Alexander Nuritov, and failed to find him in any of the places the inspector might be supposed to frequent. His room was empty. He was in none of the parlours, or in the dining room. Konrad even put his head around the door of the theatre — cautiously, fearing to openly present himself in case of being lampooned into another rehearsal — but Nuritov was not among those gathered in a knot near the fire.
He began to grow concerned. Adrift as they were inside an unusually deadly house, Alexander’s sustained absence did not seem to bode well. Did his status as a police inspector put him in danger? Might those who had killed Alen and Kati decide to remove him, before he could have chance to detect and expose their crimes?
At length, Konrad ran again into Tasha, who brushed past him without acknowledging his presence at all.
‘Stop,’ he called.
Tasha obeyed, with ill grace.
‘Where’s Alexander?’
‘Mister Nuritov is in the theatre.’
‘No. I’ve looked.’
‘Did you look on the stage?’
Konrad opened his mouth to protest that of course he had — and closed it again. He had barely glanced into the room, not particularly expecting that his search would be rewarded. What would Alexander be doing in there, when there was a pressing case to investigate? He had glanced perfunctorily at the cluster of people — Marko, Eino and Lilli — who were involved, apparently, in some kind of script conference in the warmest part of the room, and finding that it did not include the Inspector, he had moved on.
He hadn’t even looked at the stage.
‘Why would he—’ began Konrad, and abandoned the train of thought. ‘Never mind. Thank you. Carry on.’
Tasha carried on, without a backward glance or another word, and Konrad returned to the theatre. Not without a certain reluctance; his notions of surviving the lamentably thespian house party consisted of two policies. One, to keep himself and his friends safe from whoever it was that had taken a fancy to carving people up, at least until the time came to dispose of them. And secondly, to steer well clear of the theatre.
No such luck. Nuritov needed to be apprised of developments, and Konrad wanted to hear his thoughts — and discoveries, if he had any.
So, to the theatre he went, taking a deep, bracing breath along the way.
Alexander was indeed upon the stage, but to say that he merely stood there was to gravely understate the matter. Alexander dominated the stage. He was clad in all his nobleman’s raiment: draping robes of bronze velvet all a-glitter with burnished embroidery, a soft cap to match, dainty shoes. When Konrad had first seen him thus arrayed, the clothes had undeniably suited him, but there had been an air of mild incongruity about the picture. Not any longer. Inspector Nuritov, every inch his character, was deep in the middle of a monologue.
‘My fool sister!’ he ranted. ‘All soft tenderness of heart, and weakness of the mind! Shall she thus besmirch our family’s ancient name? Is it to be borne? It shall not be, not while there is breath left to me!’
Konrad watched, mesmerised, as Alexander went through the scene, acting with lively spirit and — there was no denying it — prodigious skill. And enthusiasm. What manner of madness was this?
It only grew worse, for soon Nanda entered, as queenly as the inspector was noble, and on they went together. The chatter around the fireplace ceased; effortlessly the two actors held the attention of the audience. Konrad’s included.
When the scene drew to a close, Konrad was left with conflicting feelings. As magnificent a display as they had made, why were they so wasting their time? Two people were dead, and more may yet follow.
He had his answer when Nanda and Alexander descended from the stage, for they were given a rapturous welcome. Konrad stood awkwardly watching as the group fell into animated conversation, Alexander included every bit as much as Nanda. The people who addressed Konrad with wary or distant courtesy treated Alexander as a friend.
He had, in short, made himself one of them. And how better to investigate a difficult case than to make oneself a confidante of the suspects? It was a trick Konrad had never mastered.
He joined the group, attaching himself to its edges, and was gratified by Alexander’s immediate attempts to win for him a welcome.
Eino, as ever, dominated the conversation.
‘Marvellous progress we make,’ he boomed, a wide smile flashing within his voluminous black beard. ‘And onward we go! I must have everybody in the theatre this afternoon, every single one of us. And here we will stay until we have rehearsed every act, every scene! We pause only for dinner.’ His words were jovial but Konrad detected signs of anxiety: his eyes darted here and there about, too quickly, almost feverish in their activity; he spoke at speed, words falling over words as he gabbled about the play. Konrad suspected him of having another motive for wanting to gather all about him. Was he trying to keep everybody close? Did he seek to protect?
Was he looking particularly at Nanda, as he spoke?
Shortly afterward, Konrad was able to extract Nanda and Alexander from Eino’s hold by pleading the need to rehearse. There came a scene, midway through the second act, in which Greta, Vidar and Diederik were all on stage together — Synnove, too, though they were out of luck there, for Tasha did not present herself. Konrad hoped she was busily occupied in searching the lower cellars.
‘Holt is uneasy,’ Alexander said, the moment he could speak without being overheard. He had led them to the rear of the theatre, where the walls were clad in overstuffed bookcases and lined with tapestried arm chairs, and taken off his cap with apparent relief. ‘He makes a good show of cheer, but I think he knows all is not well here.’
‘He is downplaying Alen’s failure to appear,’ Nanda put in. ‘I raised the question with him. He mumbled something about Alen’s promising only conditionally to come, and perhaps he changed his mind, and then hastily turned the topic. Our Alexander may be a fine actor, but Eino is not.’
Nuritov actually blushed a bit at Nanda’s praise, and did not meet her eye. ‘Er,’ he said with a tiny cough. ‘Marko has some manner of secret, which I believe he may be disposed to share with me in the near future. He is furtive and troubled, but I do not think he is afraid. Lilli...’
Nanda broke in upon the inspector’s silence. ‘Oh, Lilli! What shall we say of her? She despises us all, and for the most part we are delighted to return the sentiment.’
‘Why does she hate everybody?’ said Konrad.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Nanda with a shrug. ‘She confides in no one.’
Konrad looked around. The stage had been taken by Eino and Marko; Lilli had disappeared. ‘Where is Denis, today? I have seen nothing of him.’
‘I saw him an hour ago. I believe him to be well, but he can be reclusive. Often he hides away in the conservatory.’
‘There’s a conservatory?’
‘A spectacular one. You ought to see it.’
Konrad’s gaze strayed back to Eino. The man dominated the stage, too, though in his case it was by sheer advantage of size. He was attacking some scene or another with gusto, but insufficient focus, for he frequently lost his way and had to refer back to the script-pages in his hands.
‘Something is definitely bothering him,’ Konrad mused.
Tik tik, tik. Nanda tapped her fingernails against the arm of her chair, lips pressed into a thin line. ‘There is something much amiss with him, and it’s more than whatever is going on in his mind.’
Konrad waited for more, but she paused, seemed undecided how to proceed.
‘Whatever it is that’s in your mind,’ Alexander said in a gentle way, ‘Please tell us. We trust your intuition.’
Nanda smiled gratefully at him. ‘I hardly know what it is that I suspect, only he... well, I have lately wondered whether it is indeed Eino.’
Whatever Konrad might have expected from her hesitant preamble, this was not it. ‘What? You mean he may be an imposter?’
‘I... do not know.’ Nanda’s brows drew together, and she sighed. ‘I knew Eino before, understand, though we were never intimate friends. He was part of my mother’s circle when I was... before I left Marja. I shook hands with him, once or twice. The mind and heart I saw into at that time were... well, there is a difference. A subtle one, but it’s there. Now, is it merely the passage of time that is responsible? People do change, and some years have passed. Or is it something else? He does not feel quite familiar to me, and he ought to.’
‘His appearance is distinctive,’ Konrad objected. ‘How could anybody pretend to be him and expect to succeed, unless he has a twin?’
‘I do not believe him to have any siblings at all.’ Nanda shook her head, her frown deepening further. ‘Perhaps he has a twin brother I have never heard of, and there is a masquerade afoot. But I cannot see why, and it does not seem likely, for I have tested him repeatedly. He remembers details about our former meetings which would be difficult to impart to another — which I’d hardly expect him to think of, until prompted by me. No, I am convinced that it is Eino — and yet, it is not. It is a puzzle I cannot solve.’
Alexander took out his pipe, from some secret place he had apparently found within his splendid robe. He did not light it, but set it to his lips and disappeared into brief thought. ‘I do think that Mr. Holt is the key,’ he murmured. ‘Somehow, all revolves around him. His is the house to which all are invited; he is our host, and the director of the play. He knows something that disturbs him, either about the house itself or somebody in it. He fears ghosts, though he will not share the reason why. He glosses over the prolonged absence of two of his guests, when the careful and attentive host he is pretending to be ought to show far greater concern. He tries to gather the rest of us close, perhaps to protect us, from some threat he is aware of but cannot or will not counter. And he is afraid.’
‘These match my own conclusions,’ Konrad agreed. He cast a lingering look at Eino, still holding forth upon the stage, and reached a decision. ‘He has confided in neither of you, I take it?’
‘To me, but little,’ Alexander confirmed.
Nanda sighed. ‘He consents to be drawn upon trifling topics, but when I draw near to anything about the house or its guests, he soon finds somewhere else to be.’
‘Then we must apply a little pressure.’
‘Such as?’ Nanda fixed him with a look of deep suspicion. ‘Understand, Konrad. He must be brought to confide, but I will not have him harmed. He is a friend, however distant.’
‘I won’t hurt him, though I do intend to frighten him a little.’
‘A little?’
Konrad shrugged. ‘Perhaps a lot. I cannot predict his response.’
Nanda looked as though she wanted to object further, but she did not. Perhaps she summoned visions of Alen’s dismembered corpse to her mind’s eye, or recalled the fate of Kati Vinter. ‘Very well,’ she allowed, wary. ‘What do you have in mind?’
‘Oh, a bit of a theatrical.’ Konrad smiled. ‘What could be more fitting?’
The coming of night brought a fresh wave of cold down upon the house at Divoro. There could be no question of wandering those deepening shadows in the fine costumes of the play’s sumptuously-clad characters; the shivering guests arrayed themselves in their warmest layers and thickest furs, and kept as close to the roaring fires of the drawing-room, the dining-room and the parlour as they could.
All except for their host, who was borne off into the oldest parts of the castle by Alexander Nuritov. Courtesy compelled poor Eino to humour the inspector’s eager desire for exploration. Time was passing swiftly, Nanda reminded them both; if there was to be time for the thorough investigation of the castle’s more ancient features that Alexander desired, then it must be done immediately, and at once. All of Eino’s protestations — is it not too cold? Would it not be better to examine those rooms in daylight? — were borne away under the pressure of Nanda’s determination, and the exploring party set off directly after dinner. Nanda judged it expedient to wear her outdoor garb: her thick woollen cloak, the hood pulled over her hair; her layered skirts; her padded gloves, and fur muff. Heavy furs adorned the shoulders of Eino Holt and Alexander.
Even these measures were scarce enough to ward off the penetrating chill. The farther they went from the restored, inhabited rooms of the castle, the colder the air became. The soft yellow glow cast by their high-held lanterns illuminated fingers of frost creeping over the damp, half-frozen stone of the walls; their breath misted and froze as it left their lips. Black shadows raced away from them ahead, and crowded in close behind. Corridor after corridor they traversed, peeping into long-abandoned chambers cluttered with decaying furniture, the air thick with dust and neglect.
‘I do not know what half of these rooms are,’ admitted Eino, casting lamp-glow and a reluctant gaze over a bedchamber. A rotting velvet canopy of indeterminate colour had collapsed over the sagging bed beneath, and threadbare tapestries hung off once-handsome chairs.
‘This part of the castle appears long abandoned,’ Nanda observed, for the evidence of her eyes suggested a neglect spanning rather further back than the mere decade or so the house was known to have stood empty. ‘I wonder how the Vasilescu came to leave so large a space unoccupied? It must be an entire wing like this.’
Eino appeared discomfited by the question. He withdrew smartly from the bedchamber, and closed the door upon it the moment Alexander and Nanda had rejoined him in the corridor outside. ‘I do not know.’ Indeed, his discomfort had grown steadily, the deeper into the abandoned wing they had wandered, and for some minutes now it had been Nanda more than he who had led the party onward. He now ceded charge of the venture entirely to her, falling into step behind her with visible reluctance. ‘Had we not better return to the drawing-room?’ he enquired, a plaintive note detectable in his tone. ‘It only grows colder.’
‘Soon!’ sang Nanda, and stepped smartly on.
‘But, my dear,’ protested Eino, hastening to keep pace, ‘I grow concerned for you. Alexander, pray assist me. In her state, she ought not take such frivolous risks! We must persuade her.’
Nanda turned her head to regard Eino steadily for some two or three seconds, one pale brow lifted high. ‘What state is that, dear Eino?’
‘I... I understand you to be in an uncertain state of health.’
‘Hmm.’ Nanda walked on, presenting Eino and Alexander both with a vision of straight-backed displeasure. ‘You have been in conversation with my mother, I conclude.’
Eino’s only response was a deep sigh.
Alexander intervened, observing in his mildest tone: ‘If there are ghosts in any part of this castle, I should think they would prefer this very wing. Should not you, Nanda?’
‘Of a certainty! It is by far the quietest part of the house, and rarely intruded upon by the living. If I were a ghost, I dare say I would be most content with it.’
‘There are no ghosts,’ said Eino firmly. ‘I have lived here some months, and never seen or heard aught out of place.’
‘Ah, but they are not out of place,’ Nanda pointed out. ‘To them, my dear Eino, the person who is out of his place is you.’
Eino had no response to make to this unpromising idea. He raised his lantern a little higher, sending the creeping shadows fleeing up the walls.
Into this silence there came the distant, echoing sound of approaching footsteps: one, two, three slow paces.
Eino’s grip upon his lantern turned white-knuckled. ‘I am sure of it,’ he loudly proclaimed.
‘Oh, I am sure they mean no harm,’ said Alexander reassuringly.
From some twenty paces to their rear, Konrad watched and listened to all of this with interest. He had cloaked himself in those same shadows that Eino sought to dismiss, and followed along without detection; silence itself, until he permitted those few, eerie footfalls to reach Eino’s ears.
Serpents. A little more cold, please.
Eetapi and Ootapi, invisible to all save Konrad himself, obeyed his orders with gratifying promptitude. Ice raced in thin sheets over the smooth tiled walls, frost crept in webs across the floor. Then came those footsteps again, closer now, splitting the heavy silence with sharp, staccato emphasis.
‘I believe we have a visitor,’ offered Alexander, with smiling affability.
‘No, no,’ said Eino weakly, casting agitated looks all around himself. ‘The others are looking for us, perhaps. It is Marko, or Lilli.’
‘Perhaps Kati,’ said Nanda, all soft dulcetness of tone.
‘I... why, yes, perhaps,’ stuttered Eino in reply.
They had walked the length of a long, bare passageway, and now bid fair to turn the corner into some new part of the castle. But a few feet ahead of them, on the left side of the corridor, a heavy door of solid oak and black iron hinges quietly opened itself.
As Eino stared in mesmerised horror, the substantial door swung slowly inward.
‘I believe we are invited to go in,’ said Alexander, and stepped that way.
‘No!’ The word emerged at booming volume, echoed off the walls. Eino followed his horrified utterance by hurling himself in Alexander’s way. ‘On no account go into that room!’
‘Why, what is in there?’ Nanda, all eager curiosity, darted at once through the doorway.
Despairing, his face as pallid as the snow outside, Eino went after.
Alexander looked in the direction he expected Konrad to be, and mimed a doff of his hat. He, too, went through the mysterious door, and Konrad followed after.
And now a glow, please, Konrad instructed his snakes. A little, not too much.
They performed admirably, casting the faintest ghost-light into the corners of the room. It was another bedchamber, as decrepit as every other in this forgotten part of the house. The bed was intact, though so choked with dust as to obscure its coverlets entirely. A series of heavy, dark wooden closets lined one wall, looming out of the darkness like a row of silent giants. Twisted iron sconces hung upon the walls, emptied of light and grace. The dusty tiled floor was partially covered over with a ragged rug, once a magnificent tapestry. The serpents floated through every part of the chamber, tracing their ghost-light over bed-post and sconce, kicking up clouds of choking dust, sending out motes of eerie light to dazzle Eino’s eyes.
Silence.
‘This chamber must have belonged to someone important,’ said Nanda after a moment, her voice an atmospheric whisper. ‘Perhaps they linger still.’
Alexander wandered towards the row of closets. Pale light limned the closed doors; something inside was shining. ‘I should think it likely.’
Poor Eino stood at the rear of the chamber, as far from those glimmering closets as he could get. ‘We must leave. Nanda, please.’
‘But what if it is important?’ Nanda joined Alexander, and called out: ‘We are ready to hear you.’
‘No!’ cried Eino hoarsely. He tried to back farther away and came up against the wall, shaking. Would he run? He stared ahead, gaze fixed in horror, and seemed unable to move at all.
Konrad chose prudence, and quietly moved to block the exit.
There came a whisper of movement, and a slow creak. The doors were opening. Nanda and Alexander stepped back, as one, and the ghost-light blazed, revealing the outline of an ethereal figure traced within its midst.
A piercing scent, sweetly rotten, filled the air.
‘Have you come to visit me?’ The words emerged in a sepulchral whisper, though the tone was light and high: youthful. ‘Come closer. I have been so long alone.’
The spirit drifted forward; frost-flowers blossomed over the floor beneath her incorporeal feet.
Oh, that’s lovely. Konrad had given no instructions for decoration; who could have guessed that the serpents possessed an artistic flair?
Thank you, Master. Ootapi sounded pleased.
I believe that was my idea, hissed Eetapi in sniffy irritation.
You are both to be praised, said Konrad soothingly. His peace-keeping efforts were rewarded only with a twin, offended silence.
Tasha may deplore her role as Synnove, but she was doing a fine job of playing the ghost of the house at Divoro. She was sweet and wistful and sad, but as the serpents lowered the brilliance of their magnificent ghost-light she was revealed in all her horrifying glory: a cadaver traced upon the air in threads of shadow and light, hollow eye-sockets gaping, her hair a rotting cloud around a decaying face.
A low moan of pure terror issued from Eino Holt.
The ghost, engaged as she was in inspecting Alexander and Nanda, could not ignore the sound. She looked up, intrigued. ‘There is another here!’ And she drifted his way, slow but inexorable.
Eino screamed.
‘But what is the matter?’ Tasha halted, head tilted. ‘You do not wish to see me?’
‘Please,’ gasped Eino. ‘I am sorry for it all, so sorry. Do not hurt me! Do not hurt Nanda!’
‘I will not hurt you.’ The ghost smiled horribly, jaw gaping, and advanced again upon Eino. ‘Have you come to talk to me? Shall we play a game?’
‘No!’ Eino cringed back, white with fear, then made an abrupt and futile break for the door. Courtesy of the Malykant and his serpents, he found a wall of something icy-cold, invisible but impassable, blocking his way. He screamed, beat his fists uselessly against the obstruction, and finally fell weak-kneed to the floor.
‘Do not run from me!’ Tasha said plaintively. ‘What is your name?’
Eino said nothing, apparently paralysed with fear. So, ever helpful, Nanda spoke up. ‘His name is Eino Holt, and he owns this house.’
The ghastly head tilted again. ‘Owns it? But it is my father’s house.’
‘The Vasilescu are long gone. It is the House of Holt, now.’
‘No.’ Anger vibrated through those sweet, youthful tones. ‘My family would never abandon this house! You took it from them.’ She advanced upon Eino, who trembled so hard that his teeth chattered. ‘Why?’
‘They... they sold it.’ Eino forced out the words, choking. ‘I bought it from them.’
‘You should not have bought it.’ The advance slowed not one whit; soon Tasha hovered over the prone shape of Eino, her ethereal form roiling ominously. ‘You dare to trespass upon the Halls of the Vasilescu? Did you think that we would permit it?’ Her voice rose to a terrible shriek, and bursts of lightning crackled through the air. ‘For this, you will pay.’
‘No!’ Eino screamed the word, an appalling, tearing sound, and Konrad knew a moment’s guilt. He had heard that sound before, once or twice: it was raw despair, and the kind of fear that could break a man’s mind. ‘It is not my house! It is not mine! I bought it for — for another — but you must not harm her. You must not.’
Konrad blinked. The same surprise registered in Nanda’s sudden stillness, in Alexander’s swift frown.
Tasha gathered herself. ‘To whom have you given my father’s house!’ she shrieked. A dry, chill wind blew itself into existence around her, sending choking clouds of dust into Konrad’s face. He tried his best not to cough, and thereby reveal his presence.
‘Do not ask me!’ Eino covered his head with his arms, trying desperately to block out the nightmarish vision of Tasha bending over him.
Tasha, undisturbed, kept up the pressure. ‘Why!’ she screamed. ‘Why did you give away my house!’
‘Because... because...’ Eino failed to finish the sentence; a shudder racked his beleaguered body, so strong as to cut off his words. He gasped, and tried again. ‘I had to.’
‘Had to,’ repeated Tasha, in a whisper. The softness of the words fell sweetly upon the air, in stark contrast to the raging fury of a moment before. ‘By whose order, Eino Holt? You will tell me!’
Eino gasped and shuddered, his gaze still averted from the terrible vision of Tasha. ‘You must not hurt her,’ he babbled. ‘You must not hurt her.’
Not another word could Tasha induce him to speak. He fell into a stupor, fear-ravaged and exhausted, and lay curled in a protective ball, shaking.
‘Enough,’ whispered Konrad. Tasha nodded and faded away; the ghost-lights dimmed and winked out, leaving only the guttering glow of the lamps Nanda and Alexander had brought. The sudden silence felt heavy and oppressive.
‘We must get him to his room,’ Nanda sighed. She regarded the felled form of her terrified friend in thoughtful silence; in her eyes Konrad saw compassion, and the same guilt he felt himself. They had succeeded in their goal: Eino had been frightened enough to talk. But the extent of his terror had not been anticipated. How much harm had they caused?
What’s more, his words strongly suggested that he was someone else’s tool in this bad business. Whose? How this mystery woman was involved, or what Eino had got himself caught up in, remained unclear; but that he was both reluctant and appalled by it was obvious. He had probably deserved gentler treatment than he had received.
Eino was persuaded to rise, eventually, though he was weak upon his legs and his shaking did not to any degree lessen. The journey back to the habitable parts of the castle was slow; Eino walked, but he was supported on either side by Alexander and Nanda, and he seemed in danger of tumbling to the floor with every step he took.
Konrad went ahead, and entreated the assistance of two of Eino’s maids. By the time the forlorn trio reached Eino’s chamber, there was a strong fire casting a welcoming heat and a bright glow from the hearth, and his bed had been made up with multiple hot bricks. Once successfully put to bed, he lay there inert, eyes closed, his face as white as death.
They withdrew, and left him to sleep. Watch over him, please, Konrad instructed Eetapi, who accepted the task without a murmur of complaint.
Nanda gave a deep, weary sigh as the door shut upon Eino. ‘We have used him very ill.’
‘It was necessary,’ said Konrad.
‘Yes. But I regret the necessity. Will he recover, I wonder?’
‘The mind is always stronger than it appears,’ offered Alexander. ‘Stronger than we would like, sometimes. I have seen people far more delicate than he, recover from still greater trauma.’
Nanda’s smile was grateful. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘I hope you are right.’
Konrad’s mind turned upon the questions raised by Eino’s words. ‘We need to reclaim Tasha,’ he said. ‘And then we need to find those cellar kitchens.’
‘She has already found them, has she not?’ said Nanda.
‘Oh yes, but only in her spirit shape, and she cannot hope to explore every inch of those rooms without aid. We must find a way in. Whatever is going on down there must be the key — to the murders, to the house itself. There is no time to waste.’ He thought a moment, and added: ‘And I believe I will set one of the serpents to watching the movements of our host.’