A body? Dozens of them; the fish would only be grateful. How many bodies had already been destroyed? Hans didn't know.
"Word in the slums is there's a werewolf on the loose."
"A werewolf?"
"Or another monster. They say he has the body of a wolf and the head of a human. He's hunting women and killing them, biting off their pinky fingers so their souls cannot go to Aldonai..."
"It's nonsense."
Hans shrugged.
"It's only one version, Your Majesty. The others are even worse."
Richard winced.
"I don't need a complete retelling. Get to the point."
"The point, Your Majesty, is that the people are worried. They demand the monster to be found and punished."
"How's your search going?"
Hans shrugged.
The search wasn't going well. Essentially, he was trying to build a new enterprise from scratch, and naturally, his new structure was shaking, rattling, and trying to collapse with every bump in the road.
Even investigating the crime scene was a story in itself. Really, what could you find there if a crowd of onlookers immediately trampled over the spot, the guards letting them through for a tiny fee? Bastards!
Hans would have used a stronger word, but not in front of His Majesty.
And examining the body? The coroner was perpetually drunk, and when he wasn't, spoke pure nonsense. Death by knife wound. Of course, it was: the person got their throat cut. But what kind of knife was that? What was the killer's height? With what force did he slash the throat?
Hans had to shake all of that out of the coroner almost by force.
At that moment, Hans knew that the murderer specialized in girls: young, blonde, with grey or blue eyes and slight of build. Their birth didn't matter: the list had two noblewomen, commoners, merchants' daughters, and even a prostitute from an expensive brothel. She had been identified, but the madame swore that she had sold the girl to a nobleman who paid a generous sum that satisfied even that greedy nag. She had planned to make a lot of money on the girl, but the payment was enough of a compensation.
It was a clue.
"Your Majesty, if I may—"
"Come on. You can speak frankly," Richard said, waving his hand.
He wouldn't use that tone with just anyone, but it was Hans, and Hans was almost a friend. Hans also knew everything about subordination. No matter Richard's tone, Hans would have never overstepped his boundaries. Yes, they were friendly, and yes, they had a good rapport. But Richard was the king, and Hans, his subject. That said it all.
Maybe that's why Richard appreciated the Eartons and the Gardrens so much. With them, he didn't have to be His Majesty. He could be just Richard, a nice chap without a crown on his head.
Hans bowed, once again reminding him about the golden circle on his head.
"Your Majesty, it's pretty bad."
"Why's that?"
"Because it's definitely a nobleman."
"Oh..."
Hans realized that he had to explain and shrugged.
"Your Majesty, this is a man with no shortage of funds. Remember the prostitute? Buying out a contract requires a lot of money. I don't know any merchants or craftsmen capable of such expenses."
"I see..."
"He takes his time when killing. The victims are hunted like wild animals, going by their looks, but nobody else has ever heard screams or cries for help. Only the final blow is fatal. Until then, he can stab the victim up to forty-two times."
"Maybe he gags them."
"If they were simply tortured, their bodies would have looked differently. No, they are expressly hunted...and they aren't gagged, either. There are no marks."
Richard sighed.
"Suppose you're right."
"It means he has a house, probably with a large garden so that nobody could hear them. Probably even an estate."
"What about the servants?"
"They could be sent away to the servants' quarters, Your Majesty. He'd leave only two or three trusted men."
"Makes sense. Anything else?"
"A carriage to travel back and forth. I doubt that our killer does it himself, but hiring a carriage is risky. It might get traces of blood, a strip of fabric, the coachman might remember something..."
"He has his own carriage and a few mercenaries."
"Or personal soldiers. Bodyguards."
Richard slowly opened his eyes.
“You’re right. What are you going to do then?"
Hans sighed.
"Keep searching...or arrange some bait."
"Tell me more. Keep searching for what? What kind of bait are you talking about?"
"Your Majesty, the estate might be located either in Laveri or outside. A few hours of travel don't mean much. They might bind the girl's hands and mouth before driving her out of the city, and on the way back, she'd already be dead."
Richard nodded.
True, carriages weren't checked at the gates. Speaking of which...
"I'll sign a decree for carriages to be checked."
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Richard nodded and wrote down a few words on a piece of paper.
"Ask my secretary to give you the papers."
"It will help if the estate's outside the city. And if it's not, at least we'll narrow down the possible locations."
"I can't permit you to search all estates," Richard said, frowning. "I'd love to, but..."
Hans nodded.
The timing wasn't right. The nobles would surely start rioting, whining about the infringement of their rights and freedoms, just like in Wellster.
Luckily, the coup there had been put down, but who could tell if Ativerna could survive the same?
Richard had just been crowned; it was the hardest time. In a year or two, he would stabilize his hold over the throne, but until then, he had to be careful.
That bastard was also undermining the king by killing women; the public was unhappy, whispering that His Majesty wasn't doing anything. Such things might end badly.
"The carriage was seen a couple of times. One witness says it was pulled by common roan horses, while another insists they were dapple grey."
"He has his own stables and a driveway?" Richard guessed.
Hans bowed.
That's what he had surmised as well.
"I'm checking those who moved here in the past year..."
Richard slowly nodded.
"I understand. Well then, keep working, Hans. I can assure you that this bastard cannot hide behind his title."
Hans bowed once again.
"I'll do everything in my power to find him, Your Majesty."
"I know."
***
Hans Tremain spent his evening at the Earton estate.
The house was full of sorrow. Lilian Earton used to be the heart and soul of that place, and without her, it felt empty, as if a cloud fell over it. Formerly cozy and filled with joy, the Earton estate turned grey and colorless. The children were gone, moved to the palace. Jess and Miranda often visited but never stayed the night, taking no risks. And the house grew sad and sullen...
Hans could feel it almost physically as if a drizzle were falling from above. There was no rain or snow, but his face was moist. The house was mourning.
Jerisson stared into his plate, grim, his face just as grey as his doublet. Miranda, sad and somehow older, was wearing a green dress and kept glancing at Lou-Lou and Nanook. After his mistress had disappeared, the dog refused food and howled, seemingly blaming himself.
Mirrie spent days with him, and finally, he cheered up a little but still never left her side. He probably decided that his mistress' puppy needed his protection while she was gone. After all, he had already failed her once. There wouldn't be a second time.
Mirrie didn't mind, and neither did Jerisson. Let Nanook sleep on their heads if he wanted; when Lily came back, she'd understand.
When she came back. The word "if" was taboo in th
e house. Jess believed in his wife's return wholeheartedly; if he could, he would have already sailed for Avester, but he had to wait.
"Miranda, could you tell me a little bit more about Baron Holmes?" Hans asked.
"But you have all the stories," Miranda said, surprised. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know. Maybe Lilian told you something else?"
Miranda shrugged.
"The latest installment is in my bedroom. I can fetch it for you if you promise to return it soon."
"I promise," Hans said, nodding.
"Then I'll get it after dinner," the girl agreed. "Is this connected to the murders?"
"Yes. They're not stopping, and we can't figure out who's the killer. There are no clues, nothing."
Miranda sighed.
"I'll give you the stories, but I doubt they can help. Mama told me that stories are one thing, and real life is different. Often, the culprit is someone you'd never notice. Sometimes, serial killers remained at large, never to be found."
That was discouraging.
"Miranda, are you suggesting the baron start suspecting His Majesty?" Jerisson finally said.
Mirrie snorted.
"Papa, it would have been impossible for the king to kill all those girls. He's always in public. Here, we'd need someone rich enough to pay for his whims, even the nastiest of them, and humble enough to avoid attention—or, instead, draw it," Mirrie said. "It's darkest in the shadow of light."
Hans sighed.
He simply couldn't figure it all out. Suggesting a version was easy, but he had to check them all—and if anything went wrong, he would be the one to take the fall.
***
Bran Gardren removed the letter from the pigeon's leg. He wasn’t expected much, but still…
Olav was curt. We're sailing out. May Olive help us.
Bran would have prayed to Holosh too if it could help. He really had picked the meanest of deities. Holosh never did any favors for anyone. He might give you a fishing rod, but you'd have to be the one to catch fish.
Bran didn't mind, though.
He had sent out letters, and after that... After that, he would start fishing. He was a good fisherman, too.
The Prancing Mermaid had nowhere to go; he would find it, scale it, and gut it. The other ships would be checked, too.
Over the next few months, no vessels would go past Virma without an inspection, and Viriom would become a strict access area, in Countess Earton's words. Bran wasn't quite sure what it meant, but he had an inkling.
No big deal.
The merchants would have to tough it out, and military ships...
The same, really. Nobody in Viriom wanted to cross the Virmans.
There was still a chance they would be too late, of course, but Bran banished those thoughts.
He put the letter in his pocket and went downstairs to Angelina.
His wife was sitting in a chair next to the fireplace, a book in her hands and a warm knitted shawl on her shoulders. The specks of light were playing in her hair, making it look like copper. Ian was sitting on the rug trying to assemble something, Hilda played with runic cubes, and the baby slept in his cot.
Bran stopped in the doorway, feeling warmth in his heart.
How many times had he already seen that scene? But the number didn't matter, as each time felt like the first. Every minute like that was precious to him. Every second like that would stay in his memory forever.
That was his.
His family, his heart, his soul... He would do everything: kill, lie, steal, die so that nothing could threaten them. They would live and be happy, with him or without him, for they were the best thing in his life.
Angelina raised her head from the book and noticed her husband. She smiled and stood up to meet him.
Her eyes radiated love and happiness. It was worth it, leaving his homeland, his clan, and turning his entire life upside down so that his beloved could look at him with such eyes. Worth it.
"Bran! You sneaked up on me!"
Bran embraced his wife and stopped for a few seconds, savoring her closeness. Angelina didn't try to break away.
Yes, the etiquette at court didn't permit such things, but Virma had its own set of rules. Aldonai damn it, Angelina truly loved her husband and enjoyed every second spent next to him. Why would she refuse her happiness for the dubious sake of propriety? It's not like there were any strangers there, anyway!
Oh, blast it all! It was their family, and they had the right to do whatever they wished, period.
"Olav's letter arrived."
"Is everything all right there?" Angelina wasn't exactly worried about the Virmans; those people were hardy enough to survive being crashed against a rock or drowned at sea, but her handmaidens were there too. She cared about them.
Would delicate Ativernan flowers really take root on the rocky island soil?
So far, it seemed like they had, even having as many as four sprouts, but Angelina was still nervous.
"Everything's' fine," Bran said with a nod. "The Virmans sailed out."
“Lilian?”
"Yes."
"Do you think they might intercept her abductors?"
Bran shrugged.
That was the thing: he wasn't sure. It depended on luck.
The damnable Mermaid wasn't a galley with a heavy rear side and a slow pace; it was a light and speedy clipper not designed to transport passengers. It was, however, designed for raiding, robbing, and getting away before being attacked.
If Lilian got lucky, they might intercept her, but Bran wouldn't count on it. A good northwestern wind, and their chances would melt away like ice in the spring. But would he tell that to his wife?
He couldn't not, though.
Bran wasn't going to lie to Angelina. He might leave something unsaid, but he always told her the truth if she asked directly. It was the main rule of their married life.
Angelina might also keep something back, but she always answered his questions, even if she didn't want to.
That's what they had agreed to do right after their wedding.
Different worlds, different people, different experiences... If they didn't want their fragile understanding to break under the pressure of routine, they had to look for common ground: slowly, relentlessly, and meticulously. So far, they had succeeded.
"I'm afraid they might not," Bran finally spoke up.
"Oh..."
Angelina pressed her palms against her cheeks, and her eyes grew large and terrified.
"My poor Lilian!"
"The boys will do everything to slow them down, but you must understand—a lot of time passed before the pigeon got there. Flying to Altver, then contacting Virma...it all took more than a day."
Angelina nodded. A tear fell out of the corner of her eye.
It was genuine, too. Her Highness rarely cried, especially for show. It's just...her eye was itching, that was it.
Bran stroked his wife's blond locks. She wore them in a topknot with a sapphire-studded hairpin. Two combs with an elaborate web of pearls and sapphires between them were a beautiful sight.
Lilian Earton had given it to her as a present after their son's birth.
"I will definitely find her, Angie. I promise."
"You do?"
"Of course."
Bran already considered himself in Her Grace's debt. He would rouse his entire network of agents, all the people beholden to him. Lilian Earton was too conspicuous. Someone like her could never be hidden. It's not like she was going out of her way to do that, no. She genuinely tried to avoid standing out but still somehow became the center of attention. If Bran didn't know she was a shipwright's daughter, he would have thought Lilian to be a king's.
Her personality, her intelligence, her behavior—all of that screamed of a highborn lady. She carried herself the same way both while talking to a prince and to a beggar. She was sweet and polite, and she could destroy you with one word. She never pushed her superiority but also never cut anyone
slack. Bran still remembered her words to a certain lord who had the nerve to tell the countess that she needed to be more easy-going so that people would treat her better.
That was a critical mistake. Without raising her voice, Lily informed the man that even his kitchen maid wouldn't grab the first fish she came across while visiting the market. She'd make sure it was fresh before taking it home—not caring a bit what the fish thought.
The implication was clear, and the lord was forever nicknamed "Fishmonger."
The Avesterians could never hide Lilian Earton. They could dye her hair, take her to the countryside, lock her in a castle, but...
Bran was sure that the motive of the abduction was profit. He knew who was behind Mariella Trading House and held no doubts that a lot of money was circulating there. The Eveers all but worshipped Her Grace.
If Lilian Earton were locked up in the middle of nowhere, she wouldn't bring any profit. And even if they tried, sooner or later, rumors would spring up about novelties coming from castle...which castle?
Ah, it didn't matter. The rumors would start, and they would reach Bran. He'd figure everything out and try to rescue the countess, personally visiting Avester. It was bound to get rough.
If Entor wanted to kill Lilian Earton, he would have done that right away. He wanted profit. Well, murder wasn't completely out of the question, but Bran hoped that Lilian would be wise enough. Why taunt a lion? It was better to leave your cage and throw him a slab of poisoned meat, so he'd die anyway.
There was a problem, however. Pregnant women were annoyingly unpredictable with their mood swings and health issues. Holosh, they would be very lucky if nobody learned about Lilian Earton's condition before they managed to find her. But Bran wasn't counting on such luck. After all, Holosh never dealt the best cards, and he was right not to.
It's easy to win when you hold all the aces. Try doing that when fate keeps putting a spanner in your works.
Usually, Bran loved the thrill of the game, but when Lilian's life was on the line, dependent on his luck...well, maybe it was really time to pray.
He didn't say anything out loud, however. Instead, he tried to calm down his wife, promising to do everything possible and impossible, rouse everyone, even abduct Entor if he had to...
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