A Flight of Broken Wings, page 27
part #1 of The Aeriel Chronicles Series
On the horizon the sun was setting, bathing the sky a deep pinkish-crimson. Oddly, it reminded Shwaan of his own mother – her crimson-tipped wings flaring as she rained havoc and hellfire down on the hapless mortals. He wondered momentarily, how much her feathers would go for; how brightly they would burn in mortal hands.
Chapter 12: The Kinoh House
Ashwin stood on the riverbank, water lapping at his feet as he looked out over the horizon at the setting sun. The burning sky had turned the river an unearthly shade of reddish-gold, like blood on liquid metal flowing between stretches of reedy rocks and wet sand.
“That’s the reason it’s called Shona, you know,” Ruban said, walking up to stand beside the Aeriel. “The river, I mean. It’s the Kanbarian word for gold. They speak an odd mix of Vandran and Kanbarian here in Ibanta. It’s almost like a hybrid state. A bit of both, all of neither.”
“Do you speak it?” Ashwin asked, not taking his eyes off the sun almost submerged into the scarlet skyline. He looked like he was drinking it in, the timorous rays of the dying sun.
“Kanbarian? Not a bit, no,” Ruban laughed. “I’m afraid my education has been rather parochial in scope.”
Ashwin’s lips quirked into a smile. “I used to speak it, as a child. Quite fluently, if I do say so myself.”
“And what? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten it.”
The Aeriel chuckled. “I’ve not forgotten it, no. The Kanbarians have.”
“Eh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ashwin lifted an eyebrow. “Do you think the language you call Vandran today is the same tongue your forefathers spoke six centuries ago? If I were to speak it, that language would sound more alien to you than the speech of either Kanbar or Zaini.”
Ruban thought about that for a few seconds. “Huh,” he said at length, summing up succinctly his feelings on the subject of intercultural philology. “I’ve got news about the dead guy.”
“So have I,” said Ashwin, offering him a chocolate-chip cookie.
“This spoilt aristocrat gig really works for you, doesn’t it?” Ruban said, munching on an almond biscotti as Ashwin filled him in on his conversation with Biskut. “People fall for it left, right and centre. Makes sense, I suppose. Not very far from the truth, is it?”
Ashwin replied with a haughty flick of his hair. “I’m a General in the army of Vaan, I’ll have you know.”
“An army that is fighting…what, exactly?” Ruban retorted, smirking.
“Well, it will be fighting humans in the very near future, if we don’t put an end to this mess soon. It seems the dead man they found in the river was actually an Aeriel. An Aeriel that’d had his wings hacked off after death. Apparently they sell it for the lighting.” He shuddered.
Ruban supposed he could see how that would be off-putting from his companion’s perspective. “It’s alright,” he said soothingly. “If you wind up dead, I promise to bury you with your wings intact.”
“Your magnanimity warms my heart.”
“As it should. That’s not the point, though,” Ruban began, his tone serious. “The Hunter I met at the Quarters said they received orders from the IAW to stop the investigation into the dead man’s identity, despite them having found sif particles in the stab wound. You think this has something to do with the SifCo case? Because that’s the only reason I can think of why the IAW would take an interest in some run-of-the-mill murder case in Ibanborah.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Ashwin said, turning, a mischievous twinkle in his eye that made Ruban uneasy.
“And what would that be?” the Hunter asked cautiously.
“The interesting part, my friend, is not what the dead man was. The interesting part is where he was when he died.”
“I’m listening.”
“Well, from what I gathered from that kid, the body wasn’t originally found in the river. That was the gangs. They disguised it to make it look more human, then dumped it in the river for the police to find later.” He took a deep breath that Ruban suspected was simply for the dramatic effect. “But before there was a dead man in the river, there was a dead Aeriel in front of the Kinoh House. That’s where the gangs found him.”
Ruban frowned. “You’re sure about this?”
“As sure as we are of anything at this point. It’s a start, isn’t it? Now all we have to do is break into the Kinoh House and investigate.” At Ruban’s sceptical look, he shrugged. “If something in there could kill an Aeriel, I say it’s worth looking into.”
“Alright,” Ruban said eventually. It wasn’t as if he could dissuade Ashwin anyway. And he would rather not have an Aeriel roaming unchecked around the city, even if it was a friendly Aeriel. “We’ll go take a look after dinner.”
The Kinoh House stood on the riverbank, on a deserted stretch a few miles away from the main town. Away from the never-ending festive clamour of inner Ibanborah, it was an unlikely oasis of peace within the borders of the perpetually euphoric party-town.
The back of the old villa looked out over the sparkling waters of Shona, while the front led out into a little grove of eucalyptus trees in full bloom that painted the surroundings in varying shades of pink and cream. It was mesmerising, and unlike anything Ruban had ever seen in Ragah. It reminded him a little of Surai – what Surai would look like if it were to be reproduced on the sets of a movie. A movie with very good production values at that.
He had vague memories of the place from the occasional visit with his father in the early years of childhood. But most of those consisted of a younger (and grubbier) Ruban chasing squirrels in the garden while Baba yelled at him from one of the upper floors to ‘get inside and get changed, right now young man!’
“It’s locked,” Ashwin said, tugging at the artistically grilled front gate. “Won’t give. Now what?”
“Are there any guards?” Ruban asked, looking around the perimeter of the fence as his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness. The two lamps mounted on opposite ends of the surrounding wall provided some light, but not enough to allow much clarity of vision. Ruban had a torch but didn’t dare switch it on for fear of alerting any sentries on the premises. Not that there appeared to be any.
“Not that I can see. Doesn’t look like the kind of place that’d have guards, does it?” the Aeriel said, fingers running delicately over the sides of the main gate. Sliding his fingers between the grills, he rattled them lightly together. “I could break this open if you want.”
Ruban glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Can you do anything in a way that doesn’t draw attention to yourself?” Planting one foot on the lowest grill, he wrapped his fingers around the top of the gate and hauled himself over to the other side of the fence. “Just scale the damn thing and get over here. We don’t have much time.”
Once they were both safely inside the premises of the villa, Ruban walked up to the main building and tried the door. “Locked again.”
“Did you expect anything else?”
“I s’pose not,” the Hunter sighed. “We can get in through the balcony at the back of the house. Just hope to God the pipes are still as sturdy as they used to be when I was a kid.”
“We could do that. Or I could just fly us up to the balcony and into the house the easy way.”
“No,” Ruban growled.
Ashwin shrugged. “As you wish. Nothing to me if you break your back trying to climb old pipes you last scaled as a seven-year-old. You do realise you’ve gained some weight since then, don’t you?”
Ruban hesitated. “What if someone sees us?”
“Who would? This place is as deserted as a graveyard.”
“There might be people out by the river. Someone we missed on the way over.”
Ashwin rolled his eyes. “Who cares? Even if some lone drunkard loitering on the bank at this time of night did manage to see us, who’d believe him? Stop making excuses Ruban. You’re just afraid of flying. Admit it.”
“I most certainly am not.”
“Prove it then.”
“Fine. You can fly us up to the balcony,” he ground out through gritted teeth.
“I’m honoured,” Ashwin said, deadpan, silver wings materialising against the dark night sky like moonlight solidified.
The beautiful, wood-framed glass doors leading out to the balcony were unlocked – ‘largely ornamental’ as Ruban had said. The house hadn’t changed much from the way he remembered it. The balcony led into the master bedroom, which was bigger than the whole of Ruban’s flat in Ragah. Running his fingers along the whitewashed walls, he found the switchboard. That too was exactly where it had been all those years ago.
As light flooded the room, Ruban and Ashwin looked around, taking in their opulent surroundings.
“This isn’t a deserted house,” the Aeriel said, taking a cautious step into the room.
“No, it most definitely is not,” Ruban agreed, looking at the unmade bed and the wardrobe left slightly ajar, clothes spilling out onto the ottoman sitting beside it. The furniture was old, but the bedding and the upholstery had obviously been changed over the years. The room displayed the casual untidiness of regular occupancy. “So Uncle Subhas really has sold the place.” Ruban didn’t know why that realisation left him with a vague sense of loss.
“To a gorgeous ‘witch’, if local rumours are to be believed,” agreed Ashwin, walking over to the open wardrobe. “But a witch who gets around, it would seem. These are not women’s clothes.”
Ruban came up behind him, peeking over the Aeriel’s shoulder. Now that he was paying attention, he realised that Ashwin was right. A plaid shirt with stiff cuffs and a pair of white men’s trousers hung out of the open wardrobe, while a long grey tunic had spilled out onto the ottoman beside the cabinet.
Leaning down, he picked up the tunic, rubbing the creased fabric between his fingers. For some reason, it seemed oddly familiar. Frowning, he turned it over. There, embroidered in green silk over the breast pocket, were two tiny birds preparing to take flight.
“Fuck,” Ruban said, succinct as ever.
“What is it?” Ashwin asked, looking up from the contents of an unlocked drawer he had been rifling through with remorseless efficacy. “Did you find something interesting?”
“This tunic. Simani gave it to Uncle Subhas for his birthday last year.”
“Well, it can’t be the only tunic of its kind in the world, you know. Two people can buy the same shirt.”
Ruban shook his head. “That’s not the point. This embroidery, it’s Sim’s work. She gave me a blue one just like it, and Vik has one in white. It’s literally the only design she can embroider.”
“Huh,” Ashwin said, leaning in for a closer look at the tunic. “So your uncle hasn’t sold the house after all.”
A thorough search of the master bedroom yielded several more articles of clothing and all manner of personal effects that Ruban was sure belonged to his uncle. But even if that hadn’t convinced him, the stacks upon stacks of files marked with the distinctive seal of the IAW they found in one of the bedside cabinets would have been proof enough of Subhas’s presence in the house. They contained everything from case notes to policy papers, and other sundry documents very few people even in the highest echelons of the government had access to. There were at least two folders containing all the available data on the SifCo case as well as individual files for the various related incidents at Ghorib, Zikyang and the SifCo compound itself.
Rifling through one of the folders, Ruban wondered why any of this was making him uneasy. The villa belonged to the Kinoh family and Subhas had every right to come live here if he felt like it. Because it was obvious that his uncle had spent considerable time in this house, and there was no reason why he shouldn’t have. Hell, Ruban could completely understand wanting to get away from Ragah every now and then. Much as he loved the city, it could drive a man crazy from time to time.
What he didn’t understand, though, was why Subhas would feel the need to bring confidential IAW papers to what was essentially a backwater holiday home.
And what about the rumours of a woman living in the Kinoh House? Ruban wished he knew what to make of that. Not that he would begrudge his uncle a lover, if that was what this was all about. After all, Aunt Misri had been dead over eight years. If his uncle had decided to move on, Ruban couldn’t have been happier for him. But there was no sign of a woman living anywhere in this house. The only person whose belongings they had found littered all around the building was Subhas Kinoh. And yet Ashwin’s pet pickpocket – Biskut – had claimed there was a woman living in the Kinoh House (a ‘witch’ in his words); as had Luana Lei before him.
Ruban felt as though he were seeing parts of a jigsaw puzzle, but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine what the full picture would look like.
Reaching into his pocket, he fingered his cell phone for perhaps the hundredth time that evening. He should call his uncle; tell him he was in Ibanborah. Tell him he was at the villa with Ashwin. It would be the easiest way to clear up all the confusion. He could simply ask the man if he had been to the southern city recently.
And yet something held him back, made him pull his hand out of his pocket, leaving the mobile ensconced safely within the fabric of his trousers.
He would call Subhas after he had figured out at least some of what was going on around here. Because even if his uncle’s presence in the house was entirely coincidental, the fact remained that some local gangs had found an Aeriel dead outside the villa and dumped it in the river after hacking its wings off. Somebody had to have done that – somebody had killed that Aeriel – and Ruban didn’t see the point of troubling his uncle until he had discovered who it was.
Just as he was putting the file back where he had found it, the bedroom door slid open and Ashwin stuck his head inside. “I found something. I think you’ll want to see it.”
“What is it?” he asked, as the Aeriel led him down the hallway to what looked to be a cobweb-ridden storeroom at the back of the house. Ruban didn’t remember ever having been in this room as a child. Not that he remembered that period of his life with any clarity whatsoever.
Wordlessly, Ashwin pointed towards the back of the dingy chamber.
There, half-hidden behind a table with a missing leg and a broken washbasin was a safe with gleaming metal doors and an old-fashioned locking system, which consisted of a circular steel contraption not unlike a small steering wheel.
“That safe is far too clean for this place,” the Aeriel said, moving carefully through the debris littering the floor. “The rest of the room is in shambles, and yet the safe looks like it was cleaned yesterday. Something’s not right about that.”
“No, something clearly isn’t,” Ruban agreed, dropping to his knees in front of the vault. He ran his fingers gently over the circular metallic projection at the centre of the steel door, testing for any vulnerability. There was none that he could see.
Had it been a modern design, he might have had a chance at cracking it. They had received some basic training in this sort of thing at Bracken, though not to the extent that the movies would have you believe. The Hunter Corps might have been a subsidiary of an intelligence organisation, but Hunters were by no means trained to be intelligence executives. They were primarily a paramilitary force; more soldiers than spies.
Not that any of that mattered in this case. The design of this particular safe had become obsolete long before Ruban had set foot in Bracken. He didn’t know the first thing about the mechanics of its locking system, strange and clunky as it looked.
His expression must have given away more than he realised, because Ashwin dropped to his knees beside him and, looking intently at the safe, murmured: “I could melt the door if you want.”
Ruban jumped. “What? Absolutely not. You’ll blast half the wall off and destroy whatever’s inside. I don’t think so.”
The Aeriel sighed. “Always so unimaginative. Really Ruban, would it kill you to think out of the box for a change? I’m not as much of a one-trick pony as you seem to think, you know.”
“You’re not any sort of a pony,” Ruban snapped, irate. “You’re a bloody roach – the extra creepy kind with wings. I’d rather not have this house blown off its foundations if it’s all the same to you, thanks.”
Ashwin frowned, lips pinched into what would have been a pout in a lesser being. “Don’t they teach you anything at Hunter school? No wonder mommy dearest has been running you lot ragged for centuries. Aeriels are energy beings, my friend. That means we can manipulate energy. An energy blast is only one of the ways in which that can be accomplished – though it is the most effective in direct combat. But it’s far from the only way one can use raw power. If an energy-shell can be thrown to annihilate a distant target, it can also be held in one’s hand to slowly melt away one closer home.”
“So you’re saying you won’t blow the walls off?” Ruban asked at length, squinting suspiciously at his companion.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, yes.”
“Okay, go ahead then,” the Hunter flicked a hand towards the safe. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
With an exasperated sigh, the Aeriel extended his hand towards the vault, holding it just below the metallic wheel. As Ruban watched, the air around Ashwin’s hand heated and a tiny flicker of electric light appeared near his extended fingers. The flicker grew until it was the size of a cricket-ball, glowing with the iridescent flare of a standard energy-shell even as it hovered just inches above Ashwin’s fingers, a hair’s breath away from the safe, completely unmoving.
Before Ruban’s disbelieving eyes, a dark stain, like a burn scar appeared on the gleaming facade of the safe, accompanied by the stench of smouldering metal. Soon, tiny ripples appeared on the surface of the steel door and before Ruban could really process what was happening, a small hole the size of a fist had burned itself into the surface of the vault.
