City Of Ruin by Mark Charan Newton Page B

deconstruct herself, noticing all the changes that age had brought. But she was still young. It wasn’t as if an aeon had passed between them seeing each other.
    In her best outfit, comprising of two layers of dark-red dress with a black shawl, a look that had lasted well in Villiren for a couple of years now, she waited. Waited for him .
    Beami took a look around the furnishings of her room. Everything was expensive: decorative mahogany, not from this island, elaborate rugs and drapes, decorated in patterns from unheard-of tribes, ornaments that may or may not have had names, a crystal console table. Here was quality acting as an expression of her husband’s wealth, yet she did not care for them at all. A deeper emotion had disabled the impact of these items on her life.
    What am I thinking, asking him here?
    The heating system spluttered again, firegrain stalling somewhere in the pipes. Snow skidded across the windows, distracting her attention, and she went to one, to regard the city beyond. The people of the city were still out and about, wrapped in furs, some selling biolumes, traders heading to the irens, carts and fiacres grinding to and fro along the main thoroughfares.
    What if Malum returns unexpectedly . . . ?
    Malum was out, but this was still their marital home, and his property. Then again, why was she being so paranoid? It wasn’t as if she was actually in the throes of an affair, was she, by just standing here in preparation for exploring the emotions of her past, feelings that she hadn’t analysed for a number of years, also ones she had tried to forget. But she couldn’t deny that it felt good, to allow this sense of nervousness to get the better of her. To feel such intensity again – to feel something again. It was like a game, and she felt she could almost burst with anticipation.
    Was she being merely licentious? She hoped not.
    A knock at the door.
    She froze, then realized it would need to be answered by herself. She headed downstairs and with deep breaths opened the door to one of Malum’s hired men.
    ‘’Scuse me, madam,’ the thug grumbled, broad-shouldered and shaven-headed, wrapped in a thick cloak. ‘Someone from the military to see you. Says he’s from the Night Guard.’
    ‘Yes, that’s OK . . . I was expecting him. It’s to do with my research on defence methods.’ She should have known these men would be here first. What if they then told Malum? She didn’t want to arouse his suspicions, so she had to act calmly.
    ‘Fine.’ The man gestured to one side.
    Within moments, Lupus stood there, puzzlement evident on his face as he stepped around the thug’s hulking figure. He was dressed in his Night Guard uniform, utterly black save for subtle patterns in the sewing and the gold star of the Empire on his breast. How he’d matured, she realized.
    She let him in and closed the door. ‘Please, come to the study area, and let’s continue our business there.’ Her voice was loud enough for the thug at the door to hear, and she could tell from Lupus’s expression that he understood her need for secrecy.
    ‘Lead on.’ Lupus gestured eccentrically, playing along.
    Beami’s heart thumped as they headed down the corridor, entering the basement room in which she pursued her explorations of cultist technology.
    She lit three lanterns, knowing their location by instinct rather than touch, but nearly knocked one over in her flustered excitement. To a stranger this workroom must look like a junkyard, a litter of curious devices that would mean very little to the layman. But she had organized and investigated much of this over the years, made notes, tested, then tested some more, all the time wondering if she might thus unlock some device the elder races had set, and if, as a result, this was how she might die.
    She moved her Brotna relic – a great lumbering metal cone with wires sprouting from the top end – to one side.
    ‘What’s that?’ he asked.
    ‘A project I’m working on