Chapter 32
The young soldier's eyes widened, his mouth parting slightly as if to ask a question, but he quickly closed it again when he realized that Nirma had already turned away and was walking toward the Covered Carriage, whose door had been opened by another of his comrades.
Arya followed from behind, casting a brief glance at the soldier with the same faint smile, then leaped into the carriage with an agility uncommon for an ordinary investigator.
The other soldiers of the Prefect immediately took their respective positions, some mounting their horses as escorts, others taking their seats at the driver's bench, and within seconds the Covered Carriage began to move, leaving the courtyard of the now-silent Kapeleion behind, along with the lingering traces of investigation etched into every corner.
The wooden wheels creaked over the wet stones, the black horses galloped with steady strides, and inside the carriage Nirma sat leaning back with her eyes closed, her thoughts already drifting far ahead, imagining how the first interrogation would unfold.
Dozens of minutes passed amid the jingle of reins and the rhythmic pounding of hooves.
Inside the carriage, Nirma occasionally opened her eyes and leaned toward the small window, giving directions to the soldier assigned to drive in a calm yet firm voice.
"Turn left at the next intersection," she said at one point.
"Go straight past two churches, then turn right onto the stone road that begins to slope upward."
The soldier obeyed every instruction without question, though in his heart he wondered how a foreign woman who had been in Constantinople for only a few days could know these narrow streets better than he, who had lived in the city for years.
Yet he did not ask, for since earlier he had learned that Nirma and Arya were people of mystery—mysteries that might never be unraveled, yet made them all the more fascinating to observe.
And when at last the carriage stopped, when the door was opened from outside and Nirma and Arya stepped down with steady strides, the soldiers paused in awe.
Before them, rising in all its grandeur and mystery, stood the Mangana Palace of Constantinople in the year 1101 AD.
The palace that served as the center of imperial administration, where high officials gathered to make decisions that would determine the fate of thousands.
The palace that was also the residence and workplace of Manuel Botaneiates, the Prefect of the City of Byzantium, whose name whispered through every corner of this investigation, whose trace appeared in every piece of evidence they had found, whose connection to the victim remained the greatest unsolved mystery.
Along the palace corridors illuminated by oil lamps hanging at regular intervals in every corner, the footsteps of Nirma and Arya echoed across the polished marble floor, reflecting their images like a mirror cracked in places.
To their left and right, the soldiers of the Hetaireia stood guard with rigid posture and unblinking eyes—foreign palace guards recruited from distant lands for their unwavering loyalty and legendary combat skills.
Their long spears gleamed beneath the lamplight, their sharp tips threatening anyone who dared step too close, yet Nirma and Arya walked past them with a calmness that was almost unsettling, as though the presence of dozens of fully armed soldiers was nothing more than a common sight they encountered each day.
Behind them, the loyal forces of the Prefect of the City of Byzantium who had accompanied them since their first morning at the Kapeleion followed along, their steps heavier yet equally firm, their eyes vigilant, observing every movement of the palace guards who might at any moment turn into a threat.
Arya, in the midst of this suffocating tension, suddenly nudged Nirma's arm with a casualness wholly unfitting for the situation.
"You know, Nirma," he whispered, his voice loud enough to be heard by a few nearby soldiers yet soft enough not to be considered an insult to the sanctity of the palace, "I'm reminded of when we had to infiltrate the palace of the Holy Roman Emperor centuries ago. We almost got caught because I sneezed at the worst possible moment. Remember? You nearly left me there."
Nirma did not turn, nor did she change her calm expression, serene as the surface of a lake at dawn, yet the corner of her lips lifted slightly—a response only Arya could notice, having known her far too long.
"You still joke at times like this, Arya," she replied softly, her tone flat yet unable to fully conceal the warmth within it.
"And for your information, I did not nearly leave you. I was merely searching for the best way out for the both of us."
Some of the Prefect's soldiers who overheard the exchange exchanged glances, impressed by the ability of these two investigators to remain at ease even as they were about to interrogate one of the most powerful men in the Byzantine Empire.
The tension was still there, lingering in every corner of the corridor, creeping through the crevices of stone, rustling within every breath of the stationed soldiers.
Yet Arya's occasional remarks, his lighthearted comments about what he observed, slowly began to thaw the frozen atmosphere.
The Prefect's soldiers, who had initially been as tense as bows drawn to their limits, began to relax slightly; their shoulders lowered a few centimeters, their breathing steadied.
They began to realize that behind all the mystery surrounding Nirma and Arya, the two investigators were still ordinary humans capable of jest and laughter—perhaps not as frightening as they had imagined.
But at the same time, they were aware that the slightest negligence could prove fatal, for inside the chamber they were about to enter sat Megas Domestikos Adrianos Komnenos, Supreme Commander of the Byzantine Army, brother-in-law of Emperor Alexios I Komnenos himself, a man who possessed the power to destroy anyone who dared accuse him without sufficient proof.
At last they arrived before a carved teakwood door, nearly four meters tall, adorned with engravings of angels and lions locked in eternal battle.
Two soldiers of the Hetaireia stood guard on either side of the door, their swords half-drawn, their eyes fixed upon Nirma and Arya with undisguised suspicion.
Nirma paused for a moment, her single eye gazing at the door with an intensity difficult to describe, then slowly turned to face the loyal Prefect's forces who had accompanied them since the previous night.
"Listen," she whispered, her voice so soft yet so clear, like the wind slipping through the cracks of a window, "you will secure this area while we are inside. No one is to enter, no one is to interfere, no one is to insist on meeting Megas Domestikos Adrianos Komnenos before we are finished."
She paused, her gaze sweeping across each soldier's face, ensuring they fully understood her words.
"And if someone proves stubborn, insists on entering despite being warned, you may use force to stop them.
I alone will bear the consequences, whatever happens to that person.
I will explain it to the Emperor.
I will take responsibility for everything.
You need only carry out your duty well."
The Prefect's soldiers exchanged glances, then nodded in unison.
To be continued…