Death's Executioner

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘It needn’t have been a close acquaintance,’ said Tasha. ‘Anything that would put them in the same building, or make it likely they’d pass in the street? Something like that.’

  ‘But,’ said Alexander. ‘But they came from utterly different backgrounds, and as far as we’ve been able to tell, they had nothing in common. Except…’

  ‘Except the Order,’ Nanda finished. She looked sick. ‘You cannot mean that someone of the Order is responsible for this.’

  Alexander looked apologetic, but he did not back down. ‘Can you think of anything else those two might have shared? We can’t. And by we I mean the police. My men have gone through every aspect of their lives, and found no other link between them.’

  ‘No one among the Shandral could possibly form such a pact,’ Nanda said vehemently. ‘Or murder their own fellows — especially like that—’

  Rarely had Konrad seen Nanda upset at all, let alone so deeply. Anxious to comfort, but unsure how to do so, he took her hand again, and wove her fingers through his own. She was cold, a little. He received no answering look, no real response to his gesture at all, but her fingers did tighten slightly upon his.

  ‘Nan,’ he said gently. ‘There is no such thing as an incorruptible group. However lofty the purposes of The Shandrigal’s Order—’

  ‘Not lofty,’ Nanda said coolly. ‘That isn’t at all the right word.’

  ‘Pure, then. Worthy. It doesn’t matter. Nothing is wholly immune to — to the weaknesses, the vices and the failures of human nature. Even the Shandral must have their fair share of the fallen.’

  Nanda’s lips tightened. She said nothing more, but Konrad read in her ice-blue eyes a sick, and deepening, fear. He knew she was going through the members of her Order — their Order — in her mind, weighing up all of those that she knew, trying to decide if any of them could be the culprit.

  ‘Nanda,’ said Alexander, diffidently. He did not relish the task of distressing Nanda, either. ‘Nan, were there any others among the Order who had the same sensitivities as Artemo and Vak? Anyone else who could sense a corrupted presence?’

  ‘You would have to ask Katya,’ said Nanda slowly. ‘But to my knowledge, no. It is not a widespread ability.’

  That would explain the recruitment of such different people as Artemo and Vak, and the long membership of the former. The Order had probably been paying him a pension, if not a wage. ‘Is it a coincidence,’ Konrad said carefully, ‘that it is these two who have been murdered?’

  ‘Can’t be,’ said Tasha. ‘Whoever it was knew what he was about. He deliberately removed the only two who could smell him for what he was.’

  ‘Which was foolish,’ said Nanda softly. ‘For with that act, he betrayed himself.’ She closed her eyes, and rested her face in her hands.

  ‘Nan?’ said Konrad. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Course she isn’t,’ said Tasha. ‘She knows who it is. Nobody likes having to accept that their erstwhile friends are monsters.’

  ‘Do you, Nan?’ said Konrad.

  Nanda sat up again, and lifted her chin. ‘I am afraid I might.’

  The house they came to some little time later had all the marks of abandonment about it. Situated on the edge of Ekamet, it backed straight onto the city walls; stray, bone-pale branches from the forest beyond reached over the tops of the wall, and grasped uselessly at its roof.

  The house was one of a row of three terraced dwellings, all of them veering in the direction of dereliction. The one at the far end was their destination, and that was the worst of the three, with holes in its roof, two of its windows broken and a general air of desolation about it.

  ‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ said Tasha, surveying it with a frown. ‘It doesn’t look like anyone has lived here in years.’

  ‘He always had humble tastes,’ said Nanda, and marched on towards the house.

  Privately, Konrad agreed with Tasha. Matthias Varis was not there. Probably he had already left Ekamet again, gone back into Marja, as Alexander thought.

  But Nanda rapped upon the door anyway, and stood waiting.

  Konrad joined her.

  When no reply came, she nodded silently at Konrad, and he stretched out a hand to the rusted lock. Its stiff tumblers gave immediately under the cold touch of his fingers, and the door swung ajar with a dull creak.

  Nanda swept inside.

  ‘Matthias!’ she called. ‘Mr. Varis?’

  The words echoed off the bare walls of the tiny, cramped hallway. Closed doors led into the house, on either side. Konrad opened the left one: a humble kitchen lay beyond, containing little more than an old-fashioned stove, much begrimed, and a stained table of stripped wood. No one was there.

  The room opposite contained a couch, its dark green upholstery fraying away, and chairs, and a low table with a single lamp upon it. That, too, was empty.

  But then came Ootapi’s voice. Master. There is a presence. Upstairs.

  Konrad hurried to reach the stairs before Nanda could, or Alexander either. The inspector had insisted upon attending them, though Konrad had done his best to talk him out of it. There could be nothing for him to do; supposing Matthias Varis to be guilty, the next part was Konrad’s province. And Tasha’s. But for once, Inspector Nuritov had insisted.

  Konrad had no wish to see him hurt. He stole up the carpetless stairs, wincing with every creak; stealth was out of the question. Whoever waited above must know they had visitors.

  A single door waited at the top of the stairs. Konrad did not bother to pause; he threw it open, and stalked inside.

  Their quarry — presumably — lay upon a sweat-stained pallet at the back of the room. A comfortless chamber, Konrad thought distantly; bare of ornament, it bore besides the bed only a cupboard, and a soiled rug of rags across the floor. The fire had gone out long ago, and the room was bone-chillingly cold. It stank, the same way Nanda’s bedchamber had, only worse: the layered scents of night-terrors and sickness, probably accumulated over some weeks.

  ‘Matthias,’ said Nanda from behind him.

  Matthias Varis lay recumbent upon his rumpled and stained sheets. He had Nanda’s icy-pale colouring, though his hair was whitened further with age, and his face so pallid with sickness and torment as to appear grey. He stared, hollow-eyed and unmoving, at Konrad, then at Nanda. ‘Miss Falenia?’ he said dully, his over-bright eyes focusing upon her.

  Nanda went to his bedside, heedless of Konrad’s attempts to discourage her. The man was likely dangerous; she ought not to get too close. But she stopped only two feet from his bedside, and stood looking down at him with unutterable sadness. ‘It was you,’ she said wearily. ‘Wasn’t it?’

  Matthias Varis did not seem to need to ask what she meant. He said nothing, but Konrad read guilt, resignation and — more surprisingly — remorse in his every feature.

  ‘Why?’ said Nanda.

  Matthias closed his eyes. ‘I did not mean…’ he began, his voice faint and faded. His eyes opened again, and now they were sharp, fixed unwaveringly upon Nanda. ‘You know how it is,’ he said. ‘It begins with a simple pact, a small thing. The bargain seems good. You make another, and another.’ He paused to draw breath, his hands coiling in the sheets with a shaking grip. ‘I… did not know, what manner of thing I had encountered. I made the pact. I knew, almost at once, that I’d made a mistake, but too late, too late.’

  Nanda did not move. ‘How could you not know?’

  Matthias’s parched lips curled up in a faint, mirthless smile. ‘Young as you are, you must yet know that — not everything is as it seems. The rottenest creatures frequently wear the fairest faces.’

  ‘You were a fool,’ said Nanda.

  ‘I was. I have paid dearly for it.’

  ‘So have Rodion Artemo, and Timof Vak.’ Nanda’s voice was steel, not an ounce of sympathy or understanding in her.

  Matthias Varis bowed his head. ‘I paid and I paid,’ he said. ‘It was never enough. And I began to feel… differen
tly. About everything. Things I would once have balked at seemed… simple. I grew frightened. I knew she would always want more of me, more than I had to give. Rodion and Timof…’ His face creased in sudden agony. ‘They saw me. They knew what I had done. They — would have killed me.’

  ‘You would have deserved it,’ said Nanda.

  ‘I know.’ Matthias was weakening; the words emerged more strained with every breath, and his chest heaved with the effort of drawing enough air. ‘I… regret. If I could undo it—’

  ‘Regret is of no use,’ said Nanda, cold as ice. ‘And you cannot undo it. Two of our friends among the Shandral are dead, and by your hand. What have you to offer, in penance?’

  ‘I have already offered it,’ gasped Matthias. ‘She is banished. It will cost me my life.’

  ‘Banished?’ said Konrad. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means the pact is fulfilled,’ said Nanda. ‘The debt paid, and the creature, whatever she was, is gone back into the spiritlands. Let us hope, forever. Were the lives, organs and souls of Rodion and Timof enough to settle your debt, Matthias?’

  ‘Theirs,’ he whispered. ‘And mine.’

  Nanda turned away from him, and walked to the grimy window. Konrad, after a moment, followed her. Tasha and Alexander stood near the door, uncharacteristically silent, at least in Tasha’s case. Alexander watched the proceedings with his customary composure, and Konrad could not guess at the thoughts that passed behind his eyes.

  ‘What do you think?’ said Konrad softly.

  ‘Of what?’ Nanda said. ‘I don’t know what your binding-knives will achieve in Matthias’s case. The souls of those he killed are already gone. Devoured. And Matthias’s will likely receive a similar fate, once he expires.’

  Konrad could not help feeling a little chilled by Nanda’s coldness. Matthias had committed monstrous crimes, but did not his obvious remorse, the sacrifice he had made in atonement, move her at all?

  But that was a spark of fear in her eyes; her rigidity was borne of terror. What had Matthias done, but walk the same road Nanda herself travelled down — only further and farther, all the way into damnation? Did she picture herself in his shoes, on some dark, future day?

  ‘It is not a mistake you could ever make, Nan,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You cannot know that. Did Matthias ever imagine himself coming to such an end?’

  ‘You are not him.’

  ‘I know.’ She bowed her head, and turned away from the window. ‘And I must take care that never changes.’ She left the room as she spoke, quietly drawing Alexander away with her. Konrad read the gesture clearly enough. What was left of Matthias was his to finish, his and Tasha’s.

  Matthias watched his silent approach placidly, all the fear drained out of him. ‘You’re here to finish me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Matthias nodded. ‘I knew the Malykant would come. I’ve waited for you.’

  Konrad looked at Tasha. He didn’t need to say anything: she knew what he asked.

  She hesitated.

  And then, unexpectedly, she withdrew a bundle of cloth from her jacket and gave it into his hands. ‘I’ll be outside,’ she said.

  The cloth was plain cotton, unmarked. No blood. Tasha had cleaned the bones of Rodion Artemo and Timof Vak very carefully. She had made her selections sensibly, too, and removed the two stout bones cleanly. He must remember to commend her for it. Already she was making a fine apprentice.

  He looked once more at Matthias Varis: a spent, prone husk of a man, reduced to nothing but awaiting his imminent end. Whatever of virtue, strength or worth he had once had was gone. All that remained was useless, sickening regret.

  Too many people went to their graves that way, Konrad thought. Like Nanda, he must take care that he did not travel too far down that road.

  ‘Have you anything else to say?’ Konrad said. He did not usually give his victims a chance to utter their last words, but something about Varis was different. There was something of dignity about this scene: an acceptance of culpability, that very regret which, useless as it may be, was nonetheless superior to the frantic denials and self-justifications of most of those he’d killed. And the man had done what he could to mend his mistake. Only… too late. Far, far too late.

  ‘Tell her I’m sorry,’ said Matthias Varis.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Miss Falenia. Madam Inshova. All of them.’

  Epilogue

  Bakar House came equipped with one turret, a narrow tower with a domed roof attached to the building’s south-west corner. Konrad had always thought it a purposeless absurdity, situated as it was four storeys up, and it was too small to house most of the amenities one might prefer.

  Tasha disagreed.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ she insisted, holding open the turret’s white-painted door as though she might, at any moment, slam it in Konrad’s face.

  ‘But it’s far out of the way of the rest of the house,’ Konrad pleaded, stalled on the threshold of said turret as he’d attempted to lure Tasha out of it. ‘Even the servants aren’t so isolated.’

  ‘I like the height. I’m used to attics, and this is way better.’

  ‘And there’s no room for anything, you’re lucky you even have a fire in here—’

  Tasha laughed. ‘I have a fire. That’s already a huge upgrade, even if it’s a small one. I’ve also got a bed, and a closet. What more do I need?’

  Konrad just looked at her helplessly. How could he explain? Once upon a time, he had felt as Tasha did. Even scant comforts seemed like princely luxuries to him. Over the years, he had gradually grown accustomed to the superior luxury of Bakar House; though there were still days when he craved the simplicity and isolation of his hut out in the Bones, for the most part he could not imagine living without his study and his big fireplaces, his deep, plush chairs, his cook and his handsome parlour.

  In all probability, Tasha would eventually come down from the turret. But if it suited her for the time being, so be it. Konrad raised his hands in defeat, and backed away from the door. ‘I’ll have a bell fitted,’ he said, ‘so you can call for service.’

  Tasha wrinkled her nose. ‘Or I can exercise my own legs, and go down to the kitchen when I want something.’

  He grinned, chastened but for some reason amused by it. ‘Gorev’s going to love having you around.’

  ‘He’ll be begging for mercy inside of a week.’

  Konrad went slowly downstairs. He’d already given private instructions to his housekeeper — and Gorev — to do something with Tasha’s wardrobe. If she was going to be Malykant-in-training, she’d need the right equipment, and he was damned if anyone living in his house was going to be left walking around in rags. Well, not rags. Alexander had had her in charge for a while, to some degree; he was no doubt responsible for the few respectable garments Tasha owned. Konrad had a feeling he’d have a battle on his hands about the clothes, though. For some reason, Tasha seemed to prefer her disreputable garb.

  Speaking of the inspector. Konrad went down two floors, and peeped into the morning-room situated at the rear of the house. With its big windows, comfortable armchairs, bookcases and elegant dining-table, he hoped it would be acceptable for Alexander’s use. He’d declined an invitation to follow Tasha’s example, and make his abode at Bakar House; Konrad hadn’t been surprised. But he had not objected to the prospect of a room set aside for his own particular use. Mrs. Orista had already done wondrous things with it: dust-free, it had new rugs and cushions, and looked inviting. He’d order the fire to be lit soon, to air and warm the room before the inspector arrived.

  He hoped he’d often see Alexander there.

  The front door’s knocker sounded as he returned to the ground floor, and his heart leapt. This would be Nanda coming back. She hadn’t quite agreed to move in entirely, either, but she had consented to spend more of her time there. Now she would be returning with some part of her personal possessions; Konrad had made room for them, ordered a bedchamb
er to be set aside for her regular use, though he hoped she would generally be sharing his—

  He stopped at the foot of the stairs, for Gorev had opened the door upon Diana Valentina. She met Konrad’s gaze as she walked in, and wordlessly handed her deep purple coat to his butler.

  ‘Diana,’ he said, coolly.

  She returned this salutation with about as much warmth. ‘I hope this is not an inconvenient time?’

  His lips twitched. Where Diana was concerned, there was no such thing as come-back-tomorrow. ‘I believe I can spare you a few minutes,’ he said.

  He didn’t take her into the best parlour. That space was sacred, his and Nanda’s. He took her instead into the drawing-room, a rather grand and formal chamber he rarely chose to use. It seemed fitting for the head of The Malykt’s Order, herself wreathed in a stiff grandeur he found rather offensive. Hadn’t they once been on decent terms?

  ‘It’s to be a formal visit, then?’ he said, taking a seat on one of the uncomfortable hardwood chairs. It had a cushion, but more in theory than in practice. The thing was purely decorative.

  Diana sat with no sign of discomfort. ‘There were just one or two things we needed to discuss.’

  Her tone was cool, even remote, but it occurred to Konrad that Diana had never condescended to wait upon him like this before. If she wanted to see him, typically she summoned him to her side. Did it signify a relenting? Konrad waited for her to speak.

  She took her time in doing so. He had never seen her hesitant before, either. ‘I have heard some part of your recent… experiences,’ she said. ‘I would be glad to hear about them from you.’

  ‘You mean the malefic, my death, my brief replacement and my unexpected and unwelcome resurrection.’

  Diana’s mouth tightened at his last words. ‘Something like that. Yes.’

  So Konrad told her everything, as he saw it. If he lingered rather more upon Nanda’s heroism than on his own exploits, well, that was fair. Let her understand how much Nanda had been obliged to pay for her decisions. Let her consider just how far one or two others disagreed with her conclusions.