Марк Ньютон - Drakenfeld

The house we were seeking was right on the border of Vellyum, situated on a surprisingly pleasant street. A good family with an honest trade might wish to live somewhere like this. There were low-level structures with shops facing the street, much like in Tradum and Polyum, though not as refined. The roads needed a little more repair, the walls were plastered with more graffiti than was possible to read, and there was the overpowering stench of urine – but it was a good street, with a man nearby wearing the sash of the local Civil Cohorts keeping the peace.

Beyond the store selling cloth, we headed through into the narrow alleyway and down the side of the building, the gap only a little wider than my shoulders. We continued along until we found the red door we’d been directed to.

‘This is it.’ I moved to try the door, but paused, considering my options.

‘Knock it or kick it?’ Leana asked.

‘Kick it. He wouldn’t open it unless it’s to someone he knows or is expecting. If we knock, he might slip out of another entrance.’

I took a look around the alleyway to check no one was about. This wasn’t exactly the way we did things in the Sun Chamber. Leana had been a bad influence on me. But there was little here except the high walls and stone pavements, only a washing line stretched at the far end between the two buildings.

Back by the door, we both took a couple of steps, then struck the lock-side of the door together, and it shuddered back. One more determined kick from Leana and it smashed open completely. I rushed inside to confront our suspect while Leana stayed back to see if he would make an exit from a window.

Inside the long, thin corridor was empty but decorated with cheap frescoes and mosaics. Wondering whether our bird had already flown, I moved quickly into the next room, which was a kitchen, before running up the stairs into darkness on the floor above and entering another room. It was filled with a cloying and all too familiar stench. I reached across to open the wooden shutters.

There, sprawled on its side with bent knees, a corpse became illuminated by the hazy afternoon light.

When Leana arrived she put her hand to her nose. ‘Spirits save us, are there no more windows to let in the breeze?’

‘None that I can see.’

The pervasive stench indicated that the man had been dead for some time. His blood had pooled and dried on the floor. Dressed in casual garb, which seemed loose-fitting on his slender frame, his skin was lightly bronzed and his hair was dark-blond: he fitted the description that Clydia had given us.

‘Leana,’ I said, ‘I need you to find your way back to the Skull and Jasmine house. Though we’ve travelled a long way around the city, I don’t think it’s too far from here. We need Clydia to come here and identify the body. Tell her she can bring a couple of the other actors if she needs them.’

Leana nodded and left the room, and a moment later I spotted her sprinting through the street.

With the sounds of the busy community outside, I set about assessing what had happened.

There was no blood to be found on the walls and in fact not even around the edges of this room – which implied there had not been a struggle. There were no signs of a fight, no broken jars or pottery, all of which were still standing by chairs or on tabletops. There was an uneaten loaf of bread, a bowl of olives and two apples on the table, laid out for a solitary dinner with one wooden cup of water, and two silver peculla coins next to it.

One of the other rooms was his sleeping area, a dark bare chamber with a couple of unlit lanterns and, aside from a small bag of clothes, there was nothing for me to go on. Everything was incredibly neat and tidy, the picture of an everyday man living alone.

The state of the room where the corpse lay suggested two things: either the man had taken his own life, or he was killed by a professional. Yet, it couldn’t have been suicide. Not only was there no blade nearby, but if this was Drullus, he had paid a lot of money to hide away here in order to keep his life, not to give it up. But if it had been a murder, then the victim must have known his killer to have let him in. Either that, or we were dealing with a highly skilled operator, who could move about the streets with quiet grace and stealth, and could gain entry to this building without force. In many respects, it was not unlike the case of Lacanta’s murder. I double-checked the rest of the house, especially the windows, but there were no signs of anything being amiss.

I reached down and turned the body over, noting that the stiffness of death had long since set in. There was just one clean but very deep cut along his throat. Had the blow been a rapid slash from in front, or a careful slice from behind? The knees were bent, too, which indicated he had been kneeling down before his killer as his throat was opened – as if he had submitted himself for execution. Drullus may have known there was no point in running away: this would have been a pitiful death for the poor actor.

There was a dark thread no more than the length of a finger, which had been caught in his nails as if he’d been clutching at his attacker, pleading for mercy. A piece of thread this common could tell me very little, but simply added to the broader picture of what may have taken place.

There were no signs of a head wound, not even any bruising to the flesh. So he hadn’t been beaten or attacked, pointing again to a professional hit rather than a break-in or robbery gone wrong. His tunic was drenched in blood, but I didn’t yet want to strip the clothing to examine the rest of his torso, not until Clydia had formally identified him and confirmed my suspicions.

Leana returned with Clydia and two of the other actors; young attractive men, one with a slender frame, one with broad shoulders, both with cropped black hair – they looked similar enough to be brothers. One wore a grey tunic, a dark cloak and sandals, the other had dressed in tones of dark green. Clydia, in her long blue cape, was dressed for the rain.

Crouching down, I peeled back a blanket I had found to cover the body, revealing his face, trying to hide the worst of the injuries from them. Clydia immediately let out a wail. She turned into the shoulder of the slender actor and sobbed and heaved repeatedly while he stroked her hair with one hand and stared aghast at the scene.

The one with the broader shoulders stepped forward and crouched down next to me. ‘That’s him all right,’ he breathed and shook his head. ‘Poor, poor Drullus.’

Poor Drullus indeed. So here before us all was the most promising lead in the case of Lacanta’s murder, and he was dead in his own safe house.

‘I’m going to ask some routine questions and I’d be grateful if you can answer truthfully.’

The actor nodded.

‘When did you really last see Drullus?’ I asked.

‘I honestly didn’t see him after the performance at Optryx – and we left before the ceremonies started to reach a climax. We tend to come and go out of our house, so don’t really pay much attention to each other’s movements unless there’s a production looming. But I’m pretty sure it was right after that evening’s performances, when we went our own way.’

‘Do you have any idea who might have done this, perhaps an enemy of the group?’

‘There were people we all upset, and often. Actors aren’t exactly loved in Tryum. We’re treated like whores a lot of the time.’

‘But could anyone you know have come in here and slit his throat? I ask this, because I’m inclined to believe Drullus knew his killer and let him in.’ I explained the few signs of a disturbance and that the broken door was our doing.