Lord Konnikov said nothing, but stared at Konrad, devoid of speech.
Konrad took that for assent.
‘You were running out of things to sell; some few pieces of art left, perhaps, and your wife’s precious brooch. It does not belong to your family, does it? It came to her from her mother. At all costs, you did not want to divest her of that piece. Truly, Konnikov, for all your grievous faults, you do appear to care for her ladyship.’
Lord Konnikov moved. A dash for the stairs, half tripping over his own coat in his haste to escape. The thunder of the stairs beneath his feet as he fled down them; no attempt now at silence, only a desperate scramble to get away from the fate he had glimpsed in Konrad’s face.
Then the fruitless thud as he collided with the street door, silently closed and locked behind him by Tasha.
When Konrad caught up with him, he had the key in shaking hands and was summarily failing to fit it into the lock. He trembled too much.
Konrad easily plucked it from his grasp.
‘You hired Shults,’ Konrad continued. ‘Tested him. He stole two or three jewels for you, and you sold them. A jeweller has already testified to the police — shady fellow, the inspector was not greatly surprised to find him involved. He described you minutely enough, though he did not know your name.
‘With the money from these early thefts, you transformed Boryan Shults into Bogdan Zolin. He and his clever fingers could be the solution to all your problems, no? And you would gain your revenge at the same time. They sneered at your wife, those bejewelled aristocrats. Found fault with the shabby gowns you left her to make do with, having gambled away her fortune as well as your own. What could be more fitting than to make them pay for it? Literally?
‘It was a brilliant scheme, I grant you. Launch “Zolin” on society for some months; let him divest half your detested peers of their greatest treasures; then you would both vanish. Your lady wife, it seems, has mentioned your family’s imminent departure from the city to one or two of her friends. You were to collect the jewels tonight, leave in the morning; how were you going to sell them, by the by? Over the border in Marja? Kayesir? Somewhere they would not be recognised, at any rate. And with Shults out of the way, you would not even have to share the proceeds. Perfect.’
Lord Konnikov made no attempt to interrupt Konrad’s narrative. He appeared half dazed, slumped against the begrimed wall in an attitude of stunned despair. Some of these fellows had gumption enough for only half the job, Konrad knew: they could carry out a ruthless scheme in cold enough blood, but went all to pieces when caught.
‘That was not quite why you killed him, though, was it?’ Konrad said. He would prefer it if the man would talk, admit to something. There could be little doubt of his guilt, but Konrad wanted to hear it from his own mouth.
‘He stole too much, did he not?’ said Konrad. ‘He could not help himself. He stole everything he saw, everything of any value whatsoever. People began to suspect him — Lady Lysak was not the only one. He drew too much attention to your scheme, to himself. It might not be long, you thought, until someone began to suspect you.
‘And then the final insult: he stole from your family, too. He stole your wife’s treasured brooch, the one thing you would never have consented to lose. Probably he couldn’t resist the temptation to take it, but he knew he’d gone too far. He was trying to return it when you found him. You killed him — I saw a fine old sword, in excellent condition, hanging up in your house this afternoon, was that the weapon you used? — and, as a happy afterthought, deposited his head in Lady Lysak’s house. No harm in throwing suspicion onto someone else, no? Perhaps it would grant you just time enough to complete your preparations, and depart. Which, to give you due credit, it nearly did.’
Lord Konnikov came abruptly to life, and hurled himself futilely at the unyielding door. He pounded on it with both fists, kicked it, and finally slumped against it with a groan of despair. Tasha waited on the other side, Konrad knew; if he somehow succeeded in breaking past it, she would make short work of him.
But he did not. ‘That worthless rat,’ Konnikov snarled, hoarse with anger and fear. ‘He said he did not trust me, that I would betray him. That I would keep all the money for myself. I am a man of honour. I would have kept my word! How dare he doubt me. Me!’
‘Most offensive,’ Konrad murmured, quietly retrieving Boryan Shults’s cleaned and sharpened rib bone from a pocket in his coat.
‘And to steal from Vela,’ grated Konnikov. ‘After everything she has borne!’
‘Absolutely deserved to lose his head,’ Konrad said, with a mirthless smile.
‘You see that, don’t you?’ Lord Konnikov pleaded. ‘He should not have crossed me.’
‘Your wife knows,’ said Konrad softly. ‘Doesn’t she?’
Lord Konnikov went still. ‘She… cannot.’
‘She can. She does. I do not know how; perhaps Shults told her some part of your scheme. Perhaps she heard enough, stumbled over enough, to work it out for herself. But she knows, my lord. And she strongly suspects that you are the reason he is dead. You had her introduce him to society, did you not? Did they become, in some degree, friends?’
Another snarl. ‘It was unsuitable for her to befriend such a man. She could not have known — I do not blame her — but it was not to be borne.’
Konrad began to tire of the man’s justifications. ‘So,’ he said in a colder tone. ‘Having squandered two fortunes and instigated a string of thefts from your peers, you murdered your partner in this charming scheme, tried to pin the blame upon yet another noble, and proposed to disappear into the night with a sackful of jewels, and a long-suffering wife you somehow imagine might forgive you. Have I covered everything?’
Lord Konnikov said nothing. But he saw the white gleam of the bone in Konrad’s hand, and panic took hold of him.
Scorning any further attempts upon the unyielding door, he launched himself instead at Konrad.
Folly. He knew it, too, for he gave a despairing cry, grappling uselessly with a foe he must know he had no chance of prevailing against. Konrad was taller, stronger, even without his Malykant graces.
It did not take Konrad long to overpower him.
‘Do you know who I am?’ he spat, pinning his prey against the wall of the stairwell, the sharpened point of Shults’s rib bone just piercing the tremulous skin of Konnikov’s throat.
Konnikov swallowed, and the makeshift knife pierced, drawing forth a trickle of blood. ‘The— the Malykt’s servant,’ he gasped, wild-eyed.
‘Then you will know,’ said Konrad, shifting his grip. ‘This is justice.’ A lightning movement drew the bone away from the murderer’s throat; in another second it skewered his heart, punching easily through garments, through skin and flesh.
Blood spilled in a hot gush over Konrad’s hand; Konnikov gave a strangled gasp. The life died out of his face, and his body hung in Konrad’s grip, a dead weight.
Konrad let it fall to the floor. He stared at it in silence for some few moments, wondering. What possessed people to murder with such impunity, knowing as they did what fate awaited them when they were caught? Was it arrogance? Did they think they would be the one to elude the Malykant?
What a waste. That Lord Konnikov, given every possible advantage at birth, should end thus—
‘Konrad?’ came Tasha’s voice, together with a rapid knocking upon the door. ‘Are you finished?’
He steeled himself, ignoring the flutter of doubt that rose up as he stretched out his hand to the lock. He touched it; the metal froze under his fingers, and the lock released.
Success. This time.
‘I am,’ he said as Tasha yanked open the door.
They stood in joint silence for an instant, looking down at Lord Konnikov’s slumped remains.
‘Better get rid of that,’ she said at length. ‘I’ll get the inspector down here for the jewels.’
Konrad sent his serpents winging away to Diana Valentina, she who wielded as
much power over The Malykt’s Order as he did. Actually, more. She would see that the remains were removed and burned — without the rites — and that the scene was cleaned. Lord Konnikov, dispatched into The Malykt’s unforgiving care, would suffer as he deserved to; the shade of the man he had slain would see to that, as would the Master.
Konrad’s work was finished. He could go home, and sleep. Go back to being Mr. Konrad Savast for a little while, just an ordinary gentleman of Ekamet in his luxurious home. Even socialise a little with his peers. With Nanda.
Until the next time. Always, always, there was a next time.
Chapter Eleven
Konrad found a welcome party awaiting him when he returned home. Not in his study, to where he would normally retreat on such an occasion (there to indulge in a glass of something, or perhaps two or three, before he attempted any repose). Nanda sat in comfort in her favourite of his two parlours. She had a fine fire ablaze, despite the hour being little short of five o’clock in the morning; the best chair sat empty and ready for him, the one with the extra stuffing in its pillows; and in addition to the advantages of comfort, warmth and Nanda’s presence she had also arranged for a small repast to be got ready for him. Not even the delicate pastries and such that she preferred, but something that smelled meatier.
He paused in the doorway to admire this vision of welcome, and Nanda looked up. ‘Hello, Konrad,’ she said composedly, though not without a trace of relief in her eyes.
He smiled in response. ‘I was in no danger from Konnikov. You need not have worried.’
‘I was not worried.’
‘Of course not.’
She prepared a plate for him. ‘Not at all. Though it sometimes happens that a desperate man can be more dangerous than he might appear.’
‘Not in this case.’ Konrad took the seat she had prepared for him, and accepted the plate. It crossed his mind that he had spent many hours thus occupied, in recent months: ensconced in comfort somewhere warm, being fed some manner of delectable by Nanda. Often, these days, with the inspector, too.
These thoughts warmed him almost as much as the fire.
‘It is good of you to wait up for me,’ he told her, trying to devour a venison tartlet with something approaching grace. He had not thought to eat, experiencing some of the nausea that often attended the completion of a case, but once he bit into the savoury thing he discovered himself to be ravenous.
‘I… had a reason,’ said Nanda.
‘I am still alive, as you see. Not a mark on me.’
‘That wasn’t it.’
‘Oh?’ He paused in eating to look at her.
Nanda hesitated. ‘There is something I must tell you.’
He set down the tartlet, his appetite vanished. Something in her tone heralded something serious. ‘Go on.’
‘I ought to have told you before, only…’ Nanda sighed, and shook her head in a gesture of frustration. ‘It is hard to know when a given piece of information will help, or merely complicate.’
Konrad endeavoured to decipher that. ‘Is… is this about your illness?’ he said, in some doubt, for nothing she’d said seemed to relate to such.
‘No. It is about yours.’
‘Mine? Am I ill?’
‘In some fashion. I refer to your Malykant powers.’
‘Do you think them… infected? Diseased? What could achieve such a feat?’
‘It is not like an ordinary disease. Indeed, it is no disease at all; I should not have characterised it as such. But an infection — that might not be so inaccurate a term.’
‘Nan, please just tell me. All this speculation as to terms is heightening the suspense intolerably.’
A brief smile at that. ‘Do you remember some months ago? The case involving Danil?’
Danil Dubin, Nanda’s fellow herb-and-poison trader of a friend. Or he had been. Their friendship had, perhaps, cooled.
The timid little man had become involved in a strange case involving a pair of rogue lamaeni. In the course of concluding the more violent of the negotiations, Konrad had somehow come to be stabbed. He did not remember how. ‘I was in bed for a fortnight,’ he said. ‘A stab wound, nearly fatal.’
Nanda bit her lip. ‘It was fatal.’
‘What?’
‘You died, Konrad. Diana killed you.’
‘What?’
‘What happened to you at Divoro… that was not quite the first time some hostile soul possessed you. You laid yourself open to it, that time with the lamaeni, Konrad. You thought you could handle them. You were an idiot. Diana stabbed you, and you died.’
Konrad couldn’t breathe. ‘Spirits above. Is that why Diana wants to retire me? Is that part of the reason? I’ve been a danger. Twice.’
‘I don’t know, but that isn’t what I wanted to tell you.’
‘There’s more?’
‘Yes. And you aren’t going to like it.’
Konrad swallowed bile, and tried to breathe. ‘All right. Tell me.’
Nanda took a slow breath. ‘The Malykt did not resurrect you. I don’t know why. Perhaps He was busy, or…’
‘Displeased,’ Konrad said.
Nanda shrugged. ‘I cannot say. Perhaps He would have come soon enough, if I had only given it a minute or two more. But I— perhaps I panicked. You were stone dead, bleeding everywhere, cold as winter, and nobody would help you.’
‘You helped me.’ Konrad stared at her white, white face, taking in the tinge of fear in her blue eyes. ‘Is that it?’
‘My mistress. The Shandrigal. I called upon Her, and she… revived you.’
‘The Shandrigal— why would She— what are you saying, exactly?’
‘Something about you changed, the first time The Malykt brought you back from the dead. You know it. It’s been hinted at, times enough. You became, then, even more His servant than you were before, because some of His power kept the life in your limbs, the blood flowing through you. Well, and now you… now you owe some part of that life to The Shandrigal, too.’
Konrad needed no further assistance to follow her train of thought. If The Malykt’s interference had changed him, left him with some further traces of His power in Konrad’s veins, what then might The Shandrigal’s interference have done?
Had it… weakened his connection to The Malykt? Obscured some part of his Master’s power with a new influence?
Was that truly why his Malykant’s powers had lost their reliability? They did not always respond as Konrad wished because Konrad was… not quite the Malykant, anymore. Or not only that.
‘It’s possible,’ said Nanda, breaking a heavy silence, ‘that you are a little diminished, as the Malykant. But you may also be a little… enhanced, in other ways.’
‘You mean I am part Shandral, now. Like you.’
‘It is possible. Have you noticed anything else different in yourself? Anything you can do that was not possible before?’
‘I—’ Konrad, about to deny it, stopped.
One thing was different. Nanda’s very presence in his house at five in the morning declared it such. His friendship with Alexander Nuritov told the same story.
He couldn’t say it. How absurd, to suggest that a frozen heart might revive under The Shandrigal’s touch. How humiliating, that he might have needed such an influence to become capable of simple friendship.
Had he fallen so far from such basic humanity, in The Malykt’s service?
Yes. Every Malykant did. Diana knew it; that was why she wanted to replace him.
But she didn’t know about The Shandrigal’s interference. Konrad did not need to ask Nanda to be sure of that.
‘I am sorry,’ said Nanda, appalled, perhaps, at his continued silence. ‘If I have erred — if I have made trouble for you. I didn’t know what else to do, and I couldn’t…’ She trailed off.
Couldn’t leave me to die in the snow, Konrad thought. And she apologised for it.
He took hold of her hand, and on some fleeting impulse, carried it to his lips
. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘The Shandrigal truly blessed me when She sent me you.’
Whatever Nanda might have planned next to say went unspoken, as the guilt died out of her eyes. ‘You’re sure?’ she said. ‘I appear to have made a mess of you.’
‘No. You’ve… saved me. From everything. And now I hope you will save me from another ignominious death, for if I attempt to consume all this food myself I will surely burst.’ He resorted to a joke, hoping to ease the tightness in his throat, and the prickling behind his eyes. Honestly. That was one aspect of The Shandrigal’s touch he would gladly dispense with; this embarrassing tendency to start leaking from his eyes. He did not remember that being a problem before, either.
Nanda squeezed his fingers, and accepted half the contents of the plate she had so carefully piled up for him. She did not eat a great deal herself, he’d noticed. The food seemed intended for him. To please him.
So he ate, and so did she, and the conversation passed on to lighter matters. She didn’t ask him about Konnikov, and he didn’t share. Time enough to be the Malykant and the Shandral again tomorrow.
For tonight, he’d be Konrad and she’d be Nanda, and that was enough. More than enough.
The Tarasov Despite
Chapter One
Being the Malykant, most ruthless servant of the All-Master of Death, Konrad had been summoned to deal with many a corpse in his time.
It was not often, however, that he stumbled over one in the street, while minding his own business.
There came a chill morning in late winter, spring a faint, tantalising glimpse on an occasional horizon but the air, the aether, and the atmosphere still cold as death, when Konrad ventured out into these wearisome conditions in pursuit of an hour or two at his club. He might, he thought, even find Inspector Nuritov there; his friend, addressed these days by the more familiar title of Alexander, not infrequently took refuge there himself. They sat in adjacent chairs, read large newspapers, sipped identical glasses of brandy (or more likely at this time of day, coffee), and exchanged salient remarks upon the contents of their respective periodicals. Many an intriguing case (not always of the murderous kind) had been discussed on such mornings. It had become a treasured part of Konrad’s daily life.
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