Chapter Five
I want to see you.
The note said nothing else, and it was not signed, but Konrad knew who had sent it.
The fog still hadn’t lifted, and the trees were dripping wet when he stepped beyond the city gates into the marshlands. Beads of dew twinkled on the branches, and half-frozen water sloshed and splintered underfoot, eerily loud in the hush. He strode through the hazy atmosphere, sure of his path, unconcerned by the fact that he could see only a few hand spans in front of him.
The serpents glided into position on either side of him, coalescing out of the mist like puffs of steam.
Be gone, he told them silently. I go where you must not follow.
You go to meet the apothecary, said Eetapi.
You think she does not know? Said Ootapi.
She might guess, he conceded. But I do not wish for her suspicions to be confirmed.
Eetapi flicked her tail derisively and vanished. But Ootapi lay around his neck like a scarf, and would not be moved until Konrad had almost reached the house-on-stilts in the woods.
Go, he urged, and Ootapi melded back into the fog.
Irinanda was already inside when he emerged through the trapdoor in the floor. She was cleaning, dusting and organising the bottles and jars on his shelves. She knew he had arrived; he read it in the way she turned her body to avoid appearing to notice him. He smiled inwardly and sat down on his makeshift bed, waiting for her to finish.
‘This place could be so pleasant,’ she said at last, still without looking at him.
He shrugged. ‘Why should I keep it tidier? The mice and the birds and the insects will still find their way in to put all my preparations in disarray. And this space is not intended for entertaining.’
She sniffed. ‘I dislike your city house. I dislike you when you are in the city. You become an insufferable prig.’
He smiled openly. ‘Because I wear a nice coat and a top hat? You like me better in these things, perhaps.’ He glanced down at the waxed great-coat he wore, the tall boots splashed with mud, the trousers and shirt of thick, unpretending cotton.
‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re more real.’
‘Are you saying that Mr Konrad Savast of Bakar House is fake?’
‘Quite fake,’ she said, turning a severe gaze upon him. ‘You’ve better things to do than hobnob with the social butterflies.’
‘Some of them are quite amusing.’
She frowned at that and turned away again, removing an imaginary speck of dust from a nearby jar with the cuff of her coat sleeve.
‘I tease, Nanda. I assure you, the social butterflies are as much in my poor graces as they are in yours today.’
‘He came back,’ she said, abruptly spinning around.
He sat up, alert. ‘Who?’
‘The poison man. The one looking for marsh spectre.’
He patted the seat beside him. ‘Come here, and tell me everything.’
Irinanda folded her arms and remained where she was. ‘He came in yesterday. He tried to flirt with me.’
Her indignation made him want to laugh. He stifled it. She didn’t like to be laughed at.
‘I suppose he liked you,’ he said mildly. ‘It’s not impossible that people might, once in a while.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘If he hasn’t already committed murder he’s planning to. He makes me sick.’
Konrad sighed inwardly. He agreed with her about this person, but she tended to say similar things about everyone. No matter how minor their crime.
‘Just tell me what happened.’
‘I thought he’d come back for the marsh spectre, but he didn’t say anything about that. He was looking for a slow-acting poison this time, something that would take a few days to kill a person. And he wants it to look natural.’
‘That’s an interesting change of direction,’ he mused. Two possibilities occurred to him at once: either the poison-man, as Nanda called him, was a killer-for-hire and had moved on to another assignment, or he was still involved in the Rostikov case. If the latter, his new target must be related in some way to Navdina’s death.
‘What did you tell him?’
She donned her most evil smile, an expression that always made him shiver a little. ‘I gave him maricus.’
‘Oh? But he might have educated himself since the last time you spoke to him. He may know what maricus is.’
Her smile became scornful. ‘Naturally I told him that it was ijgaroot. When powdered, they are similar enough to fool anyone who is not an expert like myself.’
He nodded sagely and her smile turned cat-like with satisfaction. She had been clever, indeed. Ijgaroot was a poison of the type the man was looking for: when ingested by its victims it caused a sickness that lasted for three or four days. The symptoms were similar to a number of common ailments, so its use was rarely detected.
Maricus, on the other hand, was not fatal. When ingested it caused a violent rash: uncomfortable but not particularly dangerous to the victim.
Said rash was also nice and visible.
‘You are perfectly amazing today,’ he smiled. He was really grateful: if her mysterious customer was still involved with Navdina’s case, she might have given him a strong lead.
Instead of returning his smile, Irinanda stared at him, her expression hostile. ‘What do you do with your time?’
He blinked. ‘What?’
She gestured at the pungent room with its crowded shelves and general lack of furniture. ‘What is this for? Why do you need it if you’re a gentleman of Ekamet? Why does a gentleman of Ekamet involve himself in the poison-and-herb trade? How in the world does it make sense to waste half your time going to parties and spend the other half solving murders?’
‘I don’t often go to parties.’
‘You went to one the other night.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Have you been watching me?’
She lifted her chin, undaunted. ‘I hear things.’
He stood up. She wasn’t a short woman by any means, but he was quite a bit taller. He stepped closer, forcing her to look a long way up into his face.
‘Stop hearing things,’ he said quietly. ‘My business is my own, and none of yours.’
She stared back at him, her pale blue eyes wintry. ‘You keep things from me.’
‘And why shouldn’t I? Who are you to demand my secrets?’
‘So you admit that you have some.’
‘Answer my question.’
She drew herself up, a futile gesture in the face of his superior height. ‘I’m your friend,’ she said coldly. ‘Unless I’m much mistaken, I am your only friend. It isn’t right that you keep important things from me.’
He stepped back and gestured invitingly at the trap door. ‘Thank you for your information.’
She shot him a look of hatred. ‘Tell me if anything comes of it. If it isn’t too much trouble.’
He inclined his head and opened the trap door, holding it while she made her way down the ladder in a few long, graceful movements and disappeared.
He closed the door again and returned to his seat on the bed. Nanda was difficult when she got hold of an idea. How far would she carry her suspicions?
The Rostikov Legacy Page 5