Chapter 31
Respect began to grow in place of skepticism, admiration replacing suspicion, and without realizing it, the soldiers began to follow certain instructions given by Nirma and Arya as though the two investigators were their own superiors.
The sun had risen since Nirma and Arya began their inquiry, yet neither of them counted the hours anymore, nor cared for the shifting of time beyond their awareness.
All that occupied their minds were the steady flow of evidence, fragments of information weaving together into a vast spider's web—ever more intricate, yet increasingly revealing in its pattern.
At the Kapeleion, they found traces of a bitter greenish liquid still staining the fabric of the victim's robe, tiny blister marks on the skin of his right back visible only when light struck from a certain angle, and a faint sulfuric odor clinging to his garments even after hours had passed.
At the Warehouse of the Theodosian Harbor, they discovered fragments of dockside soil identical to that adhering to the victim's shoes, and more disturbingly, records indicating that a small amphora containing chemical substances had gone missing three days before the murder.
In the Alchemist's Workshop, a Greek physician with weary eyes from lack of sleep showed them a chalk-like white powder whose effects resembled what they had seen upon the victim's skin—a substance that, when exposed to bodily moisture, reacted and left unusual chemical burns.
Near the Mangana Palace, they encountered a soldier who recalled seeing the victim speaking several times with someone clad in a robe embroidered with golden thread—the very same type of thread they had found wedged between stones near the murder site.
Within a silent monastery where monks moved soundlessly through long corridors, they discovered a strand of foreign hair that could not have belonged to the victim or to anyone who regularly visited that sacred place—a texture and color suggesting it came from someone of a particular class.
And at the Latin Soldiers' Hospice, amid the bustle of troops preparing to depart for the Holy Land, they uncovered carved initials etched into wooden tables, records of leave showing the victim often went out alone without disclosing his destination, and a half-burned leather cord that might silently testify to a strange ritual conducted beneath the hush of dawn.
Every location they visited, every piece of evidence they uncovered, reinforced their conviction that this case was far from simple.
The victim's Latin ring, partially cracked by heat, suggested he had been near intense fire shortly before his death, yet no signs of burning existed within the Kapeleion.
A sealed letter found tucked behind his armor might contain the final message he never had the chance to read—a message perhaps explaining why he had to die.
Drops of wax of a different color than those used in the Kapeleion, discovered near his body, indicated that someone else had brought their own candle to the scene, perhaps to illuminate something unseen by other patrons.
A wine glass bearing oily residue found in a distant corner suggested a secret meeting had taken place that morning—one meant to remain concealed.
Footprints of varying sizes behind the tavern implied that the perpetrator had not acted alone, or perhaps had deliberately left false traces to confound the investigation.
When they finally visited the sixth site, when they examined the twentieth piece of evidence, when the wax tablets in their hands held no remaining space for even a single additional mark—every surface covered with dense script—Nirma and Arya turned simultaneously.
Their movement was synchronized, born of thousands of nights spent traversing the corridors of time together, born of the shared understanding that it was time to stop gathering and begin assembling.
Before them, faithful as shadows that never leave the body, the Prefect's soldiers remained on guard.
They had accompanied Nirma and Arya to six investigative sites, waited patiently outside each building while the investigators worked within, and borne silent witness to a level of dedication they had never seen before.
Now, as Nirma and Arya approached, the soldiers straightened, ready to receive whatever orders would follow.
Nirma withdrew her wax tablet, its once-smooth surface now crowded with markings legible only to her.
Her index finger moved along the lines of writing, searching, pausing at one point, then carefully circling a short sentence with the tip of her stylus.
That circle, like others she had drawn in years past, signified the core of everything—the knot to be untangled, the question to be answered before it was too late.
She handed the wax tablet to Arya, her single eye meeting his with unspoken intensity.
Arya accepted it, read the circled sentence in silence, and nodded slowly.
He understood.
He always did.
"We will observe first before formally naming a suspect," Nirma said, her voice calm yet layered with meaning—loud enough for the nearby soldiers to hear, soft enough to retain an air of secrecy.
As the carriage was readied, as the black horses were repositioned and reins adjusted by skilled hands, one of the soldiers suddenly paused.
A young soldier with curly red hair, who had quietly admired Nirma's and Arya's meticulous methods, stepped forward at last.
He stood before Nirma respectfully, though his eyes betrayed a curiosity he could not conceal.
"Madam," he began, his voice trembling slightly with nervousness, "where shall we escort you now? Is there another place that must be visited to uncover further evidence, or is there something else that must be done?"
His gaze shifted between Nirma and Arya, attempting to read from their expressions what would come next, but the two investigators were masters of concealing thought behind masks of impenetrable calm.
Nirma looked at the young soldier with a faint smile slowly forming upon her lips—the same smile she had offered to merchants days earlier, one that conveyed respect while maintaining distance.
Her slender hand rose to touch the white bandage covering her damaged right eye, stroking it gently in a gesture almost tender.
To others it might have appeared a nervous habit, but for Nirma it was a means of centering herself, a reminder that behind the darkness of her injured eye she could still see more clearly than most who possessed both eyes intact.
"We do not need to search for new evidence anymore, soldier," she replied softly, her tone calm yet unquestionable in authority.
"The evidence we have gathered is more than sufficient. Now it is time for something different. Now it is time to begin the interrogation."
To be continued…