Drakenfeld (22 page)

‘Ah. That is true.’

‘All I received from these men was a garbled message about my father’s debts. If you had a problem, you should have talked to me personally. I’m a reasonable man and I always
follow the law.’

‘You know how these things go, a man of your standing,’ Veldrum replied. ‘Delegation. A message goes down the chain and before long it becomes rather confused. I’ll see
to it that someone’s punished. I’m sorry my men bothered you, but . . . we were owed rather a lot of money.’

‘So I understand,’ I said. ‘How much?’

‘Let me see. Please, let us move to a more private room, away from the curious ears of my slaves.’ The old man gestured for me to follow him. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Water would be most refreshing, thank you.’

‘Nothing stronger?’

‘Not at this moment,’ I replied.

‘As you wish. I will see one of my slaves brings it to my study.’

Again, he stressed the word ‘slave’ as if he wanted to make a point of owning them. It was rare to see slaves within people’s houses these days – they were illegal unless
brought in from overseas. No doubt Veldrum Hecater would be among those seeking to purchase slaves fresh from Maxant’s victory in Mauland.

His study was lined with ledgers, and a large desk stood against a small window that faced across the gardens. The place was a bit of a mess, with piles of paper all over the black and red tiled
floor. Veldrum lifted a hand abacus from one wicker chair and asked me to sit while he rifled around in one of his drawers. A milky-skinned young man in plain clothing came in to hand me a cup of
water, and I thanked him. Veldrum did not even seem to notice he had come in.

Veldrum drew out a heavy ledger and, with focus and caution, flicked through the pages while muttering about the quality of the paper. It seemed absurd that, for this man, something so profound
in my father’s life – these apparent debts – could simply be reduced to another line of information in a book.

‘Here we are,’ he announced, hunching further over the book as if to better understand his own handwriting. ‘Now, your father borrowed twenty thousand pecullas and, with
interest, the deal we agreed on was for him to pay back thirty thousand within a year.’

I nearly spilled my water, but managed to place the cup to one side. ‘Thirty thousand pecullas?’

‘That is correct. It is one of my larger loans, but he was in a good position in society and had a stable career, and the rate of interest was very competitive. I don’t always make
such pleasant deals.’

‘How much did he pay back?’ I asked.

‘He made regular payments of five hundred pecullas a month, which would have taken him a long time to cover the full debt, and which may well have ended in more interest if the contract
became invalid.’ Veldrum followed the lines in the ledger once again. ‘That said, he did make one rather large payment and very nearly managed to clear the debt . . . Yes, here we go.
He made a payment of twenty-one thousand pecullas.’

‘In one go?’

‘That is correct. Three months ago, to be precise. I remember it because it was just before the Festival of Festonia.’

‘How much is left on his account?’

‘He needed to pay four thousand pecullas to settle the debt, which, of course, falls to you to pay. I have all the paperwork here – all signed in the presence of a
witness.’

He showed me the documents and, true to his word, there was my father’s signature and the family seal in red wax alongside it.

‘I’ll pay the four thousand,’ I sighed. Taking into account the bribe I’d have to pay from this morning, it meant all of my remaining savings, all the money I had
transferred across from Venyn, would be gone. I still hadn’t received any salary payment this month from the Sun Chamber, but it could not arrive soon enough.

‘Oh, that is good news.’ Veldrum Hecater reached for a reed pen to make a note in the ledger. He blew for the ink to dry and set the book on his desk. Meanwhile I started wondering
just how under Polla’s blessed gaze I was going to make ends meet. I would have to send urgent messages to a Sun Chamber station post to transfer money in my name to Tryum. Perhaps one day I
could sell the villa – I barely had enough use of all the rooms in one house let alone another one standing empty.

‘I’ll have the money sent to you by nightfall tomorrow,’ I said.

Veldrum Hecater nodded and sat back in his chair.

‘There’s just one small matter that I don’t quite understand,’ I continued. ‘Why would my father come to you, a moneylender down-city? I do not mean to cause
offence, sir, but there are far more respectable establishments in Polyum and Tradum that he could have sought. Banks themselves, perhaps.’

Veldrum broke into a peaceful smile. ‘He came to me for the same reason anyone would, young man. Shame. Shame certainly helps a person feel humble. Whatever his reason, he was too proud to
go to someone in his own neighbourhood who might know him. Gossip does tend to spread like wildfire in Tryum. However, I can’t help you out with the question of why. That is one mystery you
will have to solve for yourself.’

‘The debts will be settled. Will you call off your men?’

Veldrum nodded. ‘I am sorry they have been rather rough. Many of them are not in my employment directly – we tend to outsource to private groups from time to time. I don’t like
all that nasty business, but people will go about the city believing they can take money from others but not give it back. The world cannot operate in such a way.’

I said my goodbyes to the moneylender and headed back out into the streets, which were bathed in the soft red light of sunset and, pulling my cloak around me, I strolled back along the busy main
roads towards Polyum, wondering why my father needed the money and how someone in a position of responsibility could have ended up in this kind of trouble.

Early in the evening I decided to take a bath, and felt all the better for doing so.

A small, private bathroom was such a privilege. The floor possessed a lovely pattern of bold red and blue mosaics, and there was a metal-lined base to the bathtub itself, under which hot coals
were placed to warm up the water – though one had to be careful the coals were not too hot, else they might burn.

There were many public baths scattered throughout Vispasia, of course, but they were very social places, where senators, councillors, traders, soldiers and bureaucrats would hatch their plans.
This comfort was such a contrast to life on the other side of Vispasia. It was easy to see how wealth might easily spoil someone.

Bellona, Polla bless her, had already heated a few coals and placed lanterns around the room creating a mellow and relaxing atmosphere. In this quiet solitude I could gather my thoughts –
and there was no shortage of things to be thinking about.

Lacanta’s death echoed through my mind. Her seemingly impossible murder and the still-burning incense – was that possibly some kind of offering to Trymus? The locked door niggled me
incessantly. Then there was the room that suggested she was, at heart, rather a quiet person, and not the scandalous figure portrayed in public. Were her affairs all some kind of act? A way to work
her political charms in order to steer Licintius’ policies through the Senate?

The king, too, seemed to be more of a mystery than he first appeared. There was potentially the air of a love affair surrounding his relationship with the deceased Drullus. I still
couldn’t work out why someone wanted to hunt down and kill Drullus. Perhaps he had seen something that night, or even been the killer. Was it an act of passion – jealousy driving him to
kill the one person closer to Licintius than he? It felt like a long shot. Finally there was that leaf from the poisonous plant henbane, which seemed so out of place in Drullus’ hideout.

On top of all this loomed my father’s mysterious debts. It seemed so out of character for him. What was he doing that required him to borrow so much in the first place? He managed to keep
Bellona on staff despite this, though it was well known in our family that he couldn’t cook for himself. I called for Bellona, who briefly made an appearance at the door, though
wouldn’t come into the room.

‘Was there anyone else who worked here?’

Her reply came as a whisper, ‘Another cleaner, but your father had to let him go.’

‘Could he not afford him?’

‘He would not say. Please, I must attend to dinner.’

‘Thank you,’ I replied, listening to the soft sound of her slippers across the tiles.

So the sad truth was that I had never really known him well enough to be a decent judge of his true character. Just as the rest of the world had seen him, all I witnessed was the urbane
investigator, more concerned about closing a case than spending time with his family. Perhaps if I’d visited more, if I’d written to him more often . . .

So many ‘ifs’.

I would have the rest of my life to worry about being a more considerate son, but for now I slipped down the bathtub and buried my face under the warm water, hoping it would wash away my
concerns – if just for a moment.

Leana later asked if she could use the bath after me, refusing my offer that she could use fresh water, with an admonishment about the waste ‘so typical of this
godforsaken, sinful city’. There were times I wish she wasn’t quite as adept with my language – or as colourful – as she is.

While she was bathing I informed her of my plans to go out into the city to pick up a few supplies. She didn’t question me, thankfully, and agreed to my request that she saw the bribe was
paid to Yadrix Velor. I left the necessary money in a purse on her bed. In the corner of the room stood her wooden Atrewen idol, a representative of the spirit master Gudan – he was not a god
exactly, since there were no definite gods in Atrewen culture. Gudan was a legendary figure to Leana, a man who could converse with the spirits, and someone on whom her spirituality could be
focused. It prompted me to take a moment to pray to my goddess.

Finding the shrine that Bellona had moved into the hall, and bowing before the statue of Polla, I requested her aid in cleansing my mind and strengthening my powers of logic and intuition. Polla
was a gentle goddess, her human form one of exquisite beauty and modesty – unlike many of the other gods and goddesses in existence. With the subtle, knowledgeable tilt of her head, and the
Book of Wisdom open in her hands, the statue was deeply inspiring. Lighting some incense in a small burner and waving the smoke over my face, I lost myself in the ritual, letting her cool logic and
calm presence fill me.

A few moments later, wearing a green cotton shirt and a decent pair of black trousers, I threw my cloak around me and headed out into the night with a spring in my step.

Walking out of my gates with a pocketful of coin, the city seemed pleasantly cooler after the rain. Where to tonight? The niggling sensation of the seizure last night had remained at the back of
my mind all through the day, and though I had prayed to Polla, I did wonder if a more earthly solution was possible.

Leana had mentioned there was an apothecary nearby.

It wouldn’t hurt to take a look.

The apothecary seemed to be one of those shops that never quite looked either open or closed. And it was on one of those streets that meant a lot of people had to be asked
before I was directed to the right place. But sure enough, under a sign with long-faded gold lettering, stood the apothecary. I was glad of its concealed location.

This street was just about wide enough to get a horse through; it wound tightly down a gentle slope, with two-storey structures on either side. Several cats sashayed back and forth before me,
pausing to nose the air as if my presence had somehow ruined the ambience.

I knocked on the apothecary’s door, making certain my face remained in the shadows. All around were the sounds of the city moving into its evening alter ego, while on the next street along
was yet another cart grinding its wheels against a wall or pavement, and at least three local residents cursing at the driver.

The door opened and a woman in her forties, wearing a smart grey gown, stood there. ‘Oh, I’m afraid I’m just about to finish for the night, sir.’

‘Perhaps I should come back some other time then. I don’t wish to impose.’ My voice felt uncomfortably frail and I turned away quickly.

‘No, please, come in,’ she said rather jovially, placing a hand gently on the side of my arm. She looked me in the eye and had such a determined look about her. ‘It’s
been a quiet day and I could do with the trade. Besides, you actually seem as though you are avoiding me, which I find curious. Please, put yourself at ease.’

Laughing awkwardly, I followed her inside and closed the door behind me.

The smell was incredible: a whole array of herbs, spices and oils blending together, some on a small stove, others sitting in open jars. In the light of a couple of paper lanterns, I was able to
take a better look at the woman. She was maybe a bit younger than I first thought, her hair a pale blonde rather than grey – the kind of colouring found in people from the far north. Her eyes
were an intense shade of green, and set in a narrow face. Her gown covered a grey woollen tunic that was splattered in stains, much like that of an artist. She also seemed to have a surprisingly
good posture, and not that of someone who had spent years hunching over a table.