Death's Executioner

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘Possible,’ Konrad said.

  ‘It wasn’t them,’ said Tasha.

  ‘And how do you know that?’ said her employer.

  She shrugged. ‘Konrad’s right. The theory doesn’t hold water.’

  Konrad felt there was more to her opposition than that, but let it pass. ‘Have we talked to the families whose jewels were stolen, yet?’

  ‘Next up,’ said Alexander. ‘I’ll be interested to know if anybody else besides Lady Lysak came to suspect Zolin.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Konrad. ‘If one person saw through him, perhaps others did too.’

  ‘Lady Lysak is a Reader,’ Nanda said. ‘But she seems to have used that ability only to confirm her suspicions. It was Zolin’s own behaviour that put her on the alert.’

  ‘A Reader?’ said Konrad. ‘Interesting.’ Something about Nanda’s utter calm when she spoke seemed a trifle forced, and were those signs of strain in her face?

  He wondered if her ladyship had Read Nanda, but the words died in his mouth before he could utter them. Not his business either.

  ‘May I leave you that task?’ said Alexander, looking at Konrad. ‘You can talk to these people as an equal. They tend to close ranks against the police, and most of them have not reported any thefts.’

  ‘I will don my smiling charm and sally forth,’ Konrad promised.

  ‘And me?’ said Nanda.

  Konrad smiled at her. ‘How do you feel about a bit of dressing-up?’

  An answering smile appeared, faint but discernible. ‘Shall I be your cousin again? I did rather enjoy that.’

  ‘You were tremendous at it.’

  ‘I cannot now remember what name I used, however.’

  ‘I can,’ said Konrad.

  The inspector pushed his map towards Konrad, indicating one section of it with a pointing finger. ‘Start here,’ he said.

  Konrad examined Alexander’s hasty scrawls. ‘That’s the alley we found Zolin’s body in?’

  ‘Yes. Look. There are two houses backing onto that alley — I’ve highlighted them — which we know Zolin, or Shults, to have visited more than once. He paid several visits to this house, here. Could be where he was trying to go when he died?’

  ‘Who lives in these two?’ Konrad said, having tried and failed to dredge that information out of his own memory.

  ‘Mr. Lyomin and family, and the Konnikovs,’ said Alexander, indicating first one house and then the other.

  Konrad paused. Konnikov? He had heard that name recently. Yes: from Mrs. Sechenova. An emerald brooch “mislaid”. He had been on his way to visit Lady Konnikova when Tasha had intercepted him.

  What else had she said? Some offhand comment; it had not much struck him at the time, but now he came to think closely on the subject…

  It was gone. No matter. ‘I think we will begin with the Konnikovs,’ said Konrad. ‘And quickly.’ Whatever it had been, perhaps it would return to his mind along the way.

  Konrad bade himself keep an open mind, as he and Nanda approached the house of Lord Konnikov. After all, he had no confirmation that anything had even been stolen; it was unlikely, but still possible, that her ladyship was telling the truth when she said it had been mislaid. More probable was that the family had sold it themselves, but hesitated to publically admit to having done so. Such things happened.

  Still, the fact that the family’s name kept coming up could not but engage his interest. He had learned to pay attention to strings of seeming coincidences.

  He gave Nanda a sidelong glance as he rapped upon the grand, white-painted front door of the Konnikov house. How perfectly she fit in his world, when she chose to. She wore her handsome, indigo gown with a decided air, and the appearance of perfect ease. In fact, she managed her acres of skirt with such grace, he suspected her of having got in some practice. A heavy, black-trimmed cloak shrouded her figure, its wide hood framing her face. She was a vision of frills and lace, every inch the wealthy lady of fashion, and he felt obscurely proud of her.

  That, he chided himself, was absurd. Nanda as he knew her — pragmatic, independent, absolutely not hampered with miles of silk and frippery — was already a woman so estimable he scarcely deserved her friendship.

  Still, he could not help privately thinking that the elaborately arranged hair, rich colours and sumptuous fabrics suited her very well.

  The door creaked open at last, not at all promptly, to reveal a rather harried-looking butler. Not that any part of his appearance was out of place; he was scrupulously neat and perfectly turned out, as befitted a chief servant in so elegant an establishment. But he possessed an air of unusual haste, besides having taken half an age to open the door.

  Konrad handed over his visiting card — to Nanda’s amusement. He could almost feel her suppressing a smirk. ‘Is her ladyship at home?’ he enquired.

  The butler took his card with a bow. ‘If you will be so good as to wait in the parlour?’ he said, admitting them into an airy hall, too light on ornament for Konrad’s taste. It may have been tiled and papered in the first style of elegance, but it was stark, and his footsteps echoed hollowly as he followed in the butler’s wake.

  Once left alone with Nanda in a plush enough parlour, equipped with silk-upholstered chairs and a magnificent mahogany table, he began to say: ‘You can let me do most of the talking—’

  But before he had got through two syllables of this, Nanda said, ‘You never gave me a visiting card.’

  ‘Do you accept morning callers? I shouldn’t have thought you were typically At Home.’

  ‘Working women aren’t, as a rule. That doesn’t mean I can’t have a visiting card.’

  Konrad silently retrieved one, and pressed it into her hand. ‘There. You may show that around among all your acquaintance — leave it casually displayed upon a side-table in your front hall, perhaps — and bask in the reflected glory.’

  Nanda gave him a narrow-eyed look. ‘Are you meant to have visiting cards?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I mean, shouldn’t you have a wife to do all that sort of thing for you? She pays the morning visits, while you relax at your ease at your club.’

  ‘How do you know about my club?’

  ‘You have a club!’

  ‘I— of course I do, but—’ He gave up as Nanda dissolved into laughter. ‘I don’t want a wife,’ he muttered, to which sally Nanda had no opportunity to respond, for the door opened and Lady Konnikova came into the room. Her face and form were familiar to Konrad, a little; he must have seen her at some ball or other engagement, here and there. Perhaps even at the yearly events he gave at his own house.

  She was some ten or fifteen years older than he, he supposed, and tried to remember whether the Konnikovs had any children. Majestic, proud in her posture, and self-possessed, everything about her indicated her aristocratic status.

  But one or two things were at odds with the rest of the picture. Her gown, for example, was not new; not by a long shot. She wore no lace and no ornaments — except, to his extreme surprise, a glittering emerald brooch pinned to her bodice. It could only be the same brooch she was spoken of having “mislaid”, for the stone was both enormous and perfect; an heirloom.

  And that was the other thing, he thought as he returned her quiet greeting. Mrs. Sechenova had said she was looking careworn, presumably because of the loss of her family’s prized jewellery. And she was. Her skin had the pallor of incipient ill-health, and something in her features spoke of strain; the line of her jaw, perhaps, the product of gritted teeth; an abrupt increase of the fine lines around her mouth and eyes.

  But if she had recovered, or found, her precious brooch, why would she be so careworn? Mrs. Sechenova might perhaps have been mistaken on a few points, but Konrad did not wish to dismiss her ideas so easily. Gossip was often wildly inaccurate, but just as often bore a kernel or two of truth somewhere within.

  ‘What a beautiful piece!’ said Nanda, as soon as she had been introduced, and Konrad
silently applauded her initiative. ‘I have always adored emeralds.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lady Konnikova, gesturing both of them to a seat, and taking a chair herself. ‘It is a family piece, and as you may suppose, of great personal value to me.’

  ‘How fortunate it is that you have not lost it, as poor Mrs. Rayt did her sapphires! And some one or two others, indeed it seems that everyone has been so unlucky with their jewels of late. One hears of it everywhere, does one not, Konrad?’

  ‘I have heard some few reports of mislaid heirlooms,’ Konrad agreed, watching Lady Konnikova’s face closely. He did not imagine it, he was certain: a tightening about the mouth, a decided increase in her already heightened tension. But why? She had not, after all, lost her brooch.

  ‘Carelessness,’ she said shortly. ‘Such jewels ought to be kept under better management.’

  ‘Only think,’ Nanda continued, as if she had not heard. ‘After all the care and expense of hosting a fashionable entertainment, to find afterwards that one’s most valuable possessions were gone! Quite vanished! But, I suppose, if one will choose to wear the family rubies one takes the risk that they may be lost—’

  Lady Konnikova rose abruptly to her feet, and appeared on the point of dismissing them. But she recollected herself in time, and sat down again. ‘Forgive me,’ she murmured. ‘I imagined I heard my name called.’

  ‘Is his lordship at home?’ said Konrad, on an idle speculation. ‘I should like to consult him upon one or two points, if he can spare me the time.’

  Lady Konnikova looked sharply at him, and for a split second he saw something new in her eyes. Alarm. But it was gone a moment later, and she was restored to her former self-possession. ‘My husband is not at home this morning,’ she said with unruffled calm.

  ‘Perhaps I may call upon him another day.’

  ‘He is— gone out of town,’ she said quickly. ‘He is not expected to return for some few days.’ Now she did rise, without her earlier haste, but this time she remained on her feet. ‘I am afraid I am engaged elsewhere,’ she said, and waited. ‘It has been kind of you to call on me, Mr. Savast, Miss Ejan.’

  Konrad knew an eviction when he heard it. He and Nanda both rose, and found themselves ushered out of the house again with a promptitude that bordered upon rudeness.

  Outside on the street, they exchanged a look of mutual disquiet.

  ‘Zolin has been in this house many times,’ said Nanda slowly. ‘More than any other, Alexander believes.’

  ‘Then he must be on close terms with either the lord or the lady,’ said Konrad. ‘I wish I had thought to mention his name; perhaps she is grieving.’

  ‘She could be,’ said Nanda dubiously. ‘But her ladyship was not wearing mourning. Either because they were not friends, so she has no cause, or because she does not like to acknowledge the connection.’

  ‘I also think the Konnikovs are hard up,’ said Konrad.

  Nanda blinked at him. ‘No. How can they be? That house, Konrad.’

  ‘The house is inherited. It is looking a trifle bare, though, is it not? And her ladyship does not quite present the appearance of a woman of great wealth.’

  ‘Except for that enormous emerald.’

  ‘Yes. And that interests me. Either Mrs. Sechenova was mistaken about that brooch, despite her certainty, or… something else is behind its reappearance. For if they are as hard-up as I believe, it ought to have been sold. And it is hardly a suitable ornament for morning wear, besides. Why is Lady Konnikova wearing it on a day dress?’

  ‘To quash rumours?’ Nanda suggested. ‘Perhaps she realises that word of its supposed loss has been circulating.’

  ‘Quite likely. But why should that trouble her so much that she would contravene etiquette in order to demonstrate its return?’

  ‘It is genuine, I suppose?’

  Konrad shrugged. ‘I am no jeweller, but it does not look like a fake. I would like to have that confirmed, if only it were possible, but…’

  ‘I wonder if his lordship really is from home,’ Nanda mused.

  ‘Good point.’ Konrad reached out for his serpents, and found them airily aloft, and dozing. Eetapi. Ootapi. Wake. Is Lady Konnikova’s husband in the house?

  The answer came back quickly. No, Master. He is not.

  Konrad thought. ‘I believe we will go on with our visits,’ he decided. ‘But while we’re at it, we will begin asking a few questions about the Konnikovs.’

  Chapter Ten

  Late that night — very late, well past three in the morning at least — Konrad sat in shadow in a corner of Boryan Shults’s meagre house, silent and alert. He had chosen a spot from where he could see the majority of both rooms. Not with his natural eyes; the darkness was too complete for that. Nobody troubled to maintain working street lamps in so poor a part of town. But his spirit-vision, half veiling his sight, afforded him a stark but clear enough view of the shabby chambers. That and his serpents, coiled in an ethereal knot near the ceiling. When somebody arrived, Konrad would know at once.

  And he fully expected that somebody would. He and Nanda had spent a long afternoon wearing out their welcome among Konrad’s social peers, collecting every scrap of gossip about the Konnikovs that might be circulating. The task had been much to Nanda’s taste, for she had been in high glee all day.

  By the end of it, a picture had emerged, murky but clear enough. Then had come further discoveries of the inspector’s and Tasha’s, and Konrad had arrived at as much certainty as he required to proceed.

  Almost.

  ‘Can you perhaps refrain from clearing the Shults house just yet?’ he had asked of the inspector.

  ‘Those jewels have to be recovered, before somebody else makes off with them.’ Alexander had shaken his head, strongly disapproving.

  ‘Someone will,’ Konrad agreed. ‘Very soon now. I am counting on it.’

  ‘Ah.’ Alexander had given Konrad one long, measuring look. ‘Do you want company?’

  ‘Better not, for this part.’

  The inspector had given way with good grace, not much to Konrad’s surprise. Probably he had seen enough of the Malykant’s grim work to last him a lifetime.

  Even Nanda had agreed to let him alone, which was less usual for her. But she, too, had seen her fill of his grisly duties, and preferred to sleep. Konrad did not blame her. He would rather be asleep in his own bed himself, than sitting in a cramped corner in the bitterest cold of the deep night, ears straining for the sounds of the door’s lock turning softly back, of someone’s near-silent tread upon the stairs.

  He could not be certain that tonight would be productive of much, though he felt it likely. No one would leave so magnificent a hoard unclaimed for long.

  Master, came the soft hiss of Eetapi’s voice in his mind. He is here.

  A moment later, Konrad heard it himself: the sound of a key scraping softly in the lock. A faint creak as the street door swung open.

  Booted feet stole up the narrow stairs.

  Konrad held himself perfectly still, barely even breathing, as the as-yet-unknown intruder entered the room in which he sat, adjacent to the window overlooking the alley below. A man, garbed in a dark coat or cloak, etched in harsh, brittle shadows in his spirit sight. Dark hair.

  Konrad waited.

  The man paused on the threshold. If he chose to light a lamp right away, Konrad would be revealed; he tensed, ready to spring at once.

  But the man did nothing of the kind. He moved with the sure step of someone who is more familiar with his surroundings than any gentleman ought to be in such a house. When he moved, he went at once to the window, pausing only a few feet away from Konrad. The wan moonlight filtering into the room appeared more than enough; his fingers found the loose place in the boards, and drew out a string of glittering jewels.

  Well then.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Konrad conversationally, ‘it is no crime to visit a house one legally owns, at any time of the day or night.’

  A cla
tter came, as a fortune in gems fell from the man’s startled grip and spilled over the bare boards of the floor. ‘Who is there?’ he barked.

  Konrad stood up, not quickly. He drew himself up to his full height, permitting the shadows and the moonlight a moment’s eerie play around his darkened form. ‘You do own this property, yes? Otherwise I shall have to add breaking and entering to my already lengthy list of your transgressions.’

  The man did not reply. He was fumbling with something, drawing something out of a pocket.

  A match flared, quickly held high.

  Konrad smiled in the sudden glow.

  ‘I— I know you,’ said Lord Konnikov, stumbling back. ‘Do I not?’

  ‘In a way,’ said Konrad.

  The match flickered and died, but Konnikov had found Shults’s lamp. A new light spilled over the tiny room, and Konrad received a clear look at his quarry’s face.

  He was not careworn like his wife, precisely, but this was not a man easy in his mind either. A touch dishevelled, as though he had donned his clothes in a hurry — or perhaps worn them for far too long. He had the dark hair, pale skin and dark coat described by Lady Lysak, and a pair of frigid grey eyes that fixed upon Konrad with an expression of flat hatred. ‘What are you doing here?’ he said harshly.

  ‘Waiting for you, my lord.’

  Konnikov’s gaze strayed to the necklace of clear diamonds lying at his feet.

  ‘The point that interests me the most,’ said Konrad, ‘is the matter of Shults. How did you come to meet such a man in the first place?’

  ‘I do not know who you mean,’ said Lord Konnikov, backing away a step.

  ‘Or Mr. Bogdan Zolin, as he was more recently known. Did you come up with the name, or did he?’

  Konnikov’s gaze began to wander. Looking, perhaps, for accomplices. Looking for an escape. He would bolt, in perhaps another minute.

  Or he would try.

  ‘Hard up, were you not?’ Konrad continued. ‘Anybody could have told you not to frequent certain gaming houses; a poor choice on your part. And it is hard to hold up your head in society without money. Perhaps you were down here to pawn some few of your possessions — somewhere you would not be known, or so you hoped — and Shults picked your pocket. Is that more or less the shape of it?’