The Affliction of Praha: A gripping murder mystery set in 1920s Czechoslovakia

by Simon Gillard

  Suddenly, the train came to a screeching halt. Jolting the pair and the contents of the carriage room lurching forward, the hissing of the engine subdued into a still quiet whilst the train simmered down into an absolute stop.

  ‘What on earth?’ stammered Juraj, looking from left to right outside the windows, trying to get a look at anything that may praise an indication to the reasoning.

  Edgar looked down at his watch. ‘We are about halfway through the expected journey, we must have stopped near Brno.’ He stood and grabbed his green jacket that hung on its wooden hook beside the window. Placing the jacket on, he took out his comb and parted it through his hair, restoring its position to where it had been before the unexpected halt.

  ‘Come along,’ started Edgar, ‘Grab yours too, we are going to see what all the fuss is about.’ Juraj obliged and likewise dressed in a manner that reflected the state of the cold briskness outside.

  As they stepped outside the train’s carriage, Edgar looked towards the front of the train. He could make out an engine and the clambering form of a conductor near the front of the locomotive. His boots crunched into the snow as he stepped off, the clean smooth air filling his lungs in a satisfying manner. They were in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘What do you think?’ Juraj asked from behind, scuttling to keep up with the detective as he made his way to the left, away from the commotion of bustling in the other direction.

  ‘I do not know yet,’ Edgar replied. ‘But it seems off, wouldn’t you say?’

  Juraj frowned, nervously clutching his jacket and clasping the collar tight by his neck. He shivered underneath. The altitude of the location where they had stopped in their tracks was high and the chill could be felt more significantly so.

  ‘What if…’ Juraj began, hurrying up to the side of Edgar, who stood taller and straighter than he. ‘Edgar, what say you that this is a ploy, perhaps someone or something is behind this?’

  Edgar continued to march towards the backend of the train, to where he met an empty vast space from where it had come.

  ‘If that was the case Juraj, we would find evidence of sabotage. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, I suspect so,’ agreed Juraj, who looked around cautiously, desperate to find a hint or suggestion of something awry that could serve as an important clue to assist the detective. Alas, he could find none. ‘Well, Edgar? Is there any?’

  Edgar let out a sigh, his breath forming dark clouds that lingered for a moment before dissipating into nothingness within the atmosphere.

  ‘You are relentless, Juraj. I will give you that. Permit me a moment to look and I shall let you know.’

  Juraj bowed his head, ‘Fine, Edgar. I’ll wait here.’

  ‘Very well, Juraj.’

  Edgar lurked behind the back of the train, inspecting the wheels for any knocks, breaks, or damage. All the while, he was acutely aware of his senses, listening for any sign of another person’s approach or contact—well-intentioned or not.

  Satisfied that no immediate cause of the train’s stoppage was from behind, Edgar looked beyond the tracks a final time, finding no indication of disruption to the tracks. Walking back towards Juraj, who still dutifully stood, Edgar wrestled within his own mind as to when would be the best time to confront Juraj on the information he had received from Jozef regarding his involvement with the maid of Teralov manor.

  Whilst he was keen to uncover and divulge further information that would undoubtedly lend its hand well to becoming one step closer to solving the murder, he was conscious of the delicate nature of the investigation. The political undertone and influence of Baroness Teralova herself had not gone unnoticed within his own mind and without doubt, he would need to tread as carefully through the investigation as he did so now, pacing through the thick snow that met his boots at ankle length.

  ‘Anything?’ queried Juraj with boyish enthusiasm.

  ‘Afraid not,’ responded Edgar with an expression of displeasure. ‘If there is foul work at play here we shall have to wait for it to come and meet us. No such sign has greeted me until now.’

  Juraj was about to respond, his face frightful and unsure, when the men at the front of the locomotive bellowed towards them with a cry that echoed and reverberated all around the landscape.

  ‘You two! All board, back on the train!’

  ‘The cause of the interruption?’ shouted Edgar in reply, an authoritarian manner both commanded and curious within his voice.

  ‘Mechanical failure!’ yelled the engineer. ‘Now please, good sirs, all aboard, we are leaving again now!’

  The engineer hopped back into the front of the black locomotive out of sight and Edgar turned to Juraj with a raise of his eyebrows.

  ‘Better get back on then, shall we?’ Edgar met Juraj with a slight smile.

  ‘Right, yes. Okay then,’ responded Juraj, still clearly nervous and shaken.

  The warmth of the carriage met them both kindly—a welcome grace. Returning to their carriage and seats, they undressed and settled back down into their seats as the train’s timely departure started up its sequence once more.

  ‘Your brother, Juraj,’ started Edgar as they rested back into the consolation of their seats. ‘You say he was your protector growing up, that he was always there for you. It sounds to me like he was someone you could always rely on, perhaps you even idolized him?

  Juraj thought for a brief moment then responded without hesitation, the words forceful and absolved of any doubt, ‘Yes, I believe that would be fair to say. Without Peter, who knows how my life would have played out. I cannot imagine how things would have been at home without him, and it pains me now to consider how life will fair for my future without his guidance and love.’

  ‘I see,’ echoed Edgar in response, ‘and if that is something you feel so strongly about, how would you explain his behaviour of the last recent years?’

  ‘I am not sure I follow,’ murmured Juraj, a look of offence and confusion painted clearly upon his face.

  ‘Well, you said Peter was always there for you, correct?’

  ‘Yes, and?’

  ‘If that was the case, how might you explain your lack of awareness into his personal affairs?’

  Juraj paused for a moment, stretching his mind through various cycles of thought.

  ‘He was a private man, aren’t we all, Edgar?’

  ‘Perhaps, yet if you two were as close as you say, it seems to reason with me that you would be aware of his love interests. Is that fair to say?’

  Juraj stared blankly at the detective and then looked away. He swallowed hard, so much so that an audible gulp could almost be made out, even amongst the ruckus and churning of the train as it continued its plight forward.

  ‘Maybe,’ responded Juraj, not making eye contact with Edgar as he stared out the window, watching the rolling hills and the landscape flitter past, ‘but I shall speak no more of this now.’

  Edgar nodded with a frightful disposition—an expression of reluctance and candid experience sent a tremble through Juraj’s spine.

  ‘Very well, Juraj. As you wish.’

  The pair sat in silence for quite some time, only the sound of the locomotive and the occasional inquiry from a waitress asking if they were satisfied and required any further refreshment disturbed the awkward impasse. Without question, the fact that had troubled Edgar most so far was Juraj’s reluctance to reveal his involvement with Anita or lack thereof.

  For what reason or cause would he have to hide such a matter? Indeed, had the fact been known earlier to Edgar that the maid and Peter’s secret love affair potentially conflicted with Juraj’s own interests, he could have questioned the maid directly himself whilst he had been present at the Teralov Manor.

  Such a peculiar business, he thought.

  Had she not concluded it wise to profess her potential involvement? To instruct the detective of her—albeit alleged—involvement with Juraj, as per Jozefs stark warning? Such information would have paid dividends—compe
lling information which may have led to the whereabouts of the killer, perhaps. A family of such calibre and spotlight in the public eye were always susceptible to blackmail and bribery, who knows what nasty business Peter may have found himself involved in?

  With cautious eyes and a straight-mouthed pertinence, Edgar turned to watch Juraj closely, his fingers twiddling amongst themselves. What more did this man have to hide?

  ‘When were you going to tell me?’ Edgar challenged suddenly with an undertone of displeasure and suspect inquisitiveness.

  Juraj stammered and hesitated. ‘About what, exactly?’

  Edgar took a deep breath and puffed his chest out; an escape of air rattled throughout the rumbling carriage.

  ‘You know damn well what—speak now or I’ll have you sent straight to Moscow the moment we arrive in Bratislava, and there will be no question about the matter.’

  A look of fear and paleness overcame Juraj’s face and he gulped, his throat swollen like he had swallowed an apple whole. Edgar was clearly angry and seemed to have finally lost his patience with him.

  Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow as it slowly dripped downwards, Juraj looked up at the detective and began to speak.

  As he did, Edgar thought much to himself how it was indeed too much information, and how the situation had turned him from a frozen mute into a singing bird. How exactly this transformation had occurred even his intuitive powers could not deduce.

  ‘You see,’ began Juraj, ‘it all began some years ago when Peter and I were living at home with our mother. We had all lived together in the Manor, and with father having passed long before that it was hard on her to make sufficient keep of the place. To be quite frank, she never was likely to remarry, being so awfully dedicated and in love with father—that’ll never pass her by.’

  Juraj moved his hand from his mouth, staring out of the window for a moment as the sun began to dip down over the hills and cast its lightened shadow across the landscape.

  ‘Go on Juraj. The girl, the maid—what happened there?’

  ‘Well sir, it is quite simple: Anita was hired by mother for services, as you know, to tend the chores of the house and provide for all of mother’s wants.’ The pair rocked in time with the gentle knocking of the train, the smell of coal and steam rose through the air and rested upon their tongues. It was an industrious taste and represented one of travel and exploration of great distances.

  ‘Of course, she is very pretty and it did not take long for her ways to overcome me, and I found myself having a wooing desire for her. Peter, though, was always much better with girls than I, and before long they were seeing each in secret—never in front of mother, though. If she knew… well, it would have been a disgrace for the good Teralov name and Anita would be cast out onto the streets, unlikely to find work again—at least in Prague. Such complex matters do involve the heart, and for many years I longed for Anita.

  ‘I must confess, my jealousy and anger towards Peter did grow, for he knew how I felt about her. She always ignored me… beyond the course of her duty, in fact.’ Juraj let out a sigh as if to pause and recollect for a moment to gather his thoughts. Edgar waited. ‘She was polite when mother was around, but I believe she somewhat feared me.’

  Edgar, having listened with good intent and without interruption, now looked down at his shoes and tapped his foot twice, in time with the rhythm of the train as it headed farther south and towards its destination.

  ‘Juraj, the story is all well and good but you have not yet explained why Anita hated you so. Tell me, what exactly happened there?’

  In reply, Juraj exhaled and his face filled with a sorrow not quite known to Edgar—a face met with regret and repentance for past misgivings. He paused for a moment as if searching his mind for an answer that would sufficiently satisfy the detective’s current line of questioning.

  ‘I did love her, there is no doubt of that,’ he began, looking directly into Edgar’s eyes now, who noted a look of challenging repentance. ‘But I threatened her—I told her if she were not to end her affair with Peter, I would out them both to mother. The consequences would have been dire of course, yet she refused, professing she loved him so and wanted to be with him, and that Peter had promised her they, too, would be together one day—that mother would have understood and would have come around to the idea, eventually. Peter was good like that—convincing, you know?

  ‘As for my threat, I never did go through with it—I couldn’t bring myself to. Against my own will and burning hate and green jealousy, I did love them both and could not bring myself to hurt them in such ways, but, alas, Anita was never the same around me again. She has always lived in fear of my threat, to this day.’

  Slapping both hands down abruptly with a loud smack, Edgar looked at Juraj with a face of furious thunder and shocked discontent, but then gave a brief gasp of laughter as he raised his eyebrows with childlike joy.

  ‘Well, Juraj—you certainly are an open book! The Teralov family is more complicated than perhaps I had first thought!’ he exclaimed with a beaming disposition.

  ‘I suppose you might say that I am, or indeed that we are!’ responded Juraj, as his face too began to curl into a slight smile, solace washing over his being.

  The pair then chortled into a burst of laughter; one man consoled himself by enjoying the misery of the other, and the other quite frankly relieved he would not be sent to the doomsday barrows of Moscow for trial and retribution— or at least, not just yet.

  Enjoying the brief moment of laughter, Edgar reached a hand into his pocket to retrieve a tissue to wipe away a tear of joyous pleasure from his eyes. However, much to his surprise, he found that whilst the matchbox he had found on Peter’s body was present, the bronze embroiled brooch was not.

  Where had it gone? How could an item of such importance to the investigation have gone missing? The incompetence, you fool! Edgar thought to himself.

  The laughing and enjoyment quickly dimmed as his expression changed from one of childlike happiness to that of a sombre and stern demeanour.

  ‘What is it?’ remarked Juraj, as he, too, cooled into a serious tone and expression as he watched Edgar’s face turn into one of a stony and fearful deposition.

  ‘Peter’s brooch,’ murmured Edgar, ‘it is gone.’

  5.

  The train pulled into the station, announcing itself with its arrival into Bratislava. Collecting their few belongings consisting of a knapsack each, the pair disembarked from the train and stepped out into what was now a cool and dark evening. The stars were peering down and a moonlit pathway illuminated before them, greeting them into the city.

  Examining his wristwatch, Edgar muttered under his frosty breath, ‘Eight forty-five: must get a move on.’

  ‘Tis cold,’ said Juraj. ‘Much more so than Prague, don’t you think?’

  Edgar frowned and gave an unbothered response that Moscow knew far colder nights in the summer. Juraj laughed a little. He could not help but enjoy the bitter yet warningly charismatic approach of the old detective.

  ‘Lenka Martarova,’ started Edgar, with a look of deep thought racing across his mind. ‘Where to begin, where can I find her? If you had just run back home after spending the night with Peter, where would you go? You are scared and you may or may not have been involved in his murder. Where would you go? Who would you go to?’ Speaking in a monologue of deductive proportions and plotting the pieces of the broken puzzle into one, Edgar tried to make sense of the trail. Currently a dead end, but everyone can be found—eventually.

  ‘Lenka?’ queried Juraj, almost rhetorically, confirming with the detective that she was now the focus of his investigation. ‘Is that who my mother was referring to as we left the Manor?’

  ‘Indeed, it was Juraj. Now, how about it?’

  ‘It is a funny thing,’ said Juraj.

  ‘Go on…’

  ‘Well,’ stated Juraj, ‘the ladies that come to Prague on such business, they all have one thing in common, you know?�
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  ‘And that is?’ questioned Edgar in reply.

  Juraj gave a wide-eyed smile and chuckled a little, bowing down low to his waist and popping back up again with a bounce. He tapped his feet manically in a bizarre outburst and spun around all three hundred and sixty degrees before looking back at the detective with a grin. ‘They all dance!’ proclaimed the eager nobleman.

  Edgar looked at him strangely, quite surprised and not sure whether to laugh or slap the man silly for the outrageous and uninvited performance. ‘They dance,’ Edgar repeated with a look of confusion and expectation.

  ‘That’s right, and they all learnt to do it in just one place—Lady Cortinova’s Palace of Ballet!’ Juraj announced with pure excitement to having assisted the great detective in his quandary. Proud for resolving any prior quarrel Edgar may have had with him, Juraj looked at the man expectantly, awaiting congratulations and thanks—he got none.

  Edgar raised his eyebrows and spoke with calm and consideration towards the young would-be inspector. ‘Juraj, my dear boy, do tell me where exactly might we find this Palace of Ballet?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Well, you see the thing of that is—I don’t know.’

  His face turned slightly crimson as he felt the detective had been one step ahead of him and knew this was coming all long. Edgar removed a large white pamphlet from his left pocket, slowly unfolding the paper from its neat and tidy pack, he began to read out loud the following:

  Lady Cortinova is proud to present her three shining diamonds, the stars of the night—the elusive, the marvellous and gentlemen, the beautiful, ‘Diamonds of ballet!’

  Our first is none other than the lustrous and mysterious Magda. She is an advocate of dance and has trained since she was four years old.

  The second, you know her well, none other than our prized jewel Rena!

  And lastly, we are most definitely pleased to introduce to you our latest addition to the Diamonds: Lenka.