The Pearl Crucible - A Dardana Fenek Mystery - MARDONIOS, THEN SCYROS

(Chapter 7, part 1)

You may wonder why I wanted to drop by the ensign-captain’s office again so soon. Well, we really hadn’t interacted much beyond the murder scene and his questioning of the deceased’s bedmaids, and I wanted to speak with him again under less unpleasant circumstances. I had a little information from Miss Azzopardo and had gotten it under false pretenses … so if I needed to speak with her again, I’d best have followed through on what I said, especially if he paid a call on her himself.

Besides, if I was charming, maybe I could find out something valuable from him as well.

Dormeto time is the best time to drop by the commissariat because, by the heat of mid-afternoon, the number of people bothering the desk warrant or being dragged through in cuffs drops to near nothing. The desk warrant—a different one—had his tablet propped up, his feet on a wastepaper basket, and he was watching a streaming game of fielders. The colors were Euterpe and Thalia, and Thalia was ahead three-nil.

“I’d like to go in and see the ensign-captain,” I said.

He raised a hand. His other was clenched as someone flicked the pilko downfield. “Oi, oi, oi,” he said. “Yah!” The pilko bounced once—twice—three times—

I never got the interest in sporting. It plainly wasn’t made for me. Or me for it, more likely, but I held my breath anyway because I couldn’t interrupt him again at this critical moment. Someone in blue—the hurler, I think—rolled himself over and over on the grass and swung a bat. The pilko took a final bounce—

The desk warrant smacked his hand down with a pleased grin. Barsina jumped.

“Four-nil,” he said, satisfied. “What d’ye want?”

“Mardonios,” I said.

He flapped his hand at me. “Yah yah.” He leaned in: a man was yammering on the stream about the defender’s second side being down with a wrenched ankle.

I was gone before he could change his mind. I had no idea which city was the defender.

I stopped in his doorway. Mardonios was sitting at his desk with pages of notes lined up untidily wherever he let them fall. I really, really wanted to neaten them. Things like that make my skin crawl. All crooked, overlapping, untidy. He had his coat off, and the cuirass hung on a stand in the corner. He sat in his shirt sleeves, nibbling the end of his stylus. I watched his white teeth grip it, the lips purse, close, open …

Barsina shuffled her bare feet slightly, and he looked up, seeing us. He smiled at me. He was still gold and tan and dark blue-eyed.

He put down his stylus and stood up. I curtseyed, and Barsina curtseyed almost to the floor, and I realized I didn’t know what class he was. No conscript, of course, and ensign-captain around thirty … he surely wasn’t aristoi, or he’d be a higher rank—captain. Major maybe. Was he an epistarch? Or a mercanter?

I took the chair he offered, then realized he was talking to me, and I stumbled into the sense of his words belatedly.

“ … not a lot of connections so far,” he was saying. “But there’s a lot of interest in it, and I have to tell you, this is not how I wanted my first week to begin.”

“No! No, I think it wouldn’t be,” I agreed, crossing my legs and noting that it attracted his attention when I did so. “No fun when someone’s watching your every move. You never know when the beating will start.”

“ … No, no, I suppose you don’t. Have a cup of water?”

“Thank you.”

He poured it and handed it to me, and offered one to Barsina without asking her, which was kind of him, as she would have refused to avoid being improper.

He took his chair again. “How can I help you, Miss Fenek?”

“I thought I’d share some information, since I got it with your name.”

“Oh?”

“I was at the State Gallery, and talked to Sub-Director Azzopardo.”

“Oh? He has some theories?”

“She.”

He looked as surprised as I’d been. “She. Does she have a suspect?”

“I dropped your name, and she suggested herself.”

“My name has some influence, I see,” he said dryly. “What’s the motive?”

“Mist’ Fortunato raped her. Repeatedly. In exchange for maintaining her position, she kept her silence—and he kept abusing her.”

I studied his eyes to see how he would react. He looked grave, and then he picked up a graphite stylus and a fresh piece of paper from a stack in an open drawer. “And she wanted her position so badly?”

“It sounded that way. More than anything else in the world.”

“Too late to charge him, I see.”

“Rather.”

He grimaced, writing. “Motive. Stop the … assaults.”

“Rapes, yes.”

“Rapes. Possibly get his position as well … the means?”

“Anyone can swing a statuette. But then there is the ground-car.”

“There is that, yes. Starkly different approach.—And opportunity?”

“I’ve seen recorded video of her. It shows her in the State Gallery during the murder.”

“Then no. Or it requires a conspirator, then. Which means I need to prove conspiracy.”

“Or I have to.”

“Of course.” He didn’t sound entirely patronizing. “How do you feel about her as a suspect?”

“Not entirely comfortable. I’m sympathetic if her story is true. But I don’t like conspiracies. They sound made-up.” I decided to withhold the assistant from the information for the time being.

“They can happen.”

“A more likely suspect is his daughter since she was on the property. Maybe for the same reason.”

“Ah,” he said, frowning with distaste. “I’ve thought the same thing. And patricide.” He shook his head. “That would get … bad. A capital crime, among the worst. She’d lose her citizenship, and her death would be demeaning. Surely not.—She’s been in and spoken with me this morning, you know: wondering if she can sell the contracts of her father’s two personal girls, much as you predicted.”

I snorted. “Of course.”

“I told her she couldn’t until the case was settled, in case they needed to be questioned more, or in case no guilty party was found and the staff had to be executed. I interviewed her further but learned nothing new. Still says she saw nothing, heard nothing, knows nothing.”

He arranged the new sheet of paper, but nowhere neatly enough for my taste. It made me itch. “Miss Azzopardo pointed out her potential implication to avoid my finding out later and being suspicious,” he said, glancing up after a moment of contemplating it.

“I presume.—There are other things,” I said, tugging my girdle strings to forget about the crooked sheets, “that I’m following up on. But they may be false or irrelevant.”

He nodded, looking me in the eyes, which was refreshing. “Will you share what you learn?”

“If I learn anything.”

“Topĉu spoke highly of you,” he said, picking up the graphite stylus again and making a note.

This was a surprise. “He never spoke highly of me to me,” I said. “He told me I was a nuisance and to get out of his office.”

“He liked your work ethic. You wouldn’t stop until you got done. And he considered you above the table and trustworthy.”

“Well,” I said, feeling the probably felonious packet in my girdle pressed against the underside of my left ribcage, “I’ve made an effort. It isn’t easy. I am a woman,” I added.

I stood up, and he rose. “I hope,” he said, “I can identify a murderer. Or you. You know the implications to the household staff.”

“I do,” I said.

“The point was already raised in the news journals as to why the entire staff hasn’t been put to the question,” he said. “The Palace of Justice may move on that soon, and it won’t be me doing it.”

I nodded gloomily. “No surprise.”

( … This way to Chapter Six part 3… ) ( … This way to Chapter Seven part 2 … )