"What are you thinking?" she asked.
"That we're in over our heads, and we can't back out," he replied. "That pack of wolves on the council might share traits with village elders you've dazzled, but there are differences. They're landed gentry and wealthy merchants. Did you see their faces when we walked in?"
"Yes." She stopped to pull the chest's lid closed. "But if I think like that, I won't be able to go on."
"Then we avoid the council." He nodded, white-blond hair waving as he leaned against the doorway, reluctant to enter the room. "We go to Lanjov's, and maybe Chap picks up a scent from the dead girl's clothes. Then we start hunting. We're in the largest city in the country, and this won't be simple. We aren't trackers, but we'll have to play the part and hope for luck." He lifted his head with a narrow-lipped smile. "Maybe if we blunder along, the bloodthirsty little monster will panic and try to kill one of us. That would get things out in the open."
"You're not funny," Magiere replied. "We've done this once. We can do it again."
Leesil wanted to believe her.
In spite of her attempted confidence, Magiere was overwhelmed as they stepped through the iron front gate at Lanjov's home. Constructed of finely masoned stone, the house was easily large enough for three families back in Miiska. When they climbed the three steps to the door, she grasped the large brass knocker, then paused and glanced at Leesil.
"You need that shirt fixed. Or better, buy a new one. You look like a beggar."
"I could pretend I'm in disguise."
She glared at him and rapped the knocker against the door.
Chap sniffed the front porch in some agitation. When Magiere looked to see what had captured his interest, she noticed that, unlike the clean stone in the walkway, the mortar between the left side porch stones was dark, as if stained.
A young maid opened the door and peered out, wearing a simple muslin dress covered by a clean apron, her hair tucked completely under a white linen cap. She looked at Magiere and then Leesil, and her eyes widened with fright.
"We have an appointment with Councilman Lanjov," Magiere said quickly. "He is expecting us."
The maid nodded, half hiding behind the door as she stepped aside to let them enter.
"H-he…" she stuttered, looking at Leesil, then quickly averting her nervous eyes, "he told me to have you wait in the lower study."
She seemed even more flustered when Chap entered behind them. Leesil flashed her a smile, which only caused her skin to pale as she turned to lead them down a hall and through an open archway.
"Please sit," she managed to say, motioning to a green velvet divan, and then she fled.
"Don't smile at the help," Magiere said, settling on the divan. "They aren't used to it."
Leesil rolled his eyes. Instead of taking a seat next to her, he peered about at luxurious knickknacks and bric-a-brac carefully placed about the room. A crystal vase and a silver inkwell held his attention for a short while, and then he stopped at an antique gold candleholder on the end table next to the divan.
"Do you suppose this is genuine?" Leesil asked.
"Stop it!" she warned.
Leesil returned an innocent stare. "What?"
"I know what you're doing."
"What am I doing? I'm admiring the man's taste."
"If anything comes up missing"-she grabbed for his arm, but he stepped out of reach-"I'll stuff you in our trunk and save them the trouble of arresting you."
Before Magiere could force him to sit, a deep voice interrupted.
"How kind. I see you can appreciate some of the finer things."
Lanjov stood in the study's archway. Though he was still as freshly dressed as this afternoon, his expression was tired and worn. He'd obviously had a long day.
"I'm sorry about the evening visit," Magiere replied. "But we need to know more of what happened. Your daughter was killed on the front porch? Who found the body?"
"I did," he answered with difficulty, staring at Leesil's torn shirt. He studied Magiere's partner for a moment, and a narrow-eyed expression passed over his face that she couldn't fathom. It was most certainly time to change Leesil's look, if they were to continue dealing with the councilman and his kind. Lanjov's gaze lifted to Leesil's face, or perhaps his hair, and Magiere grew more puzzled. The councilman's observation moved back downward to where Chap sniffed at the divan's legs.
"Then you weren't home?" Magiere asked. "Where were you?"
"At the Knight's House playing cards. I came home quite late and she…" His gaze grew unfocused, until he finally closed his eyes.
Magiere waited, allowing Lanjov to compose himself. "Was anyone else at home?"
He paused in thought. "Only my cook, who also serves as housekeeper. My coachman was with me. I was unaware that my maid and my houseboy were missing. When I questioned them later, I learned that Chesna had been giving them the same midweek night off for nearly a year. I always go to the Knight's House on the same evenings."
Leesil stepped away from the candlesticks and spoke to Lanjov for the first time.
"You leave the house on the same nights, and your daughter had a habit of letting the servants off for those evenings?"
Lanjov seemed disturbed at being addressed directly by Leesil, but he tightened his jaw and nodded. "Yes, but I did not find this out until after Chesna's death."
Leesil glanced at Magiere, and she knew his mind was now busy. That was what she needed. This one connection was easy to spot, but he often picked up on things she didn't.
"We'll need to speak with the servants," Magiere said quietly.
"Why?" Lanjov was back on his guard. "I've told you everything they told me. They feel guilty enough about then-betrayal. What possible reason is there for upsetting them further?"
Betrayal? This man thought a few servants indulging in a night off was betrayal?
"You said the cook was at home," Magiere pressed. "I at least need to speak with her."
With his jaw still tight, Lanjov backed through the archway to speak low and harshly to the young maid. Soon after, a portly woman in her mid-fifties appeared.
Unlike the maid, she didn't appear frightened. Her red-and-gray hair was bound in a bun, and her apron, although clean, bore a few faded stains. She sized up Magiere.
"So you're the hunter. You're not what anyone expected."
Magiere almost smiled. "Apparently not." She turned to Lanjov. "Could we speak with her alone?"
"No," he said flatly. "Any questioning will take place in my presence."
It became clear to Magiere that for all his words to the council concerning cooperation, he had little intention of doing so himself. He probably expected her to stay far from him and his home, and use some mystical power to track down Chesna's killer. Then he would expect proof for the council, so they could pat her on the head, give her a bank draft, and send her out of sight.
"What's your name?" Magiere asked the cook.
"Dyta."
"Tell us what happened the night Chesna was killed."
"I already told the master everything. I didn't know the poor mistress had even opened the front door. I never heard the knock."
Magiere nodded. "No one is blaming you, but I need you to tell us exactly what you did that night. It might help us find her killer."
Dyta pursed her lips. "Chesna was a sweet girl. Always sent Hedi and young Andrey out for a little amusement whenever the master was off to the cards. She stayed home and read or visited with me. That night, I was busy in the kitchen, storing up dried plums for winter. I didn't hear no knocking. I didn't hear no voices, because the kitchen is out back of the house. But I did catch a sharp draft when I opened the back door for a bit of air. I thought maybe a window out front might have been left open. So I went to see and found the front door ajar."