Death's Avenger- The Malykant Mysteries, Volume 2

by Charlotte E. English

  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.’

  Chapter Four

  Konrad parted ways with Nuritov and Nanda soon afterwards. The inspector returned to the third crime scene, Nanda choosing to accompany him. Konrad sent Ootapi with them.

  He and Eetapi went to The Malykt’s temple, and the morgue that lay beneath. Albina Olga’s body had arrived. She lay, cold and still, upon one of the narrow tables, laid out ready for burial.

  Konrad surveyed the vacated corpse with mixed feelings. She made for a pitiful sight: by all appearances a kindly old woman, carried away with holiday spirit, a cheerful figure in her jaunty red clothes. But the ragged mess of her throat, the dried blood staining those same garments she must have donned with such joyous anticipation this morning… it was impossible to feel that her death was anything but a tragedy, whatever her own feelings about the matter might be.

  ‘Why were you so happy?’ Konrad murmured. The three of them made his job unusually difficult, tonight. Illya Vasily, and his merry refusal to be cast down by the news of his demise; Albina Olga and her relief; the unnamed man in the cheese shop, and his uncontrollable mirth. Delivering the most brutal vengeance upon foul murderers had never been easy, precisely, but in the usual way of things, the principles were clear-cut. Somebody lay dead, when they should be alive. Some severed, traumatised soul heaped opprobrium upon the head of their murderer, and welcomed Konrad’s justice with a sense of relief. The victim was avenged, the killer was punished, and that was the end of it.

  But Konrad had trouble believing that Albina Olga would feel that way. If anything, she seemed more likely to heap praise and thanks upon her murderer’s head than to call for his demise. And here he stood upon the point of extracting a bone from her, obliged to perform his duty however he or Albina Olga felt about any of it.

  ‘I wish you’d had just a few more words for me,’ he sighed as he set about the unpleasant task. ‘Just one more sentence, maybe two, and I might have some ide
a of how to proceed.’

  Master, Eetapi announced from somewhere over his head, You complain too much.

  Konrad brandished his sharp, sharp knife, stained now with Albina’s blood. ‘Really? I would like to see you do my job.’

  Eetapi sniffed. I would like to see you do mine.

  ‘I am not dead enough for your job.’

  I am not self-pitying enough for yours.

  ‘Harsh, Serpent.’ Konrad stored Albina’s bone with the one he had taken from Vasily. ‘What happened to Solstice Spirit?’

  Someone has to be honest with you, and we can no longer rely on Irinanda to perform that service.

  That was true. Nanda had been less critical of him lately. ‘Maybe she likes me, a little bit.’

  The mad cannot help being so.

  ‘Are you referring to the lady, or to your master?’

  The lady. My master is not afflicted with madness, merely a lamentable fragility.

  ‘It is sometimes known as having feelings, Eetapi. I know you are not accustomed to witnessing anything like emotion from me, but you will have to get used to it.’

  Eetapi heaved a mournful sigh, and faded into the aether.

  In spite of Eetapi’s harsh words, Konrad left the temple in good spirits. He was even smiling, at least until he once more encountered the snow, the driving wind, and the impenetrable darkness of the night. The Malykt had separated Konrad from his emotions for many years, judging them obstructive to the performance of his Malykant’s duties. He had recently relaxed that grip. While the effects were frequently unpleasant — Konrad knew fear, doubt, anxiety, shame and sadness every day — he would not willingly give up the beauties of it, either. Like the indescribable joy of knowing himself to be accepted, by somebody he respected and admired.

  Nanda doesn’t hate me!

  Could anything be equal to so profound a blessing as that?

  Your expectations really aren’t high, are they?

  ‘Eetapi,’ he sighed. ‘Go away. Come back when you have discovered the true meaning of Solstice.’

  Then alas, for we must part for all of time. Farewell, Master.

  ‘Good riddance! With friends like you, who needs the grinding misery of daily life as the Malykant?’

  As I was saying about self-pity…

  ‘I jest, serpent.’

  Silence.

  You made a joke?

  ‘Yes! I, Konrad, jest sometimes!’

  Master. Eetapi’s mental voice vibrated with fulsome emotion. I am proud.

  ‘Now you mock me.’

  I do.

  ‘I seem to remember telling you to go away.’

  Or do I?!

  Konrad consulted his pocket watch. The hour was much advanced: well past eleven, and midnight rapidly approached. The city was quiet; Konrad thought wistfully of the fine denizens of Ekamet, tucked up warmly at home with all their loved ones near. ‘Enough. We have work to do.’ He had not yet secured a bone from the body of the laughing man, and that had to be his next duty.

  Yes, Master.

  ‘We return to the cheese shop. Stay alert, Eetapi. If any trace of our killer lingers, inform me at once.’

  Yes, Master.

  Well. The creature may be insubordinate, insulting and totally devoid of anything describable as human feeling, but at least she was obedient. Occasionally.

  Konrad found Nuritov and three officers of the police still occupying the cheese merchant’s shop, together with a man he did not know. The latter resembled Illya Vasily in his rotund figure, soft features and genial demeanour. He appeared to have only just entered the shop, for his hat was still covered in melting snow. There was no sign of Nanda.

  ‘But I do not understand!’ the stranger was saying. ‘Nothing is amiss, save that I must have forgotten to lock the door. Foolish of me, eh? But Solstice luck! No one has robbed me, and all seems well. I won’t be so careless again, Inspector, I assure you.’

  Nuritov nodded to Konrad and said in an undertone: ‘Proprietor.’

  ‘Vasily, by any chance?’

  The cheese merchant took instant exception to this question. ‘Vasily! No indeed! Got nothing to do with them, save that I sell some of their imports. No choice, no choice.’

  ‘Iyakim?’ Konrad hazarded.

  That merely won him a puzzled frown. ‘A what?’

  ‘Never mind.’ All right, so the shop had nothing to do with the Vasilys, but what about the murdered man?

  Nuritov cleared his throat, and said to Konrad: ‘Ah… may I talk to you for a moment?’

  Konrad allowed himself to be led to the far side of the shop, away from the shop’s proprietor. ‘Something wrong?’

  Nuritov murmured, ‘This is the right place, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where you found the giggling man?’

  ‘Yes, this is the shop. Why?’

  Nuritov looked around. ‘Do you, ah, happen to see him anywhere?’

  Konrad blinked, and focused anew upon the empty stretch of floor where the man had lain. ‘He… you have not had him removed?’

  ‘No. When we arrived, the place was as you now see it. Door open, lanterns lit, empty.’

  On a long, long sigh, Konrad muttered, ‘It is always so entertaining when they wander off.’

  ‘They who?’

  ‘The dead people.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Silence for a space, as each gentleman turned the problem over in his own mind. It was not the first time such a thing had happened; not long ago, Konrad had presided over a case wherein all the corpses had proved to be curiously perambulatory, on account of their being not so much dead as undead. He did not think that was the case here, but perhaps he was wrong.

  ‘Vasily?’ he enquired.

  ‘Was where you left him. No oddness there.’

  No “oddness” with Albina Olga, either.

  ‘Ah well,’ said Nuritov. ‘Hard to examine a missing body.’ He signalled to his men to depart.

  ‘Nothing of note in here, I take it?’ Konrad asked.

  ‘Some blood.’ The inspector indicated the cheese merchant with a nod: the man, sceptical that anything untoward had occurred in his apparently peaceful establishment, had been confronted with the blood stain upon the dark wood-panelled floor. His flow of good spirits was quite unable to withstand such a blow, and he stood regarding the evidence of violence in appalled silence.

  Konrad regarded him with narrowed eyes. ‘No reason to think him involved?’

  ‘Not so far. We will keep an eye on him.’ Nuritov stood with his hands in the pockets of his coat, his pipe in his mouth, deep in thought. ‘Time,’ he said around the stem, ‘to learn more about Madam Narolina.’

  Konrad nodded, but his thoughts were running along different lines. ‘There is one thing the three have in common, and that is the mode of death.’

  Those throat wounds were… unusual. Study them though he might, Konrad had not been able to determine how they were inflicted. They were messy, imprecise, brutal, the throat torn away as though a reaching hand had grasped the flesh and ripped it free. But that made no sense, and it certainly could not be reconciled with the vision of the dark-clad man he had received from multiple sources. What man could rip out a throat with his bare hands?

  How had the laughing man’s body vanished?

  Why had he been so amused?

  ‘If you can,’ said Konrad, ‘Find out why Albina might have wanted to die.’

  ‘Mm.’

  A young man entered the shop, his cloak emblazoned with the police insignia. He made straight for Nuritov and put a folded page of newsprint into his superior’s hands. ‘This the one you wanted, sir?’

  Nuritov unfolded it, and nodded his approval. ‘Very good. Thank you.’ He handed the page to Konrad.

  And there, sketched in sombre black lines, was the face of the laughing man. His grizzled features were harsh, craggy, his swept-back hair wild and unkempt. There was nothing of mirth about this portrait; his face
was set in hard, angry lines.

  ‘Is that him?’ said Nuritov.

  ‘You are a wonder,’ Konrad replied. ‘How did you find this?’

  ‘The description you gave was distinctive. That’s from last week.’ He indicated the newspaper in Konrad’s hands with a nod. ‘Thought the hair seemed familiar.’

  ‘Mm.’ Konrad read the brief article through, his eyes skimming eagerly over the headline and the story that followed. ‘You mean to tell me,’ he said when he had finished, ‘That our mirthful murder victim is also a thief.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And he robbed… a library.’

  ‘Mm.’ Nuritov lit his pipe, and puffed thoughtfully.

  ‘The article doesn’t say who he was.’

  ‘Fugitive. Not apprehended.’

  ‘Or what he took.’

  ‘A book, we may presume.’

  ‘Yes, but it must have been a significant book. Nobody robs a library at random. For that matter, nobody robs a library! The whole point is that the books can be borrowed.’

  ‘If one is a member, and invariably one is expected to return the volume by a specific time.’

  ‘So he was not a member.’ Konrad referred to the article again. ‘The Volkov Library. I haven’t heard of it.’

  ‘It is a tiny place, devoted to myth and folklore. Not many people know of it.’

  Myth and folklore? The words sparked a thought, but the idea dissipated before Konrad could take hold of it. ‘Do you know which book he took?’

  ‘No. Their librarian has yet to establish what’s missing. They know that something was taken, for he was seen fleeing the building with a book in hand. But there are thousands of volumes in their keeping. It will take some time for them to discover which book it was.’

  So. Their mystery man had a taste for obscure academic works, and was either unable to secure a membership to the Volkov Library, or in too much of a hurry to do so.

  ‘You’ve known about this for a week, but no one has identified this man?’ Konrad jabbed a finger at the scowling portrait.

  ‘No one has come forward, or at least, not with any credible information. I suspect he had not been living in Ekamet for long.’