City Of Ruin by Mark Charan Newton

lived in Villiren, but too cynical not to assume that they resorted to a little extortion to fund their lifestyles. His office was a simple stone room with a desk, a couple of chairs, a bench and a fire, also equipped with a few books on the Jamur legal system arranged tastefully on a shelf. And mostly unused , he had noticed when he arrived. Through a slot in a wall he could see the ridge of one of the giant grandiloquent Onyx Wings close up, looming there as if some primordial creature was permanently readying itself for flight. Snow was constantly falling behind it, from grey skies onto slick roofs.
    As soon as he sat down in the chair, placing his hat on the desk, there was a knock at the door. Typical annoyance . But maybe this would be the aide that Jeryd had requested several days ago to help him find his way around the city. He needed to get to know the neighbourhood itself – he didn’t know how long he’d be stuck here, but it didn’t hurt to fit in. If he was going to clean up a few streets and thus impress his superiors, it was essential he acquired some local knowledge.
    With a colossal sigh he stood to open the door.
    A young woman stood there, with tied-back black hair, a high forehead, a slender pale face and dark lips – something about her that spoke of islands other than the Boreal Archipelago. She couldn’t have been any more than thirty years old, and her petite frame was smothered in brown cloak and a plain heavy skirt. She was pretty, he realized, not that he was much into such soft human skins. Behind her, an investigator in a mask came strolling down the corridor. Those masks gave Jeryd the creeps.
    ‘Sele of Jamur, miss. How can I help you?’
    ‘Sele of Jamur, investigator,’ she declared, the pitch of her voice surprisingly deep. ‘It’s not how you can help me, but rather how I can help you. I’m your new aide, sir.’
    A female aide in the Inquisition? Jeryd wasn’t sure about this at all. He couldn’t remember any specific ruling, but the arena of the Inquisition had always been male-dominated. Not that he was against female staff in the least, but in the Inquisition such things were usually a matter of tradition, for better or worse.
    ‘If you were expecting a man, I understand your surprise – but I’ve been good at my job so far. They tell me you’re from Villjamur, that you’re a brilliant investigator, and that you do not accept bribes . . . and I wanted to learn from the best.’
    There was no reason why such flattery should be anything other than that to be expected from the young or naive. If only she knew how out of touch he felt, and how he simply could not understand the mechanisms of the world any more. Hell, he could barely understand himself any longer. ‘Come in, please, take a seat.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Walking past him, she graced him with a whiff of gentle perfume, a little vanilla musk. Her steps were lively, although slightly halting, as if she was recovering from a limp.
    He first asked her for her name.
    ‘Nanzi.’
    ‘That’s a beautiful and unusual name. As you know I’m Investigator Rumex Jeryd – just arrived in the city. Worked in the Villjamur Inquisition for a hundred and eighty years, and have seen a lot in that time.’ It was growing on him fast, the idea that someone wanted to learn from him. It brought a new consistency to daily proceedings and he soon forgot his reservations about her being a her .
    ‘The good investigator,’ he continued, ‘does not merely stand still. He never accepts what he learns to be absolute and final. Same with anything else in life. Those who are more prepared for change generally get on, while those who don’t . . . they’re forgotten quickly, left to rot.’
    She nodded, took out a small notepad, began detailing what he said. This went on for a quarter of an hour, these introductory notes, a little wisdom to kick things off, things that might or might not be of direct help but needed to be stated anyway,