Death's Avenger- The Malykant Mysteries, Volume 2

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘This has only just occurred to you.’ Nanda’s brows snapped down in disapproval, and Konrad felt uncomfortably that Wevey was scowling at him, too.

  ‘I, um, had other things to think about…’ Nanda’s frown only deepened and he abandoned his attempt at self-justification. ‘Where has he been?’

  ‘At home.’

  That seemed fair enough an observation, as far as it went. And yet, Nanda’s manner struck him as evasive. ‘Doing what?’ he prompted.

  ‘Resting.’

  ‘Oh no, has he been ill? Poor Weveroth.’ Konrad tried again to offer greetings to the monkey, with the same result.

  Nanda stared him defiantly in the eye. Were her cheeks a fraction on the pink side? ‘Not ill. There was… there might have been… well the fact is that Wevey had, um, small…’

  ‘Small…?’ Konrad prompted, when her sentence trailed off unfinished.

  ‘Creatures.’

  ‘Wevey had small creat— oh! You mean babies?’

  Nanda nodded. No further comment followed, but her eyebrows went up in a definite challenge.

  ‘But that’s… that means he’s a she.’

  ‘It is difficult to put anything past you.’

  A comment which cut both ways, since he had never noticed the fact before. In fact, he had never given the matter any thought; he had probably referred to poor Wevey as it more often than was seemly. ‘Er, Nan,’ he ventured, when she continued to look haughty.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You knew that Wevey was a lady, yes?’

  ‘Of course I did!’

  Konrad folded his arms. ‘Really?’

  Nanda held his gaze for three seconds more, and then broke. ‘How could I possibly tell?!’ she protested.

  ‘You have to look under the tail.’

  ‘I know! Utterly impossible! The heights of rudeness, Konrad.’

  Konrad began to laugh. ‘It is pretty rude to get Wevey’s gender wrong for years together, I’d say.’

  ‘It is a matter of privacy! How would you like it if someone came up to you and peered into your—’

  ‘All right,’ Konrad said hastily, not at all liking the mental image Nanda was spinning.

  ‘Exactly.’ She looked triumphant.

  ‘Are the babies here, too?’

  ‘No, they were weaned and given to the Order before we left.’

  Which gave Konrad something of a clue as to where Weveroth had come from in the first place. Tiny gold-furred monkeys were not exactly common in Assevan, and he had long wondered how Nanda came to own one. Especially as Weveroth was far too intelligent and helpful to pass as a mere ordinary creature.

  He knew better than to enquire further, however, so he let it pass.

  Malykant. The twin voices of his two serpents chimed in his mind at once, loud enough to rattle his teeth, and he winced.

  What?

  The diminutive undead requires your presence.

  They had to have practiced that line, surely. You mean Tasha, I suppose?

  The same.

  They could not have practiced that, yet their two voices were twined still in perfect harmony. The effect was eerie beyond all reason; Konrad suffered a weird thrill combined with a shudder.

  You get worse, he informed them.

  We know.

  Konrad took Nanda’s hand and led her out of the cupboard. Or no, the antechamber. Where is she?

  The pantry.

  The said pantry seemed colder than ever when Konrad reached it, and a strong shudder on Nanda’s part indicated that she felt the same way about it. Tasha sat cross-legged on the chilly floor not far from the grisly closet, her cap pulled low over her eyes. She saluted when they came in, but made no move to rise. ‘Malykant,’ she said perfunctorily. ‘Boss lady.’

  ‘Nan isn’t your boss,’ Konrad objected.

  ‘She is everyone’s boss.’

  Konrad did his best to ignore the bright, smug smile Nanda directed at Tasha. ‘What is it that you need?’

  Tasha pointed downwards with one small, thin finger. ‘There is a level beneath this one.’

  ‘That makes sense. All such houses have cellars.’

  ‘Yes, but this place is unusually well provided with them. There are the usual storage cellars, mostly empty, and then there is a whole complex of kitchens, sculleries, pantries. This entire floor in duplicate, only much older.’

  The kitchens up here were new-looking and equipped with all the latest technology, to be sure, but if Konrad had considered the fact at all, he had simply assumed they had been lately refitted. ‘What? Why were they abandoned?’

  ‘I don’t know, but the whole floor is sealed off. You can’t reach it from anywhere in the house.’

  ‘Then how did you—’ Konrad stopped talking when Tasha gave him a significant look. She had gone exploring in spirit-form, of course, and drifted through the floors; that was how she had got down there. He could not follow.

  Nanda spoke up. ‘Why is this significant, Tasha?’

  Tasha smiled upon her with benevolent approval. ‘Yes. Well. There is another pantry beneath this one, with another cupboard in it that’s joined on.’ She pointed at the closet within which the bodies had been concealed. ‘There is no floor in that part of the room. There is only a plank of wood dividing the two cupboards, and I reckon that can be removed from down below.’

  Konrad’s mind reeled. ‘So… so it is a chute.’

  That won him a smile of his own, albeit one of surprise. ‘Very good. Yes, I think so.’

  ‘That means… that means…’

  Tasha eyed him with sceptical attention. ‘Yes?’

  ‘This is no hiding place. It is a… a delivery system.’

  ‘Miraculous.’ Tasha went so far as to applaud him. ‘Once in a while, one sees why he is the Malykant.’

  ‘Once in a while,’ murmured Nanda.

  Konrad let this pass. ‘What is going on in those kitchens, Tasha?’

  She grew serious again. ‘I cannot tell. I wish I could but it is pitch dark down there, and even I can’t see enough to be sure. The serpents helped me a bit with that revolting glowy-thing they do—’

  Rude, hissed Eetapi.

  Wretch, agreed Ootapi.

  ‘—but there are many rooms down there and it could take us hours to find anything of note.’

  ‘Keep looking,’ Konrad ordered, and belatedly remembered to add, ‘please.’

  Tasha made an ironical little bow.

  Chapter Six

  Konrad searched everywhere for Alexander Nuritov, and failed to find him in any of the places the inspector might be supposed to frequent. His room was empty. He was in none of the parlours, or in the dining room. Konrad even put his head around the door of the theatre — cautiously, fearing to openly present himself in case of being lampooned into another rehearsal — but Nuritov was not among those gathered in a knot near the fire.

  He began to grow concerned. Adrift as they were inside an unusually deadly house, Alexander’s sustained absence did not seem to bode well. Did his status as a police inspector put him in danger? Might those who had killed Alen and Kati decide to remove him, before he could have chance to detect and expose their crimes?

  At length, Konrad ran again into Tasha, who brushed past him without acknowledging his presence at all.

  ‘Stop,’ he called.

  Tasha obeyed, with ill grace.

  ‘Where’s Alexander?’

  ‘Mister Nuritov is in the theatre.’

  ‘No. I’ve looked.’

  ‘Did you look on the stage?’

  Konrad opened his mouth to protest that of course he had — and closed it again. He had barely glanced into the room, not particularly expecting that his search would be rewarded. What would Alexander be doing in there, when there was a pressing case to investigate? He had glanced perfunctorily at the cluster of people — Marko, Eino and Lilli — who were involved, apparently, in some kind of script conference in the warmest part of the room, and
finding that it did not include the Inspector, he had moved on.

  He hadn’t even looked at the stage.

  ‘Why would he—’ began Konrad, and abandoned the train of thought. ‘Never mind. Thank you. Carry on.’

  Tasha carried on, without a backward glance or another word, and Konrad returned to the theatre. Not without a certain reluctance; his notions of surviving the lamentably thespian house party consisted of two policies. One, to keep himself and his friends safe from whoever it was that had taken a fancy to carving people up, at least until the time came to dispose of them. And secondly, to steer well clear of the theatre.

  No such luck. Nuritov needed to be apprised of developments, and Konrad wanted to hear his thoughts — and discoveries, if he had any.

  So, to the theatre he went, taking a deep, bracing breath along the way.

  Alexander was indeed upon the stage, but to say that he merely stood there was to gravely understate the matter. Alexander dominated the stage. He was clad in all his nobleman’s raiment: draping robes of bronze velvet all a-glitter with burnished embroidery, a soft cap to match, dainty shoes. When Konrad had first seen him thus arrayed, the clothes had undeniably suited him, but there had been an air of mild incongruity about the picture. Not any longer. Inspector Nuritov, every inch his character, was deep in the middle of a monologue.

  ‘My fool sister!’ he ranted. ‘All soft tenderness of heart, and weakness of the mind! Shall she thus besmirch our family’s ancient name? Is it to be borne? It shall not be, not while there is breath left to me!’

  Konrad watched, mesmerised, as Alexander went through the scene, acting with lively spirit and — there was no denying it — prodigious skill. And enthusiasm. What manner of madness was this?

  It only grew worse, for soon Nanda entered, as queenly as the inspector was noble, and on they went together. The chatter around the fireplace ceased; effortlessly the two actors held the attention of the audience. Konrad’s included.

  When the scene drew to a close, Konrad was left with conflicting feelings. As magnificent a display as they had made, why were they so wasting their time? Two people were dead, and more may yet follow.

  He had his answer when Nanda and Alexander descended from the stage, for they were given a rapturous welcome. Konrad stood awkwardly watching as the group fell into animated conversation, Alexander included every bit as much as Nanda. The people who addressed Konrad with wary or distant courtesy treated Alexander as a friend.

  He had, in short, made himself one of them. And how better to investigate a difficult case than to make oneself a confidante of the suspects? It was a trick Konrad had never mastered.

  He joined the group, attaching himself to its edges, and was gratified by Alexander’s immediate attempts to win for him a welcome.

  Eino, as ever, dominated the conversation.

  ‘Marvellous progress we make,’ he boomed, a wide smile flashing within his voluminous black beard. ‘And onward we go! I must have everybody in the theatre this afternoon, every single one of us. And here we will stay until we have rehearsed every act, every scene! We pause only for dinner.’ His words were jovial but Konrad detected signs of anxiety: his eyes darted here and there about, too quickly, almost feverish in their activity; he spoke at speed, words falling over words as he gabbled about the play. Konrad suspected him of having another motive for wanting to gather all about him. Was he trying to keep everybody close? Did he seek to protect?

  Was he looking particularly at Nanda, as he spoke?

  Shortly afterward, Konrad was able to extract Nanda and Alexander from Eino’s hold by pleading the need to rehearse. There came a scene, midway through the second act, in which Greta, Vidar and Diederik were all on stage together — Synnove, too, though they were out of luck there, for Tasha did not present herself. Konrad hoped she was busily occupied in searching the lower cellars.

  ‘Holt is uneasy,’ Alexander said, the moment he could speak without being overheard. He had led them to the rear of the theatre, where the walls were clad in overstuffed bookcases and lined with tapestried arm chairs, and taken off his cap with apparent relief. ‘He makes a good show of cheer, but I think he knows all is not well here.’

  ‘He is downplaying Alen’s failure to appear,’ Nanda put in. ‘I raised the question with him. He mumbled something about Alen’s promising only conditionally to come, and perhaps he changed his mind, and then hastily turned the topic. Our Alexander may be a fine actor, but Eino is not.’

  Nuritov actually blushed a bit at Nanda’s praise, and did not meet her eye. ‘Er,’ he said with a tiny cough. ‘Marko has some manner of secret, which I believe he may be disposed to share with me in the near future. He is furtive and troubled, but I do not think he is afraid. Lilli…’

  Nanda broke in upon the inspector’s silence. ‘Oh, Lilli! What shall we say of her? She despises us all, and for the most part we are delighted to return the sentiment.’

  ‘Why does she hate everybody?’ said Konrad.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Nanda with a shrug. ‘She confides in no one.’

  Konrad looked around. The stage had been taken by Eino and Marko; Lilli had disappeared. ‘Where is Denis, today? I have seen nothing of him.’

  ‘I saw him an hour ago. I believe him to be well, but he can be reclusive. Often he hides away in the conservatory.’

  ‘There’s a conservatory?’

  ‘A spectacular one. You ought to see it.’

  Konrad’s gaze strayed back to Eino. The man dominated the stage, too, though in his case it was by sheer advantage of size. He was attacking some scene or another with gusto, but insufficient focus, for he frequently lost his way and had to refer back to the script-pages in his hands.

  ‘Something is definitely bothering him,’ Konrad mused.

  Tik tik, tik. Nanda tapped her fingernails against the arm of her chair, lips pressed into a thin line. ‘There is something much amiss with him, and it’s more than whatever is going on in his mind.’

  Konrad waited for more, but she paused, seemed undecided how to proceed.

  ‘Whatever it is that’s in your mind,’ Alexander said in a gentle way, ‘Please tell us. We trust your intuition.’

  Nanda smiled gratefully at him. ‘I hardly know what it is that I suspect, only he… well, I have lately wondered whether it is indeed Eino.’

  Whatever Konrad might have expected from her hesitant preamble, this was not it. ‘What? You mean he may be an imposter?’

  ‘I… do not know.’ Nanda’s brows drew together, and she sighed. ‘I knew Eino before, understand, though we were never intimate friends. He was part of my mother’s circle when I was… before I left Marja. I shook hands with him, once or twice. The mind and heart I saw into at that time were… well, there is a difference. A subtle one, but it’s there. Now, is it merely the passage of time that is responsible? People do change, and some years have passed. Or is it something else? He does not feel quite familiar to me, and he ought to.’

  ‘His appearance is distinctive,’ Konrad objected. ‘How could anybody pretend to be him and expect to succeed, unless he has a twin?’

  ‘I do not believe him to have any siblings at all.’ Nanda shook her head, her frown deepening further. ‘Perhaps he has a twin brother I have never heard of, and there is a masquerade afoot. But I cannot see why, and it does not seem likely, for I have tested him repeatedly. He remembers details about our former meetings which would be difficult to impart to another — which I’d hardly expect him to think of, until prompted by me. No, I am convinced that it is Eino — and yet, it is not. It is a puzzle I cannot solve.’

  Alexander took out his pipe, from some secret place he had apparently found within his splendid robe. He did not light it, but set it to his lips and disappeared into brief thought. ‘I do think that Mr. Holt is the key,’ he murmured. ‘Somehow, all revolves around him. His is the house to which all are invited; he is our host, and the director of the play. He knows something that disturbs
him, either about the house itself or somebody in it. He fears ghosts, though he will not share the reason why. He glosses over the prolonged absence of two of his guests, when the careful and attentive host he is pretending to be ought to show far greater concern. He tries to gather the rest of us close, perhaps to protect us, from some threat he is aware of but cannot or will not counter. And he is afraid.’

  ‘These match my own conclusions,’ Konrad agreed. He cast a lingering look at Eino, still holding forth upon the stage, and reached a decision. ‘He has confided in neither of you, I take it?’

  ‘To me, but little,’ Alexander confirmed.

  Nanda sighed. ‘He consents to be drawn upon trifling topics, but when I draw near to anything about the house or its guests, he soon finds somewhere else to be.’

  ‘Then we must apply a little pressure.’

  ‘Such as?’ Nanda fixed him with a look of deep suspicion. ‘Understand, Konrad. He must be brought to confide, but I will not have him harmed. He is a friend, however distant.’

  ‘I won’t hurt him, though I do intend to frighten him a little.’

  ‘A little?’

  Konrad shrugged. ‘Perhaps a lot. I cannot predict his response.’

  Nanda looked as though she wanted to object further, but she did not. Perhaps she summoned visions of Alen’s dismembered corpse to her mind’s eye, or recalled the fate of Kati Vinter. ‘Very well,’ she allowed, wary. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘Oh, a bit of a theatrical.’ Konrad smiled. ‘What could be more fitting?’

  The coming of night brought a fresh wave of cold down upon the house at Divoro. There could be no question of wandering those deepening shadows in the fine costumes of the play’s sumptuously-clad characters; the shivering guests arrayed themselves in their warmest layers and thickest furs, and kept as close to the roaring fires of the drawing-room, the dining-room and the parlour as they could.

  All except for their host, who was borne off into the oldest parts of the castle by Alexander Nuritov. Courtesy compelled poor Eino to humour the inspector’s eager desire for exploration. Time was passing swiftly, Nanda reminded them both; if there was to be time for the thorough investigation of the castle’s more ancient features that Alexander desired, then it must be done immediately, and at once. All of Eino’s protestations — is it not too cold? Would it not be better to examine those rooms in daylight? — were borne away under the pressure of Nanda’s determination, and the exploring party set off directly after dinner. Nanda judged it expedient to wear her outdoor garb: her thick woollen cloak, the hood pulled over her hair; her layered skirts; her padded gloves, and fur muff. Heavy furs adorned the shoulders of Eino Holt and Alexander.