Roger Taylor - Whistler

Thoughts of Albor, too, would emerge unexpectedly in the middle of the day’s turmoil. These disturbed him even more than his concerns about the Chief and his intentions, and were less easily set aside, there being so many small reminders of his friend and colleague about the Keeperage. And with the memories of Albor came thoughts about the murderer. Grim, fearful thoughts, like a deep, unheard note underlying the cacophony of all that was happening around him. That many more innocent people now fretting through their ordinary lives might be within weeks, perhaps even days, of death, when they might reasonably have expected years, did not lessen his anger and frustration at these random murders. It unsettled him profoundly that all his experience and his knowledge of Troidmallos and its people had yielded nothing in his investigations. Somewhere, possibly with an accomplice, a monstrous creature wearing the appearance of an ordinary person was still walking the town.

Walking, watching, waiting, for the opportunity to kill again.

And he, Serjeant Keeper, guardian of the law and the people, was lost and floundering. He could do nothing – except fail in his most fundamental duty – doomed to await the next killing and hope that something, someone, might be seen, or some clue be left to which he could cling and which might bring him to the killer. All he had learned so far was that the murderer was physically powerful. He must be, to have defeated Albor man to man…

And before his thoughts could begin to circle fruitlessly, Skynner would turn again to the more pressing needs of the day.

Vredech wrapped his cloak about him. It was sodden, but it was still keeping the rain from him. After spending the remainder of the night sleeping fitfully in his chair, he had risen silently at dawn and managed to leave the Meeting House without disturbing anyone. He needed to be alone and to think.

Nertha had greeted the declaration of his intention to kill Cassraw with a confusion of emotions, not the least of which had been disbelief. They had conducted a bizarre, whispered dispute for fear of waking the dozing Yan-Elter. As the seriousness of Vredech’s intention eventually emerged, Nertha had fallen silent and stared at him intently, her eyes searching his face.

‘I’m no more mad than I was before,’ Vredech said, reading her look. ‘You’re the logical one. Find me an alternative.’

‘It’s not a matter of logic,’ Nertha said.

Once, such an admission would have given Vredech the opportunity for an ironic rejoinder, but his mood could admit no humour.

‘Isn’t it?’ he said coldly. ‘I could pray, I suppose.’ Nertha looked distressed at the cynicism in his voice, but Vredech went on. ‘Oddly enough, my prayers mean more now than they’ve ever meant. After thinking I’d lost you the other day, and then finding you and standing by you, looking out across the valleys – so beautiful – I think I understand Ishrythan more than ever before. My faith seems to be changing. I don’t seem to need Ishryth Himself so much. It’s strange. Cassraw says his… mentor… reveals the inner truths of the Santyth to him. Well, I think I’ve found them for myself. I suppose I should be grateful for that.’ He paused, as his thoughts swung back to matters practical. ‘But more than ever I know that what part of our destiny lies in our hands, we are responsible for, completely.’ Nertha tried to intervene, but he silenced her. ‘You and I have been shown what’s happening. And Horld – maybe even Skynner. They will do what they must do, in their own judgements. And I will do what I must do in mine. I’ll be able to get close to him…’

Nertha burst in. ‘Allyn, stop talking like that, you’re frightening me. You’re no more a murderer than I am – still less an assassin. You’re physically incapable of killing anyone. You killed a bird with a catapult once then cried yourself to sleep for two nights. Do you think you can kill Cassraw, an old friend, whom you’ve known all your life, even allowing for what he’s turned into?’ Then something seemed to snap inside her and she almost snarled. ‘And you don’t know what you’re talking about, for mercy’s sake. Look!’ Before Vredech could prevent her, she had snatched the knife from him, unsheathed it and, thrusting the handle into his hand, drawn it towards herself so that the point was almost touching her throat. ‘Here’s where you’d do it. Like this,’ she said savagely, showing him. ‘You’re right. You’d probably be able to get near enough to him to do it, but could you push this blade in?’ She drew it nearer to her throat, forcing Vredech to pull back in alarm. ‘And if you do, shall I tell you what’ll happen?’ Vredech stared at her, wide-eyed. ‘It won’t be like cutting yourself shaving. There’ll be blood spouting everywhere as his heart bursts itself trying to stop the wound, from here to that wall – and splattering across it. And there’ll be noises that’ll ring in your ears for ever. Not to mention the look on his face.’ She held his gaze fiercely for a long moment, then her hands went suddenly limp. The knife slipped out of Vredech’s grip and fell with a thud to the floor.

‘Are you all right?’ Yan-Elter’s sleepy voice made them both start.

Nertha recovered first. ‘Yes,’ she said hoarsely. ‘How’s Iryn?’

‘He seems quieter.’

‘Good. Go back to sleep. We’ve done everything we can for him. We’ll have to see what the morning brings.’

Yan-Elter nodded and drifted off to sleep again. Vredech picked up the knife. His hands were shaking.

‘Promise me you won’t do anything foolish,’ Nertha said, taking his arm. She was not sobbing, but tears were running down her face. ‘There’s another way somewhere.’ Vredech made to stand up but her grip was too strong. ‘Promise!’ she demanded. ‘We’ll think of something if we give it a little time.’

‘Time?’ Vredech exclaimed. He brought his face close to hers. ‘It’s scarcely ten days since Cassraw’s first sermon, Nertha. Ten days! It feels as though it were some other age, but…’ He was going to mention the Whistler’s remarks about events moving with great speed but he stopped himself. ‘We probably don’t have any time left. Who can say what’ll have happened in another ten days?’

Nertha just said simply, ‘Promise me you’ll do nothing foolish.’

Vredech looked at her thoughtfully, then nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said, pushing the knife into his belt. ‘I’ll do nothing foolish.’

Nor will I, he thought, as the murmured but frantic debate returned to him yet again. He was shivering. Not with the dampness of the day which, oddly enough, he welcomed; the obliteration of the mountains and the greying of all else seemed to leave his mind free to roam unhindered by things familiar. He was shivering because he was afraid. He would do nothing foolish, true, he had promised. But killing Cassraw was not an act of folly, it was one of wisdom and necessity. People had died already because of his neglect, though he took some solace in the knowledge that he could not possibly have followed the Whistler’s advice when it had first been given to him. That certainly would not have been rational. But now? Although, as he had said, only a few days had passed since Cassraw’s first demented sermon, it was indeed a different age now. So very different. For a moment, Vredech began again to doubt the reality of all that was happening. After all, had he not been drawn into a world that was still Canol Madreth when he had met Horld on the mountain? Perhaps somewhere he was walking through a rain-shrouded park in a world where he could return to his Meeting House to sit in its comforting warmth and talk with Nertha and look to a future that was once again knowable – a world in which Cassraw was his old friendly, obstinate and argumentative self, untainted by whatever had lured him into the darkness.