Grim Solace (The Chasing Graves Trilogy Book 2) by Ben Galley

Author:Ben Galley [Galley, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, fantasy
ISBN: 9780993517075
Publisher: BenGalley.com
Published: 2019-01-23T22:00:00+00:00

‘What did you see?’ Heles asked as the proctor came to a breathless, skidding halt.

Jym took a moment to find some air. ‘Nothing but some new armour for his men, a fancy litter, and his two big guards.’

‘And their names?’

He scrunched up his eyes. ‘Miss Ani Jexebel, and the shade Danib… Danib Ironjaw,’ he recited.

Heles pulled her hood forwards; she could feel the sun on her nose. ‘Good boy.’

She could tell he had been dying to ask all morning, so it was no wonder the question finally popped out now.

‘So… what did you see at Tor Busk’s?’ he breathed.

Heles wished she had a grander answer to give him besides two locked doors and a lot of clattering around within. Half the night she had spent playing the part of a slouched drunkard, lying in a gutter near a busy corner. One by one, she had watched the lamps of Busk’s tower fizzle out. Only a single figure had emerged early in the morning, and that had been Ani Jexebel. By that time, dawn was starting to burn away the night, and Heles’ eyes had drooped. Pretending to be drunk always had the strange effect of making one feel drunk. She’d had to fight like a mad hyena to stay awake long enough to return to her modest lodgings and straw bed.

‘Enough to make me suspicious of the man,’ came her answer.

‘So you think he’s the one behind the murders and the fire? This Temsa?’

‘Right now, he is one suspect of many, Proctor. This whole city is full of suspects. They’re all guilty of something.’ Masking a yawn, Heles stared out over the huge square, with its churn of living and dead and armoured vehicles. She distracted herself by watching a giraffe being carted through the crowds on the back of a wagon.

A crate enveloped most of its body, leaving its neck and head to tower above. The beast was humming irascibly to itself, swinging its head and table-leg horns in low arcs at its captors. Heles watched a man get batted into a stall of pottery with a crash. She waited for the roar of laughter to subside before she spoke.

‘Besides, who said there was only one? Temsa might have partners. He might be a pawn. Never accept anything as certain, Proctor Jym. Never in Araxes.’

‘Yes, Scrutiniser.’

‘Come, there are more questions to be asked before we are certain.’

Jym fell in tow and Heles led them across the district, back to the streets surrounding Busk’s tower. She looked above the rooftops to see its stubby point, and saw the windows had been shuttered against the daylight. That was new.

Today their disguise was of Outsprawl peasants: clad in cheap tarred linen, caked in sand, shuffling here and there and gawping at every building taller than three levels. Sprawlers and desert-folk were only a fraction higher than shades in the food chain of Araxes. It meant eyes spent more time avoiding their dishevelled appearance than examining it. Jym seemed used to the garb.

They circled Busk’s tower twice over the course of an hour.

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