Konrad took a deep breath. ‘It is not a body so much as… about half a body. Approximately.’
‘A… approximately?’
‘There are some, um, parts missing.’
She turned pale at that, and swallowed. ‘Oh.’ Being Irinanda, she did not require long to recover her composure. ‘I will talk to Eino,’ she decided, and swept past him.
‘Be careful, Nan. If Eino has anything to do with this—’
‘I know,’ she growled, and left, allowing the door to bang a little behind her.
He had been a bit patronising, he supposed. He ought to know by now: in many ways, Nan was tougher than he was.
The door opened and Nanda’s head appeared around it. ‘Have you told Alexander yet?’
‘Alexan… oh, Nuritov. Not yet.’
Nanda’s head tilted, in that way she had when she thought he was an idiot but did not quite like to say so. ‘Inspector Alexander Nuritov, of the Ekamet Police. If there has been a crime, he ought to know of it.’
‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know. You are the detective.’ Her head withdrew, and she vanished again.
Right.
First things first: Konrad rid himself of his foppish finery, and heroically resisted the temptation to throw everything into the fire.
It went against the grain with Nuritov — with Alexander — to hear of a crime yet refrain from investigating it.
‘It is not my jurisdiction,’ he said, as though attempting to convince himself of the justice of his neglect.
‘No,’ Konrad agreed. ‘We are some way from Ekamet.’
‘But we cannot leave the poor man to lie there, un… unattended to!’
‘We must, for I do not see how we can remove him from the pantry without alerting the killer to our interference. And then how are we to explain? Besides, it is our best hope of catching him. Eetapi will see, if anybody tries to move the body.’
They were in some remote corner of the house which Konrad had not previously seen. It had taken him some time to track down the inspector; indeed, he had withdrawn Ootapi from guard duty at last, frustrated with the sheer size of the house and the apparent impossibility of finding one mild-mannered police inspector within it. Nuritov proved to have taken refuge in a small parlour lit with long, many-paned glass windows, which was situated blissfully far away from the theatre and the drawing-room. It afforded a fine view over the thicket of snow-laden pine trees surrounding the castle, and boasted besides a plush-looking arm chair within which Alexander had comfortably arranged himself. He was no longer attired in his noble splendour, and looked oddly diminished because of it.
The pipe came out of a pocket, and was immediately lit. Alexander Nuritov took a long puff, and exhaled smoke with a sigh. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘Neither do I. Do you have a better idea?’
‘I do not.’
‘Where is Tasha? Exploring again?’
‘I believe so. She told me she would map every room in the castle by nightfall, or die trying.’
‘Coming from someone who is already undead, that means little.’
‘Oh, no. Tasha’s stubborn, and devious. She’ll carry it off. And she may return with something useful to tell us.’
Fine. So Tasha was being nosy somewhere about the place, Nan had gone after Eino Holt, and Eetapi stood guard still over the pitiful remains of Alen Petranov.
‘I do not know how to proceed,’ Konrad admitted. ‘How do you investigate a murder while pretending to know nothing about it?’
‘With difficulty.’ The inspector was deep in thought, and Konrad expected something must come of it, for Alexander was a great deal cleverer than many suspected from his quiet, sometimes self-effacing ways. But a gong sounded from some distant chamber: the call to dine.
‘I must see the body,’ said Alexander as he rose from his chair.
Konrad’s first impulse was to argue, but remembering how poorly that had gone down with Nanda, he merely nodded. ‘After dinner.’
‘Good. Now, I wonder how many of these fine people knew Alen Petranov.’
"After dinner" proved to be much later than Konrad had hoped, for the moment the meal came to an end, Eino Holt’s enthusiasm hastened all his guests back into the theatre.
‘At least try to sound like you mean it,’ Nanda hissed, as a distracted and irritated Konrad proclaimed Diederik’s frustration with his ordinary life in a fashion even he had to admit was flat. ‘I told Eino you were an experienced actor! My reputation as a woman of honour is on the line here.’
‘O dismal day!’ stated Konrad again, through gritted teeth. ‘O treacherous morn, to dawn anew upon my drudgerous life!’
Nanda sighed loudly.
‘This is terrible,’ Konrad complained in a whisper.
‘Appalling play,’ she agreed serenely. ‘But that is no excuse.’
At least he had not been forced to don his frippery costume again, though some had chosen to sport theirs. Lilli Lahti lingered nearby — the woman in pink, who had glared so sourly at Nanda at tea earlier in the day. The ruffled gown was gone; instead she wore the plain, serviceable attire of a moderately prosperous tradeswoman, all dark blue cloth, modest skirts and thick woollen shawls. Simple garments they may be, but they were of noticeably finer quality than her own ruffled gown, and much newer, too. Perhaps that was why she had so taken to wearing her costume.
Her mood did not appear to have improved.
Konrad leaned nearer to Nanda. ‘Did you not say she was an old friend of yours?’ He spoke very low, and indicated Lilli with a slight inclination of his head.
‘I might have.’
‘You were speaking of the company in glowing terms at the time. You made them all seem excessively worth knowing.’
Nanda made a critical survey of her friend: the sour hunch of Lilli’s shoulders, the fierce scowl as she flipped through her script. ‘I did, didn’t I?’
‘You are a woman of honour, and could never have lied.’
‘Never.’
Lilli looked up, glowered more deeply than ever, and turned her back upon them both.
‘Best of friends,’ murmured Konrad.
‘Forever, and ever.’
‘Is she always that way?’
Nanda hesitated before replying. ‘I do not know. It is many years since last I saw her. But she was merry enough, when we were young.’
Konrad noted that. What was bothering Lilli Lahti?
He cast a glance over the rest of the theatre. Eino Holt was holding court before the raised stage, and most of his guests were gathered around him. Marko Bekk stood in an attitude of studied boredom, his dark cloak thrown dramatically over one shoulder; Kati Vinter, appropriately dressed in the sinister garb of a dark witch, absorbed whatever Eino was saying with arms folded and chin high in the air; a quiet man called Denis Druganin, garbed in an official-looking coat with the badge of some imagined public official, listened with a distracted air. Lilli Lahti drifted towards the group and stood, back resolutely turned to Nanda and Konrad.
‘Now is our chance,’ Konrad whispered. ‘We flee!’ He grabbed her hand and made for the door, expecting every moment to be detained by a good-natured shout from Eino Holt. But none came, and they were through the door and out into the cold stone passage. Nuritov, who had tidily concealed himself and Tasha behind a bookcase, followed soon after. The man was remarkably good at being unassuming and therefore going unnoticed, Konrad thought. Perhaps he should take notes.
‘I liked it better in there,’ Nanda complained with a dramatic shiver.
‘But I need you to tell me what you learned from Mr. Holt.’ Konrad marched off in the general direction of the pantry, pulling Nanda along with him.
‘Nothing. I asked who else was coming and he named Alen, apparently with every expectation of seeing him arrive tomorrow.’
‘No hesitation, no awkwardness?’
‘None.’
So, no reason to believe that Eino was invol
ved, at least not yet.
‘Kati knows something,’ said Tasha.
Konrad looked sharply at the girl. She was restored to her usual dark coat and cap, and he could see little of her face. ‘Oh?’
‘She is uneasy, and watches everyone.’
‘She called you a fool,’ Konrad said to Nanda. ‘Because you came here?’
‘Possibly,’ Nanda allowed. ‘Perhaps she has been talking to my mother, too.’
The inspector said, ‘I have twice seen Marko Bekk lingering in the vicinity of the kitchens. He looked as though he would not like to be seen down there.’
‘Interesting,’ murmured Konrad. ‘No notion what he is doing?’
‘None yet.’
‘I’ll tail him,’ Tasha offered. ‘Later.’
The castle’s twists and turns furnished a route to the pantry that did not require passing through the kitchen; Tasha had discovered it, and relayed it to Konrad with unflattering exasperation at his failure to find it for himself. He took that way now, circling around the noise and pungent aromas of the still-bustling kitchen and scullery.
The pantry was dark and quiet. Too dark; Konrad and Alexander both held lanterns, but even the combined glow was too weak to fully cast back the shadows. The chill of the frigid night crept into Konrad’s bones, and his skin crawled at the prospect of viewing the corpse a second time, half in darkness.
He questioned the wisdom of Tasha’s presence, but recalled that as a lamaeni, she was probably twice as terrifying as anything else in the room.
Master. The voice was Eetapi’s, but in the flickering gloom, her whispered syllables were eerier than ever. You return!
‘I am glad to find you obedient to orders, Eetapi,’ he whispered. ‘Ootapi, keys.’
Ootapi was quick to obey. Cold metal fell into Konrad’s outstretched hand with a clink, and he closed his fingers around the keys. He had the cupboard door open in a trice, and gazed down into the depths with more trepidation than he cared to display.
The cupboard was empty. One sturdy earthenware jar stood in the corner, as before, but now it reigned over the interior in solitary splendour. There was no sign of the corpse.
Chapter Four
Nanda peeked over his shoulder. ‘I am determined not to be blocked out, Konrad.’
‘There is nothing for you to be prevented from seeing,’ he mumbled, dazed.
Nanda surveyed the empty cupboard in brief silence. ‘Wandered off, has he?’
‘It appears.’
‘Why does that keep happening to you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Konrad felt a weak-kneed desire to sit down. ‘He has no… I mean, he couldn’t wander off. He hasn’t got any — any—’ He made a vague gesture in the direction of his own legs, unable to finish the sentence.
He had presided over a string of recent cases wherein the bodies of apparently murdered people were later discovered to be everywhere but where Konrad had left them. There were a variety of explanations for this, most of which were decidedly… strange.
In this instance, Konrad held on to a faint hope that the truth was a bit more mundane.
‘Someone has moved him,’ said Alexander.
‘But Eetapi was watching.’ Konrad belatedly added, ‘Weren’t you, Eetapi?’
Yes, Master.
Konrad waited.
‘Did you see anything relevant?’ He prompted, when she did not elaborate.
No, Master. No one has come into this room today, except for a maid who was collecting food. She did not go near this cupboard.
So the corpse could not have walked off by itself, and no one had moved it, either. ‘What in the world…’ muttered Konrad, bemused. ‘Why cannot a case be simple, for once?’
‘You know you would be bored if they were,’ said Nanda, unimpressed.
Konrad grunted.
Alexander had not participated in the exchange, for he was intent upon a close study of the cupboard. At length he stepped back and said softly, ‘The back is loose.’
‘What?’ Konrad darted forward, electrified. ‘Show me.’
Alexander demonstrated: a slight wobble in the back panel, as of a plank of wood poorly fitted. ‘It may be possible to remove it entirely, from the back.’
‘But that would place whoever removed it on the other side of this wall. Even supposing the wall itself to have been modified to permit access to the cupboard, Eetapi can see through walls. She would have noticed somebody pausing there.’
I did not, Eetapi confirmed. No one has been there.
An investigation ensued, which furnished the information that a storeroom lay directly behind the pantry; that the corresponding section of wall was bare and accessible; but that there was no sign that it could be opened or that the cupboard could be got into that way. Even if there was some secret to it that they had not discovered, the question of how anybody could linger in the room, so close to Eetapi, without her seeing them remained insoluble.
The matter had to be abandoned soon afterwards, for the hour grew late, and Konrad feared that some one or other of the servants would spot them if they lingered any longer.
But as he made his way back to the theatre, trailing along wearily in Nanda’s wake, he received the impression that he and his friends were not the only ones with clandestine business below stairs. For a flicker of green caught Konrad’s eye, whisking out of sight around a corner. He paused, hastened to catch up, and held his lantern high. But though the lamp cast a long, if faint, glow down the bare stone passage, no fleeing figure could he discern. Whoever it was — the owner of the green coat, or cloak, or gown — was gone.
The next day dawned snowy, intensely so. The world was a blur of white when Konrad shambled to the window; even the dark shapes of the craggy pine trees were obscured beneath the blinding flurry. The glass itself was coated in cracked white frost, and cold rolled off it in waves. A maid had been in to light the fire sometime before Konrad awoke, and he gravitated quickly towards its welcoming heat.
He was not given long to enjoy it.
Malykant, whispered Ootapi, when he had not done more than extend his hands towards the flames. Eetapi sends word! The half-of-a-man is back.
‘He is wh— back? Where?’
In the cupboard.
Konrad was speechless.
He left for the pantry at a near run, hardly caring, in that moment, whether anybody saw him descending below stairs. The keys were waiting for him, hanging from nothing a few inches in front of the door. He snatched them up and dragged open the door, holding his lantern high to illuminate the interior of the cupboard.
Konrad stared for three stomach-churning seconds, and then quickly shut the door again. ‘It is not the half-of-a-man.’
He felt both serpents materialise beside him, twin whorls of killing cold either side of his head. It is not? said Eetapi, bemused.
It’s the other half! Ootapi enthused.
‘No.’ Konrad steeled himself, and opened up the door again. There was a body there, all right, but it was not Alen Petranov. Identifying it would be tricky, for while it retained both of its arms and hands, its head was missing. Naught but a ragged stump of a neck remained, splintered bones sticking up like broken fingers coated in dried blood.
The hands looked female, and elderly, the skin wizened and wrinkled. She — if it was a she — was wearing a shapeless black gown; Konrad could not see whether or not her legs were where they were supposed to be.
‘I think it is Kati Vinter,’ he said softly. The dark gown resembled the one the old lady had worn the night before, her costume as a dark witch.
He remembered what Tasha had said. Kati knows something.
Konrad wanted desperately to take her out of there, to restore whatever dignity he could to her poor abused body. Her torso, like Petranov’s, was a torn, ruined mess, her ribs smashed. Her heart she retained, but other organs were missing: a lung, perhaps others. He blanched and swallowed hard, wondering if she, too, had been alive when this damage wa
s done to her.
He could not remove her. The same objections prevented him as before. But unlike Alen Petranov, he had known Kati Vinter, if only briefly. She lived for him in ways that Alen never had, and it hurt him all the more to close the cupboard door upon her and lock it.
‘Eetapi,’ he said, speaking very low, for there were sounds of life emanating from the kitchens: the clatter of pots and knives, the low hum of voices, as the servants prepared breakfast for the household. ‘How does it come about that a second corpse should find its way into this cupboard, while you were set to guard it? You must have seen who placed her here.’
I did not see who put it there. I did not see anyone.
‘Nothing at all? That cannot be, serpent. It cannot have appeared by itself.’
It. She. He was picking up the snakes’ dispassionate language; he hoped never to develop their ice-cold attitude along with it.
I saw nothing, Eetapi insisted.
Konrad gritted his teeth upon a wave of anger, determined not to let it get the better of him. His serpents could be maddening sometimes, but they were loyal, and they were not usually careless. Their interpretations of his orders could sometimes be eccentric, but they were never outright disobedient. Eetapi had, in all likelihood, stood guard over this room all night, as he had asked of her. How, then, had it come about that she had not seen anybody put Kati Vinter’s body into the cupboard? Somebody had. He refused to entertain the possibility that it had somehow materialised there all on its own.
He stood for a moment, absently jangling the keys in his hand as he thought. No, stop. They were noisy, and he could not rely on the muted cacophony of sounds from the kitchens to conceal it.
‘Ootapi,’ he murmured.
Yes, Malykant.
‘How are you finding it so easy to keep borrowing these from the housekeeper? Does she not notice their absence?’
She sleeps much.
‘Sleeps? In the day?’
She smells of drink. The serpent’s tail thrashed in disapproval. There is much snoring.
Eino Holt kept a drunkard for a housekeeper? Excessively odd. But perhaps he did not know of her propensities.
The House at Divoro Page 4
