Chapter 107
"I'm not saying Adrianos is innocent, Nirma. I'm only saying that perhaps—just perhaps—we were too quick to draw conclusions. Perhaps we let our anger at his insulting words cloud our judgment. And if that is true, if we arrested the wrong man simply because he hurt our pride, then we are no better than the murderers we hunt."
Nirma adjusted her head covering, a thin linen cloth specially designed to protect her long hair from the dust and ash that drifted through every corner of Constantinople—a style typical of Byzantine women in the year 1101 who still preserved modesty even though their work required them to wander through filthy alleys and muddy markets.
Her nimble fingers straightened the folds of the cloth, ensuring that not a single strand of hair was visible, an old habit she had performed thousands of times until the motion felt automatic, like breathing or blinking.
"Arya," she said softly, her voice sounding different from before—lower, deeper, like someone who had just admitted a mistake after a long argument. "Forgive me. I was too provoked by Adrianos's words yesterday. The way he spoke, the way he looked at us like we were trash, the way he belittled all the hard work we have done until now… it made my blood boil, Arya. And I let that feeling cloud my judgment."
Arya chuckled quietly, the sound of his distinctive laugh echoing in the darkness of the night—a laugh that never mocked, only showed that he understood, that he forgave, that he too was human just like Nirma.
"There's no need to apologize, Nirma," he replied, still seated on horseback, not turning back, yet his tone was warm and reassuring. "I almost lost control too, remember? My hand was already clenched, ready to strike the moment you gave the signal. But maybe this is good, Nirma. Maybe it's time for us to go back to the beginning, back to where everything started, and examine everything once again with clearer eyes, with calmer hearts."
He took a slow breath, letting the cold air fill his lungs, then added,
"Because if there is one thing I've learned from working with you, it is that truth is never in a hurry. It always waits, always remains patient, always appears at the right moment for those who sincerely seek it."
Nirma turned her head back, her single eye looking toward the line of Prefect soldiers faithfully following behind them—dozens of dark silhouettes mounted on six black horses, moving in neat formation even as the night grew later and the cold grew sharper.
"Soldiers!" she called, her voice firm and clear, breaking the silence of the night that had been filled only by the rhythm of hooves and the whisper of the wind.
The soldiers straightened their backs at once, looking toward Nirma with full attention, ready to receive whatever order would leave the investigator's lips.
"We still lack one piece of evidence to bring this murderer before Emperor Alexios. One missing link, one piece of the puzzle we have yet to find. And tonight, we will search for it."
She paused for a moment, letting her words hang in the cold air, then continued in a firmer tone.
"We move to Kapeleion. Now. Follow Arya and me—no one falls behind, and no one stops until we arrive."
Without waiting for an answer, without looking back again, Nirma gently tapped Arya's back, a signal they both understood without the need for words.
Arya nodded, pulling his horse's reins slightly to the left, guiding it toward the path that would lead them past the Forum Tauri, where several hours earlier they had left Leontios Chalkeus with all his painful confessions.
The horse trotted lightly—not too fast, not too slow—just enough for the night wind to feel colder against the face, just enough for Nirma to feel as though she were flying above the sleeping city.
Behind them, the Prefect soldiers followed in the same tight formation, the rhythm of their horses' hooves blending into a steady cadence, like war drums beaten slowly yet with certainty.
They passed through the Forum Tauri in silence, riding past workshops that had already closed, past statues of Roman emperors standing proudly beneath the faint glow of moonlight.
Nirma glanced briefly toward Leontios's workshop, its wooden door shut tightly, its small window dark without light.
Inside, an old man was perhaps sitting alone, waiting for dawn, waiting for judgment, waiting to learn whether his life would end beneath the gallows or whether he would be granted the chance to spend the rest of his days in the workshop he had built with his own hands.
Nirma looked away, forcing herself to focus on the destination—on Kapeleion waiting at the end of the journey, on the puzzle that remained unsolved.
They crossed the Mese Road, the commercial heart of Constantinople which during the day was filled with merchants and buyers from every corner of the world, yet tonight lay silent and dark, the sound of their horses' hooves the only sign of life.
The Forum of Constantine welcomed them with the towering statue of Emperor Constantine at its center, his right hand raised as if blessing whoever passed—or perhaps warning that justice would always be upheld in this city.
Nirma glanced at the statue briefly, feeling something strange stirring in her chest—respect, perhaps, or fear, or a mixture of both.
Behind her, the Prefect soldiers remained silent, vigilant, faithfully following wherever Arya's horse led them.
They passed through the Augustaion, the most sacred political and religious district of Constantinople, where the Hagia Sophia stood magnificently with its dome reaching toward the heavens, where the Imperial Palace stood behind walls so high no one could breach them.
Even at night, the area was heavily guarded. Imperial soldiers stood watch at every corner, yet they merely watched the small group pass without question, because the City Prefect uniforms worn by the soldiers behind Nirma and Arya were a sign that they were on duty, that they carried authority, that they were not to be disturbed.
Finally, after passing all the forums, all the roads, all the districts that each had their own character yet formed the greatness of Constantinople, they arrived at Kapeleion Market Alley.
This was where everything began.
This was where, behind the tavern that now stood dark and silent, a corpse had been discovered lying with a strange burn wound that had not melted the flesh between the shoulder blades.
This was where shoe prints were stamped into the soil, a piece of cloth caught on a nail, charcoal and resin spilled across the ground, and a broken stylus bearing the inscription ΛΕΩΝ that remained a mystery.
The silence in Kapeleion tonight was so thick it almost felt tangible, so deep that the sound of their own footsteps echoed like the beating of drums in a silent temple.
Nirma stood at the entrance of the narrow alley, her single eye staring straight into the darkness illuminated only by the small torch carried by one of the Prefect soldiers.
Across from her, roughly a hundred steps away, the lights of the night market in the Mesopation district still burned brightly. The distant voices of street vendors selling roasted meat and warm wine drifted faintly through the air like the buzzing of bees from afar—people laughing and toasting in the cold night as if no corpse had ever been found in this alley, as if no blood had ever seeped into the soil, as if no murderer still walked freely among them.
To be continued…