Fall of Night. Where reality goes to die. Deep in the impossible city, Pascal Hunter makes his living as a detective. The city never fails to offer up sufficient crimes to keep him busy. Always keeping his own secrets well hidden, of course.

Shortly after noon, Pascal walked the streets of his home neighborhood. Unlike Pinewood, this one was was well named, the Freezer. With a thick coat and a hood over his head, he was identical to all the other coats and hoods hustling along the street. A few horses trotted through the ice and mud, but it was mostly people hurrying by to get indoors and out of the icy wind.

Pascal prowled the frozen streets, hands deep in his pockets and shoulders hunched against the cold. Tightly bundled people in a hurry pushed by him without a word. A spotted dog followed him for a block, barking and whining until a boy ran out after him. A horse drawn cart with an under-dressed driver hurried through, the driver’s curses tailing the horse. Pascal wasn’t looking for any of them, he was hunting smaller prey.

It found him.

A spray of snow flew out of Patterak Alley when he passed. Reflexively shutting his eyes, he was easily tagged by a tiny wisp of a boy, his ragged red hair flopping uncovered in the frigid air.

“Got ya again, boss,” the boy cried triumphantly.

Alone on the street, the urchin child was not dressed for winter. Bare arms poked out from a cotton shirt and he wore sandals on his feet. His short dull red hair left his large ears exposed to the cold. The child had an oddly pudgy face, contrasting with his skinny and knobby arms and legs.

“OK, you got me. Good for you,” Paz growled. “Now can we get inside? Some of us get cold, you know.”

“What?” the boy exclaimed. “You mean it’s cold out here? Someone should have told me.” He idly scooped up some snow and began packing it into a snowball.

“C’mon, Brynn. Gimme a break already. We got a case.”

That got his attention. “Something good? Interesting? What? Where?”

“Not out here. Back at the Goose, I need to get inside.”

The Green Goose was an inn. Specifically, it was Pascal’s inn. He owned it, and he named it. When he bought it, the man claimed it would be the goose that laid golden eggs. Pascal had answered, “My goose is made of copper, and it’s already rusted over.” And so it became the Green Goose.

Inns were a vital institution in the Freezer. As cold as it was, and it was always cold, nothing burned. Oil was the only exception, but you had to keep a steady supply. So the inns were restaurants, bars, and gathering places. Customers would stay for hours since it was warmer there than in their homes.

The windows were framed in ice, spiderwebs of frost inching upwards as the icicles stretched down to reach them. But inside was warmth. Pascal stomped the ice off his boots, adding a bit more to the puddle in the entrance room. Brynn copied the gesture, making certain to splash Pascal by accident in the process.

After warming up for a minute he could stand up straight again. They entered the common room together. The large room was warm and bright, lit by oil burning openly in trenches along the sides of the room. New visitors were always put off by that, thinking the open flames too dangerous. It wasn’t. It was perfectly safe. In the Freezer, nothing but oil would ever burn. If you put your hand in the flames, it would hurt, but that was all. Not even the hair on your arm would burn.

“Welcome back Paz,” shouted a woman from behind the bar. Holly was a short haired sexy blond who’d worked the bar for two years now. She wore a black and white outfit and showed a bit more skin than was absolutely necessary. “How’s tricks? Get you something? How ‘bout you, Brynn?”

The men at the bar turned when Holly called him. It was that time in the afternoon when the serious drinkers were finishing up and families were going to start arriving for dinner and their evenings. The change over could be fascinating or uncomfortable as each group tried studiously to ignore the other. The barflies were trying to determine if Pascal and Brynn were part of the family crowd, but they quickly passed muster as most of them went back to their drinks.

“Bourbon, Holly,” Paz ordered.

“Whiskey,” Brynn requested in his high child’s voice. Holly didn’t bat an eyelash as she took his order. She knew what Brynn was.

When Pascal had told Jim that moving between shards would not cause problems even if your body had been changed, he was telling the truth. For the most part. There were exceptions. The Freezer was one of them. If a magical creature entered a shard with no magic, it would usually just not be able to use its magic. In the Freezer, they were forced into appropriate, usually human, bodies. A ghost got a body and a life.

Brynn’s case was different. Arcadia, a fey shard, phased in to the city some years back. The fey kept their magic in almost every shard and rapidly changed from annoyance to threat. The Freezer, in those days, was a stronghold, one of the few places the enemy couldn’t operate. Brynn was a faerie who got caught in the Freezer and discovered he liked people. He liked being one of them. Pascal understood. Brynn eventually found a particularly strong wizard who could remove his fey nature, and he stayed in Fall of Night when Arcadia finally drifted off. Like Pascal, Brynn didn’t age, but unlike him was stuck as a perpetual child.

“One bourbon and one whiskey. You know, you guys could change your order some day. They don’t actually arrest you for trying something– new.” Pascal managed a tight smile. Holly was a shameless flirt, though flirting was as far as she went. Brynn smiledmore broadly, always desperate for female attention. “Stew’s almost ready, I think it’s got fish in it tonight. And for you, on the house.”

The common room had long tables and benches, and they’d soon be filling up. At the far end of the room a large pot hung over the pit, an oil fire burning beneath it. They made a stew each night for those who ate here. Anyone who wanted something better could go into the back room, where there was a full blown restaurant. Most people stuck to the common room.

Pascal and Brynn went back to the restaurant, less for dinner than for privacy. “So, what’s the case?” the little boy asked again.

“Murder,” he said.

He knew the game. Brynn would play at disinterest and make Pascal convince him to come along. If Paz was parsimonious in doling out information, Brynn would have to ask for more, betraying his interest.

It didn’t take long, and soon he’d related Sofiya’s story to Brynn.

“So what’s this girl’s secret?” the child asked at last. “Is she boning the valet or what?”

“I’ll leave that line of investigation to you,” Paz answered with a stone face.

“Then she’s either ugly as sin or I’ve found another part of you that’s dead,” Brynn laughed at him. “Of course I’m in, you’d be helpless without me.”

- ♇ -

“The Carrabach will see you now.”

“About bleeding time,” Paz muttered under his breath. He’d been waiting almost an hour for this meeting. He was in his Sunday best, a black sports jacket and red tie. While he hoped to impress, he would at least not give offense by being badly dressed. Trying not to offend was also why he muttered his complaint rather than state it aloud.

The luxurious waiting room had not improved his mood. If anything it had made him more nervous, but that was probably the intent. The fine red sofa, thick carpeting, and the small, tasteful, and above all expensive artwork on the wall reminded him that the Carrabach could buy and sell him a dozen times over before lunch.

“Come in, Mr. Hunter,” came the unctuous tone from the other side of the door.

“Carrabach,” he replied smoothly, “We’ve been friends long enough for you to call me Paz, please.”

The Carrabach didn’t so much stand up as unfold, towering above Paz and intimidating with his great bulk - all of it muscle. “We have been acquaintances sufficiently long for you to realize I shall not address you by such a ridiculous appellation. Take a seat.”

Pascal was alone for this meeting. Brynn might lose his temper around the broker, and that could be dangerous for them. Pascal dealt with tough customers on a daily basis, but this man always made him nervous.

The Carrabach was a major player in Fall of Night. He had a network of people working for him, moving goods from one shard to another. He always seemed to know what people would need, and got it to them for a small cut off the top. He could have taken over the Freezer with ease if he had any interest in doing so. Instead he drew others in around his orbit. The Carrabach was a major employer in the neighborhood.

He claimed to be a dragon, and Pascal was in no position to say otherwise. Paz was a ghost, after all. The Carrabach claimed he wandered into the Freezer by accident, unaware that he would change form. While he was tempted to return to his old form, he discovered that he could accumulate more wealth through trade than he’d ever managed by conquest and theft. So he stayed.

“What form of transaction are you inquiring after today?” the giant of a man asked.

“Information. A shard called Brodjach, and a family named Pankov.”

“Will you provide information on your rationale?”

“By all means, long as the answer counts against my payment.” The Carrabach did not give anything away for free, including answers. Instead, he ran a thriving secondary trade in information. While Pascal worked hard to not offend the powerful dragon, he’d learned long ago that the Carrabach never took offense at offers of trade. He might not accept them, but he was never offended.

Indeed, he got a wry grin from the man’s midnight black face. His bright teeth sparkled against the darkness of his skin. “That is inadvisable at the moment. I shall reserve the option to revisit if conditions warrant.”

He called a secretary to fetch his files while they discussed the price.

“If your request for this information indicates that you will be disembarking for Brodjach, I have a price in mind.”

That was unusual, but Pascal was happy to adapt. “I’ll confirm that much,” he hedged.

“Brodjach is a most interesting shard,” the Carrabach mused. Pascal followed closely. The dragon hated to waste time so this must be important.

“That shard attaches to Fall of Night on an unusually regular schedule. It consistently remains for three years, after which it disappears for two. On reinstatement, it possesses a most marvelous crop of tobacco which it is unable to grow while attached to the city. Mr. Hunter, I would take it as payment for this information if you find out what environmental conditions they experience that allow them to grow that crop.”

If the Carrabach knew how to grow the crop, he could find other shards with similar conditions. It was a fair deal, but deals with dragons were rarely simple. “If I’m unable to find out, what would the price be?”

His laughter was a great, booming thing. “Oh Mr. Hunter, you extinquish my flames. You see my traps far in advance. Still, we have had sufficient dealings that I understand you well. I will accept your best efforts to uncover the information I seek. Should you fail, I will consider the debt paid.”

“I’m sorry, but that seems– uncharacteristically generous.”

“Far from it. It is a judgment of your character, Mr. Hunter. Experience and information tell me that if you promise best efforts, you will give it. You might fail, but I consider that possibility an acceptable level of risk.”

With a nod, “Then we have a deal.”

He opened a file and leafed through it before continuing, “Yes, then. Brodjach is a large agricultural shard with a few plantations handling most of their trade. In the local language, Brodjach means ‘Wanderer.’ When it is attached to Fall of Night, they grow grains and vegetables. As I already indicated, they grow tobacco and fruits when they are detached from the city.”

While this was unlikely to be germane to a murder investigation, you never knew what would turn out to be important, so Pascal listened carefully and made mental notes.

“Electricity does not function within the limits of the shard. Gunpowder does, though they are limited to black powder. They rely on sympathetic magic to supplement technology. What was connected stays connected. This magical connection decays rapidly for animal tissue, less so for wood and cloth, and very slowly for stone and metal. An item once connected can be used to manipulate the other part of it.

Manipulating connections appears to be simple. They use it for farming and communication, indicating wide-spread or even universal ability. My information does not include maximum control limits, as this talent does not extend to other shards.”

That made sense. He understood now why they would suspect the valet of foul play on finding a piece of Lord Pankov’s quilt in his room. If the blanket had a magical connection to the torn piece, the valet could presumably use the blanket to smother the old man.

With a clucking noise and a shake of his head, he continued, “For you, I fear I have regrettable news. The current route to Brodjach leads through Battlefield. Unless my information is incorrect, you discorporate in that shard.”

Pascal nodded. He kept his poker face up, but suspected the Carrabach saw through it. He would lose his body on the way there and become a mere shade. The odds of Brodjach providing him with a new body were close to zero. Getting out of the case with Sofiya wouldn’t be too hard, but breaking a deal with the Carrabach was less– healthy.

“Have to change my approach, then,” he muttered. With a nod, he asked the giant to continue.

The Carrabach appeared to be satisfied. “The Pankovs run one of the major plantations in the shard, Nuvye Park. They are shrewd traders,” he added. Pascal understood that was a sign of high respect.

“Stanislav Pankov handles their affairs and typically manages the tobacco trade himself. He delegates the remaining agricultural trade to his son, Boris. Stanislav and Boris are both married, the first to Ekaterina, the second to Dunyasha. He has two other children as yet unmarried. A daughter, Sofiya, and the youngest, a son, Andrei. Both of the younger children are of marriageable age. Given past experience, I expect them to to enter matrimony when the shard is detached from the city. They are a private people.”

“That will be most useful, and thank you. Do you know anything about the servants at the house?”

“Only one. The butler is Feodor Menschikov. I have little information about him, save that he has been the butler for at least 15 years.”

Just once, Pascal thought to himself, just once he wanted to say ‘The butler did it.’ Probably wouldn’t happen. Again. But he could hope.

“I believe that will do nicely.”

“I will see you again, Mr. Hunter.” With skilled delivery, it was both a farewell and a threat.

- ♇ -

“Good morning, Mr.– Pascal. Don’t usually see you here this early.”

“Morning to you too, Vic. If you’ve got coffee going, give yourself a raise.”

“Got a pot warming up on the stove,” he answered. “Bring you a cup right out.”

“Brynn should be here soon. And we’ve got a customer coming. Don’t mean to get in your way, sorry,” Pascal mumbled. Mornings were never his favorite time. He’d be better at them if they came a bit later in the day.

The Green Goose did a rousing morning trade with the people who spent the night in the warmth of the common room. The back room did not do a breakfast service and was normally empty in the mornings. That never stopped Vic from getting an early start cleaning the place. He’d always believed that the Goose was a fine dining establishment, and mere experience would not convince him otherwise.

Vic was another one of the Freezer’s refugees. A vampire, he fled to the Freezer to escape his curse. Like ghosts and dragons, vampires became normal people in the Freezer. His real name wasn’t Vic, but he didn’t know Pascal knew that.

Vic turned into a vampire on purpose to win a girl. He thought it would be all sparkles and romance. Instead, he discovered he really was only interested in what was inside the girl. Literally. The girl was probably dead, but Pascal carefully didn’t investigate that far.

In the Freezer, Vic was a bit on the pale side, but otherwise normal. He wouldn’t even eat rare meat.

Brynn soon chirped his way in. “What a great morning. Brisk outside, warm inside, I just can’t wait to get started.”

Paz grunted.

His partner was a natural morning person and he was also a natural pest. Brynn exaggerated his morning perkiness to annoy Paz. They both knew it, too.

By the time he finished his second cup of coffee he was ready to talk. He told Brynn what the Carrabach had told him.

“So forget it,” Brynn suggested. “It’s not worth losing you over this case.”

“No can do. I made a deal with him first. If I cancel out, I’ll owe the dragon some unspecified favor.”

Brynn groaned. “Dummy.”

Ghosting was risky. He was always a ghost, to be sure, but thanks to the Freezer he was a ghost with a body. In most shards he had ghost-like abilities even when he was solid. It was a handy if unreliable skill set because ghostly abilities varied so widely. One thing was constant; a body is more than a convenience. Without a brain to hold memories they faded, and his sense of self with them. He did not remember anything before he first came to the Freezer and was missing large portions of his life after it.

“Well, you’ll just have to rely on me to solve everything for you,” Brynn announced. “I’ll be– I’ll be the under appreciated partner whose hidden talents save the day. No, wait. The ignored child whose simple wisdom sees through all the red herrings to solve the case. Or–”

“What is this child doing here, Mister Hunter?” The door swung open as his client charged in.

“And a pleasure to see you too, Lady Sofiya,” Paz responded to her haughty opening. “This is Brynn. It’s short for something, but he changes it each time you ask, so I wouldn’t bother asking if I were you,” he added. Sofiya had annoyed him when they ate breakfast the previous day. This meeting had not gotten off to a better start. Maybe she’d be more pleasant later in the day, but he rather doubted it.

“I asked why he is here, not who he is. We have private business to discuss. I do not expect to deal with your spawn.”

Brynn giggled in his high pitched and annoying tone. “Oh lady, are you off base. If we go by age, I’m the senior partner.” He paused just long enough to let her think she should respond before he added, “Except that I really don’t know how old he is. I’m not entirely sure how old I am, for that matter.”

She accepted that with a slight upturn of her lip. “Fine. So why did you call me back here? Have you found something already?”

“You have a high opinion of my skills. No, I have not found anything. I’ve gotten some background but I’ll need to go to Nuvye Park and talk to the people involved to make any progress. We’ll need your help to arrange that.”

With undisguised impatience, she answered, “What do you need?”

Brynn jumped in. “I’ll be going, and I need an excuse to be there. What do you think? Maybe I’m a long-lost bastard you recovered from the orphanage where you left me?” The child grinned maniacally.

Sofiya grimaced, but refused to take the bait. “I can put you to work on one of the farms.”

Brynn snapped his head back in surprise. That was almost a joke. Pascal could see Brynn formulating a comeback, so he interrupted. “No, we’ll need him in the house. He’ll be working with me and we need to be able to contact each other.”

“So you will need a position too?” his client asked archly.

“I don’t think so. I’m going to have to– improvise. I’ll contact you when I can, and we’ll arrange things from there.”

“Do either of you speak the language?”

“Brynn has the gift of tongues,” Pascal answered before the boy could say a word. “He’ll learn it on the way there. As for me, I can usually find a way to communicate.”

She was puzzled, her face screwed up briefly. Finally she let it go. “As you say. For the child, I can put him in the kitchens as a pot boy. You can scrub, can’t you?”

Paz took inappropriate delight in the expressions of disgust that crawled across his partner’s face.

“Come on! Kitchen work? Me?” He settled down quickly, “Ah, it’s only until we solve it. Shouldn’t be more’n a few days. Fine. Dishes.”

“I’ll leave this afternoon,” Paz announced while Brynn muttered his way into convincing himself. “I’d like a day to set up my cover if needed. Lady Sofiya, what is your schedule? Can you stay in Fall of Night one more day?”

“That would be acceptable.”

“Remember you’ll need to bring Brynn back with you.”

Brynn made a nasty face at the reminder. To Pascal’s surprise, Sofiya did too - a bit more restrained than the fey child, but a definite face. She might just be human after all somewhere beneath that black dress.

“Well then, the next time I see you, we’ll be in Brodjach.”

- ♇ -

Pascal Hunter was a ghost.

It was the fundamental fact of his existence. It was true whether he had a body or not, but it was far more obvious when he did not.

His body started vanishing as soon as he crossed into Battlefield. Fallen leaves rustled in the breeze, matching his mood as he faded away into transparency. He was still visible, but you could see through him. His heart stopped beating and left him for good a moment later. He stopped drawing breath when he lost the lungs to draw it into. He struggled to hold on to his form so he could still see and hear, but the world looked washed out and faded. Perhaps the shard itself was washed out, he hoped fervently.

It had been a long time since he’d visited Battlefield. He hoped the people he’d killed were not still around. For a ghost, that’s not an unreasonable fear.

There were no maps of Fall of Night, as shards moved around or phased in and out of the city. There were still patterns. Shards in the city tended to be small, and got smaller near the city center. Battlefield was on the outskirts. It was large, several miles across. The first time it appeared, many people wanted to move to its lush hills and spacious grounds. The natives didn’t agree and they fought back.

The war was brutal but short. The natives knew their land and their rules, but the city had too many people, and they could adapt to new rules. They won, but it was a Pyrrhic victory. Whether it was due to the harsh fighting or would have happened anyway, Battlefield started phasing in and out. It rarely stayed in place for more than a month. When on its own, it was a harsh land, and very few people survived it. Now it was mostly empty.

It took Pascal over an hour to cross. He followed the trade route to a large temple that opened to Brodjach. At the other end of a marble colonnade he could see bright summer sunlight. He floated through the deserted temple past statues to fallen heroes. Birdsong filled the air and he spared a prayer that the statues appreciated it. His goal awaited.

He crossed the border without pausing. He didn’t want to give himself time to reconsider. As soon as he passed into the new shard, he was gone.

I am Pascal Hunter. I am Pascal Hunter.

He repeated that frantically, a desperate struggle not to lose all he was.

It took less than a second, but it felt like an eternity. He had no body. He had no mind. Only his ego remained.

I am Pascal Hunter.

The world was a strange place without eyes to see it. Pascal sensed colors without connection. Greens, blues, and reds flowed together like strokes from a mad impressionist painter. Sound buffeted him like hammer blows that left neither bruise nor meaning.

Feelings. Feelings existed.

People, animals, even plants had feelings. They were a pervasive murmuring background that rose to symphonic spikes in places. It was a babbling brook interspersed with towering waterfalls.

He tried to concentrate. He had to remember something. It is hard to remember anything when you do not have a brain. A name. There was a name. Pankov.

He concentrated on that and tried to sort out the symphony. There was no sense of location. Near and far were meaningless. He was a ghost, a lost spirit, and it felt frighteningly comfortable. Refusing to give in, he held on to the name. Just the name. Just the feelings.

There was resonance, a flash. It was something that might be Pankov and he was there. With a fierce effort, he forced himself to remember that he was not Pankov.

I am Pascal Hunter.

It was an empty, hollow thought, but it lead to more. He was a detective come to investigate a Pankov. He knew he was confused. Time was passing, but he did not know how much or how fast. Perhaps time was as meaningless as distance. It was a dangerous state for him if he wished to stay Pascal.

The music smelled of Pankov.

That wasn’t right, but his senses were muddled and indistinct. He needed a vessel to hold him. He had to get back inside. There were shining spikes of silver and gold, beautifully tuned to hold the music that spilled from them, surrounded by dull strokes in faded colors. Animals. Those were animals. He was human. He was almost sure of it.

They wouldn’t all fit. He’d forgotten that. He didn’t fit into all vessels, they had to have the right shape to hold him. A small reddish one that sounded like rocks crumbling would do. It was small, but he would fit. He worried it was an animal. That would not be good, but if it was a choice between that and nothing he’d take it.

There was another one, translucent rose crystal smelling of wet grass and emitting a cacophonous sound like two musicians playing different symphonies at the same time. That didn’t make sense. He didn’t know what he was sensing, what he was seeing. He wanted to lash out and cause havoc, to push or break the vessels surrounding him. Lacking a body was driving him crazy already. Whatever the vessel was, it would fit. With all the resolution he could muster he forced himself to think.

I am Pascal Hunter. Remember that.

He moved in.

Soft and dark. He couldn’t see. His eyes were closed, that’s why it was dark. He opened them. It was still dark but he could see shapes. His eyes worked. He could see shapes, lines and curves. He heard insects in the distance, he smelled flowers and dust. As his panic receded his heart slowed, and he relaxed knowing he had one. With a bit of trepidation, he concentrated on himself.

I am Pascal Hunter.

With relief, he tried to remember why he was here. He felt familiar excitement when he remembered he was investigating a murder. He felt distaste at his client, Lady Sofiya. There was an echo in his mind when thinking of Sofiya. Whoever he was wearing knew her too.

He was lying down. In a bed. It was time to find out who he was.

He sat up.

He was wearing a long nightgown. Long hair swirled in front of his face as he sat. His hands were small, with tapered nails.

OK, he was a woman. Not a favorite, but it could have been far worse. He wasn’t an animal or a child, two of the outcomes he’d feared the most.

I am still Pascal Hunter, I remember that.

He’d need to make that his mantra.

Rather, he thought wryly, she’d have to make that her mantra.

There were many reasons he didn’t possess people. On a strictly moral basis, he was stealing some of his host’s life. He’d lost his life already, it was not a fate he’d wish on anyone else. There were also practical reasons. Possession required giving up his body. He would be using his host’s body and brain, filled with memories and feelings that were not his own. He could lose himself in there.

He knew the dangers from experience. There were times, as now, when he saw no other option. The last time he’d had to possess a woman, he believed it would be easier to hold onto his sense of self by remembering he was a man. It didn’t work. His body insisted he was a woman, and the conflict got so bad he was almost trapped inside her.

This time he, no she, would not make the same mistake.

She looked around. The room was beautifully decorated. Her bed was so thick and soft she positively sank into it. It was too comfortable to leave, so she looked from there. The bed posts rose into the air as silent sentries, carved to resemble spirits blown upwards in the wind. She found that oddly appropriate given her situation.

She could just make out a window with heavy curtains blocking the view. They too were finely made, falling richly to the floor. She suspected there’d be no more than a dim glow at high noon if they were pulled closed.

A vanity table stood against the wall opposite the bed, a fine stone top over beautifully carved wood. A long mirror hung above it, but it was completely covered with a dark cloth. Lamps were mounted to the wall, but they too were covered in thick cloth. A large armoire carved with woodland scenes completed the room.

She slid out of bed. Narrow waist, but wide hips, she saw. Her hair was long, falling almost to the small of her back.

She didn’t like having long hair and suspected it would cause problems. Cutting it off would draw too much attention, so she would have to bear with it. Any shard that had ghosts had ways to drive them off. She had to be careful.

Sitting down in the well padded chair by the vanity and pushing aside the cloth covering in front of the mirror showed her a fine young woman. She had a triangular face with wide cheeks and a narrow chin. A thin mouth gaped below a small upturned nose. Narrow, arched eyebrows framed large eyes, though she couldn’t tell their color in the darkness.

Brown. Light brown. No. Hazel.

Light bloomed behind her, giving rise to the sudden color.

“Dobroye utro,” came a soft female voice from the door.

Language. She had no idea how to speak the local language.

“Good morning,” she answered back an instant later, hoping her confusion and anger weren’t showing on her face. Her body, the brain she was using, knew the language. Keeping her body’s memory at bay was key to maintaining herself, to staying Pascal Hunter. But she needed to be able to speak.

She hated possessing people.

The woman was wearing a simple shift, her hair unbound and her hands dirty. “Did you have trouble sleeping, Miss Gray? May I get you something?”

Gray, her name was Gray. There was an answer within her, a comfort at hearing it. Her ears were used to it, her brain responded to it. Her last name wasn’t Pankov, so she was not a member of the family. It was definitely a luxurious house, though, so she was probably a visitor. Unless it wasn’t the right house.

“No, thank you.” She didn’t know the woman’s name, hopefully she wouldn’t notice. “The, uh, crickets woke me. I’ll go back to sleep shortly. Thank you again.”

“Of course,” the maid said while backing out of the room in confusion. Pascal was sure she heard her mutter something as she left. It probably wasn’t a compliment.

Pascal Hunter has barely started investigating Lord Pankov’s murder and already he’s sorry he ever took the case. Forced to leave his body behind, he possesses a young woman he knows nothing about. He must hide his true identity while searching for a killer. And he must prevent the memories and personality of the body he occupies from overwhelming him. There’s a reason he hates possessing people.

PART TWO

THE FAMILY PANKOV

“Good morning Simza. So nice of you to join us,” the Pankov matriarch said archly.

Her day just kept getting better. Pascal had gotten back to sleep only to have her maid return to wake her and help her dress for breakfast. This time the maid was wearing a uniform with a long skirt and blouse and a black armband around her arm.

“I’m sure you’re getting tired of black, Miss Gray,” she suggested, “and since you’re not a member of the family you don’t have to stay in mourning. Maybe some color to brighten up the table?”

She had no interest in being an ornament. Brightening up the table was the last thing on her mind. She was here to investigate a murder. The quicker the better. She suspected the suggestion was not so innocent as it seemed. It might be petty revenge for waking early. “No, I think I will mourn with them.”

That earned her a hard glance and Pascal resolved to find out her position here as soon as possible. The memories were there in her head. All she had to do was think about it and they’d be there. But she might not be herself if she did that.

I am Pascal Hunter, ghost and detective.

So she wound up stepping gracelessly into the well lit breakfast hall, walking cautiously in her low heels. One advantage of mourning was the simple clothing. She had to wear a dress, but it was straight, black, and unadorned. She did not have to wear jewelry or makeup, though her maid did give her a bit of perfume so she smelled of violets.

The sooner she could complete her investigation, the sooner she could get her body back. She’d open with kindness, though she didn’t expect it to work, “Thank you, Mother Pankov. I’m sorry I was running behind, I was out of sorts this morning.” Washing, dressing, and just walking to the breakfast table all took longer than it should have. It added up.

“I hope you’re all right, my dear,” said a thin young man with concern written all over his face as he stood up to greet her.

“Oh, do keep it together Andrei. At least wait until after breakfast,” interrupted the other man at the table, darker and taller than the first. These must be the brothers, Boris and Andrei.

Given his solicitude, she guessed she was here with Andrei. The mother didn’t seem to like her, so the brothers were her best bet for information. She would have to be careful not to give herself away. If the younger son knew her, he might notice when she behaved differently. All she needed was for people to suspect she was possessed and she’d be gone.

Both men stood when she came to the table. As she went to sit down, a young blond footman rushed forward to hold her chair. Her annoyance probably showed on her face, but she tried to take her seat with some semblance of grace. It suddenly hit her how short she was. Everyone towered over her, even the teenager seating her. She might not even top five feet.

“Please Boris,” the younger brother snapped back, “it is perfectly acceptable for me to show concern for my fiancee.”

Pascal snapped her head around so quickly her neck came near to breaking. So, she wasn’t quite a guest. She would have to be careful around Andrei. He would know her well and be alert to any change, but she would not not be able to avoid him either.

“Ah, thank you. But I’m fine, really,” she responded lamely.

“I hear you woke up in the middle of the night,” Andrei offered as an invitation for her to say more.

“It was nothing,” she demurred. “I was surprised how quickly the maid heard me.”

Boris chuckled. “Heard you? You pulled back the covering from the mirror. The mirrors are linked, you called her.” He managed to convey contempt for not knowing how the mirrors worked and for rudely calling a maid so early in the morning.

“Enough. We do not permit drama at the breakfast table. Decorum, please,” announced their mother.

The woman was shorter than either of her sons, but still stood a full head over Pascal. However, she probably matched either of her sons in weight, being much wider than her fit sons. Her dark red hair was streaked with iron gray and tied back severely to emphasize her chubby cheeks. Disapproval fairly rolled off of her.

“Will Dunyasha Ivatsovna be gracing us with her presence this morning?” she asked with acid on her tongue.

“No, Mother,” Boris answered. His well trimmed beard and strong square face made him look like a man but he flushed like a boy under his mother’s gaze. “Avdotya will be taking breakfast in bed.”

“She should be joining us at table during mourning,” the old woman insisted. Andrei was obviously uncomfortable with his brother’s grilling, but not enough to intercede.

“She has been– queasy. Upset stomach. She’ll join us again when she recovers.”

No one believed him. Pascal had just met him and could tell he was lying. Fortunately, their mother accepted it. Unwillingly, but she accepted it.

Conversation withered and died under her glare while the servants brought out breakfast. Perfectly poached eggs with a cheesy Mornay Sauce were accompanied by crispy fried sardines and toast with jam. They had some of the thickest coffee she’d ever tasted. She added a little fresh cream and it was smooth and rich. This body handled mornings better than her old one but she still appreciated a good cup of coffee.

She had to remind herself she was here for a case, not a vacation. It would be too easy to enjoy this. It would be unfair to the girl, Simza, to stay any longer than necessary.

There was a sudden nudge at her side. Andrei was poking her. He gave a slight nod and raised his eyes. Boris and Lady Pankov were watching her, and she realized she was digging into breakfast a little too enthusiastically.

She covered her mouth. “Excuse me,” she said with a small grin.

“Hmph,” sniffed Lady Pankov.

Boris shook his head sadly while Andrei turned back to his breakfast. She tried to eat more slowly and delicately, though it was hard to remember that in the face of such fine food. She sipped her coffee slowly but lovingly.

The wonderful food and luxurious setting almost made up for the chill at the table. Cold glares accompanied any attempt at conversation. Even the most anodyne openings were shot down when Pascal tried them. “It looks like a beautiful day today,” she’d tried.

“Only if you have nothing to do,” Boris responded. “We’ll have storms again this afternoon.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t know any better,” Boris’s mother said to him, pointedly ignoring Pascal.

It was clear they disliked her, but she did not understand the reason. Until she had the lay of the land, she resolved to listen more than speak. Her resolution lasted less than a minute.

“Sonya will be returning from Fall of Night this afternoon,” Lady Pankov announced. “And my father will be joining us for dinner tonight,” she added with a slight grimace. Pascal felt oddly cheered that the woman’s disdain was not reserved for her.

Then it hit her. Sofiya was returning today. It had taken her a full day to find a body. “I would like to meet Sofiya’s coach on the road,” she volunteered.

Silence fell like a lead balloon.

“Wonderful idea,” Andrei finally piped in with false cheer. “You two will be sisters, it’s very kind of you to meet her. You can get to know each other better.” He struggled to smile at her, but failed.

“I suppose so,” said Lady Pankov with a notable lack of enthusiasm. “Have Roman Ivanov saddle a horse for her,” she said to a tall old servant overseeing the room. After he confirmed the order, she turned back to Pascal, “Do you think you can be on time for that?” Her tone had enough acid enough to etch steel.

“That’s unfair, Mother,” Andrei remonstrated with her, “You’ve overslept on occasion as well. Look how hard it was to awaken you when father–”

“Ladies are present, brother,” the elder interrupted, “and that was a sign of how deeply connected they were. Are.”

“Yes, that was terrible,” Pascal put in. They were talking around the subject, but it was probably the murder. “It’s hard to believe his valet would–”

“Ahem. We are still at the table,” Lady Pankov announced with her hands flat by her plate. She stayed seated but looked like she was about to stand. “Whatever your people may discuss during meals, we do not raise such subjects here.”

“Of course, Mother Pankov. My apologies.” Pascal fumed inside.

The blond footmen who had seated Pascal smiled surreptitiously at his partner. She realized it wasn’t just the Pankovs and the maids who disliked her. This job was not going to be easy.

She wondered what Simza had done to earn so much enmity. The maid’s suggestion that she leave mourning looked more like sabotage and less like petty revenge. She was glad she sidestepped it.

“Do we have any visitors today, Mother?” Boris asked as he picked up another sardine.

“The Kustovs shall be paying their respects this afternoon,” she replied. “You remember them, they are the tenants on the old dairy farm. We will receive them in the gardens, I think. You and your wife will be there,” she announced. It was not a question.

“I’m sure that will not be a problem, Mother,” he answered with ill concealed irritation.

When Pascal was quiet, they directed their barbs at each other. While that was pleasant, silence would not get her any leads. She had a murder to solve. She’d need a better plan soon. It was a bad sign when Sofiya was likely to be her best ally.

- ♇ -

“Simcha my dear, may I speak with you a moment,” Andrei called to her as they were leaving the breakfast table. His tone was a warning.

“Of course,” she agreed. He took her arm and escorted her to the library. She had to take a moment to look at the room. The walls were lined with shelves of leather bound volumes. Glass cases displayed prizes of the collection. A portrait of a man in chain mail holding a book in one hand and a sword in the other held pride of place over the mantle. She wondered briefly who he was. It was a large and impressive collection and she hoped she’d be able to find some time to peruse it.

The same dark iron lamps that decorated her bedroom were here in even greater number. They were uncovered, but she saw hooks above the lamps where covers would hang.

Andrei closed the door quietly behind him.

“What was that all about?” he said with obvious frustration.

“What do you mean?” she started to say, but stopped herself since it was obvious why he was upset. “I didn’t sleep well. Bad dreams, all night. About your father…” No sense wasting an opportunity.

“Please, kitten, be careful.” His voice was softer now, caring. “It was hard enough to get my father to give his blessing and now Boris takes over when we finish mourning. He will be Lord Pankov in five days. He can withdraw father’s blessing, and he will if my mother asks him.”

He grabbed her hands, held them close to his chest. Pascal resisted and tried to pull them back, then relented when she realized it was out of character. She could see pain in his eyes.

“Can we sit down for a few moments?” she asked him.

He agreed, and she took a seat on the plush couch. She sat down a touch heavily and found her dress pulling against the edge of the sofa. Recovering, she inched forward to sit less comfortably on the edge of the seat. The two of them were black blots against the dark green covers.

I am Pascal Hunter.

Andrei looked at her questioningly, but then relaxed.

She took a deep breath and pressed her hand to her forehead theatrically. “Tell me what happened that morning, when your father died.”

“Simcha, what brought this on?”

“The dreams I had. Please,” she lied.

With a suspicious gleam in his eye, he asked, “Is this why you wanted to meet Sonya today? I thought that was a fine idea, truly I did. But I hope you won’t share this unnatural obsession my sister has developed. Yakim Sergeyin Laskutin killed Father, and that’s the end of it.”

Andrei was upset, but he’d provided an excuse for her behavior. She wasn’t in danger of being caught.

“Humor me, Andrei,” she asked, then added, “my dear,” after a pause.

“Oh very well,” he said with a toss of his hand, “but this will end the matter, won’t it?”

She nodded, trying to appear demure, but probably failing.

“Let’s see now. Yakim Sergeyin woke me up, and I remember being surprised about that. He told me to come quickly, there was something wrong with Father. The man was agitated but not panicked, which I know now was a deliberate front. I started to dress, but he interrupted and told me to come quickly. A bit of cheek there, but I thought little of it at the time.”

“Was he dressed for normal duty?” she asked.

“Hm, well, let me see. Yes, I believe he was. I didn’t look too closely, still rubbing sleep from my eyes at the time. But he never left to change, and I know he was in uniform when the inspector got here. Suited up, tie fastened, I presume his shoes were shined and all the rest.”

She wanted to ask for more details, but had to keep it light. Investigating without appearing to investigate was a tricky business. It would slow things down, but people were less likely to clam up or lie, so it evened out in the long run. It was not her first time to operate under a cover identity.

Andrei was staring into the distance, wrapped up in his memories. Hopefully he was paying more attention to them than to her. She might be able to push him a bit.

“Boris and Fedya Illyitch,” the tall, bald butler, “were already with Father when I got there. Are you sure you want to hear this my dear? I do not want to shock you or disturb your sleep further.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “I think it will help settle my sleep and end my bad dreams if you tell me what really happened.” She tried to make her voice quaver, “It’s so horrible just imagining how it was.”

He brought his hand to his chin, thoughtful. “I hadn’t thought of that. Very well then. Boris was leaning over Father, checking his neck for a pulse and talking to him. Fedya took me aside and explained that Yakim found Father in this state– Excuse me, you said you wanted to hear the raw truth. He said Yakim thought Father was dead.”

Andrei paused and looked at Pascal. She realized he was waiting for a reaction. She had to think a moment before she realized what he was looking for. She opened her eyes wide, and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my,” she gasped.

“Yes, well…” He could tell something was wrong, but wasn’t sure what it was yet. She might be on dangerous ground.

“I tried to grab Father’s shoulders, to shake him awake, but Boris insisted we leave him alone. He wanted to be sure the gendarmes could inspect the scene as it was. Good thing too, they thanked us for our presence of mind when they were done.”

He thought a moment, then added, “I remember telling Yakim to wake Mother, that she should be there with Father. Fedya answered for him. Turns out he’d sent Yakim to get Mother before me, but he couldn’t wake her. We all agreed we’d let Sonya sleep until the gendarmes got there. Oh yes, I think Fedya said he’d contacted them while Yakim was getting me.”

“What was the bed like?” she asked forcefully, and again got a quizzical expression in reply. She had to watch herself. Andrei was giving her a great deal of information. She had to keep him concentrating on his memories and not on her.

“It was pulled tight, as though it had just been made up and Father squeezed into the bed without disturbing the sheets. It’s funny where your mind goes; I remember thinking that Yakim must have made the bed with Father lying in it. It was a bit rumpled near Father, probably from Boris trying to wake him. But overall surprisingly neat.”

“What did you do?” She finally got a sympathetic glance from him. This, it seemed, was a question he expected her to ask.

“I wish I could impress you with a tale of heroism or detective work, but the truth is that Boris is the one who held everything together. After he stopped me from disturbing the scene, I wound up staring out the window. Boris went downstairs to wait for the gendarmes and Fedya Illyitch left to organize the staff. Yakim and I stayed with Father. I don’t think I moved from the window sill until the officials arrived.”

“How long did it take?”

“An hour, maybe less. We have a page linked to their emergency book at the station house, and they responded quickly. Sonya woke up before they got here and found out what was going on. She tried to get in to see Father, but Yakim kept her out. I remember appreciating that at the time,” he grinned tightly. “Does that help settle your mind?”

“Yes, mostly. But I don’t see why you think your father was murdered, let alone why you blame his valet.”

“This is why you wanted to meet Sonya today then, isn’t it?” He said with a rising voice. He slapped the back of his hand on his other hand with a clap for emphasis. “Has she gotten you to believe her foolish ideas? She has a child’s attachment to Father’s valet, but I assure you, kitten, that the man is guilty.” He calmed down as he spoke. Pascal could tell he was making a deliberate effort.

“Please then, tell me why. Make me see it.”

“The gendarmes sent an inspector. While they had their doctor examine Father, he looked at the bed and found a piece of it had been cut off. Of course he asked us about it, and Fedya assured him they inspected the blankets daily when the maids aired them out. They searched the servants’ rooms, and found the piece in the dresser in Yakim’s room. The doctor said Father suffocated in bed, and they arrested the man on the spot. He used the piece to control the sheets and hold Father so tight he couldn’t breathe.”

She wondered briefly if there was a reason that the police were called gendarmes. The word came from a different language than they spoke. She didn’t get to consider it for long.

Andrei grabbed her hands and held them tightly. This time she controlled herself enough not to pull away. “Is that enough for you? I do not want you to upset yourself over this. It is not an appropriate topic for a lady and we must not anger my mother.”

“Yes, thank you. I think that was a big help.”

“Please try to get on with my sister, but you don’t need to join her conspiracies,” he said with a teasing smile.

With that he put his hand behind her neck and pulled her to him. As she saw his face get closer she pulled back for an instant, mouth wide. Suddenly remembering, she tried to relax as he kissed her. It was clear he knew something was wrong and was hurt by her rejection.

She had to solve Lord Pankov’s murder quickly and without much help. The woman, Simza Gray, had her own life to live. Pascal was stealing a portion of her life, and now she risked driving off the girl’s fiance. Her body shivered with despair at the thought.

I am Pascal Hunter. And I hate possessing people.

- ♇ -

She did not have to ride side saddle.

That had worried her, it was a stupid way to ride. Fortunately it wasn’t expected. The maids set out black riding clothes and so she got to wear pants again. She’d have to see if she could find more excuses to go riding.

Walking to the stables gave her a chance to see Nuvye Park from outside. Huge. She’d only seen a small fraction of it that morning. It had been built at that odd point in time when people still knew how to build castles for defense but didn’t really think they’d need them.

It sat on a hill with a commanding view of the surrounding areas. The ground floor was hard stone with narrow slits for windows, but the upper floors had wide picturesque windows with great views. A ditch around the base of the hill could have been a moat or filled with spikes, but instead it was a flower garden with walks leading straight to the doors. Four gray stone towers at the corners rose high into the air, and gargoyles at the top provided cover. The rest of the roof was designed to prevent rain from getting in rather than defense. It was a strange and yet beautiful place.

The stable master was a deeply tanned, heavily muscled man with black hair hanging down to his shoulders. “Afternoon Miss Gray,” he greeted her. If he wasn’t overly profuse, at least he was not openly hostile. So far, that was the best she could hope for.

“Good afternoon, Roman,” she answered back.

He looked past her, to see if she’d come alone. “None of that,” he nearly snarled. “It’s Roman Ivanov to your kind.” After a pause he grudgingly added, “ma’am.”

He was openly hostile after all. Without missing a beat she asked, “You have a horse for me, Roman Ivanov?”

“Yes, and a better one than–” he trailed off with a guilty glance at two stable boys who were leading in a draft horse. “Her name’s Bright Eyes, an even tempered filly. You’ll have no problems. The coach has two drivers, have one of them bring her back to us.” She could hear him grinding his teeth while being polite.

One of the stable boys led her horse over, a chestnut mare that looked to be in excellent condition. Roman might not like her, but he would not give her a poor horse. Mounting proved awkward. She tried to step up herself but misjudged her height and nearly toppled to the ground. The boy stepped in to help her and she shied away instinctively, only to relent and let him help her up. “Thank you,” she mumbled as she rode off.

For a moment she considered breaking into a gallop and seeing how far she could push Bright Eyes. That urge didn’t survive a moment’s reflection. It had been years since she’d ridden and she was out of practice. Instead she enjoyed a few moments alone and thought about the people she’d met and the problems she’d face. Andrei was her biggest help so far but was likely to be her biggest stumbling block if he considered detective work unladylike.

Pascal knew a different class of ladies. She remembered Sharon, a woman she knew back during the Arcadian Invasion. Sharon set up barricades, berated anyone who even thought about falling back, and managed logistics for two hundred fighting men. And she was all woman every moment. There was someone who was ladylike even when covered in dirt and soot. Especially then. Pascal rejoiced, knowing those were her memories.

I am Pascal Hunter.

Her opinions to the contrary, she’d have to try to appease Andrei. She wouldn’t ruin Simza’s life if she could help it. As much as possible, she’d try to avoid pushing him away.

The road led through a small town. People stared at her but did not wave or speak. That was probably a good thing since she didn’t know who they were. The local church steeple towered above and was visible from everywhere in town. She was very tempted to stop at a local tavern, the Bloody Chalice, to compare it with the Goose, but she decided against it. She rode past rows of houses, a music hall, law offices, and grocers. A few hundred people, maybe a thousand tops, and she was on the other side.

Down the road from the town, she pulled up to the coach and dismounted, handing her horse to one of the drivers. Sofiya was taken aback when she climbed in. “Simza. This is an unexpected pleasure.” Her tone indicated anything but.

“Well, that’s not–” she started to say.

“This child is Brynn,” Sofiya interrupted. “He is an orphan from Fall of Night, and will be joining us as a pot boy for the year. Brynn, this is my younger brother’s fiancee, Simza Gray” she added with clear distaste. If her voice could curl, it would have. “You should call her Miss Gray.”

Brynn stared at Pascal suspiciously. “Well hello there, you hot young thing, you,” Brynn said while breaking into a laughing grin.

“Do we have to go through this every time I possess a woman?” complained Pascal to her partner. With her high pitched voice it sounded more like a whine than a rebuke. “You made the same jokes when we were hunting the Brizzan Pearl.”

“That was ten years ago,” the young boy whined back. “I’ve been saving up a whole mess o’ new ones.”

“Wait. Wait. Just. Wait,” interrupted Sofiya. “What are you? I don’t.” She composed herself. “Brynn, you will tell me what is going on. I do not expect to be kept in the dark. Is this Simza?”

Sofiya was quick on the uptake. It was the first time Pascal was even remotely impressed with her. “Shut up, Brynn. I’ve got this. I’m Pascal Hunter.” It felt good to say it aloud instead of keeping her mantra locked inside her head. “I’m a ghost. Rules in Fall of Night let me have my own body most of the time, but that’s not true here. If I’m going to investigate, I need to possess someone.”

“Then why Simza?” she asked with a slight sneer.

“It’s hard to describe what draws me to one person over another,” she answered honestly if evasively. “I was lucky to get this close.”

“And how close have you been getting, Paz?, asked Brynn with a leer. “Engaged? Drat, what a waste of an opportunity. You know, I’ve been in a bit of a dry spell…”

“Enough, Brynn,” she commanded. “We’ve got a murder to solve, so let’s get serious about it. That’s the first order of business. We have to keep cover, so until this is over, remember to call me Simza.”

“Harder than you might think,” Sofiya said, “You look like her, but you don’t act like her. It’s like seeing her in a funhouse mirror. It’s just– wrong.” Tapping her chin, she said, “Maybe we can make the best of this. You can put an end to my brother’s foolish mistake.”

“No. I don’t do that,” she snapped back. Knowing moral qualms would have no impact on Sofiya, she added “It would interfere with the investigation. I need to blend in, and I’m already making people suspicious. You will have to help me with that.”

“I hired you, remember?”

“And to do what you hired me for, I need to fit in. We will find out who killed your father. As of yet, I have no reason to doubt the police. Yakim might be guilty. On the other hand, I have just started to put together a time line. Speaking of which, do you know the time of death?”

“No thanks to my brothers. They seem to think I’d fall to pieces if I heard anything. Of course I know. Between midnight and 3 AM. I overheard the inspector.”

“A three hour window. That helps. I will need one more thing from you. I would like to see the police report. You probably have connections with them that I can’t duplicate.”

“That goes without saying.”

She decided against reacting to her client’s arrogance. Instead she turned to Brynn. “You’ll be working in the kitchens, so you’ll be interviewing the servants. I want to know where they were during the murder. I can already place a few at the time of discovery, but I’d prefer independent confirmation from you. So I won’t go over what I’ve found yet.”

Brynn had a predatory smile that was out of place on his cherubic face. Sofiya shuddered, but Pascal had seen it before. Many times. “Shouldn’t be a problem. People talk so freely around innocent little boys.” As soon as he stopped smiling and started picking at the seats he looked like a normal ten year old again.

“Brynn, it should be easy for Lady Sofiya and I to keep in contact but you’re largely on your own. We’ll see what we can do, but I don’t have a drop set up yet. Watch for opportunities.”

“It’s what I do best.”

Sofiya jumped in. “Take an afternoon walk in the gardens,” she said to Pascal. “That won’t look unusual, even for her. You. Then you, Brynn, have somewhere to go to find her.”

“Gardens. Sounds good,” Pascal answered while Brynn nodded.

“And Mr. Hunter. That is, Simza. You shouldn’t be calling me Lady Sofiya anymore. Let’s make it look like this little gambit of yours worked and we’ve become– friends. Call me Sonya Stanislovna or just Sonya.”

Pascal smiled. “It sounds like we’re ready to go,” she said.

Pascal Hunter has barely started investigating Lord Pankov’s murder and already he’s sorry he ever took the case. Forced to leave his body behind, he possesses a young woman he knows nothing about. He must hide his true identity while searching for a killer. And he must prevent the memories and personality of the body he occupies from overwhelming him. There’s a reason he hates possessing people.

Three footmen and the towering butler were waiting by the front door when the coach rode over one of the picturesque bridges. It was a big difference from Pascal’s unceremonious departure. The footmen rushed forward as they disembarked in the courtyard.

“Welcome back, Lady Sofiya,” intoned the butler. Feodor Menschikov was completely bald and had a long nose. With his great height he had to look down to speak to people, making him resemble nothing so much as a perching vulture. “I am glad you made the trip safely too, Miss Gray,” he added. Pascal suspected his graciousness was more for Sofiya’s benefit than her own.

“Thank you, Fedya Illyitch,” Sofiya responded as he gave her his hand to help her out of the carriage. She introduced Brynn and asked the butler to find him a position in the kitchens.

“Of course, Lady Sofiya. I will inform Raisa Irinova.”

Just like that, Brynn was on the staff, without delay or argument. So that, at least, was done.

“Go on ahead,” Sofiya said to Pascal while Brynn went off with one of the footmen. “I want to get everything unpacked first.” She turned back to her conversation with the butler.

The light streamed through the doors behind her and illuminated the grand entrance hall. A throng of iron lamps hanging on the walls failed to do more than vainly attack the deep shadows. The dark paneled walls soaked up the light, but the polished brass rails of the double curved staircase drew the eye by reflecting all the light that remained. The ground floor pretended to defense, so was nearly windowless. The entrance hall was designed to focus all attention on the stairs leading to the more welcoming spaces above.

A stick figure appeared at the top of the stairs and came down to greet her. “Simcha, darling, how nice to see you back. Come, get cleaned up and let’s have some tea together.” The woman was average height, though that was still taller than Pascal at the moment, but she seemed even taller due to her painful thinness. Her long blond hair and watery eyes added to her wispiness and made her look more the ghost than Pascal.

She struggled to work out the woman’s identity without dipping into Simza’s memories. The woman wore a flowing black dress, so was either a family member or guest. Since Pascal was the only guest this must be Boris’s wife, Dunyasha. “Certainly,” she answered simply.

By the standards she’d faced so far, after all, Dunyasha was positively brimming with friendliness.

Her room had already been cleaned and made up. Back in the Freezer she made her bed regularly at least once a month and her clothes were kept within easy reach on top of whatever surface she could find. A clean room was a novelty.

The lamps were uncovered and glowing without any fire burning within. They took advantage of the shard’s sympathetic magic, with all the lamps in the house cast from the same iron. They could light one lamp and all of them would glow. It also explained why they had lamp covers above them. Extinguishing the master lamp turned off all the lamps in the house, but covers would darken a single room.

Now that she understood how things worked, she looked in the mirror and said, “I’d like to change for tea, please.”

A few moments later a maid appeared at the door. It was not the same maid she had that morning, but a mousy middle-aged woman with short brown hair.

Pascal stripped off her riding gear and washed herself from a basin the maid provided. She had to remind herself not to pay undue attention to her body despite the temptation. The maid brought out a long black skirt and blouse. She wasn’t sure if a skirt was better or worse than the dress she had to wear in the morning. Pants were far preferable, but she’d have limited opportunities for that.

Her maid took one of the fine perfume bottles from the vanity and put a few drops on her neck and wrists, one of the few concessions to femininity permitted during mourning.

“Those bottles are beautiful,” Pascal blurted despite herself. The five bottles on the vanity were tinted glass blown into intricate and fanciful patterns. Light reflected from the facets into other faces so they seemed to shine from within. They were all sealed with gold stoppers.

“Yes, Miss Gray. They’re part of the Egyptian collection,” her maid answered. “Old Lord Pankov’s grandmother collected them. They’re only used for prominent guests now.” She even smiled. The maid’s pride in the house overcame her distaste for Pascal. Since all the servants seemed to share that distaste, she was glad to find a way through it.

“I forgot to ask,” Pascal put in since she had an opening, “Do you know where I am to take tea with–?”

As hoped, the maid filled in the pause, though with a trace of contempt, “Lady Dunyasha Ivatsovna? In the sitting room, of course.”

She found the sitting room easily. It was in the front of the house with a magnificent view of the lawns through a wide window. Chairs and divans were artfully arranged to give each person a view of all others while not concealing any of the statuary or paintings lovingly scattered about the room. An intricate crown molding drew the eye to a tremendously detailed wooden ceiling.

“Good afternoon, Dunyasha Ivatsovna,” she said with a slight bow when she came into the room.

“Oh please, Simcha dear, don’t be so formal. We’re going to be the two outsiders married into this family. We must stick together, no?” She blinked distractingly during this otherwise friendly speech, her eyes constantly watering.

And that began a rambling discourse in which Pascal had no opportunity to speak. She could nod agreement, or shake her head, but Dunyasha’s torrent of words would brook no interruption. Pascal suspected she could jump up and down, scream, and strip naked without interrupting the woman’s stream of gossip and innuendo.

So while drinking overly sweet tea and nibbling on some iced fruits the maids brought in, she heard details about the travel plans of people she didn’t know. The Alexsayivs were moving to their summer home near the lake, but leaving the father behind to manage the farming. The Minkins, or at least the younger ones, were to spend a month in their hunting lodge, and wasn’t that suspicious? Pascal had no idea whether it was suspicious or not.

She perked up briefly when Dunyasha started talking about a recent death in town even as she cursed herself for her ghoulishness. But it was just a rant that “with Mr. Chernov dead that little Jew Goldstein will be running the law office until we get back home,” and how much of a disgrace that was. Pascal keyed in on the part about getting back home. If she understood correctly, Brodjach went to the same place each time it left Fall of Night. Dunyasha seemed to consider that place her true home, rather than the city.

It was only when Dunyasha said, “So with Boris spending all his time preparing for his Assumption, I will join Yulia Radkovna for a few days. We must continue to fulfill our social obligations, mustn’t we? I’ll be sure to let you know all about it and I’m so sorry you won’t be able to join me,” that Pascal got an opportunity to jump in on the conversation.

“So you’ll be leaving? When will you be back?” Pascal couldn’t imagine this woman staying quiet long enough to kill anyone, but leaving the scene was grounds for suspicion.

“I’ll be back for Boris’s Assumption when mourning is over. I’m so tired of wearing black I couldn’t bear it for another week. Besides, it’s good to show Boris I have an independent streak. Keep him wanting me, don’t you know?”

She paused briefly instead of continuing with her lecture, so Pascal decided to take a chance. Even the most direct questions would not make this woman suspicious. If she gossiped this much with everyone, she might even know something interesting.

“Aren’t you worried that the killer might strike again, when Boris is the new Lord Pankov?”

“Not at all Simcha dear,” she said while patting Pascal’s arm and blinking rapidly.

“No, that valet, what was his name again? Yakim something or other? Yes, that was it. Dreadful little man, I don’t know what Poppa Pankov saw in him. He’d kept the man on for years, even though he was clearly unsuited. Always had a red nose, looked like he’d had too much to drink every time I saw him, most unsuitable. But then, that was Poppa for you, loyal to his people to a fault. You can be sure I will not let Boris tolerate such loose standards.”

She took a breath, and Pascal almost managed to get a word in when she started up again.

“But the gendarmes have him, and he’s no danger to anyone anymore. Wouldn’t hurt my Boris even if he was free again. It was a crime of passion for him, you see.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “He’d tried to get his nephew hired as a stable boy. Had it all set up, the boy was ready to go and everything, when Poppa Pankov stopped it and said no. Not a word of explanation, but it’s obvious enough he thought the boy would be as unsuitable as the man. Poor Yakim just couldn’t take it, that’s all there is to it. The lower classes are not as stable as we are, you know how it is. You must always keep an eye on them, Simcha. Never forget.”

Dunyasha paused to take a sip of tea. It was the first time she’d touched her tea since they sat down, Pascal noted with amusement.

“My tea is cold,” she proclaimed with annoyance. “Who served me cold tea?”

She ran off without another word. Pascal took a moment to enjoy the blessed silence before moving on herself.

- ♇ -

The scene of the crime.

Did she really hope to find anything, Pascal had to ask herself. Almost two months had passed since the crime. Her odds of learning anything were pretty close to zero. And of course, she was not supposed to be in Lord Pankov’s room.

She did it anyway.

She’d gotten lucky before. Besides, she just wouldn’t be a private eye if she didn’t investigate the crime scene. It’s just one of those things you have to do, she told herself.

I am Pascal Hunter. I investigate crime scenes.

She also hoped to learn a little bit about Lord Pankov by seeing his private room. Like finding clues to the murder, her odds were not good. This was a manor, and she could never be certain how much the neatness or decor reflected the man and how much the servants. It was still worth a try.

At least she wouldn’t have to stumble about in the dark. With all the wall lamps linked to a master downstairs, the ubiquitous lights were shining away. Being seen through windows might have been a problem, but the curtains were drawn during mourning.

A thick rug with intricate patterns covered most of the floor and muffled her footfalls. While the curtain and rug minimized the risk of detection, she had to watch out for the mirror. A large mirror sat on the dresser and was almost certainly linked to another, just like the one in her room.

The bed was made. It was the first thing she looked at. The corners were intact. They had changed the quilt and probably the sheets too. She figured they would have. Seeing the torn sheet had been a long shot at best.

An easel with a large drawing pad on it sat at the far end of the room. A charcoal drawing of the house gardens was on the front. The small table nearby was dark cherry with a pale white edge. It held charcoals, pencils, and gum erasers laid out evenly about it. The pencils were all the same size and lined up perfectly. If Lord Pankov organized it himself, the man was anal.

She had never heard anyone suggest Lord Pankov had an artistic side so she had to take a look at the other drawings. They were workmanlike sketches, good but far from brilliant. Mostly landscapes, with a few architectural drawings scattered about. He had many drawings of his own gardens in different lights. There were a few scenes she recognized from Fall of Night, though none of the Freezer. Lord Pankov liked to patronize the higher tech areas, or at least to sketch them. There were were several seascapes, high cliffs with waves crashing beneath, that she didn’t recognize.

Each drawing was in triplicate. There were always two rough copies before the finished product. In two cases she found rough copies with no finished drawing.

Near the easel sat a glass display case with a collection of clocks and watches. If this was not an inherited collection, the old man did not like the gaudy, but the intricate. None of the pocket watches were jeweled or ornamented. Instead they featured detailed etching or a fine painting on the face.

She thought she had a feel for the man. He was interested, even fascinated, by art. While he tried his hand at drawing, he didn’t try to put it forward as more than it was. He was organized, maybe even regimented.

That didn’t mesh with Dunyasha’s story that Lord Pankov turned away Yakim’s nephew on a whim. She had painted a very different picture, of a man set in his ways and willful. Both pictures were limited. Pascal was guessing at the man’s character from his room, and Dunyasha was eagerly gossiping. Both impressions were probably incomplete.

She turned to the bed. She had to be careful, as the dresser and its large mirror stood next to it.

The bed had a large dark hardwood headboard carved with an intricate moonscape. The moon was an inlay of light colored wood. The footboard was a lighter wood and carved with a rising sun. Most beds with a sun and moonscape would have the Sun on the headboard. She wondered if the bed was inherited, or if Lord Pankov liked the art or the reversal.

The mattress was large, but was only made up for a single person. One large pillow was centered in front of the headboard. The room was supposed to be stay untouched until the Assumption, so she took it as read that Lord Pankov slept alone. Lady Pankov had her own room. No feminine items were in his chambers.

“Are you looking for something in particular, Miss Gray?”

She wheeled around, hair snapping about her face.

The butler, the ominously named Feodor Illyitch Menschikov, towered in the doorway. His giant sized frame almost blocked the light from the hall. His tone was level, but his face was unforgiving.

Honesty, or at least something in the same general neighborhood, might serve her well. She tried to seem shy by peering at the ground, and said quietly, “I was looking for anything the police might have missed. To see if it really was Yakim.”

“The gendarmes have said so, and so it is,” he pronounced with finality. “It is not your place to second guess the authorities, Miss Gray. That is not your role.”

He left her an opening and she took it. “Is it your role, Feodor Illyitch?”

“Most certainly not,” he humphed. “Nor would I even if it were. Yakim Sergeyin must be held for his crime. Now, I will not presume to give orders to Lord Andrei’s guest,” he said with that slight twitch Pascal was getting used to seeing, “but I shall call for Lady Pankov if you do not remove yourself from the Old Lord’s bedroom.”

It was a long shot to begin with. She’d gotten all the feel for the victim she could hope for, little though it was, so she left without complaint. “Why do you believe the valet was guilty? Sonya doesn’t seem as sure.”

The butler raised an eyebrow in surprise at the name Sonya, but didn’t comment. “Lady Sofiya is a kind girl with an unfortunate childhood attachment to her father’s valet. I remember that morning with shame. Yakim Sergeyin approached me in the breakfast hall when he should have been dressing Lord Pankov. He calmly pulled me aside to whisper that there was something wrong, and I should come immediately.”

Pascal nodded encouragingly, “That seems–”

“Wrong,” the butler exploded. He took a deep breath and continued, “An innocent man who served Lord Pankov so long would have been panicked or worried. Instead he calmly collected witnesses to muddy the waters.”

He took another deep breath with his eyes closed. When he opened them he took a step forward so Pascal had to crick her neck to see his face.

“Miss Gray, the gendarmes have assured me that the man who discovers the deed is the culprit more often than not. There is no doubt that Yakim Sergeyin discovered Lord Pankov’s corpse, and you’ll excuse the indelicate term.” He eyed her crosswise, and said sub rosa, “Of course you will.”

Still unsure of her footing, she smiled grimly and let him continue.

“It is a matter of some embarrassment to me, as you may have noticed.” His outburst had displaced his anger at finding her in Lord Pankov’s room. “I was responsible for hiring Yakim Sergeyin those years ago. It was a favor to an infantry officer of my acquaintance who was seeking a position for his former aide de camp. If there were a suitable replacement among the staff I would offer Lord Boris my resignation on his Assumption. Sadly there is not and I must continue.”

“I’m sure that’s what he would want,” she said consolingly. It was the obvious response.

“Yes, well, that’s kind of you to say,” he replied after a start. Recovering himself, “I trust we will see no repeats of this behavior, Miss Gray. Lord Andrei has taken considerable pains to bring you here, and it would be a shame to see his efforts so poorly repaid.”

“I will do my best not to embarrass him,” she promised. “Although I do not share your confidence in the authorities.”

He stared down at her. “Try harder, Miss Gray.”

The butler thought for a moment before continuing. “Lord Andrei has– changed for the better since meeting you. He was a rebellious child and yet it hurt Old Lord Pankov badly when he left. He won his father’s blessing not just by returning, but by convincing him he’d matured. He did that for you, Miss Gray, and he struggled against his father’s anger to keep that blessing. Do not risk losing it.

“I hate to admit this,” he continued, “but at one point I’d feared the fighting had gotten to Lord Andrei and he attacked his father. He had been out so late the night before– well, I was relieved when the gendarmes pointed to Yakim Sergeyin. Lord Andrei has done much to win you. You may be Rom– well, that’s not your fault.”

The butler took another deep breath. “You have been good for him.”

With her mouth hanging open, he seemed to feel his job was done, and left her alone.

Murder investigations shouldn’t go like this. Pascal Hunter is possessing the lovely body of Simza Gray. She hopes to solve the case before the woman’s thoughts and feelings completely overwhelm her. Some of those feelings are towards her new fiance. The rest of the family, and their staff, resent her presence. She is hoping her partner, the eternal ten-year-old Brynn, has better luck than she has had.

PART THREE

NUVYE PARK

A massive thunderclap rattled the pots overhead. To Brynn’s delight the cook jumped at the loud noise.

Her fear and discomfort was the only joy he had while scrubbing away at the pots and pans from lunch. Grimly certain that Pascal was taking delight in his misery, he comforted himself by imagining his partner in dresses, heels, and makeup. He took it as a given that misery was better shared. It was better still when it belonged to someone else, of course.

He had not seen Pascal since the coach ride. He’d spent an entire day cleaning and scrubbing and not making any progress. Cleaning dishes was dull. Dull as– well, dull as dishwater.

“New boy,” the cook snapped at him, “do you call this clean?”

He looked at the large copper pan and thought about it. As far as he could tell it was spotless, but he suspected she wouldn’t have asked if that was the answer. “I have a name, you know,” he answered instead.

“Cheeky boy,” she answered with a slap from the back of her hand. Another peal of thunder rumbled when she slapped him. Brynn was disappointed. He had the timing right, but had hoped for a more dramatic clap.

It was enough of a coincidence to startle the cook, Raisa Irinova Nesterov, and she backed away from further punishment. The woman was only a little taller than Brynn, but no one would ever call her small. Her girth made her look bigger than she was, and her command of the kitchens effectively made her a giant. No one crossed her in her domain.

Brynn amused himself by thinking of ways to embarrass the petty tyrant.

If I’d ever seen her sit down I’d do the old pin on the chair routine. I wonder how fast she’d jump, or even if she could. Spitballs would be a riot. Bet I could get her to turn around at least three times before she caught me. I wonder if I could swap the salt and sugar bowl without her noticing. It would be worth ruining my dinner just to see her go all red.

On the other hand, any time he took pulling or being punished for pranks was less time on the job with Pascal. And that, in turn, would mean more time scrubbing dishes. So despite her desperate need to be taken down a peg or two, the cook might yet escape his righteous wrath.

“Do it again, and clean it right this time,” she commanded, putting the pan back in the pile for him to clean.

“Yes’m,” he grumbled, imagining all the ways he could humiliate her if only it wouldn’t impede the investigation.

Two whole days in the kitchens and he hadn’t made any progress. It was galling. Pascal might solve the whole thing without his indispensable aid. And that would mean his aid wasn’t indispensable. And it was. Indispensable.

So he had to do something. He thought while he scrubbed.

“Who killed Lord Pankov?” he asked the cook suddenly.

“What? Get back to work, boy,” she said with a quick slap to the back of his head.

That was just dumb enough to work. It should have worked. Back to the drawing board.

She left the kitchen while Brynn was still toiling away. He’d be at it another hour, at least. More if he kept stopping to complain to himself.

With Mrs. Nesterov away from the kitchen, the rest of the staff relaxed slightly. Three kitchen maids and an assistant cook were busy at their tasks, but Brynn could see they all breathed easier when the head cook left.

The kitchen was a large, if plain, room. Bare stone walls rose above the numerous stoves and ovens. A large fire pit dominated the far end. There was a large cupboard near the fire pit, and a pantry on the opposite side of the room.

The room smelled of smoke despite a clever vent to get the worst of it outdoors. A small door leading outside stood open to help air the place out even when it was raining. It added to Brynn’s work, since mopping the floors was one of his jobs.

“You’re Brynn, right?” one of the kitchen maids asked him as she peeled carrots nearby. At 13, she was the youngest of the maids and had been the newest member of the staff until Brynn came along. She was a pretty girl, with light blue eyes and dirty blond hair reaching down to her shoulders. She even looked good in the unflattering kitchen uniform.

“That’s right,” he answered. “I’m Brynn. You’re Tamara, right?”

She giggled and put her hand on his arm, “Oh, just call me Tomo, why don’t you? I wouldn’t go bringing up the old Lord’s murder with Mrs. Nesterov if I were you.”

“Thanks Tomo, but why not? Seems a lot more interesting than, well, this,” he said while holding up the plate he was cleaning.

“Lord Pankov’s valet was a good friend of hers. That’s the man they arrested for it. She’s not gonna want to talk about it.” With her hand still resting lightly on his arm, she smiled broadly and her eyes lit up, “How would you like to help me out a little bit? I could use a big strong man on this one.”

Since she’d already given him more than he’d found out since arriving, he figured he could help the cute girl. No ulterior motives there, no. He was as pure as the driven snow. He figured she just wanted help carrying things.

“Great. Thanks so much,” she gushed. “I’m going to take Brynn down to help with the feeding,” she called.

Feeding? He was no longer so sure what he’d gotten into.

On the other hand, anything is better than scrubbing dishes.

“So do you agree with her? With Mrs. Nesterov?” he asked as the girl opened the door to the cellars.

“Oh, I don’t know. I barely knew Mr. Laskutin, but he was a nice enough man from what I did see. Everyone except Mrs. Nesterov seems to believe it, so I wouldn’t go asking too many questions.” They descended down the steep stone steps. The cold cellar was used to store food for the kitchen. Ham hocks hung from hooks in the ceiling while barrels of fruits and vegetables lined the walls. They walked between narrow shelves laden with grains, sausages, and preserves. There was enough food to feed a small army for a year, he thought.

“If she doesn’t think it was the valet,” Brynn pressed, “surely she has a suspect of her own, doesn’t she?”

Tomo grinned at him, “You’re really into this, aren’t you? Yeah, she does. She blames Lady Pankov’s maid, Miss Schuykov. She’d been stepping out with Mr. Laskutin but keeping it quiet. So Mrs. Nesterov figures the maid was using the valet. She thinks Miss Schuykov went and, well, you know… And then with Lord Pankov– well, Mr. Laskutin would be brave and take the fall to cover for Miss Schuykov, even if he knew she did it. Ah, here we are.”

He was looking at the girl rather than the cellar, so he heard it before he saw it. Slithering. Sliding past each other, softly rustling. There were cages of animals. He saw rats, turtles, frogs and lizards. And a large cage of–

“Snakes?” he croaked.

With a queasy smile, she answered, “One of Lord Pankov’s favorite dishes. He got a taste for it in some foreign land. Insisted we keep them alive so they could be cooked fresh. To keep them alive, we gotta feed them.” She pointed to the cage of brown and gray rats. “Be careful. The snakes are poisonous.”

This was the time to impress the pretty girl. He just had to say something witty and clever, to show off his relaxed attitude towards danger. He’d win her heart despite looking like he’s a few years younger than her.

“Poisonous?”

Or maybe not. He’d come up with plan B later.

“Very,” she answered while gripping his arm supportively. “But you don’t need to get close to them to feed them. Just grab one of the rats and throw it in there. Do that a few times so they all get one. The rats aren’t poisonous, don’t worry.”

Brynn didn’t worry about rats. Rats were fine, he had no problems with them at all. Anyone who lived on the streets in Fall of Night for long got to know them well. They were practically his pets. There was a big white one in the Freezer that could feed a family of four if anyone ever managed to kill it. No one had. Yet.

Ah, well. What have they ever done for me?

He grabbed a rat by its tail, opened the top of the snake cage and tossed it right in. The snakes stirred into motion, and the rat was dead in seconds.

While he reached for a second rat, he ordered, “Tell me more about Lady Pankov’s maid, keep my mind off this.”

“She’s the one with the long nose. You’ll see her at dinner. She’s good with horses and Lady Pankov lets her take one out whenever she wants. Been here a long time, and all the family likes her, so Mrs. Nesterov keeps her suspicions here in the kitchen.”

She watched him throw another rat in the cage, looked around to make sure no one was listening, and leaned in towards him. “OK, here’s what Mrs. Nesterov told me. Miss Schuykov took Mr. Laskutin out for a ride a week before Old Lord Pankov was killed. She’s not supposed to do that. She’s allowed to take out the horses, but she doesn’t have permission to bring anyone else with her. But they went out at night so no one would see. Yeah, well, that didn’t work. Mrs. Nesterov sees everything. So she figures that’s when Miss Schuykov spun her sob story for the valet, so he didn’t say what he knows even though he’s getting blamed for it.”

She thought about it for a bit.

“Pretty romantic, isn’t it?”

“Sure. I guess,” he mumbled the proper manly response to romanticism. Even for a ten year old, there’s only one permissible answer.

Pretty weak theory, but it’s the best I’ve got. I wonder if she could have done it. Does a lady’s maid have access to the Lord’s room? I guess she’d have to for when the Lord and Lady do it, wouldn’t she? And if she could get into the room, she could cut the bed sheet as easily as Yakim. And if she was screwing Laskutin, she’d have access to his room to hide the evidence. Hey, this isn’t as bad as I thought.

Brynn had a lead to follow, and hoped he was ahead of Pascal. He also got to spend time with a cute blond. And all he had to do was kill a bunch of rats.

- ♇ -

The rain stopped well before sunset and brought with it blessed coolness. While Brynn pretended to ignore the weather, hot or cold, in truth he wasn’t made for heat. He’d take ice and snow any day of the week. He lived in the Freezer for the strange people he could meet, but the weather was a pleasant bonus.

He’d finished his work until after supper was served. That wouldn’t stop Mrs. Nesterov from finding work for her ‘new boy’ if he was in her sight. So he went elsewhere.

Tamara had gotten him to help feed the snakes, so he figured he could get her to help him in turn by providing a cover. The little blond was cute and Brynn was always hungry for female attention. The women who might be interested in a boy like him were too creepy, so even a chance to win Tomo was welcome. Getting her to do him a small favor would get he to like him more. It’s strange but it works. That it helped with the case was a bonus.

“Hey Tomo, if her nibs asks, tell her I’m running an errand for–” he paused briefly and grinned, “Who should I be running an errand for?”

That should get her mischief-circuits working overtime. “Mr. Menschikov is the safest, she’d never question him,” she said, naming the butler, “but it’s a bit risky. She sees him around. Go with Mr. Zefirov, the stable master.”

“Beautiful,” he responded cheerfully. “I was planning to– or, that is, my errands will take me out there anyway.”

That brought a smile in return. She actually enjoyed helping him avoid work in the kitchens. He was ahead all around - avoiding tedium, working on the case, and getting a pretty girl to like him. He’d have to get her involved again when he could. If he could manage to upstage Pascal too, the day would be perfect.

He broke into a run as soon as he was outside, stripping off his shoes and enjoying the feel of grass on his bare feet. The grounds of Nuvye Park were huge and he could easily forget that this was a single family’s home. There was no way a single family needed that much room. He did well with a one room apartment in Fall of Night.

That’s hardly fair. I have the whole city to run around in. It’s not like my apartment building is small. The Pankovs have all of their servants living with them too, just like there are other people in my building. Nope, can’t convince myself. It’s still too big.

The stables were bigger than most carriage houses in the city. There were at least 50 stalls, with yards to hold more if needed. They had equipment to handle riding horses and draft horses, including some specialized pieces he didn’t recognize. It smelled of sweat and straw. They were good clean smells he liked.

“Hi there. I’m Brynn, I’m new here. Can I see the horses?” he said without a pause for breath. Acting like an excited boy was second nature to him.

A man with sun darkened skin regarded him indulgently. “Well hello there, Brynn. I’m Roman Ivanov. Have you worked with horses before?”

He was in.

I’m going to beat you Pascal. I’m going to beat you.

He let himself do a little little sing song while teasing Pascal in his head. He could tell Roman liked kids, and he was prepared to exploit that shamelessly.

“I’ve seen them, and always wanted to pet one. Can I feed him?”

“Well,” the man said carefully, “I don’t see any harm in that. Don’t want this one to get spoiled, mind you, but she won’t come to no harm for another carrot.” He gestured Brynn forward and handed him a carrot. Brynn listened to the instructions, keep your hand flat, etc. He knew it already, probably a lot better than the stable master, but it wouldn’t do to show any impatience.

Brynn fed the horse and made sure to act excited. He laughed when the horse rubbed against his hand. Roman smiled, and Brynn knew he had a catch. There are men who take great pride in helping young boys and showing them the ropes. It was an admirable trait and Brynn always felt guilty when he took advantage of it. He already had plenty of guilt and could always manage to squeeze in a tiny bit more.

“That’s sooo neat,” he gushed. “Can we, I mean, well, in the house…” He screwed up his face and took a deep breath, “Can I ride one?”

Roman laughed slowly but kindly, put his hand on Brynn’s shoulder, and knelt down to look the child in the face. “Sorry lad, but these horses aren’t for us to ride. You work in the kitchens with Raisa Irinova, right?”

Brynn nodded soulfully, his eyes wide and serious.

“Oh, don’t you worry none. I won’t tell her you’re sneaking out here,” he smiled kindly to reassure Brynn he could keep a secret. “You do your work well for her, might be you get promoted up the ladder. Might be you can work out here in the stables even. Officially we don’t ride. Unofficially, there’s a lot we got to do with the horses that can only be done while riding. If it’s part of the job, not for fun, well, that makes it all right with them all.”

With some feigned confusion, Brynn said, “But I thought I was supposed to try to work up to footman–”

Roman took pity on him, just as Brynn intended, “Well, if you go that way, you might still learn to ride, but it’ll take longer. The Pankovs like to take their favorite staff with them when they ride. Lady Pankov even lets her maid ride whenever she wants, long as it doesn’t intrude on her duties. So even if you stay in the house, it’s possible. Of course, that’s only if you come back to us next time we reach Fall of Night.”

Paz said something about them phasing in regularly, and Brynn almost asked more about it.

No. I want to get a lead before Pascal. That’s all. Just this once.

“Whenever she wants. Wow. I’d be out here every day,” he said while gazing wide at the towering horse.

“Good for me she ain’t you then,” he said while ruffling Brynn’s hair. “She hasn’t been out here since the old Lord died. You know, son, you might be able to help me out with something. Just a small favor, and then maybe I can arrange for you to do some work out here with the horses.”

Did I misjudge him? He’s trying to pull a fast one, figures a kid won’t catch on.

Making sure his surprise didn’t show, he answered, “Sure Mr. Roman, whatever you need.” He could make promises easily enough. He didn’t have to keep them. Besides, if he didn’t promise to help, he’d never learn what the stable master wanted.

“You’re gonna have to learn your manners if you want to work here, boy,” the man said with humorous sternness. “You can call me Roman Ivanov when you’re sneaking out here ‘cause I like you. If you’re ever out here officially, make it Mr. Zefirov. And you better remember, because that Mr. Menschikov is a bleeding pussy cat compared to your Raisa Irinova.”

“Yes, sir,” Brynn said earnestly, nodding his head.

“Now as I was saying,” Roman continued, “the last time Larisa Grigorina, that’s Lady Pankov’s maid, was out here, she brought the killer, Yakim Sergeyin, with her. They came out here straight from the house and Yakim had a book with him. He went and left it in the saddle bags. We weren’t supposed to let him take a horse, but we did. Kind of a favor to her, I guess. Anyway, since we weren’t supposed to, I haven’t really said anything, especially since that was the night Lord Pankov got killed. Now with you working in the house and as we’re good friends, I figure you can bring this back to the library. Then maybe tomorrow I can show you how to brush down a horse after a ride.”

Wow. This is big. She took Yakim riding on the night of the murder. And Yakim brought along a book of poetry. He thought it was a date. Either this guy is as cold blooded as Crazy Doc Gupta, or Sofiya might be right about him. I’ve got to find out when Yakim and Larisa got back from their date. If I play this right, we can wrap this up by morning. Be a shame if I lose the chance to make out with the cute maid, but maybe I can guilt Paz into putting his sweet body to good use.

While thinking about the case, he was also marveling at Roman’s offer. The stable master was getting Brynn to cover up his involvement in Lord Pankov’s murder and in return he’d get Brynn to do extra work for him. To be fair, he was being friendly and giving a promising lad a chance to work with his beloved horses. Brynn just had to look around the stable to see the horses were well tended and cared for. So, “Oh boy, really? You bet. Thanks Mr.– Thank you Roman Ivanov.”

With a smile, the man handed him the book and watched as Brynn ran back to the house.

- ♇ -

At the staff dinner that night Brynn tried to identify Lady Pankov’s maid. Not that he got to eat with them, no. Kitchen staff had their own supper apart from those who tended the family. It wasn’t enough that they were servants, they had to make their own rank structure beneath it. He never got over the ways people came up with to act crazy.

He guessed which was Larisa and got Tamara to confirm by pointing. She was a nice looking woman, average height, with brown hair down to her shoulders. She had thick legs, but was otherwise trim. Her hair had a slight curl and she had an unfortunately large nose. If she put some effort into it, she’d be very pretty. Brynn figured she tried to look plain since she was Lady Pankov’s maid. Anything to make the fat old broad look better by comparison.

The poor woman was isolated even when surrounded by the staff. No one was rude, but they didn’t speak to her either. The only exception was the man sitting next to her, a tall blond man with dark, prominent eyebrows.

Her friendly neighbor was Gennady Pavelov, Lord Boris’s valet. He stuck by Larisa out of a sense of solidarity. As personal servants, he and Larisa were dressed in black; not just wearing a black armband like everyone else. Gennady’s brown valet’s kit stood out against his otherwise mournful color, always prepared for any sewing emergencies.

When the house staff finished eating, the kitchen staff would clear the table and set up their own supper. After they ate, Brynn would be busy cleaning the pots and pans until he went to sleep. The brief interval between dinners was his only free time and the only chance he’d have to corner Larisa.

If she’s the killer, I should be careful. But if not, maybe she can clear or convict the valet. I don’t want to be a target– well, not without Paz playing backup. Probably best to do the oblivious little kid routine and hope I don’t get Roman in too much trouble.

“Psst, Brynn,” Tamara whispered as she passed by.

He nodded to her.

“See that footman over there, Sergey?” He looked over at the young man and nodded, his stomach sinking to the ground.

“Don’t let him talk to me after service, OK?” She put her hand gently on his arm, friendly and even a little flirty. “Get in his way or something when I carry off the plates.”

“OK, sure,” he said with a friendly nod.

Damn, she’s playing hard to get with tall and blond there. Face it, she wasn’t really interested in me anyway. She might still help on the case even if there’s no chance of… Damn it, he thought with as little bitterness as he could manage.

He had two people to deal with and only a few moments time. The challenge made it fun and almost made up for having to help Tamara with her romantic games. He saw the answer in a flash and he knew it would work.

When the butler indicated supper was over, everyone stood. He joined the rest of the kitchen staff and started picking up the plates. As soon as the footman moved to corner Tomo, Brynn scooted over to grab his mug.

“Hey, kid,” the footman grumped with a minor push, “I’m not done with that.”

Yeah, the steam rising off the coffee didn’t give that away already. “I thought we were supposed to clear everything now,” he complained back.

“Leave the coffee alone until we’re done,” the footman snapped. He spoke just a little too loudly. Brynn counted on it, with the boy overeager to spend more time with the cute kitchen maid. Sadly for him he spoke loudly enough to earn the attention of the formidable Mrs. Nesterov, who burst out of the kitchen to confront him.

“Sergei,” she yelled at him, “did you get promoted to cook and no one told me? Footmen do not instruct kitchen staff. Footmen don’t instruct anyone. You are a footman, so you do not instruct anyone. If you have a problem, you come to me, do you understand?”

Lord Boris’s valet, Gennady, stood up and took a step towards the budding row, only to think better of it and sit back down. Brynn could see similarities; the two had the same chin and the same hair. He wondered if they were brothers or cousins, but his little distraction wouldn’t buy him enough time to look into that.

Brynn’s turn was coming. Mrs. Nesterov would chew him out for his “mistake” once she finished ripping apart the unfortunate footman. That gave Brynn a few minutes to slip away with a briefly muttered apology and talk to the lady’s maid.

“May I speak with you for a moment, Miss Schuykov,” he asked quietly and a little shyly.

The woman looked down at him with an indulgent smile. “You’re new here, aren’t you? I can spare you a few moments, young man.”

He stepped into the cupboard for a bit of privacy. Larisa shook her head but smiled and stepped in with him. “This isn’t–”

“I need your help,” Brynn interrupted, “returning this to the library.” He showed her the poetry book he’d gotten from the stables.

Her smile vanished in an instant. “Where did you get that?” she said in a fierce whisper.

“From the stables. Mr. Zefirov had it. He asked me to bring it back to the library and told me to keep it a secret. But I don’t know where the library is. Then I thought that you already know Mr. Laskutin borrowed this. It’s not telling a secret if you tell someone who already knows, right? You could get to the library and return it and I can tell Mr. Zefirov it’s done.”

That should cover him. A story like that from an adult would make her suspicious, but she bought it from Brynn. It paid off in spades as she started reminiscing, assuming a boy wouldn’t follow.

“It was a mistake,” she said quietly. “Lady Pankov lets me ride, but going out that late, and bringing Yakim, was wrong. I shouldn’t have… And when I think what he was planning while we were together…”

She was misty eyed, looking at her memories rather than the cupboard walls. Brynn questioned, “But if you were out late, then he couldn’t have done it, right?”

She snapped back from her reverie, which isn’t what he wanted. She also appeared hopeful, which wasn’t as good as misty but better than the alternatives. “Do you think? No, no, no. We got back a bit after midnight. He could have– done it any time before morning.” Her eyes tightened with tears or anger, and her voice rose above a whisper as she said, “He might have gone to the room right after we got back. He must have been planning it the whole time.”

“Was he tired that day? If he was out with you, and then had to– do that to Lord Pankov,” he purposely avoided specifying what Yakim did, “he couldn’t have gotten much sleep. He’d have been out of it the next day.”

That brought a smile to her face, a bit dreamy. “That would be nice to think, wouldn’t it? I don’t know though, we were all out of sorts that day, I don’t know if anyone would be able to tell if he was acting off. It wasn’t a normal day for any of us. No,” she turned suddenly, “he was just using me. He wanted cover or access or something. It wasn’t what I– It was just a way to get some cover.”

She could be lying, Brynn considered briefly. But if she’s not, her story helps Yakim more than it hurts him. She didn’t cover for him, after all, and going out on a date right before committing murder is a pretty dumb plan. Not that I haven’t seen plenty of dumb plans, but still…

“So you didn’t tell anyone? The police?”

“Hush, child,” she went back to a whisper. “Of course not, and you’d better not either. That’s not why Her Ladyship gave me permission to ride, and she would not thank me for casting doubt on the case. Yakim did it and he can suffer for it.” There was venom in her voice, and Brynn knew he was done for now.

“Right. Excuse me,” he said with a start while he pretended to remember his courtesies. “Thank you for your time, Miss Schuykov, and for your help returning the book.”

That brought her back to smiling. “You’re a good lad, Brynn. You’ll go far here, I think.” She gave him a pat on the head while she left.

I wonder if she’s lying. Did she do it and try to cast the blame on Yakim? Not the best theory there. She didn’t have to do anything to cast blame on him, so her efforts were pretty useless. Maybe a backup plan that wasn’t needed? Well, at least I’ve got some doubt on Yakim being the killer. Now, if I can just get to tell Paz before he finds out something. I’ll be winning.

With some dread, Brynn went back to have supper with the kitchen staff and to receive the telling off he was sure to receive from Mrs. Nesterov. She was waiting for him.

Murder investigations shouldn’t go like this. Pascal Hunter is possessing the lovely body of Simza Gray. She hopes to solve the case before the woman’s thoughts and feelings completely overwhelm her. Some of those feelings are towards her new fiance. The rest of the family, and their staff, resent her presence. She is hoping her partner, the eternal ten-year-old Brynn, has better luck than she has had.

A feather bed was one of the things Pascal liked about this mission. It almost made up for having to possess Simza and become a woman. If she were honest with herself, there were many things she liked. A life of luxury carries with it, well, luxury. People with the money to do so made life comfortable. It shouldn’t surprise her that she found it surprisingly comfortable.

At this moment, the feather bed was what she liked.

She sank into it, feeling her body relax in the soft and gentle mattress as it supported her curves. Her head rested lightly on the pillows, every movement or twitch only putting her more at ease.

She knew she was dreaming when she stepped into the Green Goose. Her first clue was that she was in her old body. She was him. Next, the crown molding around the common room was a bit more intricate than it had ever been in reality, where he wasn’t entirely sure whether or not they had any. Finally, while Holly generally dressed nicely and a touch sexily, for work, he was pretty sure he’d never seen her behind the bar in a full length ball gown.

“Evening Holly,” he greeted her. “Nice dress tonight. Hit me up with a shot of bourbon.”

“Sure thing boss,” she answered chirpily. “I like your dress too.”

He was wearing a black dress with matching black shoes and scarf. Clearly he was still in mourning. At first he wondered why no one other than Holly had commented on his dress until he remembered there was no one else here at the Goose other than the two of them.

A wagon rolled into the inn, pulled by a team of oxen. Two other wagons appeared while he tied the oxen to a tree that he didn’t remember planting in the common room. A troupe of people in brightly colored clothing piled out and began setting up a stage near the fire pit.

He wanted to tell them that fire wouldn’t burn in the Goose but realized it was too late to tell them since they already had it burning. Instead, he decided to help by setting up the rope walk while Holly flirted outrageously with some of the men and served them drinks. Paz found himself hoping the men wouldn’t be too drunk to pick some pockets when the show started. They could use the extra cash.

A crowd gathered while they set up and the brightly garbed women smiled and flirted and twirled their hips to ensure the crowd would be as large as possible when night fell. Paz was working with the women and wearing a dress, but his dress was black and he was a man, so he decided not to join the women in that particular task.

An old woman with bright purple nails and a checked green and blue shawl tapped him on the shoulder.

“Yes,” he answered as he spun around. The old woman had Simza’s face but was much older.

“The man will be here again tonight.”

“Many men will be here tonight,” he answered.

The old woman hissed at him. “Do not play the girl with me, Simza Hunter. The man has followed you through three shows. He wants you and you must get the best price you can when he buys you.”

The door to the back room opened. Instead of the restaurant, one of the lavish halls of Nuvye Park was attached to the Green Goose. The iron lamps along the wall were glowing brightly, reflecting off the paneling and molding beneath them. The dark cherry door of Old Lord Pankov’s office, locked during mourning, cracked open. Andrei peaked out, looked around, and exited. Straightening up, he walked into the Green Goose to join them by the fire.

Andrei Pankov looked taller without his brother standing next to him. He was more attractive for being a bit messy, with a tear on his right sleeve and his light brown hair mussed in front. Holly served him drinks and he kissed her hand. Paz felt a surge of jealousy. No, not jealousy. It was possessiveness. Either way, it was inappropriate. He watched Andrei take a seat on a log bench that was wildly out of place in the Goose’s common room.

A lovely young girl in shockingly high heels and a bright red and blue peasant dress with a long cut on the side started dancing for him. Her hips swayed in time to the drumbeats. It looked like she was dancing for the crowd, but her eyes always went to Andrei, and she always showed a bit more leg in front of him.

Paz didn’t feel jealous or possessive this time. The woman dancing was him. It was Simza, who was him, or her. He was watching and she was dancing. He decided it was something that could only make sense in a dream, but he was dreaming, so it must make sense. That satisfied him and her.

The show was over. The Sun had set, and the dim light streaming through the Green Goose’s windows went dark. Purses had been cut and pockets had been picked, but for now the marks were none the wiser. A few guests, none of them marks, remained while they packed and danced the dances they didn’t do for strangers.

“I cannot believe my good fortune in meeting you, Pascal Gray,” Andrei whispered to the girl sitting so close by his side she was nearly in his lap. Pascal stood behind them, listening in, but the boy was so besotted he didn’t notice the strange man in a dress standing behind him.

“The fortune is mine, Andrei,” the girl whispered back. “My family approves of you, and they are very picky. I worried they would not, and I would have to abandon them to run away with you.” She laughed gaily and enchantingly.

“I would never have you leave them,” the young man answered with grave seriousness. He turned around and faced Pascal. “Since that day your brother taught me to recognize when I’m being cheated at cards,” he said with a bitter laugh, “you have turned my whole life around. I would not be the man I am now without you, one who can face my family with pride. Simza Gray, I would make you my wife.”

The old woman with Simza’s face pulled him away from Andrei and Simza. “Now you see why you must leave, meddling spirit.”

“Then you know what I am?”

“Of course not, don’t be silly. I’m just a figment of your imagination, but these are the real Simza’s memories you see. Her family’s fortune depends on this marriage. She’ll not let you ruin it, even if she must destroy you in the process.”

“I only need her for a short time, to solve a mystery for Sofiya. Surely the good will that earns is worth the inconvenience.”

“Only if the good will were to go to her, but Sofiya knows who she hired. Try again, spook.”

“The rest of the family does not know, nor do the servants. Saving a beloved valet will surely earn her their affections.”

“Only if you do not drive away Andrei.”

“I will work on that, and try to solve the case quickly.”

“Then we give you time. But not much. Try to free the valet. But see to it that you do not destroy my Simza’s life in the process,” the old woman said.

“I don’t understand,” Pascal responded.

“Don’t pull that with me,” the old woman responded with irritation. “I told you that you’re dreaming. If you didn’t understand, I wouldn’t have said anything. You don’t want to believe it, but you do understand.”

Pascal awoke with a start, sitting upright in her bed. The light from the lamps was just barely visible under the masking cloth. She recited the dream to herself so she’d remember it, and then drifted back to sleep.

- ♇ -

Only two more days of mourning, Pascal thought as she let the maid fasten her black dress of the day. The lack of color bothered her more than the dress itself. It was a side effect of possession. Her dream had made it worse. Even inside, she was confusing herself with Simza. It was, after all, Simza’s body and brain, there was no way to avoid it influencing her. She had to make an effort to hold on to her real self.

I am Pascal Hunter. I’m borrowing this body while investigating a murder.

And that was her latest problem. She and her body had different priorities. As a detective, she knew that Andrei was a suspect. In her dream she had seen Andrei sneak out of Lord Pankov’s private office. She wasn’t entirely sure whether that was real or not, but had to treat it as a real memory for the moment. Combined with the butler’s offhand comment that Andrei had been out late the night before the murder, she had to investigate him and learn more. Her body, heart and brain, told her to ignore that. She wanted to apologize for upsetting him and win him back.

At the breakfast table, she said good morning and greeted Andrei by touching her hand to his cheek. She was not quite ready to kiss him, though with his mother at the table that would probably be out of line anyway.

“You’re in a much better mood this morning,” he said with a smile.

“Start the day off with a smile, you can stay that way the rest of the day,” she answered back cheerfully.

Sofiya lifted an eyebrow suspiciously. “I’ll start the day off with a smile when I can do something with my hair again,” she replied, watching Pascal like a hawk while waiting for her response.

“Oh, not me,” Paz responded with exaggerated innocence, “We are still mourning your father and must approach that duty with solemnity. I’m not at all looking forward to getting back into bright reds, cheery greens, and stunning yellows.”

That brought welcome chuckles from Boris and Andrei, a fair trade for the disapproving glare from Lady Pankov. “That will be quite enough of that, girls,” she glowered. Sofiya and Pascal both managed to look ashamed.

They were spared more lectures as the footmen brought up breakfast. There was a bright green chili sauce to go on their soft boiled eggs, accompanied by fried tomatoes and sausage with a fresh brown mustard. They had more of that extremely strong coffee. Much though she loved black coffee, she had to cut theirs with cream. She wondered briefly if that was due to her body’s tastes or the coffee’s strength. It didn’t matter. She remembered to control herself and eat more slowly and daintily, sipping at her coffee throughout the meal.

She had to stop herself from scratching her arms. It was probably while riding to meet Sofiya, but she’d gotten some insect bites that weren’t going away. She was worried that her body had allergies, but she didn’t have a good way to find out other than dipping even further into her host’s memories.

I am Pascal Hunter. I will stay Pascal Hunter.

They briefly discussed some of the outlying farms, but the main topic of conversation was Boris’s upcoming Assumption. Lady Pankov was handling the arrangements.

“It would have been so much simpler to let Mr. Chernov handle all the paperwork. With that young Jew taking over the office I have to check everything myself. I wouldn’t put it past him to make a mistake on purpose, and you know how picky they can be at the Arrondissment.”

“Mother,” Sofiya interrupted, “do we still have the Bishop lined up to perform the ceremony?”

Lady Pankov grimaced in confusion. “You know we do. He promised during the funeral. When we return we’ll get an archbishop for the full–”

“Yes, of course. I was just looking forward to seeing him again,” she said quickly.

Pascal carefully kept her face neutral even though she understood exactly what was going on. Sofiya was the only person at the table who knew she was an outsider. Wherever they went when they were not connected to Fall of Night, that’s where their real government existed. Brodjach was huge, but it sounded like this other shard was even larger.

They discussed their plans for the day. Andrei was going to be overseeing some irrigation repairs while Boris would be at one of the outer farms looking into reports of wolves. She and Sofiya were free from any duties.

“I must say,” said Andrei, “that canceling all entertainment during mourning may be unpleasant, but we do get an awful lot more done.” He managed a mournful smile while saying that.

Boris gave him a steady gaze in return. Paz was sure they both knew what they were talking about, but they avoided mentioning it in their mother’s presence. She hoped it was something innocent, but feared otherwise. Just like in her dream, she found Andrei more attractive when he was a little impish.

Boris grabbed his valet, a handsome blond man named Gennady, as soon as he finished breakfast. The young man removed Boris’s jacket and took some supplies out of his kit to clean whatever stain had gotten on it. Pascal was glad for the distraction, as it let her get Andrei’s attention.

“Have you got a few moments, Andrei?” she asked as sweetly as she could.

“For you, kitten, always.” It was amazing what a little charm could do. Andrei was in a much better mood than he’d been the last two days. They went to the library together.

This was going to be difficult for her. The job and her body’s instincts were in conflict. She had to question Andrei without angering him. She gripped his hand tightly, looked up into his eyes, and said sadly, “I do not mean to upset you, my dear Andrei, but please let me ask you more about your father.”

He tried to pull away from her, but she kept her hands on his. “You are going to make Mother angry and– No, that’s not fair. You’ve been spending time with Sonya, haven’t you?”

She didn’t answer, just kept staring at him.

“Well, that’s good, I guess. My sister is– Well, I’m glad of it. Go ahead and ask me what you will.”

“What does your father keep in his office?”

This time he did pull away, jerking his hands back and tightening his mouth. “What? I don’t see how– What does that have to do with anything?”

“Perhaps nothing,” she answered, “but it’s been locked while we’ve been mourning. The inspector didn’t go in there and I’m sure you’ve been there with your father…”

“Oh, yes. Certainly. He has–” She could see the guilt in his eyes. Her memory was real. “Books and records of the various farms, all the tenancy agreements. A writing desk and accounts. It’s all business for him in there. Part of his India collection, for decoration, but nothing of value.”

“Oh,” she said with evident sadness. “I guess it’s not important then.” She reached up and put her hand on his neck, drew him in for a hug. “Thanks for telling me.” He’d told her more than he realized.

He smiled again and kissed her before leaving for the day’s work. She let him and managed not to flinch.

As Andrei exited the room, the butler entered. He held up a finger, asking her quietly to wait. When Andrei was out of sight, he stepped in close to her and said, “You would be well advised to drop this, Miss Gray. Lady Pankov will not extend the same leeway to you that she does to her daughter.”

He towered above her, staring down at the top of her head. Though he was smaller than the Carrabach back in Fall of Night, Paz was smaller now too, and the effect was similar.

She knew the butler overheard her and decided not to try bluffing her way through. “Some one did it,” she answered back with spirit. ”If it wasn’t Yakim then it was someone else. And if that’s the case, he’ll get away with it unless we stop him.”

She’d never seen someone harrumph before. It was just an expression. But Feodor Illyitch had it down pat. There was no other description that would fit. Starting from the curled lip and nose, and extending to the shaking head and forward shoulders, it was the perfect, literal harrumph.

“Romany justice is not practiced here,” he pronounced with finality.

“Tell me what happened that morning anyway,” she insisted.

“Yakim Sergeyin brought me to the room. I woke Lord Boris and brought him to see his father. I sent Yakim to get Lady Pankov, but she would not wake up. While I contacted the gendarmes, Yakim woke Lord Andrei and Lord Boris stayed with his father. Does that tell you anything new?” he asked archly.

“You told me once that Andrei was out late the night before?”

The butler scowled. He looked down that long nose and said, “Lord Boris’s valet, Gennady Pavelov, informed me of that some days later. The mirror alerted him to Lord Andrei’s return in the small of the morning. His bed was unused and the master was still dressed but he did not call for help and Gennady returned to sleep.” He silently indicated his displeasure at not sending help regardless of the hour, but did not elaborate further.

This time she knew what to say.

“I do not think Yakim Seregyin did it. We both know it was not Andrei. I will find out what he was doing, Feodor Illyitch, and show you it could not have been him. Then Sonya and I will find out who did it and get vengeance for Lord Pankov. He deserves it.”

With a shake of his head, the butler just muttered, “Most unladylike.”

But he smiled slightly as he left.

- ♇ -

The morning was already hot and muggy with clouds piling up for a big show in the afternoon. Brynn ran lightly through the grass to the stables. He was running from work in the kitchen to work with the horses, but at least he was working outside. That had to be worth something.

Roman had convinced Mrs. Nesterov that hard work made little boys more docile, so she consented to letting Brynn work in the stables each morning instead of cleaning up for lunch. Brynn wasn’t sure whether he’d gotten the best of that deal or not.

The stable master was happy to see him, at least. It always feels good to see a welcome smile even if it’s just in advance of hard work. A groom was checking a black stallion’s hooves while a pair of broad draft horses watched with great interest from nearby stalls. Roman tossed him an apple before setting him to his tasks.

“Let’s get you started,” Roman ordered with a smile. “Bring in the hay from outside. A bale for each stall.”

Those things weigh almost as much as me. Is he kidding? I wonder how hard I should try before asking for help. Is that the idea? See how hard the kid’ll work before giving up.

He struggled to pick up one of the bales. He could just get it off the ground, but it was too big for him to walk with it.

The groom saw his trouble and yelled over to him, “Swing it on your back.”

He did, and it worked. It was still heavy, and he’d have to struggle to do them all, but it worked. Roman smiled at his groom.

That son of a bitch. He’s not testing me, he’s testing his older guys. They need to help out and train the younger kids and do it nicely. I might have to watch myself. He’s smart.

Brynn was starting to like Roman. Like Mrs. Nesterov, he was the undisputed master of his domain. But he ran things with a lighter touch and a bit of humor.

When Brynn heard a voice he recognized, he peaked out of the stalls.

“Roman Ivanov?” a lilting voice called out.

It’s Pascal. Wonder why he’s looking for Roman. If he doesn’t know I’m here, I can have a little fun with him. I should tell him he looks cute in a dress, or maybe go the other way and say he needs beauty tips from Holly. Darn it all but that’s a nice body he’s got, wonder if he’d be willing to have a little fun before giving it up.

“Yes, miss– Oh, it’s you,” he snarled. Brynn hadn’t seen that expression on Roman’s face before. It wasn’t just distaste, it was active hatred.

“I’d like to ask you some questions about the night Poppa Pankov was killed,” Paz replied. Brynn could tell he’d seen Roman’s reaction, but chose to ignore it.

Roman turned away and went back to prying a stone from a hoof.

“I asked if–”

“Heard you the first time,” Roman interrupted. “You can ask regardless of what I say, so didn’t seem any point in answering.”

Brynn thought he had Roman figured out. He might hate Pascal but he would step through broken glass before he set a bad example for a child. It was time to give his partner a helping hand. Brynn jumped around the corner. “Good morning, Miss Gray. Do you need a horse saddled? Mr. Zefirov, can I saddle a horse?”

Brynn watched the two men react to his appearance. Pascal was surprised but hid it quickly and well. That fast uptake was one of the things Brynn appreciated in his partner. Roman showed less surprise but didn’t hide it at all. He’d forgotten Brynn was there.

“No, Brynn, Miss Gray doesn’t need a horse right now, she just has some questions. You get back to changing the feed, and maybe you can walk her back to the house when you’re done.” Roman controlled his voice, trying to be nice, just as Brynn intended.

“Good to see you again Brynn,” Paz lilted with a smile. “I didn’t know you were working out here, but I’d love to have an escort back to the house.”

Good for him, he can see it. Roman likes me, so if he’s nice to me, Roman likes him a little more. Give him another century or two and he might be nearly as smart as me.

“What was it you wanted, Miss Gray?” Roman asked while continuing to work with the horse.

“The night before Poppa died,” she began while scratching her arm. “Did Andrei come out this way? Did he take a horse?”

Don’t be so blunt next time, you bloody fool. Roman expects you to act all ladylike and helpless. Wait? The younger son too? And Larisa, and Yakim? Was anyone in the house to kill off the old guy?

Roman looked up from the horse with a jerk of his head. “Now I know he hasn’t told anyone and I haven’t either. How did you come to know that, ma’am?”

Unfortunately, Brynn had to fetch another bale of hay to keep up appearances and he missed the next stretch of conversation. He could still see them. Roman stood up and led Pascal back deeper into the stables. His partner tripped slightly on his heels, to Brynn’s amusement, but quickly recovered. He had a bit of a sway to his hips. The shoes must make him walk like a lady.

When Brynn finally got back in earshot, he heard Roman telling Paz, “– poachers. He’d been going out after them twice a week, taking it as serious as I ever seen the old man do. Wanted to surprise Lord Pankov with a finished job. Of course I helped him out.”

“But he had to bring his pistols. Was it that dangerous? What if they fought back?”

Paz sounds like he’s really concerned. Good acting on his part. The gasp and hand over mouth really makes him look scared. Great way to get sympathy, partner.

“Lord Andrei’s a good rider, he always was. He could get away from any poachers. As it happens they never got the chance to fight back when he caught them. He shot one and the others run off and haven’t been back. Might be you know the one he shot,” Roman spat with venom, “He was Romany.”

Pascal stopped and looked around a little, like he was lost. Time for Brynn to ride to the rescue again.

“What’s a Romany, Mr. Zefirov?”

“You shouldn’t be eavesdropping, boy,” he snarled. Then he caught himself, relaxed, and said, “Romany is another word for gypsy. If you don’t have them in Fall of Night, you’re lucky.”

Wonder what he’s got against gypsies. They’ve been fun every time I’ve seen them. Wait a second, Simza’s a gypsy name. Pascal’s a gypsy. Cool. I wonder if he can read my palm. Maybe I can get him to read some other part of me.

“So the poachers were Romany,” Pascal came back. “If they’re poaching from these grounds, they’re no friends of mine.”

Roman glowered at her, “Is that it?”

“One thing more. When did Andrei get back?”

“Was a late night. Two, maybe three in the morning.”

Paz thanked Roman and stepped outside to wait while Brynn finished up. Roman warned Brynn to be careful and bring her back to the house.

He and Paz traded information on the way back.

“So the lovers got back a bit after midnight,” Brynn summarized. “And your squeeze gets back a few hours later. Either of the lovers had plenty of time to kill, but since the maid set up the date it pretty much takes the valet off the hook. Going out on a date’s not a good warm up for murder. The maid would be a better suspect if she got any advantage from using Yakim, but I don’t see it. Your honey gets back a bit too late to be in the lead but it’s still possible. If he was out hunting poachers, he probably didn’t have much control of his schedule. It would be bad planning

So we’ve got three suspects and don’t like any of them.”

“Sounds like you’ve gotten ahead of me on actually clearing Yakim. We can’t eliminate him, but you’ve raised real doubts,” Paz admitted ruefully.

“Darn straight.” With a leer, he added, “Maybe we can change the bet for who makes the best progress. Give me a peak before you give up that sweet body?”

Paz drew back, offended. “Don’t even joke about that.”

That’s odd. He’s usually fine with my dirty jokes. What’s happening inside that sweet little head of yours, partner?

Brynn thought about it in silence as they walked back to the house.

- ♇ -

Just as he’d expected, the heavens opened up into a massive thunderstorm in the afternoon. Brynn had to add mopping up puddles by the door to his duties scrubbing pots.

His work in the stables, while tiring, was more interesting. The drudgery of the kitchens was wearing on him. The high point of the day was finally getting to contact Pascal and trade information.

The poor guy has to investigate his fiance for murder. I can just picture the interrogation now. Rub that sweet body against him to get him in the mood, then whisper sweetly in his ear, “And what were you doing on the night of the murder?”

From there he let his imagination have free reign. The endless toil got a little more fun.

CLANG

Mrs. Nesterov banged a pot on the counter next to Brynn, making him nearly jump out of his skin. “Don’t use a wire brush on copper, boy,” she shouted at him.

The kitchen came to a halt as everyone turned to stare at the confrontation. This could be the evening’s entertainment. He knew the right response, the only response. He bowed his head, “Sorry, Mrs. Nesterov.”

If I grab the pot with enthusiasm and toss it in the soapy water, I can get us both soaked, he thought. Despite the temptation, he didn’t.

A few moments later Tamara idled over to him and whispered, “Don’t take it too hard, Brynn. She’s been like that all morning. You were lucky to miss it.”

With a nod and a glance to be sure Mrs. Nesterov’s attention was elsewhere he whispered back, “So what’s eating her?”

She leaned in so they wouldn’t be overheard. Brynn spared a vain hope that she wanted to get close to him. At least he could pretend while the cute girl whispered in his ear. “You know Lord Andrei’s intended, the gypsy? Well, Gennady Pavelov, that’s Sergey’s brother, is Lord Boris’s valet, and he says she’s been stirring up trouble over Lord Pankov and really upsetting everyone.”

That’s not fair. I’m the one figuring things out. If anyone should be upsetting people it’s me.

“So why is Mrs. Nesterov upset?” Brynn whispered back, enjoying putting his mouth close to her ear and pretending he was doing more. “I thought she liked Mr. Laskutin.”

“Hsh,” she hissed, turning away suddenly and going back to her work with a feigned air of angelic innocence. While no one was fooled by her act, least of all the martinet cook, she let it pass in favor of getting started on dinner service.

That was all he did for the next few hours. He scrubbed pots and pans until they shone, cleaned glass until it was all but invisible, and washed plates until– well, until you could eat off them.

When he finally got a break Tamara grabbed his arm, “Come with me. I’m going to meet Sergey by the smoke house and I need you there.”

She didn’t wait for him to answer before dragging him off. He wound up tromping through the rain to the small wooden building where they smoked meats. The smell made his mouth water as soon as he got close to it. Pastrami, ham hocks, salmon, beef, and who knew what else were hanging inside the hut while a low smoky fire was kept burning round the clock. The tall teen-aged footman was waiting for them under the eaves and out of the rain.

“Hi there Tomo,” he greeted them. “Is this your chaperon?” he asked as he bent down slightly to greet Brynn.

Brynn didn’t know it was possible, but he managed to hate Sergei even more.

“Brynn had a break the same time I did,” Tamara replied with a negligent toss of her head. “So we just decided to come out here together. Nothing more.”

Tease.

She meant to tease Sergei and was getting Brynn for free. What a deal.

“Your brother’s got Mrs. Nesterov in a mood,” Tamara needled. “So tell us what’s been happening. If we’re going to suffer for it, we might as well get in on the good stuff.”

Sergei put his hand to his chin and acted like he was thinking it over until Tamara finally got impatient and shoved him. Brynn was impressed. Sergei knew Tamara was playing with him, and he could play back. It would make it harder for Brynn to make his move. There was no way he was going to let the opportunity slip.

“First off,” Sergei started with a slow drawl, “we aren’t going to have to answer to the gypsy lady for much longer. Lady Pankov is furious with her and she’ll get Lord Boris to revoke the old man’s blessing as soon as he’s sworn in.”

Too bad for Pascal. Hope he got some nookie in first. How many opportunities like that do you get? Hey, if he’s not engaged any more, maybe he’ll give me a shot at him before he gives up that bod. Sweet.

“Too bad for Lord Andrei,” Tamara said in return. “He seemed so happy with her.”

“I guess,” sulked Sergei, who’d clearly expected a more cheerful response. “He used to be pretty wild I hear. There was a heck of a stink when he came back with a lot of gambling debts to pay off anyway.”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Brynn, “but Mr. Laskutin? The murder?”

“Eager little fellow, aren’t you?” The footman looked down at Brynn and rubbed his hair affectionately. Brynn knew what he was doing. Being indulgent towards him made Sergei look older and better to Tamara. Brynn was annoyed he got used so easily. Still, case first, romance later. The teen only had looks, height, and age on Brynn. He didn’t have a chance.

“I got this from Zhenya,” he said. That was Gennady, Lord Boris’s valet. Since he was Sergei’s brother, the teen was allowed to use the familiar name. “But he saw Lady Pankov’s maid, Miss Schuykov, sneaking a book into the library. He checked and found out Mr. Laskutin borrowed it.

“Now, the way I see it, that makes her the killer. She must have brought Lady Pankov her sleeping draught the night of the murder but doubled the dose so she wouldn’t wake up. That gave her plenty of time to sneak in and kill Lord Pankov. She’d been stepping out with Mr. Laskutin so she could get into his room, plant the torn blanket, and take the book.”

That’s not too bad. The bit about the book doesn’t fit, but that was my doing. No need to tell him that, but maybe I can make him look stupid later. I wonder why Miss Schuykov would have done it. I might have to take another look at her.

“So why’s Mrs. Nesterov so angry about all this?” Tamara complained.

“Oh that. Zhenya told Mr. Menschikov about the book so he could tell Lady Pankov or Lord Boris. Mrs. Nesterov overheard the whole thing. But Mr. Menschikov stopped it cold. He told Zhenya not to repeat the story to anyone. So she’s angry about it since she wants to get Mr. Laskutin out of lockup and maybe put Miss Schuykov in.” Sergei was grinning like a madman. He liked gossiping and being the center of attention.

Tamara laughed cheerfully for the same reason. Brynn scowled.

He was annoyed. Doubly annoyed. He’d just watched his rival make time with the girl he wanted– and she didn’t even know Brynn was a rival. And the case got more complicated. He had to add another suspect to the list. What else could go wrong?

“Brynn.” They all heard the cook yelling from the kitchen. “Get back in here. These pans are still filthy.”

He should have known better than to even think that.

Murder investigations shouldn’t go like this. Pascal Hunter is possessing the lovely body of Simza Gray. She hopes to solve the case before the woman’s thoughts and feelings completely overwhelm her. Some of those feelings are towards her new fiance. The rest of the family, and their staff, resent her presence. She is hoping her partner, the eternal ten-year-old Brynn, has better luck than she has had.

PART FOUR

DARK TURNS

The pouring rain put paid to Pascal’s walk through the gardens. She walked around the inner courtyard instead so she could see the gardens without getting soaked. The afternoon walks were supposed to be part of her cover, a way to meet with Brynn. To her surprise, she found out she liked them.

At least the rains should keep the mosquitos down. She wasn’t sure if she’d gotten attacked in the stables or the gardens, but she needed to watch out. Her arms and chest itched and distracted her from thinking about what she’d learned. And she’d learned a lot by finally comparing notes with Brynn.

While they hadn’t yet met in the gardens, she finally did meet up with Brynn. He’d been busy and made excellent progress learning about the servants’ involvement in the murder. He’d found out more than she had about Yakim. It almost made up for his not-quite-as-subtle-as-he-thought leers.

Brynn did get her to laugh at her situation. “A dead mad engaged to a murderer. That’ll be a real killer wedding.”

Her partner could be annoying at times - all the time, really - but he never failed to find humor in his situation. She needed that.

Not that she could let him get in the last barb. She could see the fear in his eyes as they got closer to the kitchen and she took unjustified delight in it. When she heard the cook yelling for him, she needled, “You know, I think my glass had a spot on it this morning. Maybe I should have a word with her.”

Now on her own, she tried to work through the possibilities. The knew of three people out unusually late on the night of the murder. Of the three, Andrei was the least likely suspect. She was oddly cheered by that thought. He came back a bit too late to be the killer. It would also be surprising to hunt poachers right before a murder.

Yakim and Larisa had the timing, but going out on a date beforehand is a poor setup for a killing. By all accounts Larisa set up the outing, so Yakim was the less likely killer of the pair.

She’d pored over the information in her head again and again. Finally deciding she didn’t have enough to pin the crime on anyone, she turned to clearing Yakim. There was a piece of evidence she hadn’t seen yet. It was time.

Paz sought out the butler.

Feodor Illyitch, if you have a moment?” she asked.

“Of course, Miss Gray. I hope this does not concern the same matter as this morning,” he said gravely.

“Then you will be disappointed,” she answered with what she hoped was a disarming grin. A twitch of his eyebrow was her answer, but she’d take amusement over contempt any day.

“I would like to see the murder weapon,” she almost whispered. He had to lean over to hear her.

“What? There is no weapon.”

“The blanket. That’s the weapon in this case. The piece that was cut out too, if you have it.”

“Miss Gray, I do not know what has brought on this obsession between you and Lady Sofiya. I will not encourage it or–”

“It wasn’t Andrei,” she interrupted.

“Excuse me,” he huffed.

“He wasn’t in his room the night of the murders. But he wasn’t involved. He was hunting poachers on the grounds. Roman Ivanov can vouch for it. He went straight to his bed after stabling his horse. Too late to have done anything,” she continued speaking softly. It wasn’t strictly true. Andrei had just enough time, but misleading is not the same as lying. “That’s what you were worried about, wasn’t it?”

The butler looked like he’d swallowed a lemon whole. He screwed up his face, finally relaxed and breathed out. “Of course not Miss Gray, of course not. There was never any question at all. I don’t understand what you hope to gain by seeing Lord Pankov’s blanket, but we have kept it, of course. Our gendarmes are fully satisfied, but the authorities in Katerinaburg will want to review their findings.”

Pascal took note of that, she had the name of a city where they went. The Carrabach’s request had proven simple since everyone treated her as a native. They attached to another shard when they left Fall of Night. Since she hadn’t seen any equipment to harvest or dry tobacco, she assumed they bought it there. They kept their secret through isolation. Everyone was motivated to hide it through fear of an attack. Coming to Brodjach through Battlefield was almost poetic.

Without another word, the butler led her up the stairs to one of the towers. They were dark and cold with bare stone along the walls. The stairs were clean and dust free but largely undecorated. The towers may never have been used for defense, but they found another function. The large open areas intended to store weaponry and food for the tower watch were now storing seasonal furniture for the rest of the house.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the quilt and she could not hide her excitement. Mr. Menschikov watched her with worry, not fully aware of what he’d gotten into. He’d expected the girl to shrink back from the sight of the death cloth or to be disappointed with its very ordinariness. Instead he got a misplaced eagerness.

The quilt was thick and soft. The stitching was superb, the stuffing even and airy. It was done in blues and grays, alternating stripes that got darker on one side.

“The cut is down–” the butler started.

“One moment,” she interrupted, stepping back. “This is larger than the bed by quite a bit. How much of the quilt was tucked under the foot?”

Mr. Menschikov was openly surprised. For the first time, he was also impressed. “The top of the blanket is kept one foot from the headboard,” he responded evenly, and Paz was sure that he meant that to the inch. “With this blanket, the last two feet fold under the mattress.”

“This is straight and unwrinkled. Did you have it aired out after Lord Pankov died?”

The butler was impressed again. “No. We left it alone until the gendarmes arrived. They told us to store it until we get back home. We will, of course, destroy it after that unless the authorities decide to keep it for themselves. It will not be used again.”

She continued peering at the blanket but her gaze dropped to the bottom, where a piece had been cut.

“So, this corner would normally be folded under the foot of the bed?”

“Not as such, no,” he answered gruffly. “This would be at the side, hanging down. It was visible when Yakim brought me to the room in the morning. I’m embarrassed to admit I did not notice until the inspector pointed it out.”

She turned her head to look at the butler, “Did Yakim bring in anyone else before you?”

He shook his head. Of course not. I did not, at the time, suspect him of any harm.”

“Nor should you have,” she responded. “Did you look closely at the cut?”

He drew closer, almost touching her as he leaned over her shoulder to look at the roughly square piece cut from the cloth. “It looks just like it did earlier.”

Paz smiled, “How was it cut? Look at the hanging threads, pulled here at the edge. Look at the corner of the cut, rounded.”

“Yes?” he asked, clearly puzzled.

“This was cut with a knife, a hunting knife probably. From the corner, I’d say at least a six inch blade.”

The butler scrunched his eyes quizzically. “I see. Yes. But what does that–”

“Yakim was a valet, no? When Gennady was helping Boris this morning, he had a kit with him. It’s a leather pouch, about this big. I’ve never seen him without it. Now, I assume that Yakim had a similar kit on him. He wouldn’t have a big knife in his kit. But he would have a good, sharp pair of scissors. Wouldn’t that be true for Yakim as well?”

His eyes widened in revelation. “It would. He would have made a much cleaner cut.” He paused. “Unless he were trying to disguise who did it.”

Paz waved her hand dismissively, “True. This doesn’t prove he’s not the killer. It is evidence in his favor. It is, I would hope, reason to report to the police– the gendarmes.”

“Yes. Yes.” Growing in strength, “Yes it is. Miss Gray, thank you. I will inform Lord Boris and Lady Pankov this evening. I am certain they will write on his behalf, and perhaps he might be released from holding at least.” After a slightly awkward pause, he added, “If I might ask a favor, may I keep this a secret from the rest of staff? I do not wish to raise hopes prematurely; Yakim had many friends.”

“If you think that best, of course.”

“I hope we will be able to bring them better news soon, Miss Gray.” He looked her in the eyes, which involved looking down quite far, but this time it was friendly, “Lord Andrei was, I think, most fortunate to find you.”

- ♇ -

Pascal didn’t like fishing. She considered it the most mind-numbing sport she’d ever come across. Its only redeeming feature was that it was a good excuse to drink, but that’s not an issue when you own a bar. She developed her dislike of fishing before she’d encountered needlework. It had all the tedium without the side benefit. No drinking. Unless you count tea.

She didn’t.

Sofiya overheard Feodor Illyitch telling Boris that he had new evidence to present to the gendarmes, and she wanted to know what was going on. She gently but firmly suggested they find some time to get together. As a result, Pascal found herself in the sewing room trying to make her stitches resemble flowers more than colorful blotches. The only consolation she could take was that she largely avoided sticking herself with the needle.

“Boris refuses to write to the gendarmes,” Sofiya complained. “Fedya is convinced we could get Yakim out of prison, at least, but my brother won’t have any part of it. Mother backs him up– Ha, she probably told Boris his opinion. I told them it wasn’t Yakim from the beginning, and now Boris will let him rot in prison just to spite me.” The woman was bitter.

“No,” Pascal responded. “That’s not fair to Boris. We’ve gotten a reason to question Yakim’s guilt, not enough to clear him. He probably would have cut the blanket with his scissors rather than a knife, but that’s just not proof. Oh, I’m sure the gendarmes would release him if your brother asked them to, but I can’t fault him for not doing it. I’m not entirely sold either.”

Her bug bites had gotten worse overnight and she had to hold herself back from scratching in front of Sofiya. She had to stop reviewing the case to ask, “I’m sorry, do you know if Simza is allergic to anything? I’ve been developing a terrible rash.”

While she was not happy with the change of subject, Sofiya had enough concern to answer “We have a doctor on staff, Dr. Rogov. You should see him. Andrei never mentioned it if you have any allergies, but he might know.” With a slight grin, she said, “You’ll need to watch out the day after tomorrow. We serve my father’s favorite dinner for the last time. It’s snake,” she grimaced. “If you’re allergic to anything, it’ll be that.”

Paz had eaten far worse, but still frowned in sympathy with Sofiya’s clear dislike. “I’ll watch out, thanks.”

“So you’re still not sure that Yakim is innocent,” Sofiya insisted, bringing things back to the case.

“No, I’m pretty sure. I think you were right, but I can’t prove it,” she said. “The timing is wrong. Yakim left the house that evening without knowing when he would be back. If it were a crime of passion I could still buy it, but this was too cold-blooded to leave it to chance.”

“What was Yakim doing outside the house?” Sofiya asked with genuine curiosity. This was the first she’d heard about it.

“I can’t tell you. I promised to keep that information secret,” she responded. Brynn had made the promise to Larisa, but Pascal regarded that as binding on her too. Of course, if Larisa was the killer, she’d throw those promises out in a second.

“I am paying you, Mr. Hunter,” Sofiya countered with anger. “I do not expect you to keep secrets from me.”

Putting her hand up firmly, Pascal answered, “First, Sonya, please remember my name even in private.” Sofiya’s face softened and she looked down. Pascal knew that was all the apology she’d get.

I am Pascal Hunter. Even if no one calls me that.

“Second, I got this information by promising to keep it quiet. I couldn’t bring it to the authorities because my source would deny it. Since Boris won’t write to them, there’s little point in pressuring my source to help free Yakim. Our best course of action is still to find the real killer.”

“And who might that be?”

“Right now, my best leads–” she said with some reluctance, but then stopped when one of the maids came in with more tea. Paz gave quick thanks for the lack of privacy in the house. There wasn’t much to tell. Even her best suspect, Larisa, was a weak case with far too many holes. In the end, she didn’t want to even admit she was checking up on Andrei. She could try to write it off as moral qualms, that she didn’t want to hurt Simza, but she felt the same reluctance herself.

“I’m afraid it will take quite a bit more practice before I can do this properly, Sonya,” she said while holding up her needlework for the maid’s benefit.

“Nonsense, you’re doing fine,” Sofiya answered and then laughed, “Well, you’ll get there.” The maid smiled gently but refrained from actually laughing at Pascal.

“Oh, is that Andrei over there?” Paz saw him through the door the maid opened.

“Yes, Miss Gray. He and Lord Boris had to go into town to refile some papers at the last minute with that Mr. Goldstein. It’s a terrible shame about Mr. Chernov, he’d have known what to do with all the legal papers.”

Pascal excused herself and went to talk to Andrei. Ever since he acted guilty when she mentioned Lord Pankov’s office, she had become fixated on her dream vision of Andrei leaving it. If it was real, she was afraid of what it might mean.

Andrei greeted her with a kiss. She was still uncomfortable kissing him, but she was getting better at accepting small endearments. He could tell something was wrong, but wasn’t sure what it was.

“Sonya and I were just talking about Yakim, Andrei,” she announced. “Do you think you could convince your brother to write to the gendarmes on his behalf?”

“I do not wish to talk about this, Simza.” Andrei scuffed his feet on the walkway and turned away from her. She didn’t like upsetting him, but it did keep him from getting suspicious when she failed to return his kisses.

“How long have you known your father’s valet?” she asked indignantly. “Now we have evidence he didn’t kill your father. You can’t just leave him to rot in jail. The best way to get him out is to find out who did it. I can’t believe you would let an innocent man take the blame.”

He turned to her with eyes and lips narrowed to dangerous slits. “This is not a fit subject for women.” With an effort he calmed himself, relaxing his face while she watched. “Forgive me, Simcha, that was rude of me. You did well to take what you found to Fedya, but you should not exert yourself further on this matter.” With a slight smile, he added, “I do not want you to turn my mother against you.”

“But Andrei,” she pleaded, “don’t you see? If it wasn’t Yakim it was someone else. He might be after your family. You and Boris may be in danger next. We should look through your father’s papers to see who might have a grudge against him. Did he keep them in his office?”

“How would I know? That was his private room. Why do you keep going on about his office?” Andrei was upset with her, but not so much that he overlooked her question. The whole argument over Yakim was just to put him off his guard for this question. It didn’t entirely work.

“Who has the keys?” she continued while deliberately ignoring his piercing looks. “Your mother, or Boris? Can you get us in?”

“No,” he snapped. “We are still in mourning until tomorrow and will not break the lock on his room. And before you get any more ideas, it will be Boris’s room after the ceremony, and neither of us will go in there.”

A private eye gets used to seeing liars, and Paz had seen more than her share. She’d had to deal with professionals, Andrei was an amateur in comparison. He thought outrage would cover him. Passion could cover deception but it was easy to see through if you knew what to look for. Getting so worked up let a lot of subtle cues slip. Andrei’s regular glances towards the office might as well have been a flashing neon sign saying “I did it.”

“Forgive me,” she said with contrition that was every bit as real as Andrei’s outrage. “I got too excited.”

She was sorry she’d asked. Andrei had to stay on the list of suspects. But he couldn’t be on that list for Simza’s sake. She was not sure what to do.

“Just stop, Simcha. This is not your problem. It is not our problem. You don’t know how much I had to go through with Father– We cannot turn my mother against us. After we are married, you could– No, my brother will lead the house, we will find our own home. Let it go.” Bitterness, anger, and regret mingled in his voice.

Andrei left and Pascal watched him go. For a moment she had been sure the break-in was important, but now she was not. Andrei’s anger wasn’t at her, but she didn’t know what it was about. She debated checking further. If he was involved, did she want to reveal it? It could damage Simza’s plans, but wouldn’t she be better off knowing if Andrei was a criminal?

She really didn’t like possessing people.

- ♇ -

Pascal was getting tired of wearing black. It was a definite warning sign that the possession was getting to her. Nonetheless it was true. She was dreadfully tired of black. Nothing but black.

On the other hand, there were times when that was an advantage. For instance, if you are going to break in to a locked office at night, black is definitely in fashion. Since she was still in mourning for one more day, she’d draw no attention if she was spotted.

It bothered her that she needed a reason. Simza was bleeding through her personality. Her strong desire to wear bright colors again was not her own, it came from the brain she had been using for the last week.

I am Pascal Hunter. I wear what’s useful.

Shadows deepened in the setting sun. The house lamps were not lit, though they soon would be. She’d chosen her time for just that reason. Feodor Illyitch would be seeing to the lights as she broke in. She could avoid the other servants but the butler had proved to be a better observer. If she thought he would leave Brodjach she’d consider hiring him on as a partner. Even if mostly to annoy Brynn.

But that would come later.

The butler had treated her more kindly since she tried to help Yakim. He’d smiled when she arrived for breakfast. It was just barely a smile but it was there. When the blond footman whispered something to his partner, the butler broke it right up. For all that, she knew he would not go so far as to actually disobey orders for her.

She shut the door behind her as quietly as she could, but the click was louder than she liked. Almost alone in the family quarters, Old Man Pankov’s office did not have a rug on the wood floor. She removed her shoes so she could move silently across the smooth floor. Her black stockings practically slid on the highly polished surface.

A thin coat of dust on the furnishings testified that this room had not been touched for two months. Boris would soon take over and claim the office for his own. This was Pascal’s last chance to see it as it was. She was not entirely sure whether she was looking for evidence of Andrei’s guilt or seeking a way to cover it up.

A large picture window gave her a magnificent view of the gardens. Being on the third floor provided some protection against being seen from outside but she could not take that for granted. She would have to be even more careful once the lights came on.

A dark desk with a fine ivory inlay on the surface depicting a three masted sailing ship dominated the room. There were only two chairs; a desk chair and a fine sitting chair with a foot rest. A three legged smoking table sat near the footstool. This was not a place to receive visitors, but a room for work.

Shelves on the wall held a small collection of books along with mother of pearl cutlery and a crossed pair of kukri knives. A small table beneath the shelves displayed an intricate bronze clock. The clock was stopped, which made sense if it had not been wound for two months.

There weren’t any mirrors. Lord Pankov didn’t expect to summon servants while he was in here, and did not want anyone watching him. One less thing for her to worry about.

The lights came on and she froze in place. She would have to be careful not to be silhouetted against the window. She still itched but had to restrain herself from scratching. Her rash had not gotten any better. She resolved to see the family doctor before Boris’s Assumption tomorrow.

The items on the desk were perfectly arranged just like they were in the old man’s bedroom. That was probably his doing, then, and not servants managing things for him. Two inkwells were lined up with each other, pens arranged neatly beneath them. Three piles of letters sat neatly stacked in the opposite corner. One pile was unopened, the second was opened, the third had responses. That last pile had been disturbed. The envelopes didn’t line up. Alone on the desk, it looked messy.

She looked but didn’t touch. Not yet.

A key hanger was mounted on the wall near the desk but it did not hold any keys. Four pegs, all empty.

Three of the desk drawers were locked. The main drawer was not locked so she checked it first. He kept writing paper there, neatly arranged as always. There was a straight razor with a scrimshaw handle depicting a whaling ship. She wondered briefly about the nautical theme between the razer and desk. Next to the razor were three pencils and a gum eraser. A steel letter opener with a jeweled handle was near the back of the drawer. She’d first thought he used the razor as his letter opener, but that made less sense now.

The locked drawers were next. She glanced at the clock and laughed very quietly. Clever, she thought. Lord Pankov must have had a reason to hide his keys. He knew or suspected someone would try to break in to his desk. He would still want the keys nearby for his own use. The clock was complex and intricate, just the place to hide small pieces of metal. If he knew what he was doing, he could hide them so anyone trying to get them would break the clock, thus leaving traces. It had that touch of artistry that she thought would appeal to him.

She’d never met Lord Pankov but was starting to like him. He was organized to a fault and more than a little bit anal. He loved art and tried to do it himself but never as more than an amateur. And he used that love of art to set up intricate puzzles with just a touch of whimsy. She suspected anyone who knew him well would see more good than bad. Simza had known him, but Pascal didn’t have any sense that she liked the old man. A pity, really.

With his cleverness and ingenuity, he would make a puzzle that would be fun to solve. Paz was tempted, truly tempted. In the end, she decided against it. She got into the office by picking the lock, and she was more than skilled enough to get into the desk drawers without keys. No need.

The locks gave up their secrets in no time at all to her skilled hands. She had a good lockpick back in Fall of Night, but she could do these with a simple pin. Her knowledge worked in concert with her body’s reflexes. This was not the first time Simza had picked a lock.

The first drawer contained a cash box. It had its own lock but it had been broken open. Scratches near the lock showed that someone had tried to pick it first, someone who didn’t know what he was doing. It had been forced open afterwords. She could see a fold in the box near the lock where it had been pried open. Though it was tempting to look inside, she suspected Lord Pankov set up a warning. All he’d need was a small linked mirror inside the case. She decided to leave it alone for now.

The next drawer had six stacks of finished correspondence. As expected, each stack was neatly arranged and alphabetized. Someone had been here before her. One stack was shorter than the others and the letters didn’t line up evenly. Whoever did this was sloppy, but it was clear something was missing.

The last drawer held the old man’s ledger. A single book, lying flat in the exact center of the drawer. She felt bad picking it up. His penmanship was excellent, florid strokes written precisely. She looked through the book. He’d detailed every letter received and every response delivered. The first entry was two years back.

“Returned to Fall of Night, 0.3” rainfall. Rec’d lettr V Radkovna, drafted and answered. Rec’d ordr Viceroy, drafted deferred answer, final at Chernov.”

She crept under the desk to read the volume without exposing herself to the window. Being shorter than normal, she didn’t have to fold up as much as she would have in her old body. Every entry was like the first. He noted the weather, any correspondence, and all his tobacco trades with merchants in Fall of Night. She looked, there was nothing else. No personal accounts, no family notes, nothing. If he kept notes like that, he didn’t do it in his office.

She felt surprisingly disappointed. Curious, she thought about it for a moment. She wanted to know how he reacted when Andrei brought her home. No, when he brought Simza home.

I am Pascal Hunter.

Victor Chernov, the family solicitor. His letters were missing. She compared the missing letters to the journal entries. There were a lot of missing letters. She checked the unfiled letters on top of the desk. The missing ones there were also to Chernov.

Interesting, she thought. Money and letters to the family lawyer gone. What did it mean?

She put everything back and sneaked back to her room. With a little luck, her activities would be entirely unnoticed.

Someone killed Lord Pankov, and it wasn’t the man arrested for the crime. The ghost, Pascal Hunter, is on the trail of the killer. Possessing the body of Simza Gray, she must battle to hang on to her sense of self while also trying to solve the mystery. She and her partner, the former fey, eternally ten year old Brynn, have accumulated too many suspects. They’ve also made a few too many waves in the normally placid household.

PART FIVE

ASSUMPTIONS

Pascal woke up with a start. She couldn’t breathe.

She could hear her labored breath as she struggled to draw air into her lungs. Something pressed hard on her chest, choking. Air was thick, limited. The dark room faded in and out. Purple and red spots flashed in front of her eyes.

She was tangled in the sheets and lashed out against them only to have them wrap even tighter around her. Terrified that there was about to be another murder, she lurched from the bed. She expected the sheets to hold her tight. They did not. She fell to the floor and hit her head hard.

For an instant she considered abandoning Simza’s body. She would survive. She might take another body or go back to Fall of Night and leave the case to Brynn.

Only for an instant.

Simza would be weak if she left and would certainly die. She was responsible for the body she borrowed.

She tried to stand but the sheets still bound her tight and she fell over. Breathe. Move. She crawled to the vanity and pulled hard on the mirror cover. Tried to yell, or speak, but only gasped.

Blackness.

Without transition she was in the Freezer, bundled in a thick coat with gloves on. The wind howled by her, tearing through the streets and threatening to knock her over with its force. She remembered this.

The Freezer had moved. That was nothing new, the neighborhood shifted every few months. One of their new neighbors was warm, almost tropical. Weather did not normally travel from one shard to another, but sometimes it did. This time the contrasting temperatures created a never ending barrage of wind from the Freezer to Highclime. It lasted months.

She was a man when that happened. She was Pascal, not Simza.

She might still be. The thick clothing concealed her body from her gaze. She was dreaming again.

Or dying. She remembered.

Someone pushed her and she stumbled forward. She couldn’t tell who did it, someone gray and faded. The street was full of them. Gray, faceless people pushing through the howling wind.

Except one.

She was beautiful, short and curvy with long black hair. The only color on the sepia street, she wore a flowing green and red dress with bare arms, completely inappropriate for the cold. The dress and her hair whipped in the wind, but she walked towards Pascal without bowing to its force.

“You killed us,” she said. Her soft voice was clearly audible over the howling wind.

“Simza?” Pascal yelled back, his voice masculine but carried away in the maelstrom.

“Yes. As are you,” she answered.

“I am Pascal Hunter,” he shouted. Insisted.

It was his mantra, and just saying it gave him strength.

“We are Simza Gray. We are dying.”

“We’ll live,” he demanded of her. “We’ll live. I got to the mirror. We’ll get help.”

“You are stealing my life,” she insisted loudly.

He wanted to protest, but it was true. The strength he’d gained from speaking his name out loud fled. The wind tore through him like he was naked before her, the cold numbed his fingers and toes. “Only for a short time. Only to solve the case. Then you can have it back.” It was weak, and he knew it.

“Then I can have my life back? Do you think that makes it all right, if you only steal a little? And if you die before you give it back? It is my life. It is not yours to take.” She was indignant, radiating heat in her passion.

He was guilty and he knew it. “Please,” he pleaded. With the cold wind penetrating him he could not raise his voice. His cries were carried away so quickly he could barely hear himself.

“Please. Let me do this. I don’t have a life. Mine is gone, all gone. The only– this is all I have left. The only shred of life remaining. Solving puzzles. I feel it then. An echo, just an echo of life but it’s there. I try to use it to help, to avenge. It’s all I have. I can’t bear to… Please.”

Why did he tell her that, he wondered. And was it true? He wasn’t sure himself.

“We are linked, you and I. Now. You made the link, but I can use it. Know this, ghost,” she spat. She was firm but not vitriolic, and Pascal thought he saw pity in her eyes. “Know this. You will not outlive me. If you leave me to die, you will die too.”

“I wouldn’t,” he protested.

She would have none of it and continued, “And if you ruin the life I’ve made, you’ll only wish I destroyed you.” He had to wonder where his visions got such strength. “Get Andrei back. Be a woman for him. Be me for him.”

He was on his knees. When had that happened? He could not feel the icy stone beneath him, nor could he look away from the strong woman standing before him. “Yes,” he whispered.

She lifted him up and embraced him. Heat flooded his body and he was blinded by a sudden flash of light.

The light hurt his eyes, but he saw shapes in it. He was lying in bed with Andrei sitting by his side. Her side. She was still Simza. A maid stood by the door. She could smell mint and tobacco. She could breathe.

“Thank Heaven,” Andrei exclaimed, “you’re awake.”

“Yes, what happened?” she tried to say. Her throat was too raw. It came out as a croak, “Ye. Wh’ap?”

“Don’t try to talk,” her fiance said uselessly. For all his concern he was still stiff towards her. “You’ve taken ill. Doctor Rogov has given you a compress to help you breathe, but you must take it easy.”

The maid jumped forward. It wasn’t one of her morning maids. Pascal didn’t recognize her. “He went to fetch his medicine bag, Miss Gray. He will be back soon, but you must stay in bed, he said.”

Andrei smiled, a bit tightly, but enough to indicate approval. “That’s right. And you will listen to him, won’t you?”

She nodded rather than try to speak again. His approval gave her strength. As weak as she was, she’d do anything to keep him happy. Memories flooded her mind, of seeing Nuvye Park for the first time with him by her side, of dancing for him, of promises and hopes. Not her memories, but Simza’s.

I am…, she started to remind herself, but then stopped.

Andrei sent the maid to tell the doctor Simza was awake. When she left, he turned back to her. “You scared me, Simcha darling. Don’t talk,” he insisted when she tried to speak. “Just let me. I behaved badly to you and it’s because I first behaved badly to Father.”

Barely able to speak, she only nodded.

“Your brother– Well, I’m afraid I was a poor gambler. Your brother was not the first person to beat me handily. I think you know that already. I tried to be a better man for you, but I had so many debts. My father would not pay them. He didn’t believe me, and I’m afraid…” In a rush, he blurted out, “I stole money from Father’s office.”

She’d have laughed if it didn’t hurt so much. All Andrei saw was the smile.

“It’s not all right, Simcha,” he answered with a mix of anger and laughter. “It was wrong and I know it. It took time but I brought Father around. That’s why he gave us his blessing. I was afraid you’d find out if you looked too deeply into his affairs. You and Sonya. I had to tell you myself.”

He took her hand in his and held it. Pascal kept smiling.

The door opened and Sofiya rushed in. “Is she all right?” she asked breathlessly.

Sofiya was wearing a blue skirt and jacket over a white blouse with pale pink stitching. It hit Pascal like a brick, mourning was over. Andrei wore brown, the maid did not have a black armband. “How long?” she choked out.

“Shhh,” cautioned Andrei. “Not long, you were only out a few hours. Boris’s Assumption is this afternoon. You won’t attend, of course, but he understands. Even Mother understands.” Andrei was still hiding something. He was stiff, even angry, and he was trying to hide it from her.

“Do you know what happened?” Sofiya asked quietly. “Are you still going to… carry on?” She was trying not to talk about the case with Andrei present, but was not doing a good job.

Pascal nodded, not trying to speak.

Andrei saw. She was pretty sure he understood. He nodded, but with a grimace.

The staff doctor returned with his bag. “Too many of you,” he gruffed. “Lord Andrei, Lady Sofiya, please leave. You may come back later. Nina,” he said to the maid, “fetch some hot water and come back.” Everyone filed out under his commands.

“I’m going to have to give you a shot, Miss Gray. Lord Pankov got us a full suite of medicines when we got back here, you’re in fine shape.” He kept talking while checking her over, always calmly. “You’re going to have to take it easy for the next few days. You got something on your skin. I thought it was poison ivy at first but all the tests were negative. It got in your lungs, which is when it got dangerous. Now, don’t worry. You’ve pulled through and this booster shot is just to help you recover faster. Don’t exert yourself and call me if you have any problems, all right?”

She could still feel the rash on her neck, chest, and both wrists. As she drifted back to sleep, she spared an accusing glance at the vanity table, where her perfume set still sat innocently.

- ♇ -

“Are you all right, Brynn?”

“Huh?” Brynn turned, startled. “Sorry, I’m fine Tomo.”

The kitchens were buzzing with activity, so that was all the conversation they could squeeze in before Tamara had to carry out more platters of pastries with raspberry and lemon sauces.

Brynn was just as busy scrubbing and polishing platters that would soon be scooped high with whatever magic Mrs. Nesterov was preparing for the main course. They were already clean. He’d cleaned them that morning instead of working with the horses. It didn’t matter. They had to be cleaned again.

The house was not in mourning, except for Lady Pankov. It was a trivial change as far as he was concerned. He didn’t wear a black armband with his kitchen uniform. Those who had been with the Pankovs longer made a bigger deal out of it. They were allowed to be cheerful again. Lady Pankov had to stay in moruning for five more years. Weird customs, but Brynn didn’t plan to stick around too much longer.

His partner was laid up so Brynn was on his own for the investigation. He didn’t believe for a second that Paz was sick. He figured the man had been attacked. People got prickly about murder investigations, especially the murderer. Between his work in the kitchen, worrying about Paz, and trying to figure out the case, it’s no wonder Tomo thought he looked stressed.

He wanted to sneak off and see Paz, but his odds of that were close to zero. Everyone was busy, and that meant Mrs. Nesterov kept a close eye on everyone in her kitchen.

That just makes it more fun.

Mrs. Nesterov was a whirlwind of culinary fury as she bustled from the oven to the stove to two pots she had boiling. She was constantly shouting orders to her three assistant cooks, who were working on a myriad of other dishes.

At one point the butler, Mr. Menschikov, came in to check that everything was going as planned. It didn’t go well for him, “When I need your help in the kitchen, Feodor Illyitch, I will retire from the kitchen and live in the forest. Now get out of here and come back when I call you.”

He went, cowed.

One of the cooks laughed and became the next target of Mrs. Nesterov’s wrath.

Bad move, but better you than me. She’s in a nasty mood today.

Tamara was busy running in and out with platters of food. Occasionally she was dragooned into cutting fruit and they could exchange a few words. There was enough food to feed a small army, Brynn thought, so this Assumption must be a pretty big deal.

“Brynn, sweetie,” Tamara whispered sweetly to him when she swept back in, “could you help me out? See Sergey over there. Get him out of sight, maybe one of the pantries, would you?”

“Sure,” he nodded smiling.

Come on, at least pretend you’re interested in the little boy. This is downright insulting. Oh, yes. Sorry about this, Tomo, but I see an opportunity.

He put down the platter he’d been polishing, waved, and said “Be right there.” That pantomime would buy him a minute or two.

“Sergei,” he whispered to his teen-aged rival, the boy who would grow up in time, “the pantry in two minutes. Meet Tomo.” He hurried back to his work, catching the smile on the footman’s face from the corner of his eye as he did.

Tamara watched her beau and saw him disappear. She followed a moment later. Less than a moment after that, Mrs. Nesterov went to the pantry herself to fetch a bucket of blueberries.

“What is this all about?” she screeched.

The kitchen came to a halt as all eyes turned towards the screaming dervish. Except Brynn’s.

He was already on his way out.

Running up the stairs, two flights up. He didn’t pass a soul once he was out of the kitchen. Everyone was occupies with the ceremony in the gardens. He barged through the door, praying he wouldn’t barge in on a doctor or visitor. It paid off. Paz was alone in bed.

The smell of mint almost knocked him over. Pascal’s chest was wrapped in poultices that filled the room with the sharp scent. It was strong enough to dampen Brynn’s ardor to sneak a peak at his partner’s breasts.

“Hey there Paz,” he spouted cheerfully, “how’s it hanging? OK, OK, I know, not the right time for chit chat. Looks like I’ll be doing all the work for a bit so I thought you might want to fill me in. Oh, and how are you?”

The woman in the bed looked frail, and Brynn had a moment’s worry for his partner.

Don’t sweat it. The old ghost’ll live forever. Or whatever it is ghosts do.

Paz shifted, opened his eyes and turned, “Must be Brynn,” he croaked.

His voice was scratchy but he could make himself understood. He told Brynn about breaking into Lord Pankov’s office and finding stolen money and letters. Brynn could see him hesitate but he also revealed that Andrei stole the cash from his father’s office.

Andrei’s a thief and has a taste for hot women. It’s official. I like him.

“And me,” Paz croaked. “Rash is from– perfume.” Brynn stifled his laughter. “Magic linked. Bottles are from Egypt Collection. Find out who has rest of collection.” He swallowed, and Brynn could tell his throat was still raw.

“Hey, don’t worry about it buddy. Just lie back and relax.” With a forced grin, he said, “It’s not like I need your help for a case this simple.”

“Be careful,” Paz whispered. “Stay safe, mora. Friend.”

“Uh, yeah. You too.” Paz should have had a snappy comeback, at least an insult. He said something in another language too, probably something Simza know. Whatever’s wrong must really be taking a lot out of him.

- ♇ -

Brynn rushed from the bedroom back to the kitchen. He made it. He slipped back in without anyone noticing and went back to scrubbing. Well, almost no one noticed.

“That was your fault,” Tamara whispered with acid in her voice.

No point denying it, “Maybe a little.”

“I thought we were friends,” she whined.

He didn’t bother answering.

She’s not going to be interested in a little kid. Too bad, I’d show her a great time.

Then she surprised him.

“Did you go see Miss Gray?”

What?

He turned without meaning to. His mouth hung open, his face went slack. If she turned blue and started tap dancing he wouldn’t have been this shocked. He didn’t know how to react. “How’d you–?”

She smiled. She was quite pretty. “You’re doing something for her. I don’t think anyone else noticed. Let me in on it. You can make up for using me as a distraction.”

Brynn almost started flapping his mouth in surprise. First she managed to catch him, then she surprised him again by trying to join him.

She’s amazing. Pretty, smart, and adventurous. The case be damned. I have got to get this girl.

“Tonight,” he nodded. “After the ceremony.”

That was all the time they had before Mrs. Nesterov saw them together and put them back to work.

Judging from the empty dishes that came back, the Assumption was a rousing success. At one point they all stopped working and got a single glass of wine each. Boris was now Lord Pankov. Nothing changed as far as Brynn could see.

The lights were lit by the time they finished cleaning and scrubbing. Tamara cornered him in the hallway to make sure he didn’t leave her out of his plans. Even though he never intended to, it felt good to have her chasing him for a change.

Remembering to use his partner’s fake name, he whispered, “Someone attacked Miss Gray. She thinks it was through her, well, her perfume bottles. She’s got a couple bottles of something they call the Egypt Collection. We need to find out where the other bottles are and who has access to them.”

“Oh. That’s easy,” she answered and ran off. “Hey Nina Vasilin,” she called down the hallway, her voice echoing off the cold stone walls.

A small maid with black hair turned around. “What do you want, Tamara?” She sounded worn out and impatient, Brynn thought. Tamara had gotten a shot of adrenaline when Brynn told her what was going on, and he rarely got tired. Even after a long day, they were both ready for anything.

“The perfume bottles in Miss Gray’s room,” she said, “Where’s the rest of that collection?”

The direct approach. That’s my way of doing things. It never works, but it can be fun.

With a squint and a shrug, Nina answered, “Lady Sofiya has one of them, and the other two are in Lady Pankov’s room.” After Tamara thanked her, Nina turned and went on her way.

It worked. That’s going right back to the top of my list.

“Wait,” he cried out. “Who can go into those rooms?”

Nina looked down at Brynn, annoyed. “I probably don’t want to know what you two are up to, do I? Fine. In Lady Sofiya’s room, any of the housemaids. Lady Pankov’s room would be limited to Larisa Grigorina.”

She didn’t say it, but Brynn took it for granted any of the family could go in too. At the very least, Sofiya and Lady Pankov would go into their own rooms. “Thank you,” he remembered to add.

“So what now?” Tamara asked him with excitement in her voice.

“Now,” he paused dramatically and was rewarded when she leaned forward expectantly, “now we go visit Lady Sofiya.”

He got just the reaction he wanted. A gasp, bright eyes and slightly parted lips.

Tomo was scared and excited as they ran up the stairs and entered the family quarters. When a maid chastised them for being upstairs, Brynn jumped in “I have a message for Lady Sofiya. I was told to deliver it in person.” That was all it took. The maid brought them right to her. Tamara beamed.

Sofiya’s room was a masterpiece of gold and red, as large as the entire wing where Brynn had his cot. “You have a– You?” she exclaimed when she recognized Brynn.

“Yeah, me,” he responded easily. Tamara was not impressed this time. She was scared, or maybe upset.

“I’m sorry about. I’m sorry about Simza,” Sofiya said after a long pause.

“He’ll be fine,” Brynn tossed back. He caught his mistake as soon as he said it. Tamara noticed that he called Pascal a man. He did what he always did when he screwed up; he ignored it. “I hear you’ve got one of the perfume bottles from the same collection she has.”

“The Egyptian Collection,” she answered evenly. “It was a favorite of mine when I was a girl.”

“Who could have gotten to it? Used it?”

“No one,” she insisted. “Really, no one,” she repeated when Brynn looked skeptical. “I like the French bottles now, so I keep the Egyptian one locked up.” She pointed at a collection of clear crystal bottles that looked very different than the ones in Pascal’s room.

“That leaves your mother’s room,” he muttered.

As they left, Tamara narrowed it down further as soon as Sofiya wouldn’t overhear. “And that means Miss Schuykov.”

Someone killed Lord Pankov, and it wasn’t the man arrested for the crime. The ghost, Pascal Hunter, is on the trail of the killer. Possessing the body of Simza Gray, she must battle to hang on to her sense of self while also trying to solve the mystery. She and her partner, the former fey, eternally ten year old Brynn, have accumulated too many suspects. They’ve also made a few too many waves in the normally placid household.

“Oh Bry-inn,” the little kitchen maid called out when Brynn got back from his morning job in the stables. If she could have extended his name another few syllables, he was sure she would have. Tamara had decided he was exciting now that she was working with him. She was trying to wrap him around her finger and he was planning to enjoy the attempt.

“Yes, Tomo?” he asked back. He was happy to play along with her games. She’d surprised him once and he just loved surprises.

“I could use someone strong and manly to help me,” she cooed. “Mrs. Nesterov’s making a special dinner tonight. Her last time to make one of Lord Pankov’s favorite meals. Maybe you could help me carry up the… special ingredients?”

The snakes. She knows I know it’s the snakes. She has to play anyway. By all the Gods I wish she was old enough to leave this place and come back to the city with me!

So he nodded and agreed.

The cage was heavy, but he didn’t need to open it like he did when he was feeding them. “So she’s cooking them this time?”

Tamara was quite pleasant and chatty when she was getting her way, so she answered happily, “Yes. It was a special meal the old Lord Pankov liked. The new Lord Pankov gets the old one’s favorite at his first family supper. Tradition.” She dropped to a stage whisper, “But I think Mrs. Nesterov is going to be happy to get rid of these things.”

She added softly, “I know I will.”

Brynn didn’t say anything, he just grunted. The cage was heavy.

He dropped it at the top of the stairs, breathing heavily. “I hope I don’t have to kill them too.”

She smiled flirtatiously and ran a finger along his arm, “You mean you would leave that to poor little me?”

While Brynn stammered and failed to find an answer that would work, she laughed gently, “No, you don’t have to. The butchers kill most of our animals, but Lord Boris, I mean, Lord Pankov, does for the snakes. Mr. Menschikov will let him know.”

That’ll almost make lugging them up there worth it just to see one of those aristocrats step foot in the kitchen.

“Wait. Why don’t the butchers do it?”

The cook had drifted over to check on them, “And how long does it take you two to fetch the livestock?” she glowered. Instead of going on one of her usual tirades, she relaxed and looked around. She put her hands on Brynn and Tamara’s shoulders, drew them in towards her, “I won’t be sad to see the other side of these things, and that’s God’s honest truth. The late Lord Pankov had some strange tastes after his trip to– after spending some time in the city.”

How slow do they think I am? Even Paz figured this one out. They go back to a really large shard, always the same place. I wonder what they plan to do with me. They all expect me to leave when they phase out, but then come back when they hit Fall of Night again. Do they think I’ll never catch on? Or maybe they plan to invite me to stay with them for good if I come back next time? Or kill me, I suppose. Someone here knows how to kill, after all.

“The butchers did do it the first time Lord Pankov had us make this,” the cook reminisced. “Doctor Rogov was standing by with his medicines in case anyone got bit. The children snuck in to watch. I think they dared each other into it. Boris got too close.” She was smiling, so Brynn knew the story would end well. “I still think little Sofiya pushed him or tricked him somehow.”

She almost laughed, but then turned it into a sigh.

“The young lord got too close, and one of the snakes bit him. The butcher panicked and got bit too. So did one of my cooks when she tried to help. Doctor Rogov took charge as soon as we’d rounded up the beasts. It’s the only time I let someone else give orders in my kitchen. Little Lord Boris, though, didn’t need the medicine. The bite was there plain as day, but there was no swelling. Doctor said he’s just naturally resistant. Lord Boris made it a point of pride and insisted on learning how to kill the snakes himself to keep everyone else safe.”

A warm smile crept over her face while talking about Lord Boris. It was a side of the cook Brynn never suspected.

“He’s killed the snakes ever since. He’s never been bit that bad again, but he has been bit, Never suffered more than a rash. So he’ll do it for us this one more time.”

Brynn looked suitably impressed. He stared at the snake cage.

“Don’t think about it boy. I just might decide not to waste any antivenin on you if you do something stupid,” the cook snapped.

Both Tamara and Brynn laughed at that. He managed to look abashed enough to appease Mrs. Nesterov. “Enough with the jawboning, back to work.”

She’s the one who was just taking up our time, and she knows it. Was that her attempt at a joke?

A short time later, the new Lord Pankov entered the kitchen. They overheard a thin blond woman ordering him to leave it to the butchers before she stormed off. He wore a blue jacket with rose trim and tight blue pants. His dark brown beard was closely trimmed, and he was smiling broadly. “Mrs. Nesterov, may I help with the snakes for what I truly hope will be the last time?”

She tittered, “Oh, Lord Pankov, please.” She was laughing because he should have called her Raisa Irinova. Instead, he still spoke to her like he was a child. “We are all most grateful for your help.”

He smiled back, “I’ve been Lord Boris to you for far too long, and I hope that won’t change now.” He frowned, but Brynn could see he was still playing. “I do have one favor to ask of you, though.”

“Of course,” she answered without hesitation. Everyone in the kitchen stopped working to listen. Brynn preferred being the center of attention himself, but failing that he’d take entertainment where it’s offered.

“I would never dream of dishonoring my father. But after tonight’s dinner, I trust that even if we have guests from–” He glanced unobtrusively at Brynn, “even if we have guests who want this dish, I trust you will have sadly forgotten how to make it.”

“I’m sure everyone knows how forgetful I can be,” she answered with a laugh of her own.

While staring at the snake cage, he commented, “I suspect my brother will miss tonight’s dinner, as he will be sitting up with his fiancee.” With a nod to the cook, he added suddenly, “She’s recovering nicely, thank you. Sonya might decide to join him in the sick room too if I’m any judge. For all I know, Avdotya might join them too. Since there are likely to be leftovers, if any of the staff wish, they have my permission to indulge in any of the dish remaining after our supper.”

His announcement was met with stifled laughter and nervous swallows. “Urgh,” croaked Tamara quietly to Brynn.

Boris held out his arms expectantly. A moment later one of the kitchen maids ran up to him with a butcher’s apron and helped put it on him. The thick white cloth covered his fine clothing but he didn’t look like like a servant. He was a natural showman, commanding attention by his presence. With all eyes on him, he theatrically picked up the butcher’s knife and the snake cage with an ease Brynn envied.

He strapped on a thick leather glove and reached into the cage. The snake he pulled out looked prettier than anything that deadly had a right to. Its green and yellow scales shone in the afternoon light. The triangular head fixed its killer in a predatory glare while it hissed and squirmed in his firm grasp.

Lord Pankov placed the snake on a wooden block and swung his blade with precision. The snake head fell into a waiting basket while the new lord tossed the still twitching body into a nearby pot. He was already reaching for the next one.

Only Brynn saw Lord Boris’s lips twitch in a silent smile.

- ♇ -

After spending a day in bed, Pascal was cleared to leave her room. She had to have two maids help her dress to avoid aggravating her bruises. The doctor cautioned her to take it very easy, and the staff was going to see to it she listened.

Despite expecting it, she was surprisingly pleased to wear something that wasn’t black. She selected a smooth green dress with patterned yellow stitching. Her maids completed the outfit with a white blouse, pale stockings, gray shoes with a small heel and jewelry. Then came the makeup to cover the bruises on her neck, followed by painting her nails and face. She did not wear any perfume, claiming it would start her coughing again. Her maids nodded in sympathy.

She went through all this preparation just to go to the sitting room and meet Sofiya. Logically, Pascal knew it was a waste of time. Yet it felt good to get dressed up and pretend she hadn’t nearly choked to death the previous morning. Assert normality. She understood that.

“Sonya,” she greeted her client warmly when she entered the room.

Sofiya got up to meet her and kissed her on the cheek. “It’s good to see you up and around, Simcha. You’re looking good,” she said with an honest smile.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Pascal said while pointing at one of the couches with a good view of the yard. The muggy weather they’d been having had finally broken and a light breeze stirred the trees. It looked like a great day to be outdoors.

“Of course. Please sit down. Don’t hurt yourself on my account.”

Pascal smoothed her dress before taking a seat. She crossed her legs and rested her arm lightly on the end of the seat. The maid who escorted her to the room watched her like a hawk until she was safely ensconced and only then left the room.

“Have you made any more progress, Mr. Hunter?” Sofiya asked as soon as they were alone.

Pascal raised her hand gently in remonstration, “Don’t. Even when we’re alone. Don’t. I’m Simza while I’m here.” Her mantra had lost its power while she was laid up in bed. The vision she had while unconscious might or might not be real, but her promise to Simza was. As long as she held this body she would have to be Simza Gray.

“I’ll try to talk to Brynn later to see what he’s learned while I was… indisposed, but I think it’s safe to say we have made some progress.” She stopped suddenly, aware that Sofiya was staring at her in amazement. “What’s wrong?”

“The way you move,” she answered. “The way you sit. You’re pulling at your ear, just like Simza did. You have your legs tucked up, it’s like you’re a different person.”

“Hmm, yes. I don’t usually do this. Ah, possess people, that is,” she kept her voice low in a combination of shame and desire for privacy. “There are other ways, but they don’t work here, so… Stealing someone’s life away, even a little bit of it, feels like a crime itself. It’s dangerous too. Simza’s strong. She– it’s hard to describe, but she pervades her body. It’s overwhelming.” It had been a very long time since she’d talked with anyone about the problems of a ghost, but she felt better for it.

Sofiya was surprisingly sympathetic, “Are you in danger? I like having you here, but maybe I can help you leave sooner.”

“You’re grinning like the cat that caught the canary.” Paz smiled back suddenly, “You’ve got the police report.”

“Yes, I finally got a copy. An old friend is an inspecteur principal. He was at Boris’s Assumption and brought me this. You know we’re not supposed to have it, right?”

“May I?” she said as she reached for it. She took it and wiped her hands on a napkin before opening it. “Please keep an eye out while I take a look.”

She quickly paged through the report. It was much shorter than it should have been. Paz had seen this syndrome in police departments in a hundred different shards. They’d decided who was guilty right away, put in just enough work to back that up, and moved on to the next case. She supposed she shouldn’t complain, since it ensured a steady stream of work for her.

The gendarmes had interviewed Boris, Andrei, the butler, and of course Yakim himself. Yakim insisted on his innocence throughout the interview. There were pictures of Lord Pankov’s room with and without the body and pictures of Yakim’s room where they found the blanket piece. It closed out with a medical exam of Lord Pankov. Pascal had already learned everything in the report and much more beside.

“Wow,” exclaimed Sofiya after a few moments, “it’s like you changed again.”

Paz looked up, “Sorry?”

“When we were talking earlier, I thought you were just like Simza. But when you were reading the police report, you changed. The concentration, the way you hold the report, everything. Take heart,” she said while putting her hand on Pascal’s, “you’re still you.”

Paz sighed, “Good to hear. Sonya, this is very helpful. The police– sorry, the gendarmes, didn’t do nearly as much as I’d hoped, but at least they got a doctor’s report. Your father was strangled, choked to death from lack of air, no signs of struggle. Hmmm”

Sofiya gasped and put her hand to her mouth.

Paz reached over to her this time, tapping her leg, “Come on now, you don’t need to put on a show for me. I know you already know what happened.”

She frowned and looked at the floor, “It’s still unpleasant to hear it so directly.” With just the slightest hint of a grin she added, “And that’s how a lady is supposed to react to talk of injury, don’t you know?”

A discrete knock was followed by the butler entering, “Lady Sofiya, Miss Gray, a fresh pot and some refreshments, if you please.” Two maids followed him in bringing a new teapot and a plate of fruits, hard pastries with honey, and berry cakes.

“Is this your way of making sure I’m following the doctor’s orders?” Pascal asked impishly.

“Lord Pankov is most concerned about you, Miss Simza,” he responded with a slight bow. It was as close as he’d come to a confession, she decided. He was taking her illness personally. It was another sign he’d mellowed towards her. She hoped it would make Simza’s life easier when she got it back.

“Boris? It’s not from Andrei?” Sonya jumped in. “I’m surprised.”

“It’s been… difficult the last few days,” Pascal admitted before the butler could say a word. She was sure Sofiya would infer the real reason for their difficulties. “I need to talk with him.”

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Sofiya responded. “Before Father, well, you know,” she said diffidently, in deference to the hovering Feodor Illyitch, “He and father had a big fight about you. I think he still feels guilty.”

Paz squinted at her quizzically, asking silently if that was true or an excuse for their audience. She nodded slightly to indicate it was real, even as her eyes widened when she realized it could be important.

“How terrible,” Paz tried to gasp, “to think he had a fight with his father just before losing… I can see why he would be upset, and thank you for finally telling me, Sonya.” She had to know more.

“He and father were angry with each other, but I believe they mended their fences before Father’s accident,” she said vaguely.

“Ahem,” the butler coughed quietly. “I do not mean to speak out of turn, but I can assure Miss Gray that Lord Pankov had accepted that Lord Andrei was going to marry you before the terrible incident.”

“Oh,” she breathed out, “well, I knew– forgive me Sonya, but I knew not everyone welcomed me. I should be glad Andrei wanted me enough to fight with his father. And that they did not– part on such bad terms.”

“Indeed. Lord Andrei was always most insistent that he would marry you, Miss Gray. I have never seen him more resolute. Lord Pankov finally agreed and was ready to welcome you into the family,” he said with finality. She could tell he’d said his last word on the subject.

She found she didn’t want to know more. Knowing that Andrei stood up for her and even fought with his father over her affected her more than she’d expected. Even if it was all for Simza. She reached for a napkin and dabbed at her eyes while Sofiya and Feodor Illyitch watched her sympathetically.

- ♇ -

“It was Boris.”

It should have been dark and shadowy. A flash of lightning should have suddenly lit the room. The world refused to cooperate.

Brynn made his pronouncement in Pascal’s room, well lit by the smoothly glowing lamps on the wall. He had tried to meet Paz in the gardens, but Pascal was still recovering and they weren’t letting him go outside. Brynn had to wait until night to sneak up to his room.

Pascal was propped up in bed with the bruises on his neck and arms clearly visible. There was also a fire in his eyes that Brynn loved to see. His partner was not going to be scared off, he had a puzzle to solve and he’d solve it.

“He did it,” Brynn announced again with even more certainty than before.

“OK, OK,” Pascal placated him while holding his hand out gently. Brynn choked back a laugh at his partner’s long painted nails. “I heard you. Let’s go through the standards. How did he do it? Or why?”

“Come on, man, think. He’s Lord Pankov now, the motive’s obvious. How? He’s got a hunting knife. He could have cut the old man’s quilt as easily as the valet. Easier. No one would question it if he went to his father’s room at night. Okay, maybe they would, but no one saw anything so it didn’t matter. He could have hidden the piece in Yakim’s room any time the next morning while people were running around.”

Brynn could see Pascal was thinking it through, so he kept quiet.

It was a good move. His partner’s eyes flew open and he almost jumped out of bed. With a gasp and grimace he stopped where he was and sat back carefully against the pillows. His injuries were still hurting if he tried to move quickly.

“There was no sign of a struggle,” Paz recited in his new soprano voice. “No sign of a struggle.” A smile came over his face and made him look downright pretty. “Brynn you magnificent bastard,” he said with admiration, sounding more like his old self, “you’ve got it.”

“Well, yeah. Of course I do.” Pascal played his usual game and waited for Brynn to ask. He gave in. “What’ve I got? It was Boris?”

“No, no. Or at least, I don’t know. We’ve been looking at the wrong thing. The cause of death is wrong. Look at me,” he said while pointing at the bruises on his arms. “This is from struggling against blankets without anything holding me down. If Lord Pankov was held so tight he choked, he’d have bruises all over. There were none. No sign of a struggle. He wasn’t choked to death.”

A moment later he continued, “Snake venom. Seeing Boris kill the snakes might have gotten you started, but I think you saw the murder weapon at the same time.”

When he’d started explaining he sounded like Pascal. It changed as he continued. He slowed down and spoke more quietly. For a moment, Brynn almost thought his partner sounded like a girl.

Just for a minute. It’s still Pascal in there. My old buddy. He’s not leaving me, I won’t let him. Fall of Night wouldn’t be as much fun without him.

“I see two ways you can take this,” Pascal continued so quietly Brynn had to lean in to hear him. “You can try to find out when or how Boris got his hands on the snake venom or you can try to show that he could have poisoned Poppa Pankov that night. What do you think?”

“Opportunity’s better,” Brynn replied without hesitation. “Boris could have gotten the venom any time. He dealt with the snakes a lot. It was a way to show off. We can’t prove anything with that.”

“That sounds right,” Paz answered with his old determination. He was back in charge. “Let’s assume Boris is going to take advantage of his natural immunity. He can poison himself and his father at the same time.” Paz was tapping his hand as he spoke, a gesture Brynn had seen many times before. It looked a little strange with the dark red nails, but it was reassuring to know Pascal was still there.

“He’s got two limitations. He doesn’t want Poppa dropping dead on the spot and he needs to make sure he doesn’t show any reaction the next day. Both call for diluting the poison. We need to look for a dish the two of them shared.”

“Right,” Brynn expelled, “Great idea, Paz. Why didn’t I think of that? I’m sure everyone remembers exactly what they ate two months ago and will be happy to tell me as soon as I ask!”

“Calm down,” he answered way too quietly. Pascal usually answered his sarcasm with sarcasm. It was like his old friend was only there when they were talking about the evidence. “I wasn’t suggesting you question Boris. You need to ask the butler. Fedya keeps better records than you might think, and I think he might be willing to help.”

“Fedya? Mr. Menschikov? He’s not going to answer me.”

“He might, if I ask.” Paz stood up with care. His long nightgown covered all the interesting bits, to Brynn’s disappointment. He pulled a cover off the mirror and asked it to send the butler up when he was available.

Now that’s nifty. Mirror, mirror on the wall…

The imposing butler arrived in a frighteningly short time, like he’d been waiting for her call. He was even in his full attire. He showed a moment’s surprise when he saw Brynn, but covered it quickly and didn’t say a word.

“May I help you, Miss Gray?” the butler asked formally. He was much friendlier than Brynn had ever seen.

“Yes, Fedya Illyitch,” Paz answered lightly. Brynn was shocked the butler didn’t take offense at the familiarity. “Brynn here is a friend of mine, Sonya took him on at my request.” If the butler hadn’t known that, he took the news with equanimity. “He has some questions that I think might cast more doubt on Yakim Sergeyin’s guilt.”

“I’m very sorry, Miss Gray,” the butler said with obvious sincerity, “but the new master has ordered the matter closed. Lord Boris has written to the gendarmes and requested that they release the old Lord’s valet. He raised the very same points you brought to me, but he will not allow Yakim to return to this house. The investigation is closed.” From his deep tone they could tell he disapproved.

“I see,” Brynn’s partner said with equal disapproval. “I guess that’s an end to it. Perhaps you could still help my young friend. I’m sure he’d benefit from your tutoring, even if his questions are a bit strange.” Paz sagged slightly, looking tired and accentuating his bruises. It was an obvious ploy to draw sympathy, but it worked.

Say what you will of him, Brynn thought, but the butler was not slow on the uptake. His eyes smiled even while the rest of his face remained stoic. “Of course Miss Gray. I’m sure he’s a fine boy and could learn from some additional lessons.” Turning to Brynn for the first time and speaking far more harshly, he added, “Now come child, leave Miss Gray to her rest.”

They walked through the darkened halls down to the servant’s wing in silence. Mr. Menschikov walked swiftly and Brynn had to run to keep up. That drew dark looks from the butler, who disapproved of running in the house. As only the night staff was up and about, he did not reprove Brynn.

“Now, what do you need to know, child?” The butler was abrupt, unfriendly, and direct.

“On the night Lord Pankov died,” Brynn answered back just as directly, cricking his neck to look the butler right in his eyes, “what did they have for dinner? Were there any dishes that only two members of the family ate?”

Best not to tip my hand too far. If I come too close to accusing Boris, he’ll clam up.

While Mr. Menschikov was puzzled at the request, he stood up creakily and pulled a book off the shelf. “They had dark bread with an onion soup, followed by a beet salad. The main course was crisp roast pork with twice baked potatoes and gravy, candied carrots and honeyed biscuits. They had a dessert of fruit crepes with rum sauce. Neither Lady Pankov nor Lady Sofiya had any biscuits, but otherwise all dishes were enjoyed by the whole family.”

How can anyone live like that? He keeps notes on what everyone ate for dinner. Lucky for me, I guess. Still, that’s no good. Nothing that just Boris and the old man ate.

“What about drinks?” he asked impulsively.

“A wine with each course, shared by all. There were drinks before dinner as well. Lord Pankov had his liqueur, while the women had a cocktail. Lord Boris and Master Andrei took pepper vodka, so there is a dish shared by two,” he said triumphantly. “Ah, another one, the after dinner drinks. Lord and Lady Pankov shared a milk and vodka cocktail she quite enjoys. The rest of the family had bitters before retiring to the sitting room.”

“Nothing with Lord Boris and his father,” Brynn squeaked out against his will.

Mr. Menschikov stopped in his tracks, looked down at Brynn with open hostility, and intoned, “Most certainly not.”

That was the end of that. He was dismissed.

Someone killed Lord Pankov, and it wasn’t the man arrested for the crime. The ghost, Pascal Hunter, is on the trail of the killer. Possessing the body of Simza Gray, she must battle to hang on to her sense of self while also trying to solve the mystery. She and her partner, the former fey, eternally ten year old Brynn, have accumulated too many suspects. They’ve also made a few too many waves in the normally placid household.

PART SIX

RESOLUTIONS

“Andrei,” Pascal called. Feeling both guilty and obligated, she added, “My dear.”

Another night’s rest had done wonders for her. While she was still sore, she was eager to get back to work.

The change in her mood was matched by the change in the weather. The oppressive heat and humidity had fled and the day was sunny and warm with a cool breeze. It was ripe with possibilities. She would begin by fulfilling some obligations, not just to the job, but to Simza.

Andrei was riding his horse into the stable when she called, fresh from inspecting some outlying farms and still dirty from the ride. The time he’d spent by her bed during her recovery had repaired some of the damage she’d done to their engagement. But it hadn’t fixed everything. She could see indecision on his face.

She ignored it. Grabbing his horse’s reins, she led him into the stables.

For all that she liked to ride, Pascal had little practice at it. Even when she had a solid body she could not get near a horse in most shards. Animals, with the notable exception of cats, shied away from her. Horses reared if she tried to mount them. While possessing someone, animals treated her like anyone else. It was a pity she hated possessing people. Since she was Simza now, she wanted to take advantage of the opportunity. It almost made up for the heels and makeup.

“Please tell me you don’t have more questions for me. You need to be a proper lady.” It was not a promising opening.

“A lady, yes. Proper? We’ll see,” she said with a saucy grin. When she came up with this plan, she’d expected to feel disgusted with herself. Instead, it was fun. Andrei looked puzzled.

She was dressed for riding, in tan pants and boots, with a lovely blue shirt stitched in yellow and white. Her jewelry was understated but visible, and she had a fine broad hat to shield her from the sun and show off her lightly curled hair. She wore slightly heavier makeup than she would normally to hide her bruises.

“Roman Ivanov, is my horse ready?” she asked as she led Andrei’s horse towards the stable.

“Yes, Miss Gray,” he answered with something that almost approached kindness. He would never be friendly towards any Romany, but Fedya had quietly let the servants know she was helping Yakim. It made a huge difference in the way she was treated.

Brynn was feeding one of the horses and looked at her with surprise. She gave him a pleasant smile and a small head shake. She didn’t need his help.

Roman inspected Andrei’s horse while she mounted her own. This time she accepted the stable boy’s help with a smile and grace. When Roman pronounced Andrei’s horse suitable for riding, she started off.

“Where are we going?” Andrei asked. His sour greeting was already forgotten.

Looking at him over her shoulder, Pascal teased, “I should keep it a secret, you know. But I figure you’ll trick it out of me. Blackheart Lake. Your sister says it’s nice in the summer and I haven’t seen it yet.” It would take about half an hour to get there.

Once he knew where they were going, Andrei took the lead. She let him, and they rode in pleasant silence for a while. When they turned away from the road into town, she smiled flirtatiously, nickered and moved her horse into the lead.

“So, the lady wants to race, does she?” he teased back as he pushed his own horse into a trot.

With a laugh as her only answer, Paz pushed her horse into a run and soon they were galloping down the trail. Both of them were laughing as they went, and after a few moments, Paz reared back, “OK, you win. You can lead the way.”

Andrei turned around to face her and with his own laughter still fresh in his throat, answered “Darn, but I forget just how good a rider you are. You’re going to embarrass my sister the first time I take you on a hunt.”

“That might not be the best idea,” she laughed back. “I am trying to be friends with her, after all.”

It could have been a sour note. Paz knew she was taking a risk. She reminded Andrei of all the inappropriate questioning she’d been doing. However, she reminded him of that in the context of becoming friends with his sister. She gave an implied reason for her behavior over the last week. So he answered with just a grunt and a nod.

The lake was as nice as advertised. While it was not as manicured as the gardens, they had stone benches, hedge walls, and a clear field of cut grass by the shore of the lake. The waters were deep. They were clear blue near the shore, but quickly darkened to pitch black in the center. Deer and squirrel prints were visible in the mud, but the only animals they could see were birds and insects.

“This is a great spot,” she gushed.

“I always liked it,” Andrei admitted. “We used to come out here to swim when we were younger.” With a rueful smile, he added, “We tried to sneak away, but our governess always caught us. She usually let us go anyway, she just came along and watched.” He laughed, “One time Sonya wanted to let the horses out the night before so we didn’t have to go to the stables. She thought we could catch the horses in the fields. Boris thought we could run here.”

“And did you ever have any diabolical plans?” she asked with a leading grin.

“Hah. Did I ever,” he announced with pride. “And mine would have worked. Boris was just too chicken to jump off the roof in the wings I made for him. No one would have ever followed us.” She laughed with him.

Paz waited for Andrei to help her dismount and ordered, “Here, you tie up the horses. I brought us a small lunch. I’ll set up.”

Andrei agreed. When she decided to take this trip, she went down to the kitchen to ask for help. She was astonished at how much help they provided and how quickly. The cook pushed her to be much more elaborate than she wanted, while a footman started planning the place settings and dishware. She insisted they keep it simple and eventually she got what she wanted. She set everything out on a blanket. They had sandwiches, a selection of hard cheeses, berries with a bit of sugar and cream, and a bottle of wine.

When he saw the spread, Andrei smiled at her and put his hands on her shoulders. He remembered that she was injured and only touched her gently, making her shiver in delight. “This is a pleasant surprise, but didn’t Dr. Rogov warn you to take it easy today?”

“Well, yes. Maybe I shouldn’t have ridden quite so hard,” she said while looking down shyly, “but otherwise a relaxing afternoon by the lake sounds like just what he ordered.”

He laughed. “I’m glad to see you back in a good mood. Let me pour,” he said while picking up the wine.

She relaxed. She didn’t love Andrei. Since she shared Simza’s feelings, she assumed the gypsy didn’t either. She was fond of him, she liked him. He was handsome, easygoing, and humorous. She worried about her family – Simza’s family, that is. Marrying Andrei would provide for them; he was a far better match than she’d hoped to arrange. Driving him away would be very poor way to repay her host.

So when they finished eating, she told him “A good meal should come with entertainment. Don’t you agree, my dear?”

When he nodded and cocked his eyebrow, she stood up and danced. Her hips swayed to a beat she heard in her head while she lifted her arms high and let them swing to the same count. Pascal could dance, but only passably. He could certainly not dance without music. Yet this felt natural to both body and mind.

The horse race should have given it away. As Pascal she rarely got to ride; she should not be that skilled. Sofiya had noticed it when they were speaking. To an ever greater extent she was more Simza than Pascal. She was not certain she’d be able to put herself back together.

She wanted to repeat her mantra, but was afraid she’d get it wrong.

“Now that was impressive,” Andrei exclaimed.

“We have dance for every occasion,” Paz responded in an exaggerated accent. “Even dance for side of lake with no music.” She stared boldly in his eyes, “We also have dance a girl only does for her husband.” Rubbing her finger slowly against his cheek, she purred, “I think you’ll be looking forward to that one.”

His face lit up, “Oh yes.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her tight to him.

When he kissed her this time, she did not pull back.

- ♇ -

“If I never see a pot again…” Brynn thought to himself as he scrubbed the black iron kettle. The chef glowered at him while she busied herself butterflying chickens.

Tamara was kneading bread dough with a smile on her face. She was happier than Brynn was. Maids who got to prepare food, even simple tasks, had a chance to move up in the kitchen. When she saw Brynn looking her way she grinned and silently mouthed, “Don’t worry.” Then later, “Tonight,” while pointing at the orchards outside. That was one message too many. Mrs. Nesterov saw her and slapped her hand with a wooden spoon.

Brynn knew exactly how much that hurt.

Between helping Brynn on the investigation and discovering that he knew both Sofiya and Simza, Tamara seemed confused around him. She was very friendly to him, but varied between acting like a big sister and a flirty girlfriend. As an ancient ten year old, all of his relationships were complicated. He could read and enjoy the mixed message. She was acting like a flirt, but she was just arranging to climb trees after work.

No messing around, then. Probably. Even if not, climbing trees is fun.

He’d been a ten year old for decades. Of course he took advantage of it, like being able to climb trees for fun without drawing undue attention.

As soon as Mrs. Nesterov was concentrating on her sauces again, he tapped Tomo’s hand, smiled and nodded at her.

It’s a date. Wonder if I’m getting more action than Paz. Doing it as a babe would be so cool, but the guy’s so uptight he’s probably avoiding it. More fool he.

Tamara had tried pestering Brynn for more information but he hadn’t told her what he was really up to yet. Last night she was so in awe that she spoke directly to Lady Sofiya that she didn’t ask too many questions. Her curiosity grew overnight and Brynn suspected she’d be back at it tonight.

“Tamara,” Mrs. Nesterov snapped. Both Brynn and Tamara looked up, assuming she caught them in small talk again. Instead, she ordered “Bring me the cactus seeds for the chocolate sauce.”

With a quick “Yes ma’am,” she ran to the medicine cabinet and out of whisper range. Brynn gave her a quick sad-face as she went and got a quiet giggle in return.

Once she got the seeds Nrs. Nesterov sent her to the butler. She wanted to be sure he provided a flavored vodka for the dessert course since the cactus nectar was a stimulant. Tamara wouldn’t be back at her station any time soon.

There goes the one bit of fun I could count on. Back to scrubbing. Scrub, scrub, scrub. When Tomo gets back, I wonder if she’d– Hold on, I think I just missed something.

“Cactus? Stimulant? Mescaline?” He nearly shouted.

The thickset cook turned in surprise. “You know it? That sounds like what they called it in their language, yes.” She took a step towards him. “I thought you didn’t know anything about cooking, child. How do you know about this?”

How to play this one? If they keep drugs in the kitchen I need to know about it. Paz would kill me if I didn’t follow it up. I need to keep my cover too, so I can’t draw too much attention.

“Miss Sofiya, oh, sorry, I mean Lady Sofiya rescued me from Fall of Night. You know that. Well, I, um, I didn’t live in one of the good neighborhoods, Mrs. Nesterov. I know I’m lucky to be here now. I used to see, well, things like that a lot.” He tried to sound like he was ashamed of a past he was inventing on the spot.

Mrs. Nesterov was flustered. “Well, it’s safe enough in my recipes. But no going after it straight up, you hear me?” She announced loudly enough for the whole kitchen to hear, which was almost certainly her intent.

A few moments later, much to Brynn’s surprise, she came over to speak to him. Looking down at him, she said. “Listen boy. You’re a good worker, and I want you back here when we return to Fall of Night. But you stay out of trouble while we’re gone, you hear? Live in a different neighborhood. Got it?”

“Um, uh, well, yes ma’am,” he finally managed.

I’ll be damned. A woman did get me at a loss for words, just not the one I’d hoped.

Opportunities exist to be taken. So Brynn took it.

Trying his best to sound casual, he said, “I guess it’s good to know you can cook with those things. I mean, to know that they’re good for something. How do you know how much to put in? Isn’t it dangerous?”

It didn’t entirely work. Mrs. Nesterov peered at him in surprise, suspiciously. “I follow recipes and I am careful with them. I don’t want you trying to be a supplier here. I deal with respectable men who know their trade.”

“Of course not. You’re the only one who works with these, then?”

Without another word she grabbed his arm and dragged him to the pantry. Once out of sight of the kitchen staff she knelt down to his level and looked him in the eyes. “Who have you seen in my cabinet?”

“No one. I haven’t seen anyone.”

Quake just a little, look sideways so I don’t see her eyes. Hide a hand behind my back.

It worked. She didn’t believe him.

“Tell me, boy. Brynn, who have you seen in the cabinet?” He quaked in the face of her anger, then saw her relax suddenly. “Was it Sergey? Or another one of the footmen?”

Relax. Start to nod, then stop, eyes wide open but look to the side.

“Is that, I mean, I don’t want to get him in trouble…”

Mrs. Nesterov smiled, “Lady Pankov puts poppy juice in her drink when she wants to sleep. Sergey brings it up to the dining room for her. That is all right.” She put her hand on his head and rubbed his hair, “But it’s good of you to check. If you see anyone doing something wrong, you tell me or Mr. Menschikov. We’ll treat staff fair, have no fear. And that includes you. You do a good job, we’ll treat you fair.”

He nodded solemnly. Inside he felt like dancing a jig.

I solved the case. I beat Paz. He was poisoned with the perfume bottles in the mother’s room. It wasn’t Miss Scuykov. It was Lady Pankov. She didn’t get drawn in after the murder, she was working with Boris from the beginning. How do I get away to tell Paz?

Tamara provided the answer when she got back. “Can I borrow Brynn? They want help upstairs rearranging chairs.” Mrs. Nesterov barely glanced at the pots before giving permission.

“You looked antsy,” Tamara explained as soon as they were out of earshot.

“You’re a lifesaver, Tomo,” he answered to a bright smile. A bit brighter than he expected. He stopped and grabbed her hand, “Tomo, why are you helping me? What do you want?”

She seemed surprised in turn. Somewhat bashful suddenly, “You’re nice, and smart, kind of cute, and both Mrs. Nesterov and Mr. Zefirov picked you out to advance after just a week. I like you and thought I could be your friend. Then when you come back next time we’re here, you’ll be older, and maybe then…” She trailed off.

It hurts being this small forever. In three years you’ll be sixteen. In three years, I’ll still be ten.

“How would you like to go to Fall–” he started to say, but stopped. He looked at the cute girl in front of him. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t even ask.

“I hate to do this Tomo, because I like you too and wish things could be the way you want. He gently took her hand in his, suddenly seeming much older in the girl’s eyes. It was the first time he held her hands, a bittersweet pleasure. “I’m going to be leaving soon and I won’t be coming back. Maybe, if you still want to when you come back, you can go to Fall of Night. Find the Freezer. I’ll be there. I promise.”

It shouldn’t be this hard, I’ve only known her a week. She’s just another girl. I hate being noble. Stupid Paz rubbing off on me…

“I don’t under–” Tamara broke away from him, her eyes moist. “Yeah, OK,” she said in a flat tone. She turned away and went back to work.

With leaden feet, Brynn left to find his partner.

- ♇ -

“So that’s how they did it,” Brynn announced triumphantly.

Pascal nodded, tapping her tapered finger lightly against her chin. “It works.” She smiled, “It does work nicely.” Her smile turned evil, “You do know we’re not done, right?”

Brynn’s face fell. “What d’you mean? We’ve got it. We can tell Sofiya and go home. I’m tired of washing pots and I already said good bye to Tomo.”

Pascal raised an eyebrow at that. She had seen Brynn with the blond kitchen maid but hadn’t known he’d gotten serious. That was an oversight, she realized. Pretty girls were Brynn’s biggest weakness. For someone as old as he was, or at least as old as he claimed to be, he fell in love often and hard.

They were walking through the courtyard gardens together. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the manicured grounds. Pascal had come out here almost every afternoon, just like Sofiya had suggested on their first day in Brodjach. This was the first time they managed to meet there. She didn’t regret the time she spent alone in the gardens; they were lovely and soothing. There were times when she wondered whether those feelings came from her or Simza. She didn’t remember having any great love of flowers or landscaping, but she had lost so many of her memories over the years that she wasn’t entirely sure. It didn’t matter, she liked them now and enjoyed her walks even when she didn’t meet Brynn.

“We don’t know why,” she explained. “It’s a good story you’ve got. It’s really good, I can believe it. But in the end, that’s all it is, a story. It takes a lot for a man to kill his father. No one would believe us unless we got a confession. Right now I could make a better case for Andrei with the fights he had over me the last few weeks. This wasn’t a crime of passion, it was planned,” she grinned and saw Brynn perk up. He knew something good was coming. “There is one man who might know what was going on.”

“Spill, already,” Brynn finally jumped in when she let the dramatic pause last a little too long.

“Yakim, the valet. Fedya told us that Boris finally wrote to the gendarmes and asked them to drop the case. If you’re right, we can see why he refused to do that at first and suddenly changed his mind. It would all be part of covering his tracks. Anyway, Andrei is taking me into town tomorrow to do some shopping,” she blushed slightly. From Brynn’s reaction she was sure he noticed. “I should be able to get away from Andrei for a little while and track down Yakim.”

There was no way she’d tell Brynn about making up with Andrei. He was taking her into town to listen to a string quartet. It was his way of returning her gesture with the picnic, giving them a romantic evening together. She told him that her brother, by which she meant Simza’s brother, was in town and she wanted to see him. That would give her an hour by herself to find Yakim.

- ♇ -

Between dressing up and keeping her hand on his arm throughout the concert Andrei was in a great mood and he asked no questions when she left him to speak with her brother. While she was uncomfortable lying to him again, she didn’t want him to know she was still investigating the case. She did not need to feel guilty for ruining Simza’s life even further.

She found herself in the lobby of a rundown theater. The darkness concealed the dirt on the windows and gave the faded decor a misty glamor. She recognized the valet even though she had never seen him before. Simza knew Yakim and Pascal had her brain. She was having an increasingly hard time telling which memories were hers.

The tall man with with gaunt eyes above his neatly trimmed beard walked up to her eagerly. “I must beg your forgiveness, Lady Simza,” he said with his head bowed. “I treated you abominably and now I have you to thank for my freedom. Nothing I can say will ever make up for how I’ve acted, but I still hope you will accept my most humble apologies.”

She wondered what the man had done to her that was so horrible and whether or not it was worth inquiring further. Immediately after thinking that she was flooded with relief. She didn’t know what he’d done. Some part of her was still Pascal. She wasn’t all Simza.

Vagueness was an old and dear friend. “They aren’t needed, but I accept them anyway, Yakim Sergeyin.” She felt like she needed to say more and a leading question wouldn’t hurt. “I know Andrei’s family did not welcome me and I can hardly blame a faithful servant for following their lead. That is the reason, no?”

He nodded with relief but then stopped and shook his head. “No ma’am. I cannot pass off my faults on them. It is true that Lord Pankov did not welcome you at first but when he saw how much his son wanted to be with you– well, for a time he changed his mind. But even when he was most friendly to you I was not. Like too many of us who served, I would not accept a Gypsy among the family.”

“Andrei tried to shield me from his family’s views. Perhaps too much. I knew his father was angry when he brought me home, but I never knew he changed his mind. I wish I’d gotten to know him,” she tried to lead him along. “Sonya and I have become friends while we were working to clear your name.”

Yakim turned aside to hide his reaction to that news. “Lord Pankov did change his mind, about Andrei and you. Old Lord Pankov now, I guess, though it’s hard to think of him that way.” His loyalty to the old man was clear. Pascal wondered how anyone ever thought he was the killer.

Yakim went on, “I think it did Lord Pankov good to see you two together. Lord Boris’s wedding was a fine affair and a well made match, but neither Lord Pankov nor Lord Boris have ever approved of Lady Dunyasha. He had so much to deal with, so many problems this year, and at first he thought Lord Andrei’s return was one more. It took him time to see that his son had grown up while he was gone, but he did. It was a bright light for him. Don’t take this wrong please, but I fear he disapproved of you, as it were, but approved of you for his son. If that makes sense, Miss.”

It did. She gave him a small smile and hoped it looked a little sad. “I can understand that. I still wish I’d gotten to know him better.”

That brought a smile to the former valet’s face. Despite his ill treatment, he thought well of his employer. Then he frowned and told her, “That all changed near the end. His burdens overcame him. He fought with Lord Andrei, furiously, over you. If he’d known what you’d do for me, I’m sure he wouldn’t have. And I hate to speak ill of him after he’s gone, but that is the God’s honest truth.”

“Andrei told me he took money from his father to pay gambling debts. Was that the cause? Did he blame me for that?”

“No, Miss Gray,” Yakim insisted. “It wasn’t that. I mean, Lord Pankov was very upset with Lord Andrei over that, but that happened when he first returned home. I do not know why he changed his mind near the end. He had a great many cares and they were taking a toll on his health.”

This was going in the wrong direction. Far from narrowing things down, Yakim was adding them in. Fedya Illyitch had mentioned the renewed fight between father and son, but Yakim made it seem much worse. Was Andrei a suspect again? Lord Pankov’s health was failing. Was all this a red herring, did he die a natural death? She would consider these, but later. She had her goals and a time limit to get back to Andrei before he’d start to worry.

“I wish it were otherwise, but I am sure he meant only the best for his family,” she said with her mouth drawn to a line. “I cannot blame a father who wants to aid his son, and I am sure that was his aim.”

This was what she did. She manipulated people. This was her gift before she became Simza, it was one she could rely on. Or was it? Simza was no slouch at manipulation either. She was a traveler who seduced a Lord’s son into marrying her. She hoped it was her skill, but whether her or Simza, she saw Yakim relax.

It gave her the opening she needed.

“Lord Pankov was a careful man, was he not?”

Yakim nodded. He didn’t know why she was changing the topic but was willing to go along.

“Some of his letters are missing,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. Andrei broke into the cash box but had no reason to take any letters. They were still a mystery, and she was convinced they held the key to the murders. “His correspondence with Victor Chernov is not in his office.Do you know what it was about?”

“Mr. Chernov,” Yakim said with surprise, “The lawyer? He was a friend of Lord Pankov’s; they went to school together. He was most put out when Mr. Chernov passed away. He didn’t know he’d follow so quickly.”

“That’s right,” Pascal exclaimed, “I heard about that. He died and a young man, Goldstein, had to take over.”

It wasn’t one death, it was two. She was more convinced than ever that the letters were the key.

Yakim stepped back in consternation. “I can’t. I knew a lot of what he did, Miss Gray, but I don’t know what he said to his lawyer. I was his valet.”

Despite his denials, she was sure he knew something. She couldn’t do her tough guy routine at the moment even if she tried, but she suspected it wouldn’t work anyway. The valet would just dig in. There were other ways. She lowered her eyes sadly before looking up with hope.

“I saw Lord Pankov’s drawings. Three copies each time. A draft, a rough, and a finished copy.” Yakim nodded. “For his letters, he filed his rough copy and sent off his final. Did he make draft copies of his letters?”

“I… that is. Well,” he stammered. He was surprised, trying to reach a decision. She would help him along.

“It’s important for the whole family.” Then, shyly, “but it wouldn’t hurt if I was the one to find them.”

“He didn’t keep the drafts in his office. He, well, he hid them. In his room, in the dresser. There’s a false back in one of the drawers.”

She thanked him, wished him the best of luck, and promised that she would not stop until his name was cleared. He thanked her in turn, though she was paying less attention.

Oddly, she was not upset over having to put off her investigation until the next day. She planned to enjoy the rest of her evening with Andrei.

Someone killed Lord Pankov, and it wasn’t the man arrested for the crime. The ghost, Pascal Hunter, is on the trail of the killer. Possessing the body of Simza Gray, she must battle to hang on to her sense of self while also trying to solve the mystery. She and her partner, the former fey, eternally ten year old Brynn, have accumulated too many suspects. They’ve also made a few too many waves in the normally placid household.

Pascal ran her fingers over the leather bound books in the library. It was a marvelous collection, and she regretted she’d had no time to do more than look at the titles. Tolstoy and Pushkin were well represented; she wondered if their books were the same ones she knew. Authors were not consistent from shard to shard. She knew of one shard where Karl Marx was a poet.

They had a surprisingly large math collection. There were working notebooks from Holtz and Lobachevsky. She would regret losing the opportunity to read them, but fighting to retain her self was becoming increasingly difficult. And there was the simple issue of justice. This wasn’t her body. It was time to return it to its owner.

“Sonya Stanislovna,” she said as the door to the library opened.

“Simcha, my sister,” she replied with a subtle grin. “Your message said you had an answer.”

“Yes. You were right, it was not Yakim. I think you knew that. You won’t be as happy with the rest,” she said grimly.

“That sounds ominous,” she replied. “I see you over there, Brynn.”

Paz’s partner moved around the display case with an aura of feigned innocence. He’d planned to surprise Sofiya by jumping out from hiding. Since he failed, he’d just pretend that was never his plan to begin with. It was one more way he attempted to exploit his apparent age.

“I’ll be walking you through the murder,” he said with cruel directness.

“One moment, Brynn,” Paz cautioned with a small cut of her hand. “Sonya, we’ll be leaving once we’ve given you the explanation. What you do with it is up to you.”

“Hold on,” she said firmly, “I hired you to clear Yakim Sergeyin.”

“No,” Paz responded softly but with just as much resolve, “you hired us to prove that Yakim did not kill your father. We can do that.” Dropping her voice to a near whisper, she pleaded, “Just listen. You’ll understand soon.”

“That’s my signal,” Brynn said with forced cheerfulness. He tried to act excited, like a child with a new toy, but Pascal knew him well enough to see past the veneer. Brynn liked solving mysteries every bit as much as she did. Like her, he took no joy in painful revelations. They both knew this one would bring much more pain than satisfaction.

“Naming Yakim as the killer was not your police’s first mistake. The death scene was designed to lead them down the wrong path and it succeeded. Your father did not suffocate. There was no magic involved,” Brynn began seriously. He calmed down as soon as he started his recitation, bringing his true age to bear in a way that contradicted his appearance. He didn’t do it often, but he could use it to great effect. His childish appearance and ancient bearing made people pay attention. It even worked on Pascal, and she knew it was coming. Sofiya was rapt.

“The murder started the night before, after you all finished dinner. Lord Pankov shared a drink with his wife. Lady Pankov mixed the drink for them. She took her sleeping draft, her poppy juice, and mixed a double portion with their drinks.”

Sofiya’s eyes narrowed in anger, but she didn’t say anything. Paz could tell that she was coming up with reasons to reject their theory.

“That ensured Lord Pankov would be sound asleep when the killer came to his room,” Brynn continued as though he did not see Sofiya’s face and posture. “Lady Pankov would also be sound asleep. She was a conspirator but she did not kill her husband. A double draft of her sleeping potion was enough to keep her under until morning. You’ll recall that Yakim could not wake her when Mr. Menschikov sent him to get her. She was among the last to awaken that morning.”

That got through. Sofiya’s anger broke while she considered their theory. A good sign, thought Pascal.

“It was your brother Boris who went to your father’s room that night. He dealt with the snakes in the kitchen often enough that no one took special notice. At some point, he collected their venom. From the gendarmes’ report, your father showed no signs of struggle. There weren’t any bruises. You only need to look at Pascal to see how bruised you get struggling against suffocation. According to the report, your father had a small bruise on his left arm. That’s where Boris injected the poison.”

“Wait a minute,” Sofiya interjected, “not that I believe this, but if Father was sound asleep, he wouldn’t have struggled against the blankets. So no bruises.”

“That would be an argument in favor of Yakim,” Pascal said quietly. “But no, it doesn’t work. If the bed held him so tightly that he couldn’t breathe, we’d see bruises even if he didn’t struggle. We can see the bruise from the injection and he didn’t struggle against that either.”

“Right,” Brynn jumped back in. He hated it when people interrupted but he also knew it was a delicate situation. He didn’t show his annoyance. Paz understood and gave him a quick nod. “So after he injected Lord Pankov, Boris cut a square from the cover. He held onto it until he could plant it when everyone else was occupied. Boris left to wait for the police. That put him downstairs by the servant’s wing and gave him plenty of time to plant the evidence in Yakim’s room.”

Sofiya screwed up her face. Pascal could tell she was thinking it over, trying to be honest despite wanting to reject it out of hand. Finally she said “No. I don’t see it. You don’t have any proof, and there’s just no reason for it.”

“I’m so sorry, Sonya, but there is,” Pascal said quietly. She reached over and took Sonya’s hands in her own for comfort. “Your father was angry for weeks before he died. You knew something was wrong, didn’t you?”

Surprise again. Sofiya looked up sharply, as if she’d been struck. “How did you–? Maybe, yes. Something had upset him.”

“I don’t know how he found out but he uncovered a secret your mother had kept from him for 23 years. It brought his world crashing down around him.”

She could see the light dawn on Sofiya, but she couldn’t accept it. “No,” she said with a sharp shake of her head.

“Yes. Boris is your brother, but he is not your father’s son. Your father was going to disinherit Boris, but your mother found out about it. She arranged to have your lawyer, Victor Chernov, killed and stole your father’s letters. She got Boris to steal the copies your father kept in his office.”

“Then there’s still no proof,” she insisted.

“There is. Your father was a fastidious man. He made a draft of each letter before the copy or the final. He did not keep them with his copies, possibly against just such a theft. Here.” With tears in her eyes, Pascal carefully placed the letters in Sofiya’s hand.

“Your father was willing to let Andrei marry me. Marry Simza, that is. He was even happy that his youngest son had turned his life around. But when he found out about Boris he changed his mind. He did not want his heir marrying a Romany. That was why they started arguing again. But…”

“But Boris is the heir. He’s already inherited–” Sofiya interrupted, struggling with the revelations.

“That’s right. We could have had a parlor scene and exposed your brother in front of everyone. I’m sure we could have tricked a confession out of him or your mother. Brynn’s very good at that,” she said with a ghost of a smile while downplaying her own skill at goading people into saying what they shouldn’t.

Pascal continued with all the kindness she could muster, “I didn’t think you’d want that. You know what it would do to your family. You know the truth now and have the evidence to prove it. You can use it to keep Boris away from Yakim without destroying him. Or you can seek justice for your father at all costs. Our job was to find the truth, and we did. What you do with it; that’s up to you.”

Tears rolled freely down Sofiya’s face. “I need you. Your help. Please, Simcha.”

Paz held back her own tears, “You’ll have it. From her. Simza will be confused but she’ll remember most of what I’ve done. Help her fit in to your family, and she’ll help you in return.” Pascal was sure of that. Simza understood obligations. She’d given herself to Andrei to secure her family’s future. She’d help Sofiya if Sofiya helped her.

“I don’t know what to do,” wailed Sofiya.

“Trust yourself to figure it out,” she responded. “I’m sorry I can’t stay to help, but we must leave. Good bye Sonya.” In a whisper only the tearful woman heard she added, “Sister.”

Pascal and Brynn left quietly while Sofiya struggled to stop sobbing. They were leaving early enough to let Simza return to the house that afternoon. Pascal’s host would have control of her life again. Pascal would not return with her.

- ♇ -

She tried to remake her body as soon as she entered the city. As soon as he entered the city, that is. She, he, forced himself to concentrate on his self-image. He was Pascal Hunter, detective. Too long outside herself, she had to strain to remember who that was. He was a detective, he owned the Green Goose.

There were shadows. He could perceive light and dark, even if they were only vague impressions. He didn’t have eyes yet, but having enough presence to sense anything was good. Cold marble was beneath him, cold winds blew through him. Memories battered him. Battlefield. He was in Battlefield, where the natives once fought invading colonists from Fall of Night. Where he once fought the natives. Regret flooded him, tore at him and nearly ripped him apart. He would not take form here.

“Way to go, boss, you’re almost visible. Got a career ahead of you as shower mist.”

New feelings piled on top of regret; anger and annoyance. It helped him remember who he was. He almost pulled himself into a human outline.

Brynn saw no reason to stop. “Hey, if we need a chalk outline for the next case, you got the job in the bag. I know I do all the work and call you an empty suit, but you didn’t have to take it so literally.”

His childlike partner’s insults gave him form as they walked.

He tried to pull himself together. Memories were elusive, fleeing when he pursued them. Feelings were easier to grasp. The child-man by his side inspired equal parts fondness and frustration. The city was even worse, love and hate fighting for dominance. It had taken his life and given it back. It was dangerous, unpredictable, and ungovernable, yet filled with possibilities. Anything could happen somewhere. A ghost could regain a small semblance of life if he went to the right place.

His feelings kept him together. He did not drift apart despite the temptation to let it all go.

Finally he crossed into the Freezer. He felt pain, intense burning everywhere as nerves came into existence. It was followed by numbness, a frigid cold that bit like flame.

“Whoa, boss. Spare my tender eyes. Turn solid with clothes on already.”

“Broken blades,” he croaked through a new throat. He forced brand new muscles into a run, streaking through the shadowed streets of his home. Shouts and laughter followed his progress. He barged into his tavern, the Green Goose, to gales of laughter. A pale man with short hair held the doors to the main room open. Vic. The name was there and he rejoiced in it. The crowd in the common room stared at him and laughed expectantly.

Finally bowing to the inevitable, Pascal stood up straight and gave everyone a good view. Bowing deeply and sarcastically, “Always good to be home, thanks for the warm welcome back.”

He turned around to go upstairs and bowed one more time. It looked suspiciously like he was mooning the room. That too met with a gale of laughter.

When he got up to his room he looked for a maid and a dress but quickly corrected herself. Himself. Pronoun trouble. That will happen for a while. He was pleased with how he’d handled himself downstairs. That was Pascal Hunter. He was almost sure of it.

“I liked your last suit better,” Holly teased him when he came downstairs for a drink.

“Pepper vodka,” he ordered without thinking.

With a grin, “If you use vodka instead of rum, you turn a Naked Lady into a Naked Gentleman.”

Pascal choked.

“Hey, don’t take it so hard, boss man. Just teasing.”

Fortunately Brynn walked in to relieve Pascal from explaining why that was funnier than Holly thought.

“Your hair’s long,” Brynn said by way of greeting.

“What? So it is,” he said as he grabbed at it. It was a darker brown than it used to be, thicker and with a slight curl. He knew how to style it. “I’ll have to get it cut,” he grumped.

Brynn chuckled. Holly cocked an eyebrow at him for an explanation, but Brynn was able to resist her charms for a change. Slowly Pascal got himself together. He remembered the Goose, and Holly, and Vic, and the crowds that started to come for food and warmth when the sun set.

He was the main topic of conversation, his naked run through the neighborhood was told and retold. Circumstance put him in the center of attention and made him interact with his neighbors. It was the best possible tonic.

“I lost a bet,” he explained a dozen times. “No, I’m not telling to who. Take a guess.”

Or, “The stakes? Well, let’s just say I’d much rather have won.”

Vagueness and innuendo were still his allies.

He had another debt to pay the next day. With a heavy heart he went to see the Carrabach.

He’d grown accustomed to the warm weather in Brodjach but the Freezer had not changed. His return to shirt and pants also meant a return to boots, parkas, gloves, scarves, and hats. Entering the Carrabach’s waiting room started with the ritual removal of his outer layers. When he pulled off his hat his hair spilled out. He would have to get it cut.

The dragon did not keep him waiting long. Paz was quickly admitted to the main office.

“It is gratifying to welcome your safe return, Mr. Hunter. Allow me to offer you some refreshment while you recount your results.”

“Thank you Carrabach,” he answered, looking up at the giant standing in front of him. The dragon towered above him just like Feodor Illyitch had when he was Simza. The Carrabach had a broad smile on his dark features, while the butler went through life with a scowl. For all that, the dragon was far more threatening.

His host’s huge meaty fingers wrapped around a crystal decanter with surprising delicacy. Pascal had never seen him so much as smudge any of his treasures. He served hard cider, which was typical of the Carrabach; enough to satisfy social obligations without being so valuable as to be hard to replace.

“You asked me to find out what conditions changed in Brodjach to allow them to grow their tobacco,” Pascal began. “I found out. Nothing changes.”

“Unacceptable,” replied the giant, though calmly. “They are temperate and insufficiently arid. You are attempting to obfuscate the issue, Mr. Hunter.”

“To an extent, yes. The answer I’ve given is true, and is what you asked for.”

“Ho ho, then. I am undone by your cleverness. I think not, Mr. Hunter. If you insist I accept your non-responsive answer I will. But evermore our dealings will be governed by technicalities.”

Pascal put a finger in front of his face, gesturing for a pause. “I hope we can do better than that. This information can be dangerous for them and since it goes beyond what you asked for, I want a guarantee.”

“And the nature of this guarantee?”

“I passed through Battlefield to get to Brodjach. That can’t happen again.”

The Carrabach understood. “Devastation provides short term profits. My interests are long term. I accept your terms. I will consider the natives’ welfare in my calculations.”

He wanted more, but would accept that. “They don’t grow tobacco. Ever. When they leave Fall of Night, they go to their home shard. It’s large, really large. Carrabach, I think their whole world survived the Cataclysm.”

“That is why you fear a new Battlefield,” intoned the Carrabach. “That explains a lot. They want to maximize their profit while disguising its origin. A compact, high value crop is believable.” He pondered. “Doubtless they have other profitable opportunities they forego for concealment. With a partner versed in concealing and laundering, the potential profit soars. Excellent news, Mr. Hunter.”

A small smile broke out on his face.

“I don’t–” Pascal tried again. “You’re not– You’ve heard of this before.”

“If their whole world survived, it will be the fourth I know of, but the only one where I could trade exclusively.” A small scowl crossed his face. “What are your contacts on the world like? I may need you as a liaison. There will be a percentage, of course.”

“Contacts?” This wasn’t how he’d expected the conversation to go. “Difficult. It depends what Sofiya does with her information.”

That led to him telling the Carrabach what happened. He listened carefully. “Send a letter to Sofiya,” he said and left.

- ♇ -

A little over three weeks later, Sofiya showed up at the Green Goose. She wore a long blue skirt with a pale blue and yellow blouse under her heavy fur coat. Pascal considered that a hopeful sign. She was not in mourning. No one had died from his revelations.

It felt strange to see her again. He was still trying to recover, to be Pascal Hunter again. His time as Simza had changed him. He noticed it every day with his new preference for vodka over bourbon. That was a simple change, easily noted, and he didn’t care much. He worried that there were deeper changes he hadn’t noticed or memories that he’d lost or changed.

Seeing Sofiya brought it all back. She was a sister, a rival, an obstacle and a possible ally all at once. He knew those were Simza’s feelings, but they were a part of him now and he couldn’t get rid of them.

“Sorry, Jim, I’m going to have to leave you two alone. This one’s for me,” he told the boy across the table from him.

“Sure thing, Paz,” the teen snapped back.

Paz suppressed a knowing smirk. Jim brought his date to the Goose because his father trusted Pascal so they could go off without guards. Even though he liked Pascal, Jim still chafed at the restrictions and would be glad for some time alone with Ally.

Neither Jim nor Ally, also known as Kyle Parker, passed as well as they once did. Jim’s hair was tied back but getting longer and his fingernails were a bit too long and clean. Ally’s shoulders were muscular and too broad for her dress. They were making plans to switch places and each wanted a good body to move in to. As part of becoming a man, Jim had to be Denise more than when he tried to run away.

Pascal wished them the best of luck. He liked to think he was not the only person to find a new life in Fall of Night.

“It’s good to see you again, Sonya,” he greeted her.

“Mr. Hunter,” she answered coldly. Up close Paz could see she was in poor shape. She had bags under her eyes and hollow cheeks. Sadness rolled off of her in waves.

“Please step this way,” he offered while taking her arm. He led her back through the restaurant into one of the private booths Vic had made up. Not completely private, but no one was trying to listen in.

“I would ask how things are going, but just looking at you I can see you’ve had trouble.” He tried his best to sound sympathetic.

She glared at him, looked down her nose, and used all the aristocratic defenses at her command to get him to look away. He knew the tricks and waited. Finally she gave up and sobbed, putting her head in her hands.

He put his hand on hers. He drew it back quickly. It looked wrong. With Sonya here he was expecting to see long nails and polish. He was Pascal, not Simza. Reaching out again he grasped her hand and hoped he could give her some comfort.

“It’s been– It’s been terrible,” she cried. She took another moment to recover but did not let go of Pascal’s hand. When she realized she was holding his hand she almost pulled back but instead looked at him and asked, “You were Simza, right? That wasn’t a joke?”

He smiled gently, and for just a second he felt like he was Simza again. “Yes, I really was.”

Sofiya relaxed, though Pascal could tell it was a deliberate effort. “I almost didn’t come. Simza insisted.”

“Tell me more,” he prodded.

“I thought– I know what you tried to tell me. Let it alone and use the letters to make sure Boris leaves Yakim alone. That’s what you meant, right?”

It was, but ‘I told you so’ never goes over well. So, “No, not at all. It was your decision, and I knew you’d do what you thought was right. I’m, uh, I’m not good at judging, so I left it to you.”

“I wanted to. I knew what would happen if I showed everyone what you found. But I just couldn’t. I mean, it didn’t bother me that Boris wasn’t Father’s. Well, maybe a little, just thinking of Mother… But he killed Father.”

Pascal nodded. He understood all too well.

“I thought maybe Boris would leave quietly if I threatened him. I would have let him go.”

That was stupid, Pascal thought to himself, but she’s still alive so the worst didn’t happen.

“He didn’t. Andrei found out. They fought and Boris lost. Andrei was shot in the arm but Boris had to go to the hospital to recover, which probably worked out for the best.” So when she said they fought, she meant it.

“We’ve kept Mother and Boris from coming back, but a lot of the staff left with them and they are going to file legal challenges when we get home and I just don’t know if we can keep going. And it’s all my fault.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Pascal could think to say. “I wish it worked out better for you.”

“Simza, well, when she saw your letter, she got Andrei to insist I come see you. This Carrabach, can we trust him?”

“Not for a second,” he replied without thinking. After a moment he corrected himself, “You can trust him to keep his deals. He won’t lift a finger to help you without one, and it’s his interests he’s got in mind, not yours.”

“Can he– Can he do what he says? Can he hide anything we ship through him?”

She wanted him to reassure her, “I don’t know. Really. I don’t know much about his business empire. I do know him. If he says he can do something and takes payment for it, he probably can. I don’t know how.”

“Simza, well, that’s what she said. There’s a lot of money involved, and she said that would make a difference if Boris challenges us. It shouldn’t, we’re all nobles and the courts will treat us fairly, but…”

“But Simza has a feel for how things really work,” Paz filled in.

“Can we trust her?” Sofiya asked while looking directly in his eyes.

“Are they married yet?”

“With all this? No, of course not.”

“Have the wedding. Push Andrei into it if you have to, and make sure Simza knows you’re doing it. Get them married. Then, yes, you can trust her.”

Sofiya thought about it. Her fingers drummed against the table while he held his hand over hers. It was a small thing when it came. She looked down and nodded her head so slightly he could barely see it. His spirit still soared.

She would-- No, Simza would marry Andrei and be in the family. Simza would be Lady Pankov. And Sofiya would have an ally for life.

“I will see this Carrabach in the morning then, Mr. Hunter. Tell me, does justice always hurt this much?”

His joy ended. Sofiya drew back in alarm at the pain in his eyes.

“Every time.”