Mark Newton - The Book of Transformations

‘No,’ Fulcrom said, still wide-eyed. He gave an awkward laugh. This wasn’t going well. ‘No, it’s just that it’s taken me so long to work out something.’

‘What?’ she asked. A moment passed as he stared at the table. ‘Come on,’ she teased nervously.

‘You remind me of my former — now dead — wife. She would always say that she wanted to know me, that I kept myself to myself, that I was more interested in cleanliness than her.’ A glance came, in which he was clearly gauging her trust, ‘And you have remarkably similar eyes.’

‘Oh.’ What was she supposed to say to that? Was it even a good thing? Similar eyes… She must have been human. ‘You’re entitled to a secret or two yourself, you don’t have to tell me.’

He stared into his drink. ‘No, it’s OK. You’re right: how can you trust me if you know nothing about me? She passed away several years ago. She was killed by a crossbow bolt at the scene of a robbery.’

‘I’m… I’m sorry to hear that. Was she in the Inquisition?’

‘No, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. For whatever reason, probably because they found her on the scene, she was labelled as an accomplice — I know, the partner of an investigator, too.’

Fulcrom moved on quickly. He spoke of trivial things, then of his work for the Inquisition, of crimes he had solved and, due to his dedication, he talked of a lonely existence. In between ruminations, he sipped his tea with care, and used a napkin with grace. He’d joined the Inquisition because he liked the stories about it that his family used to tell him. Rumels, it seemed, were proud of their association with law enforcement.

‘This is no consolation, Lan, but this world of ours constantly throws things at us, mostly horrible events, and it never stops. Some people choose to look away and focus on their own lives, but as it’s our job, we have to face it day in, day out.’ A pause. ‘But I guess your life’s been pretty tough already, hasn’t it. I suppose being a Knight is one of the more comfortable positions you’ve been in?’

‘Well, my most pressing concern, other than the reasons I’m doing what I’m doing, is that I’m scared of being who I am, being in the public eye, being so recognizable.’ Lan paused. ‘I knew one or two other transgendered people from my entertainment days. It seemed a good community for us to hide in. We didn’t exactly see eye to eye, but we didn’t completely hate each other.’

‘What happened to them?’ Fulcrom asked.

‘One of them was murdered,’ Lan said. ‘She was murdered because a group of men sexually assaulted her, then found her out. She was dragged into a nearby marsh and stabbed repeatedly — just for not fitting into a category; or perhaps more specifically, that she was not what they were after. The men were repulsed by her. Sickened because she was different.’ Lan was aware she was speaking in a drone, but she was consciously washing the emotion from her mind — a self-preservation tool. ‘This was in some small town that the circus travelled through. The other girl, she saw the assault, but didn’t report it at first — she was in hiding. By the time the circus moved on it was too late to do anything about it. You yourself must know how these disconnected communities can be sometimes.’

‘How did you find out — about the murder, I mean?’

‘The other girl — well, she eventually caught up with the show. That was many weeks later. She pleaded with our owner to return, to report the crime to military installations along the route, but he wasn’t interested. Said he’d had a lot of his retinue die on him, what was one more? I was too scared to force anything to happen. The other girl, she ran away. I never saw her after that. I still feel guilty about it, and such shame, but I wanted to hide myself as much as I could. I didn’t want the same to happen to me.’

Lan peered up at him, and he seemed uncertain of how to react. He shook his head and held her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Lan.’

Lan didn’t know about that. Life was certainly easier than before.

‘People fear what they don’t understand,’ Fulcrom continued. ‘I’ll freely admit it is difficult — and more so — for your… you…’ He shook his head. ‘Even I struggle. I understand, to some extent — not that it helps — since my family spent a year in one of the smaller towns, which was hell if you were a rumel. We faced threats, our doors were kicked in during the night, my father had eggs thrown at him when he went to work in the mornings. They didn’t welcome what they didn’t understand. They thought we were bizarre monsters, so we came back to Villjamur, where there’s a great mix of peoples — garudas, rumels, humans — people seem to get on better. There’s more understanding here, for all its sins.’

‘At least you can freely be a rumel and be accepted by law,’ Lan said. ‘Hell, you lot are mostly the law — why is that?’

He laughed at that. ‘A quirk of old doctrines. Rumels live far longer than humans, and experience is required for the job. That’s what we tell ourselves, anyway, but it’s also because thousands of years ago, so the history goes, there was a great tension between the species. We rumels were given high positions of legal office to placate our needs against the many human rulers. It forced us both to be civilized to each other — and I guess it worked.’

‘There’s not much in the way of legal protection for the people I used to be. The law doesn’t even recognize shades of gender — it’s very black and white, but luckily our culture is such a wreckage that anyone can change who they are in a heartbeat with a forged document in their hands. No one asks questions, no one wants proof — apart from getting into Villjamur.’

‘You can make your mark, here in the city,’ Fulcrom concluded. ‘Life is tough for all of us, in our own ways, and if it wasn’t you who received these powers it would have been someone else eventually. You’ve been chosen because of your proven adaptability: you’re well known in cultist circles — they knew they could rely on your body. And those people who were used for research — there’s nothing folk like us can do about it. Choose your battles, but stay with us, Lan. You can choose to be a force for good.’

She didn’t say anything.

Fulcrom announced that it was time to go. He said something about having business with a priest, and smiled earnestly. Before he left, Lan — conscious she was going to do it — gave him a peck on the cheek and whispered her thanks. It seemed to disarm Fulcrom totally, and as he stuttered away through the snowy streets, she felt shocked at how forward she could be.

She liked the sensation.

*

Ulryk was waiting patiently on the steps of the Inquisition headquarters as fat flakes of snow drifted down around him. Fulcrom marvelled at how peaceful he seemed to be, despite the flurry of citizens and the bustle of Villjamur.

‘Good afternoon, Ulryk,’ Fulcrom called out.

The priest turned and gave a welcoming smile. ‘A most delightful day, investigator.’

‘You can tell you’ve not been in the city long. The citizens are sick of all this cold weather and snow.’

They moved across the city at a leisurely pace, and Fulcrom showed him where some of the smaller libraries were, as they headed to the largest in the city, around the corner from the Astronomer’s Glass Tower. Ulryk gasped as they entered a vast courtyard of glass flowers, in a variety of colours, but mainly blues and purples. Giant petals and heart-shaped leafs were glittering.

‘This is phenomenally beautiful!’ he sighed, clasping his hands together. ‘How old is this garden?’

Fulcrom chuckled at his reaction. ‘A few hundred years, more or less. They were built before the great Varltung Uprising.’