The God Tattoo: Untold Tales from the Twilight Reign (3 page)

As I watched the soft flakes drifting slowly past my face, the morbid depths of my soul tried to see how many of the murder sites were visible from where I stood. From my high vantage I easily
picked out the sharp peak of the whorehouse, and the chimney marking where that poor tailor’s family had been butchered. The other two were hidden from my sight; resting on a lower plane and
hidden by buildings since they had occurred in alleys that faced away from my chilly sight.

It was an almost casual observance that reminded me both the first two scenes bore windows that looked in that same opposite direction. A cold prickle of realisation and dread accompanied the
thought. For a moment I felt light-headed, as though the breeze had swept up my soul and lifted it into the air before I grasped the rail and steadied myself. Still my knees trembled as I pictured
what type of man would have an opposite view to myself.

In the distance I could see only one building of sufficient elevation; one point to see each and every mark that featured on my map downstairs. I knew there could be no coincidence –
whatever skill or instinct had earned me my position over men of family connections, it strained at the bit now. I was in a saddle within twenty seconds, bellowing incoherent orders to a bewildered
sergeant and galloping off so fast they had neither a clue where I was headed, nor the time to pursue.

I reached the city offices in record time, knowing I would feel the full fury from the Watch’s master of horse, but determined to retain the frame of mind that had produced my revelation.
The building then housed all of the administration needed to run the city and support the Public Assembly, which presided from the famous domed chamber at the heart of this place.

Of all the city’s high officials, only the Commander of the Watch was not based there and the bustle and swarm around the wide stone stairway was typically chaotic. A statue of our king
wearing armour and a flamboyant hat, atop a rearing warhorse, stood at the centre of the courtyard, the few yards surrounding that bronze sculpture the only part of this gravel arena that was
deserted. Coaches stood on hand for the important people, an odd assortment of citizens scuttled around in all directions and I added to the problem by walking up to the huge stone stairway with my
head nearly turned around on my shoulders.

Uncaring of who I collided with I barged my way up, head craned to look out at my city over the courtyard wall and unheeding of cries and curses flying my way. To my intense irritation I found
my view blocked by the pocked face of a soldier of the Kingsguard at the summit of these steps, who earned a tap around the cheek for his impertinence.

In the ensuing struggle with a pair of guards who had no better way to fill their day’s duty, it was none other than Nimer who pulled them off me, his bee device sufficient to halt their
interest in damaging me further.

‘I hope you hold greater respect among your own men,’ he declared with a thin laugh. ‘And what brings you here? Have you any news?’

I looked deep into that inscrutable gaze for a moment while I regained my breath and was struck by a most disagreeable, but palpable, sense of suspicion.

‘Ah, no. It was another matter. I’ve been neglecting my other duties and found a task I’d forgotten, so I wasn’t in the mood for bored guards.’

Nimer, as I have already mentioned, was master of his own demeanour, but I hope it is not mere vanity when I say he accepted my words with no further question.

‘Can I offer you a drink before you go about business?’ he asked, guiding me inside to the high corridor that ran down the side of this whole building.

To my left was the city, visible through a row of eight immense windows. The lead lining of the panes was inlaid with gold leaf so that, as one looked out, the view was framed in rich border. To
the right was a blank wall of the great chamber covered with enormous tapestries. I felt unaccountably revolted by the opulence of the place all of a sudden and turned to the view instead. Hands on
the sill, I looked out to where I could just make out the tower of my guardhouse in the distance.

‘This is where you work?’

‘On occasion. I have an office down this hall,’ Nimer said, joining me at the window.

‘Do you still notice the view these days?’

I gestured towards the scene framed in gold. My hand was trembling at that point so I ended up pointing more with a fist than a finger as I strove to control my emotions. Without making it
obvious I raised myself up a little on my toes, to better appreciate the view of a man one or two inches taller than I.

Nimer frowned. ‘What a curious question.’

‘But do you?’

‘I suppose not,’ he said with a shrug, ‘when one is accustomed to the sight there is little need to take in the panorama daily. Are you sure you’re all right? Your
colour’s decidedly odd all of a sudden.’

‘Oh yes, just tired. I can see the watch-house from here – all I can think about is crawling under my desk to sleep for the rest of the shift. How about you? Now that you’re
looking, what draws your eye?’

The cold blue of his eye seemed to glitter in the light. It reminded me of when he had mimicked my voice and manner for the benefit of my men, but now bereft of humour. Another wave of nausea
gripped me, but I was too far gone to stop now and forced myself to look him straight in the eye.

‘Well, let me see,’ he said, peering past me through the increasing gloom of dusk. ‘Ah yes, the tavern on the far side of the Queen’s Square. If I could choose I’d
soon find myself there with a jug of wine and a girl. Unfortunately, my working day appears to only be beginning. We’re due for another unfortunate occurrence, likely you’ll be sending
for me later unless some humble watchman gets lucky.’

I took one further look at the city and affected a weary nod to the prospect before turning back to face the King’s Man. That drink sounded decidedly less attractive in his company, no
matter that I could almost taste the brandy he usually carried in a hip flask. I muttered some excuse about waiting outside for the Commander of the Watch and he made no question of it, also eager
to be elsewhere.

My legs carried me back to the guardhouse in a dazed meandering, the horse I had ridden there walking patiently by my side. A sickening whirl of emotion and confusion filled my head, with one
image burned into my memory for ever.

Five locations, all sitting on a golden line that this admirable and terrifying man passed each and every day. Four places of horror, and one tavern as yet unscarred by events.

The evening passed slowly for my impatient spirit. The only man I confided my thoughts to was my trusted sergeant. He agreed that Nimer seemed to have been laying down a
challenge – to pit me against his aristocratic talents. An array of faces he’d come to know these past few weeks would merely drive him away. I was also unwilling to risk my men by
setting them against a killer of such breeding.

My sergeant was an old soldier who knew how to stay alive, while the rest were good watchmen who had never dealt with sober, trained swordsmen. Their job was to pacify and arrest rather than
kill, and Nimer would give no second chances. As for myself I confess I failed to think; through arrogance or rage I cannot say but as many would have called it idiocy as gallantry.

We made our way to a private house overlooking the square, the only reputable corner of my district. We arrived well into the ghost hour when the lamplighters had already passed. Three of the
four crimes had taken place deep in the night and it was unlikely he would have rushed now. I felt certain such a man would spring surprises only once his game had started.

As we waited I found plenty of time to think about these killings and the motives behind them – trying to piece together the meagre scraps Nimer had teased me with as he supposedly
reported the conclusions of others. My head was pounding by the time our generous host – a man whose friendship I had earned two years previously by bringing a nobleman to justice –
arrived with a cupped candle and his cook bearing sustenance.

His anxious face, tight with anger, reminded me of my purpose and I forced myself to focus on the task at hand rather than vague questions. The house afforded us an excellent view of proceedings
and we spent a long while scrutinising faces, clothes and gaits for any sign of our foe. There were none for several hours, but the Queen’s Square was well lit and the choices relatively few
given the recent events.

As the tavern was emptying of all but a few regular drinkers and my eyes were wilting, a furtive figure in a long hooded cloak crossed the cobbled square. His path took him past the tavern and
to the adjoining building – my instincts blazed at the very sight of him. The figure bore little resemblance to Nimer at this distance, but I knew to expect a disguise and had already assumed
the tavern would only have been a starting clue. Clutching at my comrade’s arm in wordless excitement I indicated the doorway and rose to leave. We both carried short-swords suitable for
fighting in corridors or the cramped, overhung alleys of this city, while I hoped pistol-bows would even the balance between us. Though neither of us were strangers to weapons, I feared meeting any
King’s Man in a fair fight.

I was a man of the Watch, trained to make my eyes my greatest tools so it had not gone unnoticed that for all his silks and velvet gloves, Nimer wore a proper soldier’s blade at his hip
rather than some duelling accessory. Though obviously a beautiful weapon and finished with all finery, it was no fop’s toy but a heavy length of steel as cold as his stare. I was resolved to
use my small crossbow to wound or arrest him. Once he was winged I might have time to think about what came next, or it might give me a fighting chance at least.

We slipped out through the servant’s entrance of our hide and made our way through the shadows until we had reached the adjoining building. Despite this being my district I knew almost
nothing of the place and had never seen the door even open. Some said it was a gentleman’s club but even the best of those tended to witness duels and other foolishness that attracted the
Watch’s attention, this one had seen nothing of the sort and even its name was a mystery to me. It was a large building of three storeys that extended a long way back with a recessed and
reinforced front door. Whatever breed of gentlemen constituted the members, they didn’t encourage visitors.

The door was ajar when I reached it. I entered cautiously, one hand on the iron-ring knocker to keep it silent, and found myself in some sort of reception area. A desk faced the doorway,
unmanned, while a luxurious scarlet sofa stood up against the right-hand wall and a wide staircase led up to the first floor. There a single painting on the wall, a romanticised scene of a coastal
village, but no mirrors or other adornments; just expensive oak panelling and a polished parquet floor. It did indeed seem to be some sort of private club, but a wealthier one than to be expected
in my district. I knew for certain it was not one for any of the district’s main trades, no dock guild or anything of the sort, but far from the richer parts of the city where the elite
passed their days.

Feeling a pang of concern for whoever normally manned the desk, I wasted no time in heading for a pair of oak doors at the foot of the staircase, recessed slightly so as to be concealed from the
entrance. With my bow at the ready I crept inside, easing the door open with my sword-tip and one boot advanced to catch it being slammed back. Inside, the impression of luxury was continued; a
large welcoming fire and lamps illuminating an orderly reading room, but deserted.

With no signs of disorder or violence there, I abandoned the room and headed past the staircase to the more unassuming passageway at the end of the hall, one that looked like a servants’
entrance to me. It was dark, but faint light flickered from around the corner at the far end. It outlined three doorways down the right-hand wall, most likely storerooms and all latched. I crept
down the passage, keeping clear of each doorway and walking as silently as I could. At the corner I eased around it, pistol-bow first, to see a half-closed doorway four yards off.

Through the gap I saw my quarry, or rather a long cloak that looked like the one I was after. As I reached the door I realised it was a kitchen as the smell of fried onions and garlic wafted
out, but there was also a scuffling sound like boots brushing a stone floor. With his back to me his long cloak obscured whatever he was doing, but just as I pushed the door open he put his arm out
to shake it free of the cloak. In his hand was a blood-stained dagger.

I shouted for him to stop, but no sooner than the sound had left my throat he bolted – not even pausing to look around as someone taken unawares might but darting away with sudden,
surprising speed. I fired as he disappeared through a doorway on the far wall, out of surprise as much as anything, but in my haste I missed. He vanished around the corner in the next heartbeat,
leaving a twitching man splayed over a long table, his exposed chest pin-cushioned with half-a-dozen ornate daggers. I felt a red mist descend over my eyes and raced to pursue the monster, charging
after him into a corridor lit only by the moon shining through a far window.

Catching my shin on a low table that stood just around the corner, it was fury rather than athleticism that saw me upright to the other end – a mad violent scrabble where I careened from
one wall to the other before reaching the window. My foe was already halfway out by then so I leaped blindly, grabbing at anything I could.

Fingers closing around the hem of his trailing cloak, I crashed in a heap below the window. I hauled back as best I could, body braced against the wall, and felt a great lurch as the man was
wrenched back against the wall. My fingers sang with pain as I took his full weight, but a moment later the clasp popped open. The cloak billowed up in the moonlight like a vengeful ghost while a
crash and clatter came from the alley below. A few moments later my sergeant pounded up the corridor behind, hauling me up but I hardly noticed. In my eyes the cloak hung on the air by a taunting
breeze as I dragged it towards me to grip the top end – the silvery moonlight shining down onto one the broken clasp there. The broken clasp in the shape of a bee with wings outstretched. The
king’s bee device; worn by all in his employ.