Well, not lending out. Losing a hat to a thieving devil of a man. Ordinarily, one did not expect to get the hat back.
Konrad began to shiver.
‘Everything is… well?’ he said, glancing about. Were the wraiths gone, or was he simply unable to see them anymore?
‘Largely,’ said Diana, reappearing.
‘Oh,’ said Konrad, as his eye fell upon the far door. ‘Not quite.’ Smoke poured in from the corridor beyond, his nostrils suddenly full of the acrid scent of burning wood. A flame darted over the threshold, then another.
‘Time to go.’ Tasha hauled him ruthlessly to his feet. He swayed, gritting his teeth against a strong desire to vomit.
Nanda ducked under his shoulder, holding him up. ‘Do not throw up,’ she ordered him. ‘This is my favourite gown.’
‘No, ma’am,’ he agreed.
Chapter Twelve
Konrad had not expected to feel regret, upon driving away from the beleaguered house at Divoro. He had felt nothing but dread at the prospect of returning to it. Why, then, should he deplore the fire that tore through its ancient halls, and would, soon enough, reduce it to naught but a blackened shell?
Perhaps it was the tragedy of it. It had been a place of haunting, if slightly mad, beauty, a unique structure whose potential had been corrupted and destroyed. The house itself could not help its inhabitants.
The same could be said for some of its scions. Had Denis Druganin been born elsewhere, to another family, would even he have been so much a monster? Perhaps, perhaps not. Evil so often begat still more depravity.
Or was it merely that it destroyed whatever least resembled itself?
Konrad enjoyed a day’s rest upon his return to Ekamet, time of which he made the fullest use by remaining in bed. The choice was not absolutely his own. As grateful as he was to be restored to the full use of his own, familiar limbs, the severance was not so easily reversible as he had hoped. Every time he attempted to rise from his bed, he was instantly assailed with a sense of ill-fitting wrongness, as though he had put his coat on backwards. Had The Malykt stuffed his soul back in inside out, or upside down? The possibility appalled him. Better to sleep it off.
The day following demanded much more of him, for it was the designated day of Eino Holt’s funeral — and that of his mother and closest friends. Had it been only his own convenience to consider, he might have been tempted to stay away. Had he not paid his respects already, in more direct fashion than attending their farewell rites?
But Nanda would be there, of course. He would not leave her to bear so melancholy an event unattended. So, come the first light of morning, he grimly hauled himself from the warmth of his blankets and endeavoured to dress.
Serpents, he said after a while. I may need your help.
Eetapi uncoiled herself from the light fitting and drifted down. Yes, Master?
The problem is… Konrad clung to the door of his closet, his head spinning. I cannot seem quite to remain upright.
He felt Eetapi’s scrutiny as a feather-light touch, whisking through whatever passed for his thoughts that morning. What do you wish me to do?
Can you… I hardly know. Hold me together? It is like being drunk, only without the pleasant aspects.
Poor Master, you are soul-drunk. It is an affliction that can be remedied.
Konrad rejoiced to hear that. And how is it—
Words dissolved in a sharp cry of pain, for Eetapi’s idea of medicine turned out to be characteristically brutal. With the sensation of a coach, say, or perhaps a small house, slamming full-tilt into Konrad’s cringing psyche, his obliging serpent forcibly knocked his spirit into shape.
He stood, head reeling, for about three seconds before he slowly sank to the floor.
Thank you, I think.
I am here to serve. With which words, Eetapi returned to hanging from the lights.
Slowly, painfully, Konrad dressed himself.
The coven of Divoro’s victims were to be cremated. Those whose remains had been salvageable, that was; many had burned with the house. Konrad thanked his stars that he had not had to witness the bringing-down of the Holts, and Lilli Lahti, and Marko Bekk, from their ice-palace of a mausoleum. The indignity of their treatment still rankled. What a pity that he had already delivered retribution to Denis Druganin, and that the coven’s leaders had been dealt with by a higher power. For such brutality, somebody ought to pay. He hoped that his Master was making their after-lives duly miserable.
Of course He was.
Druganin’s cremation had already occurred; Diana had personally overseen the burning herself. Whatever weird power had led the corpse to open and shut his eyes… well, it was no more. A mystery Konrad was happy to leave behind.
He arrived at The Malykt’s temple unattended, save by his serpents. Eetapi and Ootapi had flatly refused to be left behind, a funeral being their idea of a carnival. Behave yourselves, he ordered, and suffered the instant mortification of seeing Eetapi go sailing loop-the-loop over the heads of the gathered mourners, cackling with glee.
Fortunate that few would witness these antics beside himself.
One of those few was Diana, who intercepted him the moment he stepped into the funeral hall. ‘Konrad,’ she murmured. ‘Feeling restored?’
‘Somewhat.’ He tried not to grimace as he spoke, with only modest success.
She nodded. ‘Good. I would have words with you, after.’
Words. He studied her face, in hopes of receiving some clue as to the extent of the disaster, but she was impassive as always. ‘Very well,’ he said neutrally.
Diana patted him on the shoulder, an oddly motherly gesture, and departed. It was not at all like Diana Valentina to be motherly. His apprehension grew.
Nanda and Alexander were seated together, at the front of the assembly. To his pleasure, they separated upon his approach, leaving a seat free between them. Nanda awarded him a smile, and laid a hand briefly against his forehead. ‘Functional, I see.’
‘Mostly, thanks to my miserable minions. Actually, just Eetapi. Ootapi must have drawn the short straw, and had only to watch while his sister did the brutalising.’
Nanda smirked. ‘If it worked, then today I am in favour of your being knocked about.’
‘Thank you.’ Konrad looked with some interest at Alexander. He had suffered some disquiet on the inspector’s account, during the hours he had spent prone in bed. Nanda he worried about as a matter of course, but only up to a point. Had she not proved and proved herself more than equal to anything? But Alexander was more used to quieter, less horrific doings. Detective he was, and no stranger to murder, but his investigations were more usually conducted from the relative safety of his offices, or the wide streets of Ekamet, and he typically dealt with lesser horrors. Poor fortune, that his growing friendship with Konrad should put him in the way of the very worst that life — or death — had to offer.
‘Savast,’ said Alexander, eyeing him back. ‘Is there something on your mind? Besides, that is, all of this.’ He indicated the assembled mourners, the four coffins, and the ceremonial servants of The Malykt with a flick of a finger.
Konrad dispensed with polite caution in favour of truth. ‘I am wondering how much damage our escapades have done to your poor soul.’
Alexander’s lips twitched. ‘Some. Certainly a little, possibly a lot.’
‘I am sorry for it.’
‘I believe I chose to attend you.’
‘You could not have known what it would entail.’
‘No.’ Alexander retrieved his pipe from a pocket of his coat and sat turning it about in his hands. ‘But is that not essentially true of all choices, even familiar ones?’
‘So it is.’
‘Stop fussing,’ murmured Nanda. ‘Or clucking, as your charming serpents put it. You are not responsible for every bad thing that happens, Konrad.’
In a way, he was. It was his job; if not to prevent terrible events, then to — to settle their accounts, to balanc
e for them. He opened his mouth to say some of this.
‘No,’ said Nanda, cutting him off. ‘It is a form of egotism, you know, to take responsibility for too much. I am sorry to tell you, but you are not that special.’
Konrad had to smile. Typical Nanda-style comfort; why did such barbed words soothe him so well? Perhaps because she was right.
Diana led the ceremony herself, an unusual choice. Did Eino and Alina, Lilli and Marko know, wherever they were, what honour was afforded them by The Malykt’s Order? He supposed not, but it comforted him and it comforted Nanda. At least now, he could attend the burning of their vacated bodies with a sense of peace. Justice had been delivered for them — in slightly unusual ways, perhaps, but justice nonetheless. Their tormentors had been bested, dismantled and destroyed, and the ancestral house Alina had so despised was gone, and all its history of horrors with it. They could rest easy.
As for him…
The ceremony over, he excused himself immediately to go in search of Diana.
‘Is something wrong?’ Nanda asked, alerted by some small sign, though he had thought himself tolerably composed.
‘Audience with Diana,’ he murmured. ‘I fear it will not be a pleasant one.’
‘We’ll wait for you.’ That was Alexander. Nanda nodded her agreement.
He wanted to wave them on, to tell them it was nothing, let them go about their business. But that they would stay, and wait, and be here when he was finished, was… comforting. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
Nanda gave him a shove. ‘Time to be brave.’
He found Diana in her private room, two levels beneath the main temple floor. It had none of the grandeur one might expect of a chamber set aside for the sole, personal use of the Order’s supreme head. Barely six feet square, it possessed a desk, an upholstered arm chair, a thick, dark red rug, and an array of lamps throwing out a bright, steady light. Upon opening the door, he found Diana ensconced in the chair. No, ensconced sounded too regal. Sagged would better describe her weary posture. When she beheld Konrad, the predominant impression he received from her was one of infinite tiredness.
‘You are not going to enjoy this conversation,’ she told him, gesturing for him to close the door.
‘I know.’
‘Neither am I.’
He nodded, uncertain, and remained standing near the door.
Diana passed a hand across her face, and sighed. ‘You have lately struggled with your role, I think.’
‘I…’ Konrad wet his lips, and swallowed. ‘I have performed my duties as normal, I think? I have… there have been no significant failures.’
‘I do not criticise the performance of your duties. You are an effective and efficient Malykant. I merely observe that it has been noticeably harder for you to do so. The strain of the role is taking its toll, as it must upon all who take up this particular mantle. It is a cruel duty.’
Konrad, unsure how to respond, remained silent.
‘You have lasted as our Malykant for rather longer than is the average,’ she said. ‘And that is so much to your credit. You have also retained a strong sense of duty throughout, and — still more to your credit — kept a hold of your wits, too. I do not know if you are aware how rare that is.’
‘I… know little about my predecessors,’ Konrad admitted. ‘For some reason, nobody wants to talk to me about them.’
‘Because it is a dark and difficult history. Fully half the Malykants of the last century have gone mad. Did you know of that? To behave, day in, day out, with such ruthlessness, such violence… it changes a person, whatever the motive. You are unusual in having so balanced and healthy a perspective, even after years in the role.’ So complimentary were her words; why then were her eyes so cold? ‘Nonetheless, I believe the time has come for you to relinquish these duties.’
‘I… w-what?’
Her expression, at last, softened. Fractionally. ‘I like you, Konrad. I do not wish to see you go the way of… of so many of the others. I do not wish to watch you break.’
‘I am not broken!’ His fists clenched; he leaned back against the door, for fear that his knees might give out. Shock weakened every muscle. ‘You cannot retire me. Please.’
‘You are not broken. Not yet. But you will be, if you go on for much longer. And I like you too much to permit it, Konrad.’
Bitterly, he shook his head. ‘Like me. Well, thank you. That means a lot.’
Diana sighed, and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. ‘I am sorry. I know that this will look different to you.’
About to stagger out into the cold, Konrad hesitated. ‘Have you… have you already recommended my retirement to The Master?’
Diana met his gaze squarely. ‘Yes. I have.’
It was over, then. Konrad bowed his head, unwilling to let her witness his sense of utter defeat. He fumbled with the door handle, got the door open somehow, and all but fell into the corridor beyond.
‘Take care, Konrad,’ said Diana.
He did not trouble to muster a reply.
‘I do not understand,’ said Alexander a little later. ‘If she is so happy with your work, why retire you?’
‘Who knows,’ Konrad sighed. ‘I am, perhaps, an anomaly. They do not know what to make of me, so fall back upon — statistics. I have already lasted longer than almost any other Malykant before me, therefore: I must be nearing the end of my usefulness.’
They had retired to Bakar House, and Konrad’s cosiest parlour. A fire roared in the grate; a sad necessity, since the ordinarily comforting flames brought to mind the devastation at the Vasilescu House. Still, at least it was warm. Nanda occupied her favourite chair, her hands wrapped around a cup of chocolate. Alexander sat, rather less at his ease, near the fire, looking not so much out of place in so luxurious an apartment as a man who felt out of place. Konrad hoped he might come to get over that feeling, given time.
‘If she is concerned for you,’ Nanda said, ‘I can well understand that.’
Naturally she could, for had her own mistress, The Shandrigal, not sent her into Konrad’s life in the first place for similar reasons? Nan had arrived as his personal anchor to humanity (though unbeknownst to him at the time). And she had served that role admirably. If he was saner than the average Malykant at this stage of his career, much of that must be attributable to Nanda’s presence. Surrounded as he was by death, Nan reminded him what life was like. What love was for.
Apparently, it had not been enough.
‘Unfortunately,’ he said, with another sigh, ‘I could not fairly tell her that she was wrong. I have been… struggling. Ever since I was restored to full feeling.’ He often missed those days when he had felt so little. Everything had been simpler, easier, less painful.
But that, of course, was the problem. Killing should never be easy, or painless. That was how monsters were made. Had he been muted for too long? Was the fact that he had needed such intervention part of the reason for his retirement now? A Malykant who felt too little was a liability; so was a Malykant who felt too much.
Nanda laid a hand on his arm. ‘Shall you mind so much? It has been clear to me for some time that you have not relished the role.’
‘You could join me,’ suggested Alexander, with a half-apologetic smile. ‘The life of a police detective is nowhere near so dramatic or prestigious, of course, and it does not come with half so many perks.’ He glanced about at the expensively furnished parlour as he spoke. ‘But you are an excellent detective, and in joining us you can retain some semblance of your present life.’
Konrad looked from Alexander to Nanda. ‘Have I been unclear? I will have no opportunity to join you, Alexander, though I thank you for the offer.’
Nanda frowned. ‘I do not understand.’
‘No one simply resigns as the Malykant. One does not so much retire, as one is retired. ’
Nanda’s face darkened. ‘You cannot mean…’
‘I do. It would be dangerous and troublesome to have former Malykants litt
ered about the city, bereft of a job, wits gone begging, possibly as monstrous as those they used to prey upon. They must be cleared away. The role of Malykant is only passed on when the current incumbent dies.’ He knew this, because it had been made clear to him when he had accepted the role himself. At the time, the prospect of his eventual death had been distant enough not to unduly worry him.
Things were different now.
‘They would not… she would not…’ Nanda stared at him, white-faced.
‘Kill me? No, no. They are not so ruthless as all that. But when next I am killed, I will not be coming back.’
Supposing, of course, that The Malykt accepted Diana’s recommendation to retire him. The final decision naturally lay with The Master. But Konrad could not shake a settled sense of disquiet about the business. He recalled, with cruel clarity, the single word his Master had spoken: Done. What had been done? What had he offered? Had Diana already broached the subject of his retirement by then? Had The Malykt, in essence, accepted Konrad’s soon-to-be-delivered death in exchange for immediate assistance? He feared so. He had, half voluntarily and half otherwise, promised soon to die, and The Malykt had granted the idea His approval.
Nanda was silent for some time. He was encouraged to see the horror drain out of her face; but it was replaced with that stern resolve she displayed whenever she set out to do something bordering upon the impossible. ‘Then we shall have to look after you,’ she said.
‘Indeed,’ said Alexander. ‘The best way to avoid a permanent demise is not to die at all, no?’
‘Easier said than done,’ Konrad murmured, thinking back, with a strong shudder, over the several deaths he had suffered over the course of his career.
‘Nothing worth fighting for was ever easy,’ said Nanda firmly. ‘We will keep you alive, if you promise to be less reckless.’
‘I can try. It is a dangerous job—’
‘Promise , Konrad,’ said Nanda fiercely. ‘I don’t care what Diana says, I absolutely refuse to let you die.’
Death's Avenger- The Malykant Mysteries, Volume 2 Page 42