Chapter Three

Konrad stood nonplussed, unsure how to proceed. How could so clear a trail vanish without trace? You are certain?

Ootapi did not deign to respond, but he expressed his opinion of Konrad’s doubts clearly enough by way of a few disgusted flicks of his sinuous tail.

All right, I apologise.

He thought of Eetapi, and Nuritov. Had the inspector caught up yet? Perhaps he was even now attendant upon one of the earlier victims.

Konrad shared this notion with Nanda, and she, for lack of a better alternative, swiftly agreed to retrace their steps.

They found Nuritov by the side of the murdered woman. The inspector wore his usual wide-brimmed rain hat and long coat; he had a pipe in his hand, which he could not possibly hope to keep lit under such wet, windy conditions, but perhaps merely holding the familiar object was of comfort. He greeted Konrad and Nanda kindly, if a trifle abstractedly. ‘Thought I might see you two turn up.’

‘We were here earlier,’ Konrad said.

Nuritov transferred his gaze from the dead woman’s visage, to Konrad’s. ‘Oh?’

Konrad drew him aside, for though the inspector’s men had largely dissipated the earlier crowd, there were still far too many people nearby for public conversation. In a low voice, he related all the events of the night thus far.

Nuritov’s gravity deepened with the tale, especially at the news of a third victim. ‘Eetapi brought me word of the wine merchant, but the cheese shop, I hadn’t heard about.’

‘All we know of the man is that he’s not the shopkeep. No sign of him or her.’

Nuritov put his unlit pipe into his mouth and sucked upon it, his gaze distant. ‘That could be suspicious.’

‘Could be.’

‘You don’t think the shopkeep might be responsible for all this?’

Konrad shrugged. ‘I can’t yet say, but I... tend to doubt it. All the descriptions of the culprit point towards a large, powerful man, and we know he is capable of brutality. Those who spend their lives quietly vending produce do not often display those characteristics.’

‘True.’

‘Then again, sometimes they do.’

‘Also true.’ Nuritov fell silent again, and Konrad allowed his thoughts to wander. His steps, too; he drifted back to the side of the fallen woman, and indulged in a leisurely, more considered examination than he had previously had time for.

She looked peaceful, he thought, looking once more into her face. How often could he say that, of the bodies he tended to encounter? The victims of violent deaths, all of them; slain against their will and before their time. Except, apparently, for this one. Grateful to find herself dead, however violent the means of dispatch. How odd. He had never encountered its like.

‘Who is she?’ Konrad asked, wandering back to Nuritov. ‘Did you find that out?’

‘Mm.’ Nuritov removed the pipe from his mouth, glancing at it in a vague, puzzled way. ‘Her name is Albina Olga Narolina. Wife of Sergei, deceased. If she has living relations, we have not yet discovered who they are.’

‘Vasily, though. The cousin. Have you spoken to her?’

‘Not yet. I was waiting for you.’

‘You... you were?’ Konrad tried not to feel ridiculously pleased, like a girl asked to dance against all her expectations.

Nuritov’s wry smile suggested that he guessed at Konrad’s feelings. ‘Your insights are always of interest, and frequently of use.’

‘Thank you.’

‘In addition to which, if I did not take you along, I would only have to fill you in later. Saves time.’

‘How practical.’

Nuritov gave a tiny bow. He leaned closer and said in a much lower voice, ‘I see you have not... taken anything, from the body.’

He referred, of course, to the rib bone. ‘Too busy,’ Konrad replied. ‘I will do so later.’

‘Ah. Then I may have her transferred to the morgue?’

‘Please.’

Nuritov absorbed this, then looked to Nanda. Nan had declined to participate in their conversation, choosing instead to wander the environs of Mrs. Narolina’s body, her watchful gaze fixed upon the crowd. ‘Will Miss Falenia be joining us?’

‘Yes.’ He had not asked her, of course, but he intended that she should. She had once reproved him mightily for leaving her out, excluding her, keeping secrets from her. Actually, she had done so more than once. They had moved far beyond those days, now; frequently of use to one another, their lives and duties were increasingly bound up together. And he had grown to trust her. Far from wanting to keep her away, he now sought to keep her close — by any means necessary. He’d beg if he had to.

Fortunately, he was not driven to such lengths this time. Nanda serenely took it as read that she was invited along, and did not wait for anybody to assure her of it. She fell into step in between Konrad and Nuritov as they departed, and took the opportunity to say in an undertone: ‘I could not read her. She is gone.’

‘Thank you for trying.’ Konrad was not surprised. Albina had been broadly unresponsive even when Ootapi had held fast her spirit; now that she was released, there could be little hope that Nanda’s talented touch would encounter anything but dead flesh.

Kristina Vasily lived unusually close to the docks. Those who owned property typically preferred to distance themselves from the more unsavoury aspects that sometimes came with it; while owning a warehouse or two was undoubtedly advantageous for anybody with mercantile leanings, these structures were almost universally situated in the insalubrious docks area.

This did not appear to matter to Kristina. Her house was a mere three minutes’ walk from the docks, situated upon a street of only modest pretensions towards gentility. Not that she herself suffered from any such shortcomings. When Nuritov, Konrad and Nanda presented themselves at her door, it was swiftly opened by a nicely-dressed manservant who did his best to repel them at once. Upon finding Inspector Nuritov most insistent, he reluctantly summoned his mistress.

Kristina Vasily did not lack for money; that much was immediately obvious. She was swathed in fine velvets and adorned with gems, though perhaps the season had something to do with her choice of attire. The noise from within the house indicated that some manner of gathering was underway.

She did not invite them inside. Looking down upon them from her admittedly impressive height — an effect exacerbated by her elevation several inches above street-level — she said in forbidding tones: ‘What is it?’

‘Madam,’ said Nuritov politely. ‘I am Inspector Nuritov, of the Ekamet Police, and—’

‘I have been informed of your name,’ she interrupted.

‘Mm. Well, I do of course apologise for calling upon you at such a time, but I am afraid I have bad news.’

‘What...what kind of bad news?’

‘The worst, I’m afraid.’

Madam Vasily’s gaze travelled to Konrad, to Nanda, and back to Nuritov. The prospect of ill tidings robbed her of some of her importance, and she invited them inside rather more cordially. She led them to a tiny parlour — ‘I apologise, all the better rooms are in use this evening’ — and waited with an air of ill-suppressed anxiety.

‘Are you close to your cousin, madam?’

‘Which cousin? I believe I have at least seven, at last count. First cousins, I suppose you mean?’

Nuritov hesitated. ‘Ah... I speak of your cousin Illya.’

‘Cheerful fellow,’ said Kristina. ‘Not one of the family’s brightest stars, but he’s done well for himself.’

He had owned a popular and apparently successful shop in an expensive part of town, and that made him only modestly successful in his cousin’s eyes? The same cousin who lived a stone’s throw from her warehouses on the docks? Konrad made a note to look into the Vasily family’s holdings.

Nuritov began the delicate process of explaining to Kristina that her relative had been murdered. Konrad did not listen closely to the words. He watched Kristina’s face, alert for any expression, any betrayed thought, that seemed out of place.

He was disappointed. She was not devastated by the news, but her indifferent attitude in speaking of Illya Vasily had prepared Konrad for that. There was no sign of satisfaction, however, nor any attempt at feigning a grief she clearly did not feel. She was shaken by the news, disturbed, but not distraught.

‘We do not appear upon your doorstep by happenstance,’ Nuritov ventured, once Kristina had been permitted a few minutes to accustom herself to the news. ‘Illya... indicated that you may have some idea of...’

Nuritov trailed off, at a loss. And well he might, for he was trying to find a way to inform Kristina that her dead cousin had named her as a possible source of information about his murderer. Konrad’s abilities in that direction were not exactly common, and few held such sway over the likes of Eetapi and Ootapi. Talking corpses were somewhat out of the ordinary.

Typically, Konrad found it best to skip over such details as why he had chosen to interrogate a particular person. It was always virtually impossible to explain. Nuritov was a novice at this; he would learn.

Konrad stepped forward a little. ‘Madam. Do you know of anybody who might have wished your cousin ill? Anyone who might have reason to harm him?’

He asked the question without much hope of a useful response. If Illya Vasily had been the only victim, questioning the family for precisely such details would probably have been his first action. But with three victims to investigate, apparently chosen at random, he held out faint hope that Kristina would be of any use at all. With so few leads to follow, however, he had little choice but to try.

Kristina did not seem as quick to dismiss her own usefulness as he had, however. She frowned, and thought. Konrad imagined he detected a trace of concern in her eyes. ‘Do you know anything about our family?’ she finally asked.

‘Biggest merchant family in Ekamet, no?’ said Nuritov. ‘Vasily? Own about a quarter of the shops in the city, sell most everything, fleets of trading vessels and caravans.’

‘And warehouses,’ said Kristina, with a faint smile. ‘Quite.’ Konrad revised his opinion of her affluence: she was probably mistress of rather more than a couple of warehouses. ‘Such dominance makes enemies, of course. There are those who resent our success, who would give a great deal to see us fall.’

Undoubtedly true, but unhelpfully general. ‘Do you know of anyone in particular?’ Konrad prompted. ‘Has anybody made threats? Perhaps especially towards your cousin?’

Kristina shook her head, impatient. ‘Illya did well enough for himself, but he was no star of the Vasily clan. I do not see why anybody would target him in particular. He was revoltingly well-liked for a Vasily. If he has been killed, I would wager it is part of a broader attempt to damage us.’

Which explained her air of anxiety. Probably she was picturing a spate of such killings, and possibly attacks of other kinds.

It made for an interesting point. Konrad had no intention of revealing that others had died tonight, not unless — or until — they proved to be a part of this “Vasily clan” as well. ‘Again, madam. Do you know of anyone in particular, who might have cause to wish your family harm?’

Kristina regarded him in thoughtful, worried silence for some moments, and he despaired of her ever answering his question. But at last, she spoke up. ‘Iyakim.’

Konrad repeated the word to himself, but it did not resolve into anything more meaningful. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Iyakim. They are a vast trading family, from Kayesir. Our main competitors in that region, and... they have been making forays into Ekamet, this past year. Competing with us at every turn, jostling us, applying pressure, shelling out bribes, subverting our best connections. It has swiftly become... tense. If someone attacked Illya because he’s Vasily, it was one of them.’

She spoke with deadly certainty, a flat hatred bleeding into every word. “Tense” would appear to be an understatement. ‘That is a grave accusation, ma’am,’ Konrad said quietly. ‘Are you certain?’

‘Certain that they’re capable of it? Yes. They have used violence against us before, though they have stopped short of murder until now.’

Konrad recognised a fierce personal hatred in action, the kind that blinded a person to reason, to rationality, to evidence... everything. He might have been inclined to dismiss the idea, or at least to treat it with extreme scepticism.

Except that the Iyakim family were from Kayesir. What had Vasily said?

I made to get him a bottle of Kayesiri claret — that being what he’d asked for.

A tenuous link, but Konrad had learned to pay attention to every connection that offered, however distant, however faint. Illya Vasily’s killer had arrived at his shop with a very particular request, and Konrad would not ignore the implications of that.

‘Thank you,’ Konrad said, allowing his tone to indicate that the interview was at an end.

‘Do you...’ Kristina hesitated, and looked pleadingly at Nuritov. Her manner could not be more different from her earlier pomposity. ‘Do you think we are in danger, Inspector?’

‘I hope not, ma’am, but it cannot hurt to take one or two extra precautions.’ Nuritov bowed. That he did not offer any kind of protection or police support suggested to Konrad that he did not find the notion of a vendetta against the Vasily family especially compelling. But he did add: ‘If you have reason to feel concern, or if you should remember anything that might be important to the case, I do invite you to come by the station.’

Kristina was forced to be contented with that. She accepted the dismissal with good grace; her family was more than wealthy enough to protect themselves, after all.

Nanda, hitherto a silent, watchful presence, now metamorphosed into a vision of warmth, kindness and sympathy. She extended a hand to Kristina in sisterly invitation, saying in her softest, most winning way, ‘Such news to receive on Solstice Eve! A grave affliction for your family. I am so very sorry for your loss, my dear. I feel deeply for you.’

Privately, Konrad felt that Nan might have overdone it a little. But Kristina’s eyes actually filmed with tears, and she took Nanda’s hand in a trembling grip. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. Her emotion was probably derived more from fear than grief, but nonetheless, Nanda achieved her object: a lingering touch, her bare fingers entwined with Kristina’s for the few moments necessary to catch a glimpse of her thoughts.

Then it was over. Nanda released her victim, Nuritov and Konrad excused themselves, and soon all three were returned to the street outside. The snow had stopped at last, Konrad was pleased to note, though the wind howled on, unabashed. ‘Well?’ said Konrad.

‘When people speak with such conviction, I sometimes wonder whether they are affecting it. The Iyakim family look like an awfully convenient scapegoat, to me. But no! She was utterly sincere, hates them with a passion, and genuinely believes them to be responsible for Illya’s death. What’s more, she’s now developed a certainty that the Iyakim family intend to achieve dominance by way of murder, and mean to carve their way through Vasily after Vasily until they achieve their goals. She is petrified.’

Konrad felt a stab of remorse, for she was almost certainly exaggerating the danger, and now she was condemned to spend Solstice in a fever of fright. But he could have no control over that. She had invented the threat herself; no one had suggested it to her. They had not even informed her of the other two deaths...

...which was an interesting point. ‘Why didn’t you ask her about the others?’ he enquired of Nuritov. ‘She might be able to tell us if they’re connected to the family.’

‘She might, but she leapt to ideas of grand danger quickly enough as it was. We have other ways to find out more about Albina Olga Narolina, and we still do not know the other gentleman’s name. Speaking of which, thither we must now go. My men will, I hope, have gleaned something of use from the scene.’

Master! Ootapi’s voice shattered his thoughts like an axe through glass. You are observed!

Konrad tensed at once, every sense alert, though he took care to give no obvious sign of it. He walked on beside Nuritov, Nanda on his other side, Nuritov’s man — a bodyguard in effect, if not in name — keeping step a few paces behind. Where? Who?

A tall, dark man, Ootapi whispered gleefully. He has a thick scarf around his throat. End of the street, behind you.

Electrified, Konrad strove hard to stifle his impulse to leap into action. He wanted to chase the man down, he wanted to—

Well, and why should he not? The man was a murderer, a fugitive. Konrad had a job to do.

He whirled, and tore off down the street back towards Kristina’s house. He allowed his stride to lengthen impossibly, until he was covering several yards of distance with each overlong step — another advantage of the Malykant, and one he often employed. Konrad arrived at the corner of the street in seconds, searching every shadow for the dark-cloaked man.

He is gone, hissed Ootapi.

No! He cannot be!

The serpents dutifully searched, but no sign of the watcher could they find.

Konrad took two deep breaths, until he had brought his frustration under control. You did not imagine him, I suppose?

I saw him, too! Eetapi chimed in with girlish glee.

Konrad sighed.

‘Something the matter?’ said Nuritov, as he and Nanda caught up.

‘No. A false alarm.’