The Corpse Thieves

by Charlotte E. English

  Konrad had served eight. Did that make him unusually senior? Was The Malykt’s Order expecting him to be replaced any day now, any hour?

  How did a Malykant come to relinquish the role? Did they simply resign it when they grew too tired, or jaded, to continue? Did they go mad, driven so by the brutal demands of the role? Or were they killed, and at some point simply permitted to die?

  ‘Konrad… it is not his time,’ Nanda whispered. ‘He is still a fine Malykant.’

  ‘That is not for me to decide.’

  Nanda fell silent, and the minutes passed. The Malykt was not coming.

  Well, then. Would she accept Konrad’s passing, or not? If Diana would do nothing, what could she, Nanda, do?

  Konrad had not been killed in the line of his regular duties. Not really. He had been pursuing an unusual case, and for the second time — a second case involving the lamaeni, whose peculiar nature made them an obvious part of neither The Malykt’s nor The Shandrigal’s sphere of influence. They were neither living nor dead. The Malykant had little obligation to deal with such as they, for he could deliver no justice.

  Konrad had done it anyway. He had tirelessly pursued Favin and Lazan, even after he’d learned that they had committed no crime which qualified them for his attention. He had gone after them because they posed a threat to the living people of Ekamet — and to the undead, people like Tasha and Radinka who went about their more unusual lives in much the same way, causing no real harm.

  If he was jaded by the role, corrupted, maddened, he could never have acted as he had. He would have withdrawn from the case the moment he realised it was the lamaeni again, and cared nothing for the consequences. He did not deserve to be left to die.

  Nanda shut her eyes, blocking out the sight of Konrad’s body and the cold, motionless figure of Diana Valentina standing over him. She found the thread of magic in her heart, the shining light which bound her soul into the service of The Shandrigal. And she pulled.

  The Malykt might sometimes ignore the call of his followers, but The Shandrigal did not. At least, not this time. An instant, and She was there, a comforting warmth and a glow which banished even the chill of an Ekamet winter.

  Irinanda, said She.

  Mistress. I seek aid.

  So I assume.

  Nanda swallowed, her heart suddenly pounding. What if she had overstepped? The Shandrigal was no more in the habit of granting boons than The Malykt.

  Too late to worry about that now. Gathering her courage, Nanda laid the matter before her mistress, striving to do justice to the sense of duty and the selflessness she believed Konrad had shown. The Shandrigal listened in silence.

  When Nanda had finished, the silence continued for some time.

  At length, The Shandrigal spoke again.

  You know him better than others, do you not?

  The question came as a surprise, and Nanda was briefly disconcerted. Um… I believe so, yes.

  Is he, in your opinion, a worthy Malykant still?

  Yes. Nanda said it unhesitatingly.

  Yes? Think hard, Irinanda Falenia.

  Yes.

  The warmth faded all at once, and the cold bit once more into Nanda’s skin. Her heart was colder still, for her mistress had made no answer, had neither granted Nanda’s wish nor given explanation for denying it. Tears leaked from her eyes, and she could not bear to open them only to see poor Konrad as silent and still as ever.

  Then she felt movement under her hands, and almost leapt out of her skin. Her eyes flew open.

  Konrad lay inert. She must have imagined the return to life and motion, her fractured heart playing tricks on her foolish mind.

  But no… there it was again. A faint spasm of the muscles, a tension that had not been there a moment ago.

  ‘Konrad?’ she murmured.

  He tried to say something, but she judged that his mouth was full of snow, for it emerged too muffled for comprehension. There followed an ungraceful spitting sound as he, presumably, cleared his mouth of the obstruction.

  ‘Nanda,’ he croaked. He tried to move, to turn over, but he froze halfway through the attempt and collapsed back into the snow with a groan and a curse. ‘I… hurt.’

  ‘You’ve been stabbed,’ she replied coolly, trying not to let her absurd jubilation show. ‘Lie still. You’ll be tended to shortly.’

  ‘I hope so,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘This is not the most comfortable I’ve ever been.’

  ‘Stop whining,’ snapped Nanda — glad that he was faced away from her, and could not see the tears on her cheeks. ‘It could be worse. You could be dead.’

  Konrad sighed deeply. ‘You are such a comfort, Nan,’ he muttered. ‘I can always rely on you to lift my spirits.’

  Nanda merely patted him on the back — taking care not to get too close to his wound, which had once again begun to bleed — and said flippantly, ‘That’s my job.’

  Chapter Nine

  Konrad was confined to bed for two weeks, which left him with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was rather dull. He had books to read, but that got old fairly quickly, and he received few visitors. He suffered a great deal of pain, even with the assistance of Nanda’s herbs and potions, and that was an unpleasantness he would gladly have dispensed with if he could.

  On the other hand, he was warm; the luxuries of Bakar House afforded him all the blankets and pillows and roaring fires he could possibly wish for. It had to beat trekking about in the frozen Bone Forest.

  And he did have some visitors. Nanda came every day, though she did not usually stay long. The serpents pestered him all day long, to the point that he began to feel he would cheerfully strangle them if they were not already dead. And Nuritov came a few times, usually in the evening on his way home. With the latter, Konrad turned over every detail of the latest case, finding Nuritov to be both interested and observant. The inspector brought him word of other cases, too, some of them recent and some old, unsolved puzzles. Konrad enjoyed these conversations hugely, as did Nuritov, and by the time Konrad had recovered enough to begin moving around again, they had settled into a routine of regular meetings.

  He knew that he had been stabbed, because Nanda had said so, and because through clever, if painful, use of a mirror and a little contortion he had seen the evidence for himself. But he did not remember anything about it. How he had come to be stabbed, and by who, were mysteries to him, and Nanda refused to answer any of his questions upon the subject. He had given up eventually, though her silence worried him. If it had come about by any simple, obvious way — if Lazan had stabbed him, say — then why would she not say so? Clearly something odd had happened, something Nan feared he would not like.

  Konrad wished she would just tell him. He probably worried far more about the matter in the not knowing, than he would have if she told him the truth — however painful a truth it might be.

  But he could not convince her of that, and eventually he gave up trying, and tried to dismiss the matter from his mind.

  He was tucked up in his study one day, wrapped in blankets and trying to sit in such a way as to spare his shredded back from undue pain, when Nanda arrived. She announced herself by way of a gentle tap upon the door, a sound he instantly recognised. His heart leapt, and all the minor irritation and frustration he had been feeling melted away.

  ‘Come in!’ he called, delighted.

  In she came. And in came Dubin, right behind her.

  Konrad’s heart settled down.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ he said gravely.

  ‘How formal,’ Nanda chided him. She came forward to kiss him on the cheek, a gesture he appreciated in particular considering the presence of Dubin. But that was foolish of him.

  ‘I’m being polite,’ he informed her. ‘Do have a seat, won’t you both?’

  Nanda chose her usual chair, rolling her eyes at him in passing. Dubin hesitated rather longer, and finally perched uncomfortably upon the edge of the seat farthest away from Konrad.

&nb
sp; That was interesting.

  ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Konrad said, his gaze fixed upon Dubin as he spoke.

  Nobody said anything.

  ‘If it is to be a silent visit, you will not mind if I return to my book? It is quite gripping.’ That was a lie, for he was heartily bored with it, but they need not know that.

  Nanda cleared her throat and looked meaningfully at her friend. ‘Danil came to thank you.’

  Konrad’s brows went up. ‘For what, pray?’

  Nanda said nothing else, her silence clearly indicating that she would speak no more on Dubin’s behalf.

  ‘Um. For saving my life,’ said Dubin at last, awkwardly, though he met Konrad’s gaze squarely. ‘The Malykant never came for me. Nanda says it is because you proved that I did not… act voluntarily.’

  ‘I suppose it is,’ said Konrad, trying not to visibly flinch at the mention of the Malykant. ‘I did not do it for you, precisely, but I am glad you were spared, and you are welcome to benefit from my efforts.’

  Nanda made a disapproving noise, and Konrad understood by it that she found this speech insufficiently gracious.

  Well, tough. It was the best he could do. Not because he continued to feel undue resentment against Dubin; in fact, that had largely melted away. Perhaps it was because of the man’s obvious wretchedness and despair, when he had languished in prison awaiting what he saw as his inevitable death. It had been a sight to evoke pity in the coldest heart.

  Perhaps it was also because Konrad had found himself in a position of undeniable power with regards to Dubin; the man’s life had rested in his hands, and he had realised that he had no desire whatsoever to take it. He had never truly wished death upon the poison trader, and he could never be the person to deliver such a cruel fate undeserved.

  However. The entire business had left him feeling oddly ashamed of himself, his lifestyle, his job, and far too aware of how easy it might someday be to get it wrong — to destroy the wrong person. Dubin stood in representation of that, and as such, he remained an unwelcome sight to Konrad.

  ‘I shall be leaving Ekamet soon,’ Dubin said, after a short silence. ‘I cannot remain. There are too many here who read of my guilt in the papers, and have no faith in my exoneration.’

  This news Konrad might have welcomed, a week or two before. But to his own surprise, he did not now. ‘You must not feel that way,’ he said. ‘Those who so readily condemn you do not deserve your consideration anyway.’

  Dubin smiled faintly. ‘That may be true, but my livelihood depends upon my being seen as trustworthy.’

  ‘Has it collapsed? Have all your customers deserted you?’

  Dubin exchanged an uncertain look with Nanda. ‘Not all, but many.’

  ‘Some will return. New ones will present themselves.’

  ‘You don’t understand—’

  ‘Don’t I?’ Konrad stared coldly at Dubin, taking no trouble to conceal his irritation. ‘You know nothing of me. I understand that the opinions of the world must never be permitted to matter very much. People will always feel fear, and because of it they will reject those things they do not understand. People will always find something to condemn, because it makes them feel better about themselves. It makes them feel safer, and superior. You must let it go. Cling to those who trust you come what may, for their value cannot be overstated. Forget the rest.’

  This speech provoked no particular response from Dubin. He blinked a few times, and found nothing to say.

  ‘Give it some thought,’ Konrad advised. ‘Stay another week or two. See how it goes.’

  Nanda indicated her support for this approach by directing a beamingly hopeful smile at Dubin. The effects of that were more significant, not at all to Konrad’s surprise, and the forlorn poison trader managed a wan smile back. ‘All right,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ said Konrad, tired of the subject and of Dubin in equal measure.

  Dubin did not appear to require much more of Konrad’s company either, for he soon took his leave. Nanda, happily, opted to stay.

  ‘How much did you tell him?’ Konrad enquired.

  ‘About what.’

  ‘Me. Clearly he knows that I had a lot to do with his deliverance, but does he know why?’

  ‘Of course not. I told him you’re a rich, bored eccentric with a taste for the bizarre and an obsession with solving puzzles.’

  Konrad eyed her with displeasure. ‘I’m torn between thanking you for keeping my deep, dark secret, and admonishing you for offering so unflattering an alternative explanation.’

  ‘Is it unflattering? What could possibly be wrong with wealth, eccentricity and strange tastes?’

  ‘You made me sound creepy.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I?’ Nanda smiled, and examined her nails. ‘But maybe you are.’

  ‘Creepy?!’

  ‘Mhm.’ Nanda spoke the word in a dreamy tone, nodding in a way that suggested she found the idea appealing. Possibly even attractive.

  She couldn’t possibly. ‘Stop teasing me.’

  ‘But it is so vastly amusing.’

  ‘Well, find something else to amuse you.’

  ‘How about a game?’

  ‘Such as.’

  ‘My favourite game is called “Needle Konrad Until He Either Screams or Laughs.”’

  ‘So the sooner I consent to laugh, the less likely I am to burst with fury.’

  ‘Exactly! You catch on fast.’

  ‘Couldn’t we play something else?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Umm.’ Good question. Konrad thought a while, but it had been so many years since he had even considered playing a game, he came up with nothing.

  ‘We could play “Drink Tea and Engage in Banal but Soothing Small-talk,”’ Nanda suggested.

  Konrad smiled. ‘I don’t hate that idea.’

  ‘Grand praise indeed! It shall be so.’

  Konrad rang for tea, which appeared with pleasing promptitude. His cook also provided a range of biscuits and cakes, all of which were Nanda’s expressed favourites. He made a note to increase the observant and helpful cook’s pay.

  ‘Of course,’ Nanda said with a mouth full of cake, ‘We could play both at once.’

  ‘You intend to enrage me with small talk?’

  ‘It can be perfectly infuriating.’

  How true. Konrad hated “light conversation.” Its desultory nature struck him as a waste of good air. ‘Cold today, wasn’t it?’ he offered.

  ‘Oh, positively freezing,’ Nanda agreed, punctuating her words with an over-violent shiver. ‘And the sky! I do think we shall have a great deal more snow before the morning.’

  ‘Which would be the most shocking surprise, considering the season.’

  ‘No sarcasm!’ Nanda chided. ‘That’s cheating.’

  Konrad grinned. ‘I am a filthy cheat, so be it.’

  Nanda grinned back. He expected another such sally, but instead she said: ‘Are you happy being the Malykant, Konrad?’

  The swift change of topic took him so much by surprise, he had to take a moment to adjust his thoughts. ‘Happy?’

  ‘Well… happy enough to continue, anyway. If you were boundingly happy with it I would probably recommend you for committal to a madhouse.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ He frowned. ‘I have had no thoughts of resigning the post, at any rate.’

  Nanda nodded. ‘That is a good enough answer.’

  ‘Good enough for what?’

  She shrugged. ‘Just good enough.’

  How mysterious. He knew better than to ask the reason behind her questions; she would not tell him, if she did not wish to.

  He thought a little more. In some ways, he would be delighted to be rid of the duties he sometimes found onerous and distasteful. Particularly now, when he no longer enjoyed the relatively blissful lack of feeling he had long benefited from, courtesy of his Master. It had grown harder to do as he had to do, and in some ways… well, sometimes he wished, a little bit, that he did n
ot have to.

  But not that much. He took satisfaction in ensuring that killers received their fair reward, and in removing such people from the streets of Ekamet, so that they could not hurt anyone else.

  And besides all that, what would he do if he was no longer the Malykant? Where would he go? The role was his entire life.

  ‘I’m happy to continue,’ he said. ‘For now. Make of that what you will.’

  ‘It’s enough,’ Nanda said. She took another biscuit, bit into it with a crunch, and smiled at him with her mouth full of crumbs. ‘Thank you.’

  He blinked, puzzled, but of course she did not elaborate. ‘You’re welcome.’

  End Notes

  Konrad and friends solve another case in The Spirit of Solstice! Read on to sample the first chapter.

  The eve before Winter Solstice arrived; heralded, as ever, by a flurry of snow and a bone-aching chill. Konrad welcomed the joys of the season by going to bed straight after dinner — alone. He took a book, three hot bricks and a glass (or two) of brandy with him, a combination which seemed to him to encompass all a gentleman could possibly wish for on such a night.

  So deliciously comfortable was he in his four-poster bed, nightcap firmly warding off those errant wisps of draught which found their way around his heavy bed curtains, that he was not best pleased to be disturbed by a frigid whisper shivering through his mind like a sudden, icy wind.

  Master.

  If he ignored it, would it go away? Konrad tightened his grip upon his book, slithered fractionally further beneath his blankets, and read on.

  Maasssssteeeer!

  ‘Begone, foul fiend,’ he muttered, without hope.

  Master! Pleeeeaassssse.

  Konrad sighed gustily, and closed his book. Yes, what is it?

  We have a gift for you!

  The serpents materialised before him. There were two of them, a brother and a sister (or so they had been in life): Ootapi and Eetapi, his personal plagues. Assistants, actually, bestowed upon him by The Malykt Himself. Their appointed duty was to help him with his task of delivering justice to the killers of the city of Ekamet, but they seemed to take their unofficial duty every bit as seriously — that being, to make constant nuisances of themselves.