The Malykant Mysteries

Chapter Eight-1

Chapter Eight

Konrad left his house in the early hours of the morning, when the moon was high in a sky only partially covered with cloud. The glow it emitted was feeble, but it served to illuminate the streets somewhat. All the better; that would make it harder for his assailant to hide from him.

Eetapi and Ootapi were alert for danger, one sailing the winds a few feet in front of him and the other some way behind. They had camouflaged themselves to the utmost, so much so that even he couldn’t see them with his mortal eyes.

He made no particular attempt to hide. He had grown tired of the nameless, shapeless threat hanging over him since his visit to his master’s temple a day or two ago. If his pursuer intended harm, he would prefer to resolve the matter now.

In the end, though, his precautions availed him little. Ootapi’s voice had barely begun to whisper a warning in his mind when a dark shape leaped out of the shadows before him. In moments he was down. A dark-clad figure loomed over him, a knife glinting in one hand. His other hand was fastened around Konrad’s throat, squeezing hard.

So it was to be murder, then. Very well.

Konrad was by no means defenceless; his profession was a dangerous one and he knew how to fight. He did so now, avoiding the downward stroke of the knife and throwing the assassin off him. He made it on to his feet, and for a few moments he held his own, strike for strike, against his assailant.

But this was no ordinary threat. The man was a professional, and horribly strong; Konrad knew he was in trouble. The knife blade flashed again, too close, and a line of pain raced across his torso. The next one would probably kill him.

Sensing his danger, Eetapi and Ootapi rose to his assistance. He felt a flicker of hope: another instant and they would have the assassin’s soul bound, and the onslaught would stop. Maybe he would avoid impalement after all.

The assassin was faster even that he’d feared. Perhaps sensing the new threat, the man redoubled his efforts, moving so fast Konrad couldn’t even follow his movements. Konrad had only a moment to wonder where in the world his enemy had found this man before the knife blade found its mark. He fell once more, stabbed to the heart, pain crushing his chest.

He lay for an instant, panting with shock and agony, trying not to look at the hilt protruding from his chest. He watched with distant interest as the assassin’s body stiffened and backed away; the serpents had him, then, but too late.

Gripping the knife’s handle and gritting his teeth, Konrad pulled out the blade. He tried to do it fast, but it took an inordinately long time for the length of sharp metal to slide out of the ruins of his muscles, his skin, his heart. He kept his eyes fixed on his would-be killer as he did so, knowing the man would not expect this.

He waited, tense, for the renewed pain of enforced healing. He was not permitted to die, not as long as he served The Malykt. The wound would force itself closed, his flesh would knit together once more and he would be whole. It would hurt - badly - but he would survive.

Nothing happened.

He felt a flicker of panic. The Malykt’s favour would last only as long as Konrad pleased Him. Was He pleased now? Had his primary servant performed as expected, these past few years? Konrad knew that if his master’s favour had been withdrawn, he may not know about it at first; not until a stray knife-blade stabbed him through and, this time, he did not heal. Then Konrad’s life would be over and a new Malykant would be chosen.

Was that happening now?

He tried to suppress his growing panic, refusing to let it show in his face. The assassin, still held in the grip of the serpent-shades, would see nothing of his doubt.

A new thought occurred to him in the midst of his confusion. Were he to die, would it be such a bad thing? His life had its advantages, but no part of it was his own. His tasks were brutal and unpleasant, his master relentless. He was isolated and, he admitted it, lonely. Perhaps it was time to rest.

But then came the pain, waves of it gripping him tight as his tortured flesh mended itself. He lay, shaking, as the wound closed and his body restored itself to full health.

A cold voice pierced his dazed thoughts. You have not earned a rest yet, My Malykant. Get on with it.

Yes, Master, he thought weakly in reply. He got to his feet, his attention once more on the dark figure who had sought to take his life. He enjoyed the expression of complete horror on the man’s face as his injured-to-the-death victim stood up and advanced on him.

‘Good effort,’ Konrad said to him. He had, after all, done a good job. It wasn’t his fault that The Malykt hated training new servants.

The assassin’s own knife was in Konrad’s hand. He didn’t waste any time. One quick movement drew the blade across the killer’s throat and he dropped, eyes wide in shock. The serpents vacated his dying body in two puffs of cold wind, and the three of them watched dispassionately as the killer died.

Konrad stood a moment longer, flexing his arms and torso and neck. He was a little stiff, but otherwise in great health. His clothes were ruined, of course, slashed through and soaked in blood, but he didn’t need to be well-dressed for his next task.

Well, onward, he said silently to his serpents. He walked on, leaving the body lying in the street.

Konrad’s next night-time visit to the Rostikov House was easier, as he was familiar with the plan of the building and the habits of the servants. But it was also harder, for the inhabitants were alert to the possibility of intruders. He was forced to wait until the moon was hidden behind a significant bank of cloud, and then to take a less direct route into the house. The rear wall was composed of large blocks of old stone; he climbed it with ease, aiming for the servants’ garret at the top.

He could feel the sickness that loomed in the room above him; its scent wove through the aether, acrid and sharp but not, to his relief, redolent of death. Etraya was very ill, but she would not die.

Not yet, at least.

Reaching her window, he paused to survey the room. As he had both feared and hoped, no attendant waited upon her. Either by order of their mistress or through fear of infection, the inhabitants of this house had left the nurse to suffer alone.

He eased open the window and slid inside, closing it behind him, for her room was without a fire and already cold, without the winter winds whirling through the casement. Eetapi and Ootapi were with him, wrapped around his arms like bracelets. They separated themselves from him and streamed over to the bed where Etraya lay.

She was far gone in sickness, that was clear. Her skin was wet with sweat and her breath came in shallow, feverish gasps. A livid red rash covered her face and neck and disappeared inside her nightclothes.

Poor woman.

Eetapi. Ootapi. Bind her.

Though she was living, the serpents could still merge themselves with her soul and help her to animate her own body. He had attempted this once before, on another witness whose consciousness was largely gone in illness. It was cumbersome, but it worked. Judging by the way Etraya twisted in her bed and moved her lips in ceaseless, soundless talk, she was delirious and beyond her own control. She would need the help.

He waited as the serpent-spirits’ wavering forms vanished inside Etraya’s tortured body. After a moment, her restless movements ceased and her lips closed. The serpents had control of her.

He sat down in the chair next to her bedside. ‘Miss Marodeva,’ he said, speaking softly. ‘Etraya. Do you hear me?’

Her eyes opened and her head turned towards him, though she didn’t seem to be seeing anything.

‘Yes,’ she croaked, her throat sore from gasping in her fever.

‘I need you to tell me what’s going on in this house. The Rostikovs. You know them better than anybody.’

Etraya coughed, a harsh, rasping sound that chilled him. He hadn’t sensed her death approaching, but could he be mistaken?

‘Calm yourself,’ he murmured as she coughed harder. Not only was this bad for her already tortured throat and lungs, but soon she would wake the house.

To his relief her coughing subsided and she sank back into her pillows.

‘The Rostikovs,’ she said painfully. ‘I… mustn’t speak of them.’

‘You must,’ he insisted. ‘I must know. For Navdina.’

‘Navvy,’ she repeated, and her face softened. ‘Such a pretty child. Prettier than her mother. Lena hated her, but she didn’t deserve it.’

Konrad frowned. Lena? He gripped her hand and leaned forward, trying to keep her attention. ‘Etraya, who is Lena?’

‘Lena was so jealous, so much anger in her. It was as if she knew… but she couldn’t know. She didn’t know.’

This, of course, was the flaw in his plan. The serpents could stabilise her, allowing her to talk, but they couldn’t influence the flow of ideas in her fevered brain. She was rambling, and he couldn’t tell if any of it was useful.

But at least it was something.

‘Tell me more about Lena,’ he said. ‘Lena and Navvy.’

‘Navvy was good to her but Lena wouldn’t have it. She was cruel, so heartless. When the Lady sent her away, she said it was for her own good. And it was a good school. But Lena knew; we all knew. She sent her away from Navvy.’

The “Lady” in question was probably Navdina’s mother, Konrad guessed. But who was Lena and why would the Rostikovs take a direct interest in her fate?’

Lena. A thought flashed into his mind, a dark thought. ‘Do you mean Analena?’

‘Her father called her Ana, but to all others she was Lena.’

Analena. The current Lady Rostikova, wife of the murdered Amrav, was named Analena. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

‘Where did Lena go?’

‘She didn’t like the school. She didn’t like anything. She never understood why Navvy had a nurse and was taught at home but she had to go away and be taught with a hundred other girls. Poor girl. But what could I do? I had no money to give her.’

‘Why should you have given her money?’

‘Because she was my child. Her own mother’s life was given over to another’s growth and education, and she hated me for it. I loved Navvy more, she said. And it was true. Spirits help me, I did love her more.’

Etraya was growing agitated, but Konrad couldn’t stop her, not yet. He was learning a great deal, despite the random nature of her reflections. He had to be sure he was drawing the right conclusions.

‘Are you saying that Analena Rostikova was once Analena Marodeva?’

‘That was her name,’ she muttered. ‘Hated, hated name. Not her name at all, Spirits forgive me.’ Tears wet Etraya’s face and she began to struggle against the binding of the serpents, her fists clenched.

‘Calm yourself,’ he said again, trying to soothe her, but she was unreachable.

‘I should never have done it,’ she wailed. ‘I tried to undo it but it was too late. But how could she know? I told her at last and oh, she was not surprised. But she was a baby at the time…’

Konrad began to get a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘You did something,’ he prompted. ‘When Lena was a baby…’

‘They were born the same week,’ she sobbed. ‘The very same week, and they were so alike. It seemed like fate. I knew that the Rostikov child would have everything - everything - and my poor child would have nothing. It was a mere impulse, I should have resisted but then it was done…’

‘You swapped them.’ He saw it all in an instant, and his body sickened at the knowledge that a single, weak action by one woman twenty-five years ago had transformed the fate of two girls forever - and destroyed them both.