Carlon continued, wiping his hands on his apron, ‘so you’ll have to make do with my vagaries for now. Probably could have worked out the same conclusions yourselves.’

‘Carlon, you’ve been immensely helpful,’ I said. ‘That gives us much to ponder.’

‘Pleasure!’ Carlon replied cheerfully, as if I’d made his day. ‘If you find another corpse, just make sure it’s a little fresher, eh? You’ll find I’ll be much more use with something decent to work with.’

He took off his apron and said goodbye to Sulma Tan with a fatherly kiss on her cheek. There was a history between these two, perhaps that of mentor and apprentice.

There was very little point in examining the bishop’s body further, yet I insisted we try, just in case something came to light. A junior physician came in to cut open his torso with some more efficient tools, yet there was nothing there, for example, to indicate a weapon or something left inside him. Carlon had been correct when he said the bishop was too far gone to really tell us anything, and it was really my own stubbornness that was getting the better of me. No doubt Leana would remind me of that later, judging by the looks she gave.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour later when a young messenger came into the room and whispered into Sulma Tan’s ear. All the time he was speaking she glanced towards me with that neutral expression which was so difficult to read. The one that was assessing me.

When he finished she nodded and said to him in Kotonese, ‘We will be there shortly.’

The messenger bowed and left.

Sulma Tan regarded me with consideration. ‘Queen Dokuz has requested an audience with both of you. You and Leana.’

‘Oh,’ I replied.

‘I suppose we had better wash our hands first,’ Leana muttered.

During my decade as a member of the Sun Chamber, I had set foot in only three royal courts — or the localized equivalent. My formative years, in a very junior position, were largely spent in some of the vilest holes of the continent, or some of the dullest. Any orders back then were usually to copy out papers into a coded or foreign language, or to head out to investigate the dregs of society: lowly thieves, pickpockets and petty criminals who were deemed above the remit of more experienced officers.

As my reputation grew over the years — or, as I suspected, I simply became more trusted — I was awarded the honour of access to higher levels of society. During my time in Venyn City I had worked with representatives of Prince Bassim and been permitted to stroll through his opulent halls. Also, I had been in the presence of the Queen of Dalta, who surrounded herself with so much gold and lived in a place with such intense sunlight that, at times, I had to shade my eyes as she addressed me.

Every one of these courts was unique in its own way. Not so much the design, though that was certainly true, but more for the atmosphere — and it was the atmosphere that I was most interested in. In the expressions of those gathered at the court, a learned woman or man could read the state of the nation. From concern at local political upheaval, to jubilance at the growth of trade, everything was on display in the faces of those gathered there.

Rumours were always more interesting than facts in places like this, and I had never seen any of the truly scandalous events reported by my peers. Some told of executions in front of one king, drunken orgies in the presence of others, many forms of debauchery that only the rich could afford to enjoy with impunity. I occasionally wondered if they ever happened, or if the stories that came from such lives would always be more interesting than truth.

As we walked through the wood-panelled corridors and rooms towards the palace’s main hall, soldiers stood in line on either side. In the gaps between them I could see incredible statues, busts and paintings, ornaments made of gold and silver. What struck me as unusual was that many of these items were replicas of famous ones I’d seen in collections elsewhere. This was more of a museum than a place to live, though if one lingered no doubt the soldiers would soon usher the viewer outside.

The central hall was situated under a dome that appeared so large it was almost structurally impossible. Ornate images were painted upon the inside of its curved surface. Remarkably there were tiny windows, which allowed a curious light to fall down directly on the throne below, in the centre of the room. The floor was made up of large, black slate pieces, and only the hundreds of lanterns saved the place from seeming too dour.

A good seventy or eighty soldiers lined the hall, spaced so that it never looked too crowded. A handful of courtiers loitered within this protective enclosure, wearing resplendent cloaks of green, red and blue silk. Today being a religious day, we were requested to wear a hood-like strip of bright-blue cotton over our heads and down over our ears, the lengths reaching to waist level. Sulma Tan said that it was out of respect to Astran and Nastra, though she did not say what was the purpose of the gesture. Not wanting to cause any offence by disregarding local customs, we willingly obliged.

Sulma Tan now had a nervous energy about her, and a sudden air of subservience that didn’t seem in keeping with her character. The defiant woman who had greeted me, if greeted was the right word, had become a different person entirely in the queen’s presence.