Chapter Three

‘In the pantry?’ said Nanda with interest. ‘Odd place to hide a body, isn’t it?’

She was reclining in a blue brocade wing-back chair in her own chamber, wrapped in a purple velvet robe, and looking very queenly. She had been looking gloriously relaxed, too, until Konrad had arrived with his ill news. Now she looked... irritated, a feeling she was trying, unsuccessfully, to conceal.

‘Rather,’ Konrad agreed, with deceptive mildness. He’d taken a chair across from her and sat apparently at his ease, though he watched her closely. It was no use trying to pump Nanda for information: the more she was pestered, the more stubbornly uncommunicative she became. He would have to be wily, and patient.

But this time, Nanda surprised him. She gave a short sigh, her eyes narrowing with annoyance, and said: ‘I had hoped we would be in time to prevent this.’

‘Oh, did you?’ said Konrad pleasantly. He wanted to add, If you had told me of the danger right away, we might still have been. But he did not, for such a comment could only alienate Nanda.

‘I should have told you beforehand,’ she said, surprising him again. ‘I might have, only I thought you would not come.’

‘A theatrical party in the strangest house I have ever seen, attended by a crowd of peculiar guests, and with brutal murder on the side? What could possibly have deterred me?’

She smiled, but only faintly. ‘From your description, I am afraid the man in the cupboard is Alen Petranov. I believe he was invited to attend, but was not expected to arrive until tomorrow.’

‘How did you—’

Nanda held up a hand, cutting him off. ‘My mother.’

That did not much surprise Konrad. There was old blood in Nanda’s family, old and strange, and it bestowed a range of peculiar talents. Nan herself was a Reader, and could sometimes catch a glimpse of a person’s thoughts, if she came into direct contact with them. Her mother, meanwhile, was an Oracle. Her visions of the future were not usually profound or detailed, but she was sometimes gifted (or burdened) with very particular flashes of insight.

‘Your mother sent you here?’ Konrad was incredulous, for if the Oracle had known that this house would host so brutal a killing, why would she encourage her daughter to go anywhere near the place?

‘Not exactly.’ Nanda avoided his gaze, which was always a bad sign. She fidgeted in her chair, sighed deeply, and said: ‘She told me on no account to accept any invitations from Eino Holt. And she gave me a general idea as to why.’

‘She forbade you.’

Nanda inclined her head.

‘She has met you before, yes?’

One of Nanda’s swift, appreciative grins, and she chuckled. ‘Mother she may be, but she does not appear to have developed any profound understanding of my character.’

‘She ought to have known you would do exactly what you were told not to.’

‘I prefer to think that I have a strong sense of duty, and could not stand idly by while such atrocities took place.’

‘I am sure that’s what it was.’

Nanda nodded sober agreement, and bit at one fingernail. ‘We are too late, and I am sorry for it. I met Alen only once, and many years ago, but I liked him.’

Konrad tensed, awaiting further questions. He had said nothing at all about the manner of Alen’s death (if it was Alen Petranov), and he did not wish to enlighten Nanda on such points of detail. Especially if she had known him.

But Nanda’s thoughts turned in another direction. ‘Why the pantry?’

‘I was wondering the same thing. A temporary spot, most likely, so I have left the serpents standing guard.’

‘But why the pantry? Was he killed in that room?’

‘I do not think so.’

‘Nearby, perhaps. In all probability somewhere below-stairs, for who would cart a corpse from one floor to another if all they wanted was a place to hide him for a little while?’

‘Agreed.’

‘In that case, what was Alen doing in the servants’ quarters? He was not of the great and wealthy, but he was not a servant, either. He was a trader, I think, when I knew him. He did it the hard way, filling his packs with goods in one city and making his way to another, largely on foot. He was an old friend of Eino’s.’

‘Which means he will be soon missed, tomorrow, when he does not arrive. Or he ought to be.’

Nanda flashed him a narrow look. ‘Ought to be?’

‘If Eino does not appear concerned by Alen’s absence, that must be taken as a suspicious sign.’

Nanda frowned darkly, and made no reply.

‘What is it?’ Konrad prompted.

‘I... nothing. I am not sure, yet. I will tell you when I am.’

‘Do you promise.’

With a roll of her eyes, Nanda said: ‘Promise.’ She surged out of her chair, energised. ‘Show me the body.’

‘No!’

She stopped, shocked. ‘What? But I need to be involved.’

‘You will be, but... not like that.’

‘We are here because of me.’

‘I know. And I have no intention of side-lining you, I promise, but you do not need to see the body.’ Konrad stood up, too, and stepped in front of her, making of himself a physical barrier to emphasise his point.

Nanda stood looking up at him in dumbfounded dismay — followed by irritation. ‘I have seen death before! Why must you patronise me?’

‘Not like this. Nan, please trust me.’

‘Why?’

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 involved, 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.