The Iron Swamp (3 page)

We pulled up outside a colossal gate that made me question what deity the bishon worshiped. The two connecting pillars took the shape of quilla in full battle armor, huge snake-like creatures arching away from the spiked lattice as if watching for intruders climbing the walls. The spikes themselves were decorated with skulls of all seven extant races. Not even in The Kaerosh did I expect to see something so morbid from the faithful, but at the same time I could not help but reflect how similar they all looked once flesh and body were stripped away. The quillan skull was a bit longer, the myuki skull a bit smaller with bigger eye holes, and the mabian skull was covered in crystal growths as if a human had been inflicted with some terrible bone disease, but the overall structure was always the same. Perhaps this was to be expected from the six races of Cos, but the two most similar skulls were that of houthar and human – two species which evolved independently at opposite ends of the galaxy.

It was well known that although evolution in Cos had been faster and produced greater diversity than on old earth, the similarities were not limited to the sentient races. With a few exceptions, most of the species in Cos had counterparts on the human home world. All in a row staring at me through their eyeless sockets, like shriveled peas in a pod, they demonstrated perfectly the limited imagination of evolution. For the Felycians, I supposed this reflected their creator's love of similar shapes.

Notably, the Rathjarin skull, which was the most unique, was not present. Whether this was because the gate's architect assumed there were none of them left, or because he hated them as so many did, was uncertain, but I was always interested in the attitudes of people to the race that had once ruled Cos.

Either side of the gates the stone walls stopped low enough to be surmountable, but a layer of spikes offered death to anyone who tried and slipped. Crossed bone blades sharp enough to draw blood with a touch continued hypnotically into the distance. My map suggested that beyond them were not just religious structures and tools of worship, but also living quarters and amusement facilities that allowed the inhabitants total segregation from the pollution of civilization.

I looked up at Rake. "You and me should go in first with a messenger we can send back to get more people as we need them." Solving this case was my ticket out of the basement, and I didn't want to think about what would happen if I failed. As surely as Kenrey would prove to be a demon in human skin, my future hinged on finding his killer.

Rake pushed open the vehicle door as if throwing off an attacker. "Gather round." He waved his hands and repeated the command until slowly the masses obeyed. The sky was the same dull gray as the road, and as I stepped down from the bus, the wind penetrated every layer, stiffening my skin like frost. In the absence of the mist, clouds filled the sky like a silver veil, darkening to the point of rupture as they flowed over the compound. Ships, arcing across the sky like rusted comets, ducked in and out of visibility, carrying cargo, refugees or even bounty hunters.

It took a few minutes for everyone to gather into a collage of browns, many wearing the same russet uniforms and thick police boots. Except for the silver buckle that clamped the belt in place as firmly as any ski wear, the officers would have been perfectly camouflaged on a pile of dug-up earth. Designed to hide mud and give the police force the semblance of tidiness, the uniforms fulfilled this role perfectly. What they did not do was distinguish the officers from the rest of the nation who had chosen various shades of brown for much the same reason. I was wearing a beige coat and chestnut trousers simply because it was impossible to buy anything else.

Little red lights flashed from person to person as heating elements turned on in their coats, gloves, and boots. I brought up the settings on my tablet and felt the warmth circulate round my body like a hot bath.

"Right," Rake looked over the crowd as a general assessing his forces. "We don't need any of you for the moment except Jackson. The rest of you can wait here until we call for you." He hadn't even finished speaking before the throng moved a step closer almost in unison, the volume of their questions making them incomprehensible. I hated crowds. People behaved differently in groups; something flicked in their heads, and suddenly violence became acceptable problem solving.

Rake smiled at them, ignoring the people closest to him by turning his head as they tried to speak to him. Finally, a red-headed man with more freckles than blank skin started walking towards the gate. Rake was already on top of him. Silence fell as the group watched him slip his arm around the man's neck and yank him to the ground before kneeling on his chest. "Where do you think you're going?"

The man winced, struggling to thrust his thorax up enough to breathe. "I just needed the toilet is all."

"There's forest all around you."

"Yes detective."

Rake stared at the crowd as their last murmurs retreated down their throats, and the two of us walked through the parting gates with Jackson trailing as far behind as he dared.

Rake set a pace which fit Jackson's desires perfectly, but forced me to march alongside like a child with an angry parent.

"He'll probably report me for that," Rake said.

I looked back at the mass of horrified CSIs. "If he does, I'll back you up. It was necessary to maintain order."

Rake slowed slightly. "That's not what I thought you'd say."

I shrugged, grateful for the change in pace. "If the others had followed, he would have jeopardized the investigation."

Rake nodded. "Guess you're alright, Nidess."

I said nothing. I wasn't going to bond with this thug over his violent outbursts. It made me feel like a piece of dis. Pressing on a man's chest hard enough to stop him breathing was only necessary if he was trying to kill you.

Just inside the gate, a man was leaning against a thin strip of metal bent at the top. It was clearly one of those poles used to construct temporary fences, yet the man had mistaken it for a cane. As if this wasn't enough, he was dressed little better than a hobo. His coat was an expensive knee length garb, worn mainly by the upper classes who could keep it clean, but this one was frayed and dirty, tossed by its wealthy owner and found by the man in front of me. Beneath that, he wore nothing but a rib suit molded round his body, leaving little of his thin frame to the imagination. Only a pair of shorts over his crotch protected his modesty, while everywhere else the zeolate strips that kept moisture and bacteria from rotting his skin were on full display.

"Detective Nidess?" He was not an old man, but the wrinkles in his furrowed brow carried cycle upon time. "I am Master Sol Benrick."

Master
was a misleading word. Benrick was the lowliest of his order, though it still did not explain his attire.

"Where's Kenrey?" I said, forgetting my manners as I contemplated his clothing.

His back straightened and his wrinkles doubled over on his forehead. "Where he died."

"Would you take us to him?"

"If you'll show me your IDs."

I thought the fleet of police waiting outside the gate attested to our identities, but I was not about to quarrel. Though Rake looked as if he was about to stab Benrick with his fence pole.

The priest nodded as we showed him our tablets. "Can't be too careful; the Archbishon had a lot of enemies."

I ignored the statement for the moment and asked how many priests were on the premises.

"This was Archbishon Kenrey's private compound. I am the only other priest here."

It seemed impossible that all of this was for a single man, but that was the state of inequality to which The Kaerosh had sunk. In the center, the church towered into the sky like a bronze mountain, and around it was building after building, some of them almost as big. The solitary structures amid a maze of walkways gave the impression of a boarding school.

"And what is your function, Master Benrick?"

"I was his spiritual adviser."

Looking at the ragged priest, there could have been no other answer.

"I knew him better than anyone," he continued. "A strict soul but fair. The punishment always fit the crime."

"And can you think of anyone with a reason to kill him?"

Benrick's eyes flicked towards the church and back again. "No one with a good one."

"And the bad ones?"

Benrick chuckled. "Oh, there were a few of those." He nodded several times, counting them in his head. "Most of them from the bishons who didn't agree with the way he ran the church. They thought the declining number of the faithful in The Kaerosh was his fault, but nothing was further from the truth."

On that we agreed. Clazran left little opportunity to believe there was anything out there more powerful than he. "Could you write me a list of these names and their reasons?"

Benrick nodded. "You'll have it by tomorrow, but if you'll excuse me, I have to be in the Ring City for the appointment of the new Archbishon."

"They do that already?" Rake said.

Benrick smiled. "The Felycian church cannot do without a leader even for a day. There are too many decisions that need to be made, and every hour they are left undecided they build up until his successor wouldn't know where to begin."

Organized. Though any regime with millions of followers had to be at least moderately well run. "You'll be back?" I said, emphasizing the desirability of this. Anyone crazy enough to carry around a fence pole and wear a rib suit on display beneath a coat was crazy enough to kill someone.

"Afraid not. I will be relocated now." He shrugged. "Such are the burdens of my position." He extended a hand. "I wish you luck though. No one wants his killer found more than me. I was his closest friend."

I said nothing. There wasn't a bitter note in Benrick's demeanor. It said a lot about Kenrey that his death had not even induced his self-professed closest friend to
pretend
mourning. As were so many in his position, Kenrey was a friendless man surrounded by sycophants.

"Head up through the gardens into the church, and one of the guards will show you to his bedroom. I have to be going." He offered his hand to Rake.

"Don't leave The Kaerosh," Rake said, as they shook.

Benrick's smile survived the malice in Rake's eyes, but disintegrated as I added, "We might want to talk to you again." Insult contorting his face like a bad smell, he strode towards the gate.

On either side of the cobbled path, hedges, fountains, and trees masked many of the buildings like a living wall. We walked around the rectangular pond that split the pathway in two, and through several bushy arches up to the main entrance. Despite the dreary weather and rainclouds darkening the sky, the symmetry of the garden gave it the kind of beauty that lingered in the mind even after leaving. Bushes and trees stood either side of us amid clear blue ponds that made the whole place look like something out of a dream. Many of the plants should not have survived the frosty waterlogging of the Kaeroshi climate, but they grew tall and thick like the canopy of the Gargantua, only a thousand times more colorful.

The grace of the gardens only made the sight of Kenrey's body more macabre. Considering his wealth and status, the dark room where his body lay was not excessive. It contained little more than a bed and a sink, with a stone floor, and small windows too high to do anything but provide light. If the servile nature of his abode was a reflection of his piety, it had not saved him.

I was not partial to the dead, and phlegm touched the back of my throat before I forced it down again. Even Rake looked away. Kenrey's neck was slashed right across, his head sagging over the back of the chair revealing the darkened meat below. He was wearing a ribbed sleeping suit to protect him from the damp, but his opened neck had made a wet V in the front beyond the capacity of the zeolate to absorb. The puddle of blood near the bed, drying round the edges, suggested he did not die where he sat so precariously in the middle of the room. A smear of red arced across the floor from bed to chair with smaller trails and spatters surrounding it as if a painter had let his brush drip around the main stroke.

The bed itself was clean. Despite the proximity to the largest puddle, no blood spatter stained the white silk, though a few smaller chunks of wall had made it that far. The Guard Captain had showed us in via a hole in the wall, leading out into the jollity of the gardens like a window to another world. Vins had not thought to mention it despite that protocol required a bomb disposal squad to do a preliminary investigation of any scene where an explosion had taken place.

Most of the bigger bits fell not too far from the outer wall, but smaller bits reached across the room and made pock marks in the internal one. Nothing appeared to have hit Kenrey, at least until the blade found his throat. Pinned to his chest was a piece of paper with
God found him wanting
written in blue pen. Mockery.

"He's big," Rake said. "No weakling could get him on that chair."

Kenrey's belly stuck out like a mound of dirt from a burrowing animal, his limbs thick with muscle turned to fat. He was not particularly tall, but his girth was frightening. In life he had been a giant, but even his corpse looked capable of crushing me.

"I've seen enough." The hole had been contaminating the scene for too long already. "Let's get the geneticists in here before the wind blows Kenrey's body into the garden."

Rake turned to Jackson who was standing in the entrance. "You heard him, get the hoovers!"

Jackson's oddly serene face had turned paler than Kenrey's. Grateful for the chance to leave, he exited through the hole as if the floor was giving way beneath him. Whether it was Kenrey or us he wished to get away from was impossible to tell, but Rake was obviously under the impression that you didn't need friends if your daddy could fire all your enemies.

"And you might as well bring the camera crew and the blood spatter guy," I called after him.

Rake's eyes moved quickly around the room. "We should have had them in earlier."