Chapter One
Being the Malykant, most ruthless servant of the All-Master of Death, Konrad had been summoned to deal with many a corpse in his time.
It was not often, however, that he stumbled over one in the street, while minding his own business.
There came a chill morning in late winter, spring a faint, tantalising glimpse on an occasional horizon but the air, the aether, and the atmosphere still cold as death, when Konrad ventured out into these wearisome conditions in pursuit of an hour or two at his club. He might, he thought, even find Inspector Nuritov there; his friend, addressed these days by the more familiar title of Alexander, not infrequently took refuge there himself. They sat in adjacent chairs, read large newspapers, sipped identical glasses of brandy (or more likely at t
