Chapter 74
Of the four suspects they had interrogated since this case began, Georgios Palaiologos had presented the most honest arguments.
That did not mean he was innocent, because honesty and guilt can walk side by side in a murder case.
Someone may be truthful about their connection to evidence while still being the killer who carefully planned everything.
Yet at least, for the first time in this investigation, Nirma and Arya felt that they were speaking with a whole human being—not with a moving mask, not with a puppet controlled by hidden interests.
Arya guided their horse away from the Mesomphalos District at a steady pace.
Not too fast, yet not slow either—an even rhythm that allowed Nirma behind him to keep her thoughts clear despite the saddle's movement.
Dozens of the Prefect's soldiers followed behind them in neat formation, two in front and six in the rear, the classic escort position that allowed them to respond to attacks from any direction.
The sound of the horses' hooves echoed along the stone streets that were beginning to grow quiet.
They passed rows of shops that had already closed, passed small churches illuminated only by candlelight inside, and passed the houses of citizens whose windows gradually dimmed one by one.
The morning wind blew stronger as they approached the Petrion area, carrying with it a stronger scent of the sea.
The smell reminded Nirma of long nights at the harbor when she was still a child, waiting for her father to return from sailing.
After traveling approximately two and a half to three and a half kilometers, Nirma, who sat behind Arya with both hands resting on her companion's waist, turned to look back.
Her shoulder-length hair was blown by the morning wind, several strands clinging to her cheeks that had begun to grow cold under the northern air.
She spoke in a tone that was neither too loud nor too soft—a voice just right to be heard by the eight pairs of ears belonging to soldiers accustomed to catching commands amid the noise of battlefields.
"Our fifth destination now is the Deuteron area, in the northern part of the city, near Blachernae."
Her words were brief and direct, without unnecessary pleasantries.
The Prefect's soldiers behind her nodded almost simultaneously, a synchronized motion that demonstrated their unquestionable discipline.
They quickly urged their horses forward, adjusting their positions so they would not fall too far behind the horse carrying Nirma and Arya at the front.
Yet they maintained a respectful distance—a distance that declared they were escorts, not leaders, that they would follow wherever the two women went without asking many questions.
Five minutes later, after continuing northward past the Petrion district with its dense houses and towering churches, after climbing the fifth hill that was gentle yet long, the small group suddenly halted their horses.
Not because of an order.
Not because of any sign of danger.
But because instinctively they all felt that they had reached a boundary—a point where the old city met a different territory.
Nirma, Arya, and the Prefect's soldiers remained silent upon their horses for a moment.
Their eyes gazed straight ahead, piercing the darkness that was slowly being peeled away by the growing brightness of daylight.
Before them stretched the Deuteron district, the northern region of Constantinople known as the place where nobles and high officials built their palaces.
It was the place where Blachernae, with its famous church, stood firmly in the distance.
And among all that grandeur were hidden the next clues they must pursue before dawn arrived.
When the horses halted and their breath formed faint mist in the northern air of the city, the view that met Nirma's left eye and Arya's two eyes differed greatly from the forum or the harbor.
Their horses' pace slowed as the incline grew steeper.
Upon the animal's back, Nirma Surdaya felt how Deuteron breathed with a rhythm different from the bustling heart of the city.
The stone road here was narrower and darker.
Tall walls rose on both sides like silent sentinels.
Behind those walls she could glimpse fragments of life unfamiliar to her.
The rooftops of noble houses rising with intricate stone ornaments.
Small gardens with fig and pomegranate trees whose branches stretched beyond their fences.
Occasionally the metallic clanging of sword practice echoed from enclosed courtyards, bouncing between the stone walls.
Guard dogs barked in the distance, their voices echoing and rebounding.
Between those barks came the steady footsteps of military boots from a direction she could not identify.
Nirma drew a deeper breath, and within that breath she sensed something that had been troubling her mind.
The air here was indeed cleaner, yet not merely because it was far from market waste or the bustle of Kapeleion.
There was another scent, faint but unmistakable—the scent of careful vigilance.
The scent of a district where everyone watched one another and no one moved without being noticed by their neighbors.
Through a gap between two walls, when the road bent slightly eastward, Nirma turned her head and her eyes fixed briefly upon what stretched below.
The Golden Horn shimmered in the distance.
Its surface caught the moonlight that had begun to appear between the clouds, forming silver lines that moved gently with the current.
Beyond that glimmer rose the northern section of the Theodosian Walls with its towers—darker, stronger, and closer than she had ever seen them from the city center.
The fortress stood like the backbone of a giant protecting the city from the world beyond.
For a moment Nirma imagined how many pairs of eyes constantly watched from the gaps between those towers.
How many lives had been taken at the foot of those walls.
How many secrets were buried beneath their massive stones.
Arya shifted restlessly in the saddle before her, perhaps sensing the same thing she felt.
That they had entered a different territory—one they had never visited in previous investigations.
A territory that might hold more danger than they realized.
At the end of the stone road where it began to level out, just before the final incline leading to the heart of Deuteron, Nirma saw them for the first time.
Six shadows moved in unison from behind a small guard post hidden behind a boundary wall.
Torchlight dancing on the left side of the road illuminated their simple helmets, creating small reflections that flickered with the rhythm of the flames.
In each of their right hands they held a kontarion spear, its tip glinting faintly even beneath the moonlight.
Their round shields hung from their left arms, ready to be raised at any moment.
At the waist of every soldier hung a short sword which, though not as long as the cavalry's spatha, was still more than capable of ending a life within seconds.
Nirma counted quickly.
Six men in front, perhaps four more hidden behind the guard post.
From the way they stepped forward in a neat semicircular formation, she knew these were no ordinary soldiers.
They were Skoutatoi, the city infantry stationed specifically at entry points leading into the noble districts.
And they carried out their duty with uncompromising seriousness.
"Stop where you are!"
The voice came from the soldier at the front—a man with a thick beard that nearly covered his entire jaw.
Even though he did not shout, his tone was strong enough to echo between the stone walls on both sides of the road.
To be continued…