Chapter 40
Inside the Covered Carriage that moved steadily away from the Mangana Palace complex, the atmosphere was silent yet filled with concentration.
Nirma sat back against the velvet-lined seat, the Wax Tablet resting open on her lap at its final page, her single eye moving swiftly across the lines of writing she had filled during days of investigation.
Her index finger danced over the soft wax surface, pointing at certain sections before giving a small nod, as though she had found something she had been searching for.
Across from her, Arya was equally occupied with his own Wax Tablet, his sharp eyes narrowing as he read through the notes he had written, occasionally furrowing his brow when he encountered something that did not align.
For several minutes they were immersed in their respective worlds, accompanied only by the faint clinking of harness chains and the rhythmic pounding of the horses' hooves, until at last Nirma lifted her face and looked at Arya with a particular gaze that only he understood.
That gaze was followed by a faint smile, the same smile she always wore whenever she uncovered an important clue, a smile that prompted Arya to close his Wax Tablet at once and prepare to receive instructions.
Without exchanging a single word, Arya already knew what he had to do.
He rose from his seat and pushed forward to the front of the carriage, lowering his head toward the narrow opening that connected the passenger compartment to the driver's seat.
There sat a Prefect's soldier clad in a dark blue cloak and a leather cap shielding his head from the chill of the early dawn wind, his hands skillfully controlling the reins of four black horses running in perfect discipline.
Arya tapped his shoulder lightly, and when the soldier turned with a slight start, Arya spoke in a voice loud enough to overcome the wind and the pounding hooves.
"Take us to the Blachernae Palace Complex," Arya said, his tone firm yet not harsh, "more precisely, to the residence of Caesar Nikephoros Melissenos in the Blachernae district."
The soldier nodded, his eyes revealing that he knew the location well, yet at the same time his brows lifted slightly, a sign that a question was beginning to form in his mind.
He was one of the Prefect's soldiers who had faithfully accompanied Nirma and Arya since their arrival at the Kapeleion, who had personally witnessed how these two foreign investigators worked with a precision and speed he had never seen before.
Yet this time, the destination Arya mentioned stirred his curiosity, compelling him to ask even though he knew he might not have the right.
"Forgive me, Sir Arya," the soldier said respectfully yet curiously, "I do not intend to interfere in the investigation, but may I ask something? Is there an official with direct blood ties to Emperor Alexios I Komnenos involved in the case you and the Lady are currently investigating?"
His question hung in the cold dawn air, carried by the wind into the carriage, and Nirma, who heard it from within, merely gave a faint smile.
Arya glanced briefly backward, catching Nirma's smile, then returned his gaze to the soldier with an expression that was difficult to interpret.
He did not answer immediately, allowing the silence to speak for a moment, before nodding slowly.
From inside the carriage, Nirma rose and approached, standing directly behind Arya with graceful posture despite the carriage's constant swaying.
She lifted her right hand and extended her index finger toward the sky, positioning it slightly below her shoulders, a gesture resembling someone taking an oath or declaring something solemnly.
Her single eye fixed on the soldier with the same intensity she had shown while interrogating Adrianos a few hours earlier, and when she spoke, her voice was gentle yet meaningful, like the calm yet deep flow of a river.
"Listen, soldier," she said, "it is not our fault if someone with blood ties to Emperor Alexios I Komnenos becomes entangled in this investigation. We merely follow the evidence, seek the truth, and carry out what the Emperor himself has commanded. If that truth leads us to the door of a Caesar's residence, then that is where we shall go. No more, no less."
She leaned slightly forward, revealing the Wax Tablet still open in her hand, and pointed to a section that had been circled repeatedly in thick strokes.
The soldier leaned closer, attempting to read the writing etched faintly in the moonlit wax.
There, among countless markings and circles, a sentence was clearly engraved—one that made his heart beat faster.
"Second potential suspect: Nikephoros Melissenos, brother-in-law of Emperor Alexios I Komnenos. His presence at several locations where Étienne d'Arques last carried out his routines between serving as a crusader soldier is deemed worthy of suspicion."
The face of the soldier holding the Wax Tablet changed in an instant.
It was not a dramatic transformation, nor an exaggerated expression of shock, but something subtler and deeper.
The muscles in his jaw tightened, his pupils widened slightly, and his breath caught for a fraction of a second before he exhaled slowly.
He lowered his gaze, staring once more at the sentence carved into the wax, as though hoping that what he had just read was a mistake, an illusion, something that would vanish if he closed his eyes long enough.
But the sentence remained there, clearly etched in neat Greek letters, naming Nikephoros Melissenos, Caesar of the Eastern Roman Empire and brother-in-law of Emperor Alexios I Komnenos himself, as a potential suspect in the investigation of eighteen crusaders' murders.
He was a soldier who had served for fifteen years, who had witnessed palace intrigues more complex than any labyrinth, who had learned that in Constantinople there was nothing more dangerous than knowing the secrets of the powerful.
And now, inside the Covered Carriage speeding away from Mangana Palace, he had just been entrusted with a secret that could cost him his life if it reached the wrong ears.
Yet before his fear could spread further, before he could think of a way to escape a situation that suddenly felt so perilous, his eyes inadvertently caught something happening inside the carriage.
Nirma—or Nirmala Surdaya, to use her full name—was doing something entirely inappropriate for the gravity of the moment.
The girl leaned sideways, bringing her face close to Arya's ear with an exaggerated air of secrecy, then whispered something inaudible to anyone else.
Yet it was clearly not a serious whisper about the investigation, for a second later Arya turned, looked at Nirma with an annoyed expression born of countless prior interactions, and without warning shoved her shoulder hard enough that she nearly toppled onto the opposite seat.
Nirma laughed, a small restrained laugh yet clear enough to be heard, while Arya merely shook his head with a resigned expression that suggested he had experienced this too many times to truly be angry.
For several seconds that felt like eternity amid the tense silence of the early dawn, the two foreign investigators lost themselves in their own little game, as though the name Nikephoros Melissenos was not written upon the Wax Tablet, as though eighteen lives did not demand accountability, as though no danger lurked in every shadow of Constantinople.
The soldier holding the Wax Tablet, together with the other soldier seated at the driver's bench, exchanged glances through the small glass window that connected the passenger compartment to the front of the carriage.
To be continued…