Mardans returned to his rooms before the bell tolled the ninth hour. Heading straight for his writing desk, he entered the morning’s activities in his investigation journal, as he called it, jotting down his preliminary impressions and tentative conclusions before they faded from memory. After making a copy on a separate piece of paper, he stuffed the journal and a fresh set of clothes into a satchel and left through the secret door to the underground exit.
In a few minutes, he walked through the door of the Santinetta house. Sitting primly on her leather couch, Tiena read from a sheaf of papers, a quill poised to make a notation. She looked up and smiled as her son stepped in. “I didn’t expect you so early.”
“True, by all rights, I should still be sleeping,” he said, sitting across from her and rubbing his face. “But a palace serving girl was murdered just before dawn, so Lieutenant Tinetta was called to investigate.” He gave her the pertinent details of the crime scene and his thoughts on the killer’s mentality. “He’s a thoroughly evil man, without a doubt.”
“Every day, your case is becoming more grave,” his mother said, rising and crossing to the front window where she lowered a lever hidden behind a curtain. Outside, a small Margonni flag rose, a signal that beckoned the agent on duty, who would soon arrive at the house. Had she been in danger, a different lever raising a different flag would have summoned an armed squad.
After a minute, Aran entered after a polite knock on the front door. He smiled at Mardans and bowed to Tiena, “How may I assist you, my lady?”
She smiled. “As you see, Mardans, I have borrowed your man for today. We’re teaching him the rudiments of the trade.”
“I don’t mind if he’s willing,” her son said. “The way things are going, it could come in handy.”
“Very true,” she said soberly. “And with your permission—and his, of course—I will schedule some weapons training whenever time permits. Perhaps some defensive techniques at first and maybe more when things quiet down.” She turned to Aran. “Would you like that, Aran?”
“Yes, lady,” he said. “I want to learn how to be more useful. Just in case.”
“Good,” she said, beaming. “That’s settled! But for now, Mardans has a job for you.”
“Well, the weary Sam Tinetta does,” Mardans sighed. He held up his journal. “I need this copied in a neat hand by, say, no later than noon tomorrow. One loose sheet per entry. Deliver the finished pages in a portfolio to Captain Arius of the palace guard. Bring my journal back to me once you’re done.”
“Yes, sir!” Aran said cheerfully. “That’s somethin’ I can do. My parents insisted all us clerks learn to read and write well.”
“Good man!” Mardans said. “Now, off you go! And off I go, too. I will bathe and change before my next task.”
“And what is that?” Tiena asked as she closed the door behind the eager young man from Blayne.
“Entering the den of the Dowager Queen,” he said glumly as he picked up his satchel and headed to the bath.
† † † † †
An hour later, a clean, shaved, and uniformed Lieutenant Sam Tinetta hesitated before knocking on the door of the Dowager Queen’s vast suite. Before she had moved from the King’s Suite, she had changed the carpet of this hallway to the cornflower blue of the Norden family, and the doors and moldings had been painted yellow to complete the duchy’s colors. Behind their hands, most courtiers considered the changes both distasteful and offensive to House Ankara, but no one dared tell the Queen Mother so.
Of course, she held no actual power, but her reputation and forceful personality more than made up for her lack of legitimate authority. The palace gossips insisted she wielded heavy influence over her son, held the young Queen firmly in her iron grip, and politicked shamelessly among the aristocrats who had surrounded her while her husband lived. Only the last rumor held any truth, though she made her stance on nearly every issue known to her elder son and his wife. She was not one to hold back.
A black wreath was already hanging on the upper portion of the door. The victim had served in these chambers, and former queen Karasta would use that fact for her benefit. Yes, it is proper to mourn the poor girl, but in Karasta’s hands, it will be turned into political currency, Mardans thought. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and knocked on the door.
A serving maid, a girl not much older than the dead girl, soon opened it. I wonder if she is the victim’s replacement, Mardans thought. Life goes on. He gave his name, and having been notified of his coming, she led him directly into a large sitting room off the foyer, announcing, “Mum, the officer you were expecting has arrived.”
The Dowager Queen sat on a gilded settee upholstered in plush blue velvet, a small white dog lying on a blanket on one side and her needlework on the other. Still wearing black, as the traditional year of mourning her husband had not ended, Karasta watched him approach like a crow eying a robin invading its territory. Like most members of the Norden family, she had blonde hair, but a close inspection showed silver among the gold. Wrinkles followed the lines of her almost-permanent scowl. Comparing her to his mother, Mardans judged she looked far older than the five years that separated their ages. But I’m biased.
He bowed deeply, perhaps more than was warranted, but he knew he would rue not giving her due obeisance. “I am Lieutenant Sam Tinetta of the palace guard, mum. The king has tasked me with investigating this morning’s disturbing murder in the Throne Room.”
To his surprise, Karasta began laughing, a not unpleasant sound but an unwelcome one. “Sam Tinetta? Couldn’t you come up with a better alias than that? Did you think me so stupid I would not see through it?”
“What do you mean, mum?” Mardans asked, trying and failing to pretend ignorance.
“Oh, do not play the idiot!” she said exasperatedly. “I know you are that woman’s child! How could I forget? You are—what?—ten, twelve years older than when I last saw you? But the face, the hair, the coloring, even the voice, are the same, just older.”
“My apologies, mum,” he answered, bowing again. He could not deny it. Doing so would only make matters worse. “The king and Prince Lirens advised me to use this name rather than my real one while investigating these crimes to obscure my identity.”
The Queen Mother scoffed. “My sons are so soon involved in palace subterfuge. That is not a good way to begin one’s reign.” She picked up her dog and deposited him in her lap, petting him for a moment, then she shook a long finger at him. “Here, with me, you will use your real name.”
“Yes, mum,” he said quickly with a bob of his head. Standing tall and stiff as if under inspection, he began again. “I am Lieutenant Mardans Santinetta. I am gathering information about the young girl killed this morning.”
“Better,” Karasta judged, looking at him down her nose. “You must be honest with me if you expect frank answers.” She gestured to the pretty, dark-haired young woman sitting with perfect posture in a matching chair to her left. “This is my lady-in-waiting, Liandra Marini. She’s from your home country.”
Ignoring the slight—for he was just as much a Margonni citizen as she was—Mardans gave the young woman a brief bow. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lady Marini. As you heard, I am Mardans Santinetta. I am well aware of your family’s sterling reputation.”
She smiled at him, her dark eyes sparkling. “Thank you, Lieutenant Santinetta. I am pleased to meet you as well. Of course, every Satelen knows of the Santinettas!” She appeared to want to say more, but the Dowager’s cross gaze discouraged saying any more than courtesy required.
“You honor us,” he said with another bow. He turned back to Karasta. “I thank you for giving me your time, mum. Just to confirm, the deceased maid worked for you, did she not?”
“She did,” the Queen Mother answered. “For more than a year. Poor dear, she was only sixteen.”
“Forgive me,” he said, a little embarrassed, “but I have not been told her name.”
“Her name was Gemena Luven,” Liandra interjected, knowing her mistress would not remember, having always called her “girl” or “the maid.” “Most everyone called her “Gem’ or ‘Gemma.’”
“Thank you. Did Gemma live here, in one of the servant’s rooms?” Mardans asked.
“Not regularly,” Karasta replied. “Only when she needed to, which was rare.”
“Did she work here yesterday?” he asked.
“Yes, she was here most of the day,” the Queen Mother said. “She performed her regular duties. She tidied the suite in the morning and went to and from the kitchens to serve food and drink. She also washed, pressed, and mended clothes, fetched us things we needed, and answered the door when visitors called. Last evening, she was here through supper.”
“It sounds as if she had a busy day,” Mardans commented. “Do you know how she spent her free time?”
Karasta’s eyes darted to Liandra, signaling she was to answer. The younger woman smiled apologetically, saying, “We did not socialize, but I heard her speak excitedly to others about going out into the city with her friends. Of course, she talked about boys like all girls her age do. Her mother works in the palace. She would undoubtedly know more about that side of her daughter.”
“Her mother’s name, if you know it?” Mardans prodded.
Liandra shook her head. “She always just called her ‘my mother.’ All I know is that her mother is a laundress.”
Mardans nodded. “Thank you. I will need to speak with her.” He paused, trying to think of more questions. Finally, he said, “Did she say anything in your hearing yesterday?”
“Nothing of substance,” the Dowager Queen answered. “Liandra?”
The lady-in-waiting shook her head after a moment of thought. “Gemma said nothing to us outside of ‘yes, mum’ and ‘no, mum’ in answer to direct questions. But I overheard her ask another servant if she was going to attend ‘the party tonight.’ I assumed someone was having a get-together among the servants. I have no idea what for.”
“Thank you,” Mardans said with evident relief. He had begun to think that this interview would get him nowhere. “I will follow up on that with the servants. It could be significant, although at her death, she was not dressed as if she had gone to a party. She was still in maid’s attire.”
“Most servants don’t own evening clothes,” Liandra said. “And if they work long hours, they often have little time to change.”
Mardans gave her a tight smile, suspecting she was veering into dangerous territory in front of her mistress. He nodded and said, “I hadn’t considered that. Thank you.” After another long moment, he added, “How would you characterize her personality? Please be frank. It could be important to the reason she was targeted.”
The Queen Mother cleared her throat, reminding them she was still there. “Gemena was conscientious about her work and courteous to me and Liandra. She learned her duties quickly, and I rarely needed to criticize her work. Someone trained her well, probably her mother.”
“I assume, then, that you know little about her personality beyond her work here,” Mardans said.
“You assume correctly,” Karasta said in her usual acerbic manner. “As long as she performed her duties with diligence and alacrity within these walls, I cared little about what she was like beyond them.”
“I also know little about what she was like in her free time,” Liandra added, casting a sidelong glance at her mistress, “except that she had a reputation for being a gossip.”
“Yes,” the Dowager interjected. “Thank you for reminding me. We became concerned when a few private details began circulating within the court. They were nothing scandalous, but even so, they were things said in conversation here that were to remain here. My interlocutor and I decided to lay a trap, including a delicious but quite false tidbit into our conversation. The girl alone was present that day—I had sent Liandra on an errand—and the bit of gossip was the talk of the court within a day or two! I almost dismissed her, but because she was so new at the time, I rebuked her severely and made her swear never to repeat my private conversations again.”
Mardans nodded, smiling, imagining the harsh scolding the poor girl had received. “I won’t take any more of your valuable time. You have given me a great deal of information. Thank you. Please let me know if you think of anything else that may help the investigation. The king and I would like nothing better than to bring her murderer to swift justice.” He bowed to the Dowager Queen.
She stared at him with her steely blue eyes. “You may be my late husband’s offspring, but you will never be an Ankara no matter how much you cozy up to my sons. Remember that, Santinetta.” After another long moment of her scrutiny, she said, “You may go. Liandra will see you out.” As if she had already forgotten him, she picked up her needlework.
Liandra rose, gracefully adjusting her black and white dress and saying, “This way, please, Lieutenant.” She led him to the door and opened it for him, then followed him out into the hall, walking with him a few paces toward the stairs. Spots of color had arisen on her cheeks. “I apologize for the Dowager’s behavior,” she said in a hushed voice. “I’ve never seen her act so rudely.”
Mardans grinned. “Think nothing of it, Lady Marini. In fact, I expected worse, something like the tongue-lashing she must have given Gemma. It’s a relief I got out of there without bleeding wounds and my dignity only partially shredded!”
A smile crept onto her face, pleased he could joke about it. “To tell the truth, she is a fair mistress and usually pleasant enough.”
“Until someone mentions my mother or me,” he finished for her.
“I would like to meet your mother,” she said, blushing again. “I’d like to compare the real woman to what the Dowager has said about her.”
“That can be arranged,” Mardans said. “I’m sure my mother would like to meet you. You can exchange tales of working for Karasta. You and she have much in common, I think.”
Liandra’s eyes lit up. “Give me a date, and I will give the Dowager an excuse for being away. As you can imagine, telling her where I'm really going wouldn’t be a good idea.”
A note:
Liandra’s family, the Marinis, were a minor but respected Satelen lineage. Though their holdings on the eastern edge of the country overlooking the sea were small compared to those owned by the great families, they were known as fair, just, and honest. As such, their services were frequently requested to settle disputes between families. In fact, their major source of income derived from steep fees for their services, paid jointly by the disputing parties. Otherwise, they were expert grape growers and vintners, owning a small fleet of ships that transported their highly esteemed wines to most Osegran ports.