Death's Executioner Page 3

  ‘So she might not yet know.’

  Alexander looked his enquiry.

  Konrad filled him in on the contents of Nanda’s gossip paper. ‘If it is Bogdan Zolin, she had a blazing row with him last night, in full view of a houseful of guests. There were some kind of strong feelings between those two, and she might not yet know that he’s dead.’

  ‘We need someone to identify the head—’ said Alexander.

  ‘Oh yes, sir, that’s Mr. Zolin,’ said a male voice.

  Konrad turned. Nanda, he found, had quietly gone out and summoned the butler, anticipating this requirement. The poor man turned whiter than ever upon beholding Bogdan Zolin’s head and his hopeless, dead stare.

  ‘You are certain?’ said Alexander.

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s my duty to admit the guests when they arrive, and everybody knows Mr. Zolin.’

  The paper had termed him a “shining light” of Ekamet society, which probably meant that he turned up everywhere. ‘Have you admitted him to this house before last night?’ Konrad asked.

  ‘Once or twice, sir. He has attended gatherings here before.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Alexander permitted the poor man to leave. He did so at a half-run, probably heading for the nearest conveniences.

  ‘It seems unlikely,’ said Konrad, ‘that Lady Lysak would put Zolin’s head on her own mantelpiece, and then leave it to be found by the servants.’

  ‘It would be a foolhardy thing to do,’ agreed Alexander.

  ‘She might have killed him, though,’ said Nanda. ‘And someone else saw, or knew somehow. That person might have put the head here, to torment her. And to lead the police to her.’

  ‘It’s plausible,’ Konrad allowed. ‘But it takes great strength to cut a man’s head from his neck, especially in one, clean blow. And I think it was, because look — the neck is cleanly cut. No ragged edges that might suggest several attempts were made.’

  ‘And women are too weak?’ said Nanda.

  Konrad realised he trod upon dangerous ground. ‘When it comes to a question of musculature, women are usually less developed—’

  ‘Pish posh.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘All right, perhaps it is. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that she couldn’t possibly have done it, with the right weapon.’

  ‘True enough. And that is another pertinent question. We found no weapon of any kind with the body, least of all one that could have performed such a feat. Where is it?’

  ‘And what is it?’ said Alexander. ‘A sword?’

  ‘Or an axe. I have difficulty imagining a society hostess hacking her guests’ heads off with an axe, however.’

  ‘Or a sword, either,’ said Alexander.

  Nanda snorted. ‘Remember what I said about scandals? They are people, you know, same as the rest of us.’

  Konrad let that pass. ‘Whoever put the head here wanted Lady Lysak to see it,’ he surmised. ‘If it had been designed purely to attract attention, putting it in one of the front windows might have done a better job.’

  ‘Perhaps so,’ said Alexander. ‘Either way, I want to find out who Bogdan Zolin was to her, and why they were arguing last night.’

  ‘What I would like to know,’ said Konrad, ‘is where her ladyship was going at the crack of dawn, and why she has yet to return.’

  ‘I will have the house watched,’ Alexander promised. ‘As soon as she comes home, we’ll know.’

  But the day wore away without news of Lady Lysak’s return, and Konrad began to wonder. Various possibilities occurred to his mind. She might have seen the severed head after all, and run away in a fright. She might have heard of Zolin’s death by some other source, with the same result. Or she might have departed on some other errand entirely — either connected, or not — and was still in ignorance of the night’s developments.

  Until she returned, or until her whereabouts was discovered, that line of investigation was fruitless to pursue. Instead, he turned himself to the many questions surrounding Mr. Bogdan Zolin.

  Nanda returned to her home from Surnin Place, there to raid her collection of newspapers for any mention of Zolin. Konrad questioned his personal acquaintances, with the same aim.

  But without success, for while everyone knew of the socially talented Mr. Zolin, nobody knew anything more about him than that he was everyone’s idea of the perfect guest. He was invited everywhere, and he usually accepted; but he never gave parties himself. He was a punctilious morning caller, paying visits all over the city, but no one had ever had occasion to visit him in his own home. No one even knew where his home was. Konrad received multiple different reports as to the probable street in which he lived, or the possible name of his house, none of which agreed.

  He also did not appear to have any family.

  Cannot discover that there is any next of kin for Zolin, ran a note from Alexander late that day. Nothing turning up in our reports, and no one has contacted us about his death. Mysterious?

  Konrad enquired of the Order, too; Zolin’s body now lay in the morgue beneath The Malykt’s Temple, and if Zolin had grieving family in the city he would have expected someone to have claimed his remains by now. No one had.

  ‘Nan,’ said Konrad when Nanda finally returned, just in time for dinner. ‘Tell me you dredged up something about Zolin.’

  Nanda dropped an armful of papers onto a side-table in Konrad’s hallway, melting snow dripping down the sheaf. ‘No,’ she sighed. ‘Not really. He’s mentioned somewhere almost every week, but it’s always the same things. He was among the guests at this or that ball, he was seen shopping at this or that exclusive establishment, etc. There’s no personal information at all.’

  ‘No family ever mentioned?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘No romantic entanglements? Hints at dark secrets?’

  ‘No. And before you ask, his name and Lady Lysak’s have never been coupled before, either. He appears to have been the perfect man. No mud to throw at him whatsoever.’

  Konrad thought. ‘How far back do these reports go?’

  Nanda frowned. ‘You mean, when was he first mentioned? Good question. We can check over dinner, but I don’t recall reading anything about him much older than a year or so.’

  ‘So Bogdan Zolin arrives on the Ekamet social scene a scant year ago, takes the city’s elite by storm, and dies alone in a snowy alley after the first and only scandalous occurrence of his career. Hm.’

  ‘Strange story, isn’t it?’ Nanda agreed. ‘Lady Lysak has not reappeared, I suppose?’

  ‘Not yet, no. But it can only be a matter of time.’

  Chapter Four

  What puzzled and interested Konrad about Zolin was the how of his remarkable social success. He himself was widely accepted by the elite, but that was no accident. The Order knew very well what needed to be done. Konrad had the right address (Bakar House, in the most expensive and exclusive part of town); the right income (less than it was rumoured to be, but more than handsome enough); the right clothes (purchased from the best tailor in the city); and the right manners (drilled into him with merciless precision before he ever set foot in his handsome house). He entertained at Bakar House once or twice a year, just to keep his credentials in order; the society matrons of Ekamet needed to be reminded, once in a while, of his impeccable claim to a place among them.

  Mr. Zolin had somehow managed without at least half of that. He had no address at all, that anybody seemed to know of; so much for the right house. His income might be judged to be large, considering the way he presented himself. The papers were complimentary about his taste in fashions, and Konrad had seen for himself that his tailoring was beyond reproach. But if he was rich, no one talked of it, or had any information about it.

  How, then, had he achieved his introduction into society? By what means had he catapulted himself into the enviable (perhaps) position of society darling?

  Had he really done it with little more than a smile, and a good
coat?

  Enquiries on this subject came up as short as the rest, to his frustration. Nobody remembered quite how it was that they had first come to be introduced to him; they rather thought he was the acquaintance of such-and-such a friend, or that he was the cousin of someone-or-other — stay, no, that could not be right, it was the other gentleman who was someone-or-other’s cousin. They could not say one way or the other about Mr. Zolin.

  When Konrad’s connections among his supposed peers were exhausted without result, he changed tack.

  If all else failed, he would visit Kavara Halim.

  ‘Mr. Savast,’ said that lady, welcoming him into her drawing-room at eleven o’clock on the second day following Zolin’s death. The snow had ceased to fall overnight, and some unenvied soul had succeeded in clearing the larger streets around Konrad’s house; he had been able to take his own carriage to Mrs. Halim’s residence.

  He bowed with genuine respect. ‘I trust you are well, ma’am.’

  Kavara Halim smiled, and gestured him to a seat, returning to her own silk-upholstered armchair. Konrad always enjoyed whiling away a quarter of an hour in her house, for she possessed an original style; the bright colours and exotic silks and jewels of her drawing-room ran contrary to all accepted notions of good taste, and Konrad admired her for it. This chamber could hardly be more different from Lady Lysak’s elegant but characterless arrangements.

  ‘I had a notion that I might be receiving a visit from you,’ said Mrs. Halim. ‘I expected you yesterday, however.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Konrad, with a polite smile. ‘And why was that?’ He did not settle too comfortably into his own silk damask chair. Much as he enjoyed Mrs. Halim’s company, she also made him nervous — never more so than when she made one of her penetrating observations, as she was doubtless about to do. He would not linger over this visit.

  ‘It would not be the first time you have appeared in my drawing-room, following the violent death of some unfortunate.’

  ‘That I cannot deny,’ he allowed, wary. He knew he ran some risks, in consulting her. She paid attention, she asked questions, and she saw a great deal.

  ‘An amateur detective, I suppose?’ she said, with that faint, amused smile. She wore an emerald-green gown today, and the colour brought out the olive tones of her skin, and made her greying hair almost white in contrast. The effect was majestic, especially when coupled with her proud posture and penetrating gaze.

  Konrad tried not to squirm under her scrutiny. ‘Something along those lines,’ he said calmly.

  ‘One with the collaboration of the police, I understand. Inspector Nuritov is said to speak highly of you.’

  ‘He is a dear friend.’

  ‘How obliging of him.’

  Konrad permitted himself a smile of his own. ‘Perhaps he finds my assistance helpful.’

  ‘Perhaps he does. One concludes, then, that you are a detecting enthusiast of some skill. And now you are here to coax clues from me.’

  ‘I thought to consult your superior knowledge of the city’s doings, ma’am, if you should not dislike it.’

  Kavara Halim pinned him with a piercing stare, the one that always did unwelcome things to Konrad’s insides.

  Then she relaxed, and gave him a graceful nod of approval. ‘I should not torment you. I know you to be responsible for the dispatch of a severe threat to the city, not long ago; one to which most were oblivious. I have gratitude enough, for that.’

  Konrad thought back. She must refer to the matter of the Kayesiri nightwolf, the ilu-vakatim who had infiltrated Ekamet society with a view to turning many of the city’s residents into his own, cursed kind — starting at the very top. It was Mrs. Halim whose knowledge of obscure folklore had helped him to solve that case. That she had taken some personal interest in the matter had not been clear at the time, but it was evident now. He filed that thought away.

  ‘It is…’ he paused, having been going to say It is my duty. He could hardly say such a thing to her, not without explaining why. ‘It is to my great satisfaction that I was able to do so,’ he said instead.

  That smile again, the one that suggested she had fathomed his secret long ago. ‘Very well. You would like to know about Mr. Bogdan Zolin, I imagine? And perhaps Lady Lysak, too.’

  ‘Anything you may have heard about either, I shall be glad to hear.’

  She waved a hand at that, dismissing the comment. ‘I shall not tell you everything. Most gossip is at best, exaggerated, and at worst an entire fabrication, as you must know. I listen only to that which comes with some form of corroboration. Or the persistent kind, which comes from a perhaps unexpected source.’

  ‘Is there much of either, regarding the two in question?’

  Mrs. Halim did not precisely answer. ‘Mr. Zolin has long interested me, more because of the lack of news about him than because of the usual excesses. Doubtless you have already learned as much.’

  ‘It is why I came to you,’ he allowed.

  She nodded. ‘He is much talked of, but he has shielded his true self with such skill that nothing of any substance is ever discussed. I always wonder about those who are secretive. There is always, must be, something to hide.’ Did Konrad imagine it, or did her gaze become particularly penetrating when she said that? His own entry into Ekamet society had been as sudden as Zolin’s, and with as little information regarding his past.

  He sat still, and said nothing.

  ‘So I enquired,’ she continued. ‘You are a customer of Zratil’s, of course?’

  ‘Of course.’ Zratil was a sartorial genius; everybody who could afford it bought their coats from him.

  ‘The first report I have ever heard of Zolin’s presence in the city was his appearance at Zratil’s. He arrived bearing a huge sum of money, and requested Mr. Zratil to outfit him entirely. So insistent was he upon the very best, and upon the greatest haste, that he paid rather more than Mr. Zratil’s usual fee.’

  Konrad raised his brows at that. Mr. Zratil’s usual fees were already handsome.

  ‘And,’ she continued, ‘he was not admirably dressed himself, at the time. His garments were those of a gentleman of fashion, but Mr. Zratil saw at a glance that they fit him poorly, and that they were not of the highest quality.’

  ‘Most interesting,’ Konrad murmured. ‘So Bogdan Zolin was not, perhaps, born to the gentleman’s life.’

  ‘That, or he was some country pauper of birth but no money. I have not heard where he may have lived before he arrived in Ekamet, however, nor how he may have come into his apparent fortune.’

  Had the money even been his, Konrad wondered. He may have stolen it, or won it. Or someone may have given it to him, though Konrad could not yet imagine why.

  ‘And Lady Lysak?’ he said, when Mrs. Halim did not appear to have more to add about Zolin.

  ‘Oh, of her there is little said. Nothing out of place in her life, her manner or her past, nothing unexpected in her behaviour.’

  Thinking of her too-perfect drawing-room, Konrad was not surprised.

  ‘But,’ said Mrs Halim slowly.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘There is but one peculiarity that has ever reached my ears. It may mean nothing.’

  ‘Perhaps it may. But pray share it regardless.’

  ‘I have more than once heard of her ladyship’s absence from home, on a day when her acquaintance knew of no reason to expect it. It has not occurred every week, but often enough to intrigue me.’

  Konrad sat up, alert. ‘That coincides with… you do not know where she goes?’

  ‘I have never heard anything to that effect. Certainly it does not appear to be any of the places one might expect a bored aristocrat to go.’

  ‘She has done it again,’ said Konrad. ‘Yesterday morning, quite early, she left her home — alone, as far as anybody knows — and she has not yet returned.’

  ‘I have never yet heard of these absences extending beyond a single day.’

  ‘It may be unconnected with her earl
ier behaviour,’ Konrad allowed. ‘Then again, it may not. I’m grateful for the information.’

  Mrs. Halim inclined her head. ‘And what shall I hear in return?’

  Konrad suppressed a small smile. The lady did not come to be so well-informed by accident. ‘Some details about the case?’ He had nothing to share that would not be common knowledge soon enough, but the lady liked to be the first to hear these things.

  ‘I believe that will be acceptable,’ said Mrs. Halim.

  Konrad accepted a second cup of tea, and settled in for another ten minutes’ discourse.

  ‘Serpents,’ Konrad said, sometime later, when he had made his way home. ‘You cannot find Lady Lysak, I suppose?’

  No, Master, said Eetapi and Ootapi in unison.

  He had asked before. They had failed. That fact interested him. Did it mean her ladyship had gone far enough from home as to be beyond the range of their perceptions, or had she some way of concealing herself from such spies as they?

  The latter was far-fetched, he acknowledged. Not only would she have to be aware, somehow, that she might be subject to such surveillance — and he did not see how — but also she must possess some means of hiding from them.

  The more likely explanation was that she was no longer in the city.

  He returned to Surnin Place that afternoon.

  To his surprise, he found Tasha loitering about the entrance.

  ‘Are you the watch Alexander mentioned?’ he asked, pausing in the street.

  ‘Yessir.’ Tasha saluted.

  ‘You aren’t being very subtle about it.’

  ‘Nobody said anything about subtle.’

  ‘I am sure it was implied—’

  Tasha rolled her eyes. ‘You are so gullible.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘I don’t need to be subtle,’ she informed him. ‘Who would look twice at a street urchin like me?’

  ‘Someone who distrusted your plausibly light fingers.’

  She grinned. ‘I am a good pickpocket. But that’s fine, too. If someone’s worrying about their valuables, they don’t think too clearly about anything else I might be doing.’