The House at Divoro

by Charlotte E. English

  It would be easy enough, then, for someone else to steal the keys for this cupboard. He had hoped for a clue there, but it was not to be.

  ‘Ah, well. Take them back, please.’ He handed off the keys once more, and Ootapi drifted away with them. ‘Eetapi, when your brother returns please switch places with him. Ootapi shall guard, for today.’

  Is it a punishment, Master? She was doleful at the prospect, but also… slightly thrilled. Her chiming tones were more funeral than ever, but her incorporeal form vibrated with the energy of anticipation.

  Konrad sighed, deeply. ‘No. But you will grow weary and bored if I leave you here, day after day. It is Ootapi’s turn. You will return to my side.’

  He departed the room immediately upon uttering these words, intent upon finding Tasha. If something was afoot that was eluding the guile even of his serpents, he was going to need better help; and who more able than a lamaeni?

  Konrad found Tasha wandering the castle’s long gallery, staring intently at each of the many aged, faded portraits that lined the walls. The vast room had an air of neglect: its tiled walls were dust-covered, their colours muted with age, the windows caked in dirt. A long, dusty-green carpet ran the length of the gallery, its edges fraying. There was little furniture in evidence: only an occasional rickety-looking wing-back chair pushed against the wall, daubed with fractured gilding.

  Tasha was about halfway down the room, craning her neck to stare up at an enormous portrait of a dark-haired man wearing what looked like a silken nightcap. ‘Morning,’ she said, without looking at him.

  ‘Tash, I need your help.’

  That got her attention fast enough. She blinked at him, then adjusted her cap with a grin and sprawled into the nearest of the aged armchairs. Konrad winced a bit, half expecting the decayed thing to collapse even under Tasha’s slight weight. But it held, merely emitting a great cloud of dust which made Konrad cough. ‘What may I do for the boss?’ said she.

  Her tone was cheeky in the extreme, and Konrad mimed out bestowing a swift kick upon her for the impudence. Tasha only grinned wider.

  He outlined the recent development and the problem of Eetapi’s failed guard, all of which she listened to with quiet attention. At the end, she chewed thoughtfully upon her lip and looked him over with a critical air he did not quite like.

  ‘The problem with you — or one of them — is a certain lack of… shall we say, practicality in your thinking? Or we could call it deviosity. Yes, let’s call it that.’

  ‘Deviosity is not a word.’

  ‘It is now. Think. You have established that it would be possible for somebody to unlock that cupboard when they want to, and using the door would be the most obvious and convenient way to access it. Wouldn’t it? Cupboards have doors for that very purpose. It is what they are for.’

  Konrad’s eyes narrowed. ‘You border upon patronising.’

  ‘You border upon deserving it. So the cupboard has a door, in the usual way of things, and there is a key to unlock it that (in theory) anybody could get at. That doesn’t mean that the door is either the only, or even the most convenient, way of getting at the contents.’

  ‘No, indeed,’ Konrad agreed. ‘The back is loose. Alexander discovered that much. But—’

  ‘But the cupboard is backed up against a solid wall, with no apparent way to get through. So you dismissed the removable back from consideration entirely.’

  ‘Do you know of a way to push a corpse through a stone wall?’

  ‘No! But if the back is loose, maybe other parts of the cupboard are removable as well?’

  ‘Like the bottom. Yes, we tested that, when the inspector found the back loose. It is solid, with no way to remove it.’

  ‘Not from the pantry, perhaps.’

  Konrad blinked.

  ‘What if someone could get at it from the other side?’ Tasha persevered. ‘Maybe it is quite possible to open the bottom of the cupboard from—’

  ‘Underneath,’ said Konrad. Now that she had spelled it out, it seemed so embarrassingly obvious.

  She was right, curse it. He did lack a certain something by way of obscure logic.

  Tasha leapt out of her chair and stood dusting off her dark coat. ‘I will investigate,’ she announced.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She doffed her little cap to him. ‘Go do what you do best, Sir Malykant.’

  ‘And what is that, in your estimation?’ It was probably an unwise question to ask.

  ‘Lounge by the fire,’ she said brightly. ‘Eat rather a lot, and act the gent with panache. You do all three of those things extremely well.’

  ‘Wretch.’

  ‘Forever, for it is a sadly incurable trait.’ Tasha made for the door at an insouciant saunter. ‘Go and see Nanda,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘You do that pretty well, too.’

  She was gone before he could enquire into what she meant by that, exactly. Seeing Nanda? Talking to Nanda? Drifting around after her in fits of aching loneliness, desperate for a few words to brighten his bleak and empty day?

  Probably all of the above. He heaved a weary sigh, tangled his fingers in his thick dark hair — which had not been brushed yet today, he only then recalled — and set off for his own room. First: grooming. Second: Nanda. She had planned to go after Eino Holt again, and that fact was causing him concern in the wake of Kati Vinter’s murder. What if Tasha was right, and Kati had known something? What if she had been killed because of it? If Nanda was too obvious about her probing for information, she might make a target of herself, too. And if not Nanda, who else? Two victims was a problem. Two victims was a pattern.

  Those sensations in his chest and stomach and knees: the fluttering, the tightening, the weakening, the quickening pulse of his heart. They did not grow any easier to bear. Was he cursed to suffer them forever? Would he ever cease to worry about Nanda, now that he had remembered how?

  He clenched his jaw, and summoned a mental vision of himself as he had once been: cool, even cold, going about his business with bleak efficiency. Incapable of worry or fear, except when his Master appeared. Almost impervious to pain, at least of the emotional variety. Had he been a monster? Close to it, yes. But he was the Malykant. Sometimes, he needed to be.

  He fitted himself into that picture, forcing down the nausea, the dismay, and the fear. His heart rate slowed, and he breathed a little easier. The incipient trembling in his knees took itself off, and left him stronger.

  Good. Now he could proceed.

  Chapter Five

  Nuritov took the news of Kati’s demise calmly.

  Nanda did not.

  ‘Kati?’ she gasped.

  Konrad began to wish he had chosen a better time, or better circumstances. He had found her in the theatre, rehearsing with Eino, Nuritov and and Denis Druganin. At least, ostensibly they were rehearsing; when Konrad walked in, all four had scripts gamely in hand, but the conversation appeared to be more general.

  He’d purloined Nanda and Nuritov on pretence of being eager to rehearse — an attitude which endeared him to Eino on the spot — and taken them away to a quiet corner.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he whispered, panicked in the face of her white-faced shock.

  Nanda collected herself. ‘It is not your fault.’

  ‘I did not know… did not realise that you were close.’

  Sinking with a sigh into the nearest chair, which unfortunately was of the hardwood, uncomfortable variety, Nanda waved that away. ‘We were not, exactly. But my… my mother will be unhappy.’ She blinked. ‘I wonder if Kati was here by her request.’

  ‘You mean she might have forbidden you to come, but sent Kati to investigate the trouble?’

  ‘It is possible. Kati did seem to be aware that I was not meant to be here.’ Nanda took a deep breath, got up out the chair again, and threw back her shoulders. ‘Right. This has gone far enough.’

  Nuritov patted her on the shoulder, a trifle awkwardly. ‘We will make it right.’

  ‘Too ri
ght we will! Where is Eino.’ She made to stride off, but Konrad stopped her.

  ‘Nan. Share the thoughts.’

  Nanda’s brows went up. ‘Haven’t I?’

  ‘I don’t believe so.’

  She made an impatient gesture. ‘Eino isn’t being secretive, exactly, but it’s been difficult to bring him around to discussing anything of use. He’s so enthusiastic about this damned play. I feel certain he knows a number of things that might be relevant — whether or not he has anything to do with it himself — and I want to get back to trying to prise it out of him.’

  ‘Maybe we could help,’ suggested Nuritov.

  Nanda looked him over thoughtfully. ‘Maybe you could. Alexander, did you ever feel an overpowering interest in subjects like architecture? History? Strange old stories?’

  ‘Sometimes…’ said the inspector, more doubtfully than appeared to please Nanda.

  ‘These are your new interests. Konrad, you are writing a book about ancient families, like for example the Vasilescu.’

  ‘Writing a boo—’

  ‘Don’t argue. It is your consuming passion, but rather secretly, because you are afraid some other, eager scholar will beat you to it. Between the three of us I am sure we can squeeze something interesting out of Eino.’

  Konrad’s mind raced, without much effect. ‘Architecture and strange old stories? What is this about?’

  ‘This is a strange house.’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’

  ‘So, what in the world possessed Eino to buy it? And why has he suddenly turned all country gentleman on us, and taken to hosting theatrical house parties? How did he choose his odd assortment of guests? There is a story behind all this, and I want it.’

  Konrad was given no further opportunity either to argue or to press for more detailed instructions, for she marched off towards the stage where Eino’s knot of friends still stood, and Konrad and Nuritov had naught to do but fall into line behind her.

  ‘Working with Irinanda is interesting,’ offered the inspector.

  ‘Yes, she is always like this,’ Konrad replied, answering his unspoken question.

  Alexander Nuritov stuck his pipe back into his mouth and took a puff. ‘Hmm.’

  Indeed.

  Nanda directed one of her dazzling smiles at Eino and said: ‘I think we should adjust the play a little. Why must my character, and Alexander’s, be of a fictional Pejari family? Why cannot we be of some other extraction?’

  Eino smiled indulgently down at her and rumbled: ‘I take it you have some idea in mind, Miss Falenia?’

  ‘Why not Vasilescu? What could be more ideal!’

  ‘A wonderful idea,’ said Denis, and smiled upon Nanda in a fashion which could not endear him to Konrad.

  Konrad eyed him with strong displeasure. He had never taken much note of Denis Druganin before; the man was so quiet, he often went unnoticed in a room full of people. But Konrad now had occasion to note that Denis was youngish, probably around his own age; he was by no means unattractive, with his brown hair in soft waves, his deep blue eyes and engaging smile; and his deep blue coat, dark trousers and polished boots were of such a quality as to suggest that he was not too poorly off.

  Sadly, it was by no means as easy to assess the merits of his character at a glance. He could be anything. A wife-beater. A murderer. Or a prince amongst men.

  But Nan played up to this attention with a beaming smile by way of an answer, and a bright, almost coquettish flash of her ice-blue eyes. Konrad put this down to her eagerness to win confidences, and averted his gaze. ‘So fascinating a family deserves greater consideration,’ Nanda was saying. ‘Especially in their own home.’

  ‘But it is my home,’ Eino objected gently.

  Nanda waved that away. ‘Oh, you have bought the house, Eino, but you are a mere newcomer yet. This place is steeped in the history of the Vasilescu, and will be for some time to come.’

  There was a short silence. Eino looked inexplicably uncomfortable at this observation, though he did not volunteer any answering comment. Denis Druganin took to admiring the ceiling, as though the conversation had passed too far beyond his interest for any hope of recall. And Nanda cast Konrad a swift, meaningful glance.

  Konrad realised with a flicker of panic that his cue had arrived.

  But Alexander spoke first. ‘Erm,’ he said.

  Nanda beamed encouragement.

  ‘You were lucky to acquire such a, erm, unique building.’ Apparently emboldened by this coherent string of words, he added, ‘They, erm, do not come up on the market very often.’

  Fortunately, Eino’s enthusiasm was in such good order that he did not require much encouragement. ‘There is no other house like it!’ he boomed, a huge, rather self-satisfied smile wreathing his bearded face. ‘A travesty, that it lay empty and unloved for so long! There is much to be done to restore all of its beauties.’

  ‘Oh?’ prompted Alexander. ‘Why was it empty? I suppose it was an expensive purchase, and wealthy buyers are not easily to be found.’

  Good man, thought Konrad. A little bit of flattery rarely went amiss. Eino, indeed, preened just a little at this reflection upon his financial advantages, and smiled genially upon the inspector. ‘There is that,’ he agreed.

  ‘They lacked perseverance,’ said Denis in his quiet way.

  ‘Why should that be necessary?’ said Nanda.

  ‘Oh, there were two or three attempts to buy the house before Eino took it,’ Denis elaborated. ‘All fell through, due to one set of difficulties or another.’ He glanced doubtfully at Eino, whose smiling serenity began to look fixed, and added, ‘Perhaps I am misinformed.’

  ‘You are not,’ said Eino.

  ‘How paltry!’ Nanda declared. ‘For I am sure it must have been the envious types who threw difficulties in the way. But no wonder you had competition.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Konrad in a low voice, ‘if there are ghosts hereabouts?’

  This comment won him a sceptical look from Denis, a glow of beaming admiration from Nanda, and a startled look from Eino. ‘Ghosts?’ said the latter.

  ‘Yes. Well, these old houses — ancient families — the living may depart the ancestral home, but the dead may not.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Denis softly, ‘but there is no such thing, Mr. Savast.’

  Ootapi announced his invisible presence by way of a sneeze, or perhaps it was a choked laugh. Perhaps fortunately, nobody heard him but Konrad.

  Eino did not appear to share Denis’s opinion. He glanced around at the theatre, as though the spirits of departed Vasilescu ancestors might descend upon him from the walls. ‘I am sure they are friendly, if they are somewhere hereabouts!’ he said heartily. ‘I am giving the old place the care it deserves.’

  ‘There is no telling, with the dead,’ murmured Konrad. ‘They may resent the house’s passing out of the hands of the family at all.’ He could not have said why he was goading Eino; only that the man’s odd reaction to the possibility of a lingering familial presence intrigued him. ‘But I have no doubt you would have seen some sign of their displeasure by now, if that were the case.’

  Eino did not look reassured.

  ‘You seem very… knowledgeable, Mr. Savast,’ said Denis, and beneath the quiet courtesy of his manner there was concealed an unmistakeable note of scorn.

  ‘I am writing a book,’ Konrad returned placidly.

  ‘About ghosts?’

  ‘Yes. Specifically those connected to old houses like this one.’

  Denis smirked. ‘No doubt you will inform us, if you spot any.’

  ‘If you wish,’ said Konrad, and added with a smile, ‘There is something of a presence, in this very theatre.’

  Master! Ootapi’s exclamation vibrated with outrage. Do not reveal me!

  Peace, serpent. They are oblivious to you.

  Eino looked up, again, visibly shaken, but Denis only looked bored. ‘Is there,’ he said flatly.

  Konrad smiled.

  ‘Come, Mr
. Druganin,’ said Nanda, offering the man her arm. ‘We will make a tour of the house, and prove my boorish friend quite wrong about the presence of unquiet spirits.’

  Boorish? Injured, Konrad watched Nanda’s retreat with a sinking heart. Had he truly been rude? Was he not justified in being so, if he had? But as Nan reached the door, she looked back and smiled, and it was one of her secret smiles, full of mischief.

  Oh.

  The door closed behind Nanda and Denis, only to open again moments later. Lilli Lahti appeared, and made a quick survey of the room. ‘I cannot find Kati,’ she complained, as though it were the fault of Eino or some one or other of his guests that she could not.

  Which, in all probability, it was.

  ‘She keeps to her room,’ said Eino. ‘She was unwell, last evening.’

  This explanation satisfied Lilli, as far as anything satisfied her; she scowled, and left.

  But Konrad exchanged a look with Alexander, troubled. Was it the truth, as far as Eino knew? Kati might well have pleaded indisposition last night, and it was reasonable enough that her absence would not be remarked upon the following morning. On the other hand, was Eino covering up her disappearance as best he could, knowing she would not return? If so, it was a clumsy effort at best. There was only so long that her sustained absence would go uninvestigated, and the truth must soon come out.

  Moreover, the failure of Alen Petranov to arrive over the course of the morning would raise questions, too. One way or another, the day was likely to prove interesting.

  ‘The rumour,’ said Nanda later, with a gleeful emphasis on the second word, ‘is that Eino received a series of warnings about buying this place. All of which he ignored.’

  She and Druganin had devoted a full hour to their fruitless ghost hunt, and reappeared only just in time to sit down to breakfast — a meal from which Kati’s absence was again noted. Afterwards, Nan ambushed Konrad as he was trying to make his escape, and hauled him off to a tiny antechamber which strongly resembled a cupboard. It stank of beeswax, and something acrid.

  ‘What kind of warnings?’ he asked.

  ‘The anonymous kind, written in crabbed script upon parchment, and all in black ink. Delivered, apparently, by crows.’ She grinned. ‘The tale has been embroidered in the telling, but I would not be surprised if the essential points were true enough. Eino’s caginess upon the topic interests me.’