The Pearl Crucible - A Dardana Fenek Mystery - MARDONIOS - (part 2)

(Chapter 3, part 2)

“The Director of the—well, this is quite the first day for me,” he said. “He had an accident, didn’t he, the other night?”

“He thought it was an attempt on his life.”

“Topĉu’s last night. Lucky him. And the second time … ” He pointed.

“Possibly the third.”

He looked sharply. “I know nothing of another attempt.”

“He may have only told me,” I said. “He exhibited signs of hemlock poisoning a couple of weeks ago.”

He drew a slow breath. “Poisoning … ground-car out of control … and beaten to death.” He pulled his tablet from his sash—a nice, new one with the militia seal on the blank steel side, unlike my black battered hand-me-down—and brought up the case files as if he had all the bandwidth in the world. “Subtle, then clever, then plain brutal.—They haven’t determined what happened to the ground-car—” He looked at me again, up and down, and I wondered if he remembered me from this morning. I assumed an expression of polite interest and tried not to look like the kind of woman who read pornography in the street.

He has a penetrating gaze, does the ensign-captain. Did I mention he is tall? And very wide in the shoulders. He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a clamor in the hall.

“What has happened to my father? Get out of my way! This is my house! Father! Father!”

It was a woman’s voice, outraged and shrill, and Ensign-Captain Mardonios, with a strained expression, turned and strode towards the arched marble doorframe and the hall. I followed, and Barsina naturally tagged along on silent feet.

The uniform in the hall had his arms out, trying to keep her from coming in without touching her. I could guess who she was: the daughter of the house, Alkimila Fortunato.

She was also tall, fifteen, twenty centimeters taller than me, and black hair poured down her back like a waterfall. She was dressed in a pearl-stitched satin girdle over a light evening peplos of flimsy linen that would have left nothing to the imagination if she had not also been wearing a shawl seemingly made of shimmer and silver threads and gold fringe. She had flawless alabaster skin, wide gray eyes, and coral lips, and a bit of silver jewelry that was probably worth more than Barsina in an open auction. She had recently bathed: the linen clung helpfully to her, and her long black hair was wet near the scalp and tastefully coiled and tangled at the ends. Her feet were in tapestry slippers, and the uniform was agog and helpless like she was Irodiada stepped forth dripping from the seafoam.

“Miss,” Ensign-Captain said, “you shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?” she demanded, shriller, and then she saw why. The crumpled body. The gray hair. The spatter and pool of blood.

I would say she blenched, but she couldn’t have gotten paler. Except for the blush in her cheeks, she looked like she was made of snow, and yah, I’ve seen snow. Sometimes we do get snow, even in Aulis, after Festivalo. But she did stagger back, her mouth a pink O. She didn’t seem able to breathe, and tears began gleaming in her eyes. She reached her left hand almost to Ensign-Captain, and then began to slip to the floor.

Naturally, he stepped forward, caught her in his arms, and helped her onto a low couch in the hall. I followed right after, and the bemused uniform didn’t know whether to keep me in, push me out, or stare at the attractively collapsed Miss of the house.

The charm of a peplos is that it’s worn by folding it over you, left to right, like you stepped into a towel and pinned it at the shoulders. On the left side, you’re clad, and on the right, you’re naked from shoulder to heel unless you wear a shawl, but the Miss’s shawl had got all askew somehow, and the lucky Mardonios had helped her down, handling a healthy amount of pale flank and maybe a bit of underbreast.

When I sit in my peplos on the roof of an evening, no shawl required, the shoulders are pinned with clever cloisonné dragonflies. Miss Fortunato’s pins were silver cheetahs with diamond eyes and ruby tongues.

Her eyelids fluttered open to see Mardonios looking down at her.

“Was that—was that—?”

“I’m sorry, Miss,” he said gravely.

“Majordomo said—” Her lips trembled, and tears trickled. She wiped them with the back of her hand. She touched his rank insignia. “Ensign-Captain.”

“Yes, Miss.” He suddenly seemed to realize he was still holding her, and he disengaged and stepped back. She sat up and wrapped her shawl tightly around her. Then she noticed us and regarded my intrusion coldly.

“Who are they?” she asked shakily, wiping more tears. She sniffed and pointed at Barsina. “Girl, a kerchief.”

Barsina instantly provided one from her girdle, and I don’t think I ever got it back. Also, Barsina’s mine, and I don’t like people telling her to do things without my say-so. I bit my lip.

“This is Miss Dardana Fenek.”

“I’m a private inspector,” I said, speaking up for myself, thank you. “Your father hired me.—I’m sorry, Miss.”

“Hired you for what?”

“To investigate a murder attempt on him.”

Her eyes widened, her lip curled, and she scoffed. “You did a fine job,” she said bitterly. “I think you’ve done quite enough. You may go.” She dabbed her eyes again.

Mardonios raised a hand to me. “I need to question you,” he said.

“Of course, Ensign-Captain,” I said.

“Miss, did you hear anything this evening? The—incident would have been about, ah … ”

“A quarter past nineteen, I think,” I said.

“Thank you.”

She favored me with another hard look. “I heard nothing. I was in the women’s quarters, with the door locked.” She produced a long green bronze key from her girdle in demonstration. “I heard nothing. My girls bathed me after supper, and I was about to lie down with a book when I heard noises. The citizen servants and the men had the evening off, except for Majordomo, so I was alarmed. Then I saw militia in the garden with electric torches. Majordomo came and unlocked the door from without, and knocked, and I with my key unlocked the door from within … and he … told me—”

“Who’s in the women’s quarters?” he asked.

“Myself,” she said. “I have two girls, whose contracts I purchased myself with my money, and I am of age, so they are entirely mine. Since Mother moved to our estates in the Montara Sierpento, I am the only citizen who lives there, and they are the only bondsmaids. The women’s quarters stand separate from the main house.”

“Why did the citizen servants have the night off?”

“They have Sixday nights off.”

“Majordomo doesn’t take it off?”

“Not often. He’s elderly and prefers to go to bed early.”

“How early?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Who else is in the house?”

“There is Cook, and Housekeeper, who are manumitted, and twelve or thirteen girls—I don’t know how many there are.” She counted on her fingers. “Thirteen. The maids sleep under the roof, and the skivvies and scullions in a cellar under the kitchen. My father’s bedgirls sleep in his room.”

“How many citizens when they’re here?”

“Four footmen, four grooms, two gardeners—and three boys, if you count them. And Majordomo, of course.”

“They were all out?”

“As far as I know, except Majordomo. Ensign-Captain—I really can’t take much more questioning. I—I need to call Mother.”

“I understand,” he said sympathetically, offering his hand to help her stand. “A last thing—do you know if he has any enemies? Could you have imagined this happening?”

She shuddered. “Absolutely not, how horrid. No one hated Father.”

“I am sorry.” He gave her a bow.

“Miss, may I ask something?” I spoke up.

“What?” she said, as if surprised to find me still there.

“I’m always looking for recommendations. What book were you going to read?”

She looked offended. “Does it matter?” She pointed towards where her father lay and looked pleadingly at Ensign-Captain.

“I just wondered. I am sorry.”

She shrugged. “I hadn’t decided. May I go?”

“Of course, Miss,” he bowed.

She grimaced at me and cast the shawl over her head so she would not see the entrance to the library as she passed it. One of her girls was in the shadow and quickly departed with her.

He bowed again toward her back, watched her bottom and heels leave, and then looked at me when she had turned down a side corridor. “It’s true: You need recommendations, though, right?” he said, leaning in confidentially. “You need a higher tone in literature.”

I shrugged, heat in my cheeks. He remembered me, all right.

“Your girl?” he asked, gesturing.

“Yes,” I said. “She’s called Barsina.”

“Your notetaker. She was writing quite fast for an indentured. Was she a citizen once?”

“No, she was devesseled in Aulis crèche,” I said, pleased he’d noticed her skills.

“Attractive, too.”

She blushed.

“—Not as attractive as her Miss, of course.”

I tried not to be flattered and jolly good, too, because then he asked, “How did you afford her?”

“I do get cases, Ensign-Captain.”

“I’m sure, but I’d say she’s a two hundred-drachm girl.”

“You’d say correctly. But I didn’t buy her contract. I won it in a game of Folly.”

He cocked his head. “An interesting story there, I’m sure—but now I must question you, Miss Fenek.”

( … this way to Chapter 3 part 1 … ) ( … this way to Chapter 3 part 3 … )