the substarosta's case book 4

 so, someone mentioned Jan settling in and I managed to pull off a story  to do so; French smut having been seen as a problem in England, I assume it was not appreciated elsewhere either. Interestingly, in France, pictorial pornography was shocking but written smut was considered fine. though there were people deemed to have gone too far, viz the Marquis de Sade. Anyway, on with the story which proves there's one born every minute, and fraud is nothing new. 

 

 

Chapter 4 The Good, the Bad, and the Smutty

 

“This is Jan Syruć; don’t be put off by the name, he’s a half-Syruć as you might say,” said Klemens Młocki, introducing the ginger-haired, clean-shaven man. “He’s our new assistant.”

“I thought it would be preferable to working for my brother, even if I have to take a dip in pay as substarosta’s assistant,” said Jan. “Imagine my joy to find I’m paid more to expect more appreciation.”

“Welcome to the team,” said Dawid Starski. “I’ve just been confirmed as second sub-starosta, so you’re filling my shoes. My page is my wife, which a Raven banner way of doing things, even as Lew Krasiński is actually Mariola Bystrzanowska, the one real Raven amongst us, and the rest Ravens-in-law by acquisition, marriage, casuistry and jiggery-pokery.”

“I’ve heard of the White Ravens,” said Jan.

“What’s the briefing, boss?” asked Floriana Starska, otherwise known as the page, Florek.

“I had word that there’s a heap of pornographic pictures in from France being sold on the black market,” said Klemens. “And whatever you think of pornography, and that it is in no ways more explicit than the Rubenesque ceilings in many a magnate’s palace, it’s the association with crime which makes it a problem; men like looking at intimate pictures, and it funds criminals to sell the pictures.”

“Maybe it should be legal,” said Dawid.

“But where do you draw a line?” asked Klemens. “There are some subjects which are frankly disgusting, like with children or animals, but with a picture of a young prostitute, when do you judge her to be a child? And yes, I’m more aware of that because of Antonin Syruć, who was loathsome. Not to mention the old man and his proclivities in assaulting the horse of the statue of Jan Sobieski, or the hippocampus in the fountain.”

“My family are moderately loathsome,” said Jan, apologetically.

“Not your fault,” said Klemens.

“What are we looking for?” asked Mariola.

“Furtive men in bars, down alleyways, looking for money to change hands in exchange for small packets, about the size of plates from a magazine,” said Klemens. “Try outside the brothels; most brothel owners won’t let them operate inside and bring trouble on them.”

“You can patrol with me, Jan; call me Lew when we’re out,” said Mariola. “It’s the worst kept secret in Poland but some people still don’t know I’m Mariola. I believe the unlawful elements refer to me as ‘Bystrzanowski’s poison dwarf,’ because they’re afraid of my swords.”

“I heard what you did to my father; anyone with any sense is afraid of your swords, my lady,” said Jan.

“I hope you don’t have a problem with me,” said Mariola.

“The opposite. He wasn’t much of a father,” said Jan.

 

Evening in the city was a time when the shadows came alive with those who were out on illicit business as well as those with legitimate concerns. A pair of prostitutes started to approach two figures in kontusze, and one grabbed the arm of the other and steered her away. She met with some resistance but Mariola grinned to hear the hissed words, ‘Starosta’s office... mad Raven,’ which broke through the resistance and the two girls moved rapidly away, casting dirty looks at the pair.

“Wise call, Nutka,” said Mariola, recognising the one who had initiated the avoiding manoeuvre.

“Have a quiet night, my lord-lady,” said Nutka.

“Nutka! If you know anything about Parisian pornography, I’ll pass the word to blink if you’re not too aggressive,” said Mariola. “And  pay for information.”

Nutka came cautiously back.

“I had word that some is for sale but that it was all a swindle,” she said.

“A swindle? In what respect?” asked Mariola.

“Well, I might have heard of someone who bought a packet of pictures to bring ideas into a brothel, but he might have discovered that all but the top ones were nothing but plain paper underneath,” said Nutka. Mariola handed her a coin, and laughed.

“And the recipient doesn’t dare come in to report the fraud,” she chuckled.

“I suppose that is funny from your point of view,” said Nutka.

“I don’t make the laws, I only enforce them,” said Mariola.

Nutka sniffed, and scuttled off with her largesse, before Mariola could change her mind.

“Nutka has professional ethics,” said Mariola, to Jan. “She hasn’t an honest bone in her body in as far as a quick score of cash is concerned, but she never rolls her clients, and would probably even pick up and return the wallet of a client if it fell from his clothing during a transaction. But she gives value for money, and by all accounts is enthusiastic at her work. She would probably hand in a wallet with a lot of money, but would likely extract a finder’s fee; and as that’s more honest than many, it’s what you’ll get.  She posed as a nun asking for Maundy money – not that it was her idea – but she thought she was robbing the rich, not realising it took from the poor. She isn’t clever, but she is shrewd. I actually quite like her, in small doses. And she’ll turn in nasty criminals for free, though we always tip her.”

“There’s more of a relationship between the law and criminals than you’d realise, isn’t there?” said Jan.

“Informants are useful,” said Mariola. “Now, I’m going to try Bandy Benek’s brothel, because he has a known association with Nutka and has the imagination to consider using dirty pictures to help his clients to get in the mood.”

“I’ll be guided by you,” said Jan. “I’m getting an education.”

 

The brothel was a quiet, detached house in a back street, of a similar era to the one occupied by Mariola and Kazimierz, from the time when Większy-Bydlin was a small suburb outside Bydlin-Stary, though by no means as ornate or as large. Mariola oozed through the door like a shadow, with Jan in her wake.

“Hello, Benek,” said Mariola.

“Mother of God! The law! I ain’t done nothin’!” declared the bandy-legged little man.

“I understand someone sold you a fraudulent packet of Parisian beauties,” said Mariola.

“Dirty little cheat, yeah. Uh... It ain’t no crime to buy a packet of mostly plain paper,” said Benek.

“What, one on top as a tease?” said Mariola.

“You got it,” grumbled Benek. “And not even that smutty.”

“So, who sold it to you?” asked Mariola.

“Sleazy little creep with a Warszawa accent,” said Benek. “About your height, my lord, darkish hair, beard and moustache western fashion, sniffs a lot.”

“Marks at the top of his nose?” asked Mariola.

“Yeah, you know him?”

“Wild guess from the sniffing; syphilis,” said Mariola.

Benek spat.

“Dirty bastard; glad I never let him go with any o’ my girls,” he said.

“Obliged for the information, neighbour,” said Mariola, leading Jan out.

“You didn’t pay him?”

“He was willing to spill the beans in indignation but had not come to tell us voluntarily,” said Mariola. “And he doesn’t need it like Nutka does.”

 

It was Dawid Starski who brought in the man they sought, after Mariola had taken back a description.

Investigating a small riot with his page, he discovered a dozen or so men in an ugly mood, and one of them had produced a rope, and another a ladder.

“Come on, break it up,” said Dawid. “Oh, ho! We have a seller of smut, a purveyor of pornography, a vendor of venality. And tough luck to you all, the law wants him.”

“I never been so grateful to see a flatfoot in all me life,” said the little man.

“You’re going down, you know,” said Dawid. “Once for selling smut and once for defrauding your customers.”

“Will we get our money back?” asked one of the lynching party.

“You jest!” said Floriana. “You broke the law; be happy not to be pulled in for it. Look on it as an expensive lesson about accepting a deal that looks too good; it probably is.”

The crowd dispersed.

“So, what happened, you ran out of imported pictures?” asked Dawid.

“Naw,” said their captive. “I bought one pack in Warszawa, and I figured that if I made up twenty packets with one of the twenty pictures on top, I could make a good thing of it. I suppose I can’t bribe my way out of jail?”

“No, but you can talk your way into more time for trying bribery,” said Dawid.

“I should have stayed honest,” said the man, regretfully.

 

 

the substarosta's case book 3

 Just a shortie today; unless I suddenly come up with another, or another Adele, I'm going to risk starting The Scholar's Sweetheart of the Brandon Scandals, I have 13 chapters so far. 

 

Chapter 3 A hole is a hole is a hole, as they say

 

 

“What can I do for you, my lord brother?” Klemens Młocki looked on Timofey Syruć with some wariness. The Syruciowie were, according to Kazimierz, a regular plague; and though Timofey was not, of himself, a problem, there had been a sufficiency of problems caused by the family. Timofey had written a will in which his daughter, Regina, was willed into the care of the court if anything should happen to him, though the cousin responsible for sundry ‘accidents’ was now dead. Karol Syruć had been caught out in the cloth-smuggling and slaving operation, and though his daughter, Wiridiana, and her husband were exemplary citizens, and paid for a number of family bastards to be educated, the family as a whole had caused enough trouble for Klemens to be less than effusive in his greeting.

“I... well, strictly speaking, it’s not a crime,” said Syruć, shuffling his feet. “But it’s odd; and I understand that starostowie look for odd things, which might be a symptom of something else.”

“True enough,” said Klemens. “So, what is this odd thing?”

“Oh, had I not said?” asked Syruć.

“No,” said Klemens.

“It’s the holes, my lord brother,” said Syruć.  “Holes in one of my fields,” he clarified.

“You mean, sink holes? As if there are underground mines or caves, or an underground river?” asked Klemens.

“No, nothing like that,” said Syruć.  “Just... holes. They appear overnight, as if someone is coming along with a spade to dig one or two holes about three feet deep, and a foot or two across. Apparently at random but all in the same field.”

“As if stealing a root crop?”

“Well, in a way, but there’s no crop in that field. It’s heavy clay, and I wanted my steward to arrange to have the entire surface dug over, and drains put in, the way the English and Dutch do it.  You know, with buried chips of gravel, making ways for the water to flow away.”

“I believe they are called French drains,” said Klemens. “Very useful in this heavy clay, as is digging marl into the clay itself.”

“Yes, and I’ve bought in marl, and chippings for the drains, and I suppose I can incorporate the holes into what needs to be dug, but why would anyone dig holes, not ditches, and randomly across the field?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll come and have a look,” said Klemens. “It’s a damned silly time of year to dig holes for the sake of it, though I can understand that you want the drains dug before spring planting, and the marl dug in as well, but the ground must be frozen solid.”

“It is pretty solid,” admitted Timofey.  “I know Jan was not looking forward to having it dug.”

“Your steward?” asked Klemens.

“Yes, a poor relation; the bastard son of Antonin Syruć, who was slain by Lady Mariola.”

“Ah,” said Klemens. “He has a few brothers and sisters I believe, in Sokołowski’s school.”

“I don’t know.  I can’t take on every bastard my relatives have sired,” said Syruć. Klemens  fought not to sneer, knowing that Władysław Solołowski had, with less wealth than Syruć, taken under his wing sundry bastards of the traitor whose lands became his, and other orphans. And took on the szlachta and peasant orphans used and trained to steal by a wicked szlachcic. Moreover, Władysław would have found a way to care for them even without a grant from the king and the fact that there were szlachta willing to pay quite extortionate school fees for their offspring, especially if kept out of the public eye.   

“I have my daughter to think of,” said Syruć, defensively.

“To be sure,” said Klemens. “And an unfortunate upbringing as well. And none of my business. Let us go and look at your holes.”

 

 

The field in question looked as if half the city had turned out to dig random holes. Someone had left a measuring tape behind. Several holes looked as if they were following a line.

“That’s half the work done for a drain,” said Syruć, waving to it. “But why? Jan said he had not started work yet.”

Klemens began chuckling.

“Oh, I suspect that he has begun work, but in a way to spare your peasants much hard labour,” he said.

“What? I do not understand,” said Syruć.

Klemens sighed. It must be hard for Jan Syruć to be subordinate to his less clever relative.

“Let’s go and speak to him,” he said.

 

 

Jan Syruć did not have the immediate look of his relatives, though that was partly because he had ginger hair and was clean-shaven.

“Brilliant idea of yours, to get people digging for treasure, to save the peasants some work,” said Klemens. “How on earth did you get so many people to dig up the field?”

Jan Syruć gave a shy smile.

“Oh, it was not hard,” he said.  “I spoke to a few people about how Karol Syruć hid a fortune from his smuggling on his cousin’s lands, thinking that the authorities would not look for it there.”

“That’s plausible,” said Timofey Syruć. “It would be just like Karol.”

“So, the near ditch?” asked Klemens.

“I picked up some old books cheap, you see,” said Jan. “And mentioned around that he was supposed to have left instructions as to how to find the treasure, and I drew a number of maps, and wrote instructions about how to line up two landmarks, but not how far along in the field the lined up landmarks might be, and I paid a stall holder to let it be known the books had come from his estate, sold off by his daughter. And he did me proud, he dropped a word in the ear of a number of people as if they were the only ones he told.  I was going to give it two more nights, and then set our people to work; and with the snow, we can dig that in as well, as fertiliser.”

“Brilliant!” said Klemens.

“Er, indeed, most commendable,” said Timofey Syruć. 

“Well, sir, as you’ve come over, I can let it be known that it was found, and the Starosta has it,” said Jan. “That way, they won’t interfere after work has begun.”

“Good thinking,” said Klemens. “If you ever get tired of being a steward, I could find you a job in my office.”

“Thank you, my lord; I might consider it,” said Jan.

 

Klemens rode back to the town hall, chuckling.

 

 

the substarosta's case book 2

 

 I'm sorry - I really am having trouble adapting to the new times. 

 

Chapter 2 Without Pity

 

The youth was dressed in such mismatched garments that Stefania Młocka thought for a moment that he was a gypsy; but his voice, when he spoke, was cultured, and addressed her in Latin as accurate as any szlachcic might use.

“Oh, please, to whom do I report a crime?” he asked.

“To me, initially, as I am the clerk of the court of record,” said Stefania. “My husband is the Starosta, so I do know what I am doing.”

“Oh! I... I do not doubt you, but I did not know they let ladies be clerks,” said the youth.

“We didn’t ask,” said Stefania. “I replaced an idiot, who, out of jealousy and ill nature almost let my husband be killed, and I, being there, stepped in, and then I married him. And as nobody in Warszawa has complained about our record keeping, we are leaving them in blissful ignorance as to my female state. So, what can I do for you?”

“I need to report a crime, but I’m not sure how, and I don’t really have any evidence, but I know my uncle is somehow defrauding me... I mean my mistress...”

“Little girl, shall we dispense with the subterfuge and acknowledge that you have dressed in a regular gallimaufry of male clothing, half western and half Sarmatian, in order, I assume, to escape and give testimony?” said Stefania.

The youngster gave a gasp which was more than half relief.

“Oh! And you are not angry?”

“Not in the least. My own sister passed as a boy to be page to Captain Wolski. It’s a White Raven banner thing and we’re sort of associated with them. So, do not fear that you will be looked at askance for dressing as a boy.” She smiled. “What’s your name?”

“Ludwika Galińska,” said the girl.

“Oh, banner of the black bear,” said Stefania.  “We must introduce you at some point to Towarzysz Ursyn Kudła, the regimental bear.”

“I’ve seen him in town, he’s a nice tempered chap,” said Ludwika.

“Oh, you won’t have any trouble getting on with the Ulans, then,” said Stefania. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” said Ludwika.

“Well! It won’t do you any harm to have a year of education and learn sabre drill from the best,” said Stefania. “And if you disappear, it gives my husband every excuse to investigate your household, your uncle, and your finances from Adam to Zebedeusz, as you might say.”

“And then, too, I wouldn’t be afraid of any accidents,” said Ludwika.

“Well! You had better come through and tell all your story; it sounds as if it’s a long one,” said Stefania.

 

Ludwika sat in a fairly comfortable chair in the starosta’s office, with a cup of tea and a large slice of cake, reflecting that this was not how she envisioned telling her story.  They had been joined by the well-known figure of the auburn-haired substarosta, his page, or wife, a dark, curly-haired assistant and his page... or possibly wife. The keen-eyed starosta sat behind his desk, with a small boy beside him on a high stool, who appeared to be reading from a story book, forming the words silently with his mouth as he read a home-made book, and then took up coloured chalks to draw a picture to go with what was written opposite.

“Papa, did the dragon of Krakow have wings?” he asked.

“Assuredly,” said Młocki. He looked at Ludwika. “My stepson had a nurse who told him stories which gave him nightmares, and a father who would not let him have a light in his room. He is still a little fragile, so we keep him with us until he is ready for a better nanny.”

“I see,” said Ludwika. “A man so tender of his stepson must also be a good official for his people, for he must be stepfather to the whole city.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” said Młocki, startled. “But it’s a good analogy.” He went on, “So, tell me about your problem and why you believe you are being defrauded.”

“I am an orphan with a trust fund,” said Ludwika. “I live with Lady Ursula Sroka, who is my governess and duenna; she has ties with the White Raven banner, but when she was widowed she chose to become a governess rather than live on her late husband’s relatives; it was a little awkward, you understand, for he went to fight for the Bar Confederation, and the Ravens have always stood outside of politics and do not join any Rokosz, feeling that any uprising is bad for the country, because even bad kings die eventually. So, there was some strained relations, and she felt more comfortable out of it.”

“So, she’s been your governess for some ten years?” asked Młocki.

“Yes, that sounds about right,” said Ludwika. “Papa thought I needed more of an education than a nursemaid and mama could give me; and what I did not know then was that mama was dying, and he wanted me to have someone else as a mother figure. I think he might have married her, eventually, but he died in a freak accident... if it was an accident... when a stone urn from the parapet fell on him. My Uncle Czcibor is now my guardian, whom I call Uncle Szczypior, Uncle Chives, because it annoys him, and because I misheard his name and really thought he was called for chives or scallions. I was very little,” she added. “Now, without Papa to protect me, he boxes my ears for it, but he doesn’t dare do more as Lady Ursula said she would have me made a ward of court. And he can’t fire her, for she has it written into her contract that she is a member of the family, and cannot be thrown out, even if she becomes too old to care for me. I am sorry to worry her, but I think she has an inkling of what I planned, for she told me stories of how Lady Małgorzata was a page to Lord Mikołaj, and how before them, Lady Janina was page to Lord Lew, and how it is a Raven tradition. I think she intended to give me ideas.”

“What a wise woman,” said Stefania. “And you think your uncle killed your father?”

“Yes, and I have been in a carriage when the horses ran away and the nuts on the rear wheels came away, and locked – accidentally – in a room with a smoking fire and blocked chimney, and when comfrey leaves in salad were substituted with foxglove. And I was knocked out cold by tripping down stairs, and I swear there was a tripwire, but I thrust my arm between the balustrades and broke it rather than fall all the way. And when I came to, of course, there was no evidence of a trip-wire. But Lady Ursula listened to me, and there was a nasty lesion on my ankle, for she looked, and said it looked as if it was caused by fine cord. And I spoke of going to the new school, with Lady Ursula to go along and help; but Uncle Chives said there was not enough money in the trust for that; but there should have been enough there, as Papa said there would be money to go abroad and to school.”

“It’s a thinnish reason, but worth looking into,” said Młocki. “Surely he isn’t the sole trustee?”

“Oh! No, but of the two others, one fell asleep in his bath and drowned, that was my Uncle Bastek, my mother’s brother; and the other is a lawyer whom I do not like.”

“I see,” said Młocki.

“I’d like to know how you survived those so-called accidents,” said Mariola.

“I jumped out of the broken carriage into the river, for I swim like a fish,” said Ludwika. “I would have smothered the fire, but all the cushions in the room were gone, and the curtains taken down to wash;  and the windows were jammed. So, er, I urinated on it.”

“Excellent lateral thinking; born to be stolen by Ravens,” said Mariola. “Did you recognise the leaves?”

“Yes, I did, and Uncle Chives fired the cook, though she swore she had gathered the right leaves, and that someone must have substituted them whilst she spoke to a beggar at the back door,” said Ludwika. “I gave her a good reference.”

“Good girl,” nodded Mariola. “Do you know where she went?”

“Yes, I heard she went to the old Wronowski house where...oh! your house.”

“Good; I shall speak to her,” said Mariola. “Well! Klemens, one accident can be an accident; even two. But a falling urn, a drowning in the bath, a broken carriage, a suffocating fire, a poisonous lunch, and a trip downstairs all start to look like a conspiracy.”

“Hell, yes,” said Młocki. “The Mews?”

“I think so,” said Mariola. “Ludwika, how do you feel about a school where you can be a girl or a boy in dress and learn all a szlachcic learns as well as a szlachcianka?”

“It sounds idyllic,” said Ludwika.

“Fine, one of us will ride over with you, and start poking our beaks in,” said Mariola.

“Only a Raven would put it that way,” murmured Młocki.

“Why, yes,” said Mariola.

 

 

Ludwika was shortly on her way to join the school at the Mews, a miserable winter ride, but bundled up somewhat better than she had been when she entered the Starosta’s office. She was welcomed into the school, and soon settled in a class of serious students, where she made friends with a girl called Dorota.

And Młocki, with malice aforethought, sent Kazimierz and Mariola to find out why Czcibor Galiński had not reported that his niece was missing – as soon as she had been gone overnight.

And in the meantime, Mariola obtained the testimony of her cook, and that the leaves had been comfrey. Mariola was well satisfied that the cook knew the difference.

 

 

oOoOo

 

“Czcibor Galiński?” said Kazimierz. “Why did the starosta’s office have to learn from a servant, who admits to coming of his own initiative, and not sent by you, to inform us that a szlachcianka of tender years is missing?”

Galiński had reluctantly had the substarosta and his page taken into his study, where an older woman was seated, tight-faced.

“I told Pan Galiński last night that Ludwika was missing,” she said. “I am Ursula Sroka, and I have been tempted to contact the White Raven about this, as the child’s own uncle seems unconcerned.”

“It’s snowing out there,” said Mariola. “A young body could freeze to death.”

“I can’t account for where the wayward hussy might have gone, I try to keep her under control, but if she has gone off and got herself frozen, I can hardly be blamed, can I?” said Galiński.

“I don’t know. Can you?” said Kazimierz. “However, you will be delighted to know that we have a heap of constables willing to make her a priority and search every part of your house, outhouses, and so on, and I’ve borrowed Adam Brzeziński to check your accounts as well.”

Galiński paled.

“It isn’t easy, having to take care of the finances of a spendthrift creature like Ludwika.”

“That’s a lie,” said Lady Sroka. “I’m sure Adam Brzeziński will sort it out. But Ludwika is not spendthrift. Why, she mends her own gowns because Pan Galiński says her father’s money does not stretch to new fabric for gowns, even though he has a new kontusz and dines his friends well.”

“Hello, definitely sounds like the lad who spoke to Starosta Młocki was right when he said he thought Panna Galińska was being defrauded,” said Mariola. She was spending less time as the page, Lew, these days, as she had her own little Lew at home, but terrorising abusive guardians was too amusing to pass up.

“I have no intention of passing over my accounts to an outsider,” said Galiński, defiantly.

“You don’t have a choice, precious,” said Mariola. “You’re under arrest for the possible endangerment of a minor szlachcianka, and accusations from more than one person of appropriation of funds. And I am sure that Panna Sroka is well aware that the laws of slander and libel are harsh?”

“I stand by my statement that my charge was being fed scraps, dressed like a szlachiura, and denied the usual sort of social meetings a young szlachcianka of her age should have.”

“You bitch,” said Galiński.

“I was employed by Ludwika’s father to be a mother to her and look out for her interests, and you cannot fire me. It’s in my contract.”

Galiński snarled. Mariola nodded to the constables, two of whom took him away.

“She’s safe,” said Mariola, to Panna Sroka. “We took her to the school run by Sokołowski, so she would be safe. If you want to join her, they are always happy to have more teachers.”

“Thank you; I think I might,” said Panna Sroka.

Mariola went back to the town hall with the constables and their prisoner. They left him to stew in a cell, and Mariola organised a bunch of Ulans to put on a lurid play involving the torture of prisoners in the judicial torture chamber. It usually worked wonders on the minds of any prisoners awaiting interrogation, and when Młocki sent for Galiński, he would be an extraordinary man if he did not break.

 

Panna Sroka packed clothes for herself and her charge, and Marek, Kazimierz’s man, gave her his escort to follow her charge as soon as she had signed a deposition. Marek was hoping to arrive in time for an evening meal and the famed mead from the hives of Olek Zaklika. In this, he was in luck, and pleased to see the emotional reunion of the governess and her charge.

Marek had a letter for Władysław Sokołowski, who read it through.

“I hope you won’t mind fitting in where there’s need for extra aid, Panna Sroka,” he said. “Our classes are sorted out but we do have an all-age remove class for those who need a little extra. But being available if any of the teachers feels a need for help would be appreciated.”

“I am quite happy with that, so long as I may see Ludwika,” said Panna Sroka.

“Oh! You will socialise with her as much as you wish, and if she needs help, she will be one you might bring on if she has missed any of the lessons we do, as we make no difference between girls and boys,” said Władysław.

“Ah, then she may need some extra coaching,” said Panna Sroka, calmly. “Her uncle was not inclined to see such subjects as necessary.”

“Ah, and doubtless there were unkind comments about artillery?” said Władysław.

“Even so,” said Ursula Sroka.

 

Meanwhile, Kazimierz winnowed through any document he could find belonging to Czcibor Galiński, handing over anything to do with accounting to Adam Brzeziński, who glanced through, chuckled, and asked, “When is it being performed as a comedy in Warszawa?”

“It could be part of a comedic melodrama,” said Kazimierz. “Really, he kept a notebook of plausible accidents?”

“He might claim he was writing a melodrama,” warned Adam. Adam was well known to Kazimierz, as he administered the extensive property of Lady Milena Jędrowska and her stepson, illegitimate son of her first husband, Filek Dobczyk, since between them they owned a considerable portion of Większy-Bydlin and the other town in the jurisdiction of the starostowie, Bydlin-Stary. 

“He might, if he hadn’t dated it, and animadverted about the ‘wretched girl’ surviving all his best traps,” said Kazimierz, dryly.  “And yesterday’s entry about hoping she had run away and would end up freezing to death.  I have some older ones, which I suspect will detail doing away with his brother and his sister-in-law’s brother. And that makes it a capital crime.”

“I am sure Mariola will manage to mess with his head so you don’t have to torture him; or can you claim that the journal constitutes a written confession?”

Kazimierz brightened.

“I could argue that; and he has set his name to it, ‘It is intolerable that the wretched brat survives when I, Czcibor Galiński deserves the family money more.’ Which I take to be a signature.”

“If he has a good lawyer, he might wriggle,” said Adam. “Well, the girl is clever enough to figure out what is going on, and to decide to make a run for it; I wonder if she’d like to be a page to my son, Scypion.”

“You Ravens!” said Kazimierz.

“Everyone always says that,” said Adam, plaintively. “I don’t notice you complaining about your page.”

“I did at first,” laughed Kazimierz.

 

oOoOo

 

“Czcibor Galiński, I have sent a message to the senior legislative body to ask whether your journals in your own hand constitute a signed confession of your murder of your brother and his brother-in-law,” said Młocki. “I have here a fair copy for you to sign; if you do not, you will be subject to judicial torture as we have enough evidence to make it acceptable.”

Galiński snarled.

“If the brat had not run away, and some busy-body had not reported it, I would have got away with it, too,” he said. “Who was it? Who told you she was missing?”

“Oh, a non-descript boy who said he was her page,” said Młocki.

“But she has no page!” said Galiński.

“I saw the youth escorted to safety to Lord Sokołowski’s school, and if he turns into a girl called ‘Ludwika’ I would not be surprised; but I had to act on information given,” said Młocki.

“Damn her! I’ll sign. I heard enough of your enthusiastic constables torturing some poor soul,” said Galiński. “What a waste, for a female to inherit fourteen shops, and a smithy!”

“You are a piece of work,” said Młocki.

The confession also implicated the lawyer who was the other trustee, because Galiński did not intend to be executed alone.

The lawyer took longer to break, but a good session of amateur dramatics led him to giving in on being shown the equipment.

And that was always a win.