The Grey Man swore softly, then moved away to examine the room. On the panelled floor close by there was a large stain, as if oil had seeped into the wood. Around eight feet long, it was all that remained of the creature who had killed Omri. A long-bladed carving knife lay beside the stain. The blade was pitted with rust, the bone handle singed as if from fire.
The two men left the scene and climbed to the first level of the South Tower. Here were the hospital wards of Mendyr Syn. Several of the twenty beds in the first ward had been upturned, and there was blood upon the floor. The room was still cold and there were no bodies. Moving to the second level, they found even greater chaos. Blood had sprayed to the walls and ceiling. Many of the beds were smashed.
Kysumu pointed to a bed by the far window. A body was lying within it, untouched. The Grey Man moved across the panelled floor and stood by the bedside. The occupant, an elderly woman, was dead, her hands folded across her chest. Waylander examined her. Rigor mortis was well under way.
‘She has been dead for more than just a few hours,’ said Kysumu. ‘Probably late yesterday afternoon.’
‘Yes,’ agreed the Grey Man, gazing around at the smashed beds and blood-smeared walls.
‘I once went into the ruins of a house destroyed by an earthquake,’ said Kysumu. ‘Everything was smashed. But a perfect egg was sitting in a broken plate.’
‘These demons are obviously not interested in the dead,’ said the Grey Man, ‘unless they have killed them themselves. There were more than thirty people here,’ he continued, ‘not counting Mendyr Syn and his three helpers. Thirty souls sent screaming to the Void.’
The third level, the medical library, showed no sign of ice damage. The door to the office of Mendyr Syn was open, many of his papers scattered upon the two desks. The Grey Man searched the room, finding Ustarte’s gold-ringed blue crystal below a pile of papers. Tucking it into his pocket, he left the office and continued up the stairs to the guest suites. Here the corridor carpets were wet, the walls cold.
Opening the door to Matze Chai’s suite, the Grey Man moved across the silk Chiatze rugs and through into the bedroom. The first of the dawn light was filtering through the pale blinds. For the first time since the search had begun Kysumu saw the Grey Man relax. A low chuckle sounded from him.
Matze Chai opened his eyes and yawned. He glanced at the bedside table. ‘Where is my tisane?’ he asked.
‘It will be a little late this morning,’ said the Grey Man.
‘Dakeyras? What is happening?’ Matze Chai sat up, his pale blue nightcap falling from his head, revealing the carefully tied net that held his lacquered hair in place.
‘I am sorry to disturb your rest, my dear friend,’ said the Grey Man softly, ‘but we feared you were dead. The demons came to the palace last night. Many people were killed. I shall leave you now and send your servants to you.’
‘Most kind,’ said Matze Chai.
The Grey Man left the room.
Kysumu bowed to Matze Chai and followed him. ‘His life is charmed,’ observed Kysumu.
‘It is a great relief to me,’ said the Grey Man. ‘Matze Chai is a good friend – perhaps my only friend. He is incorruptible and loyal. It would have hurt me deeply had he been among the slain.’
‘Why did he survive, do you think?’ asked Kysumu.
The Grey Man shrugged. ‘Who can say? Matze always takes a sleeping draught. Perhaps it lowered his heart rate and they did not sense him. Or maybe, since the creatures feed on flesh, they sought out younger meat. Matze may be a fine man, but there’s precious little fat on those old bones.’
‘I am glad to see your mood has lifted a little,’ said Kysumu.
‘Not by much,’ said the Grey Man. ‘You go back to the lawns. Tell Emrin to fetch Matze’s servants.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘To the North Tower.’
‘We have not searched that yet. You think it safe?’