back to Poland for 3 shorts
The Substarosta’s casebook 1780
Chapter 1 The Ecstasy of Gold
“Good Adamiak, I would like your professional point of view, if you would,” said the page, Lew, otherwise known to intimates as Mariola Bystrzanowska, wife of Kazimierz Bystrzanowski, the sub-starosta. “Obviously you’ll be paid, but there are those who refuse to believe that I can read the characteristics of a man from his footprints.”
“Why, my lord, there’s no question but that one can tell much about a man by the footprints he leaves,” said Jozef Adamiak. “I will willingly come; without disparaging the substarosta, who works very hard, the crime rate has gone down since he got helpers like you and Lord Starski, and his page.”
“There’s a limit to how much two men can do,” said Mariola. “Constables are all very well, but they can’t stick their nose in, the same way a szlachcic can. We might be quietly cursed when we do, but it means we can get more done.”
“I welcome it, and gladly give my time without expecting pay,” said Adamiak.
“Oh, no, good Adamiak, you’ll be paid,” said Mariola. “Otherwise it creates a precedent; and suppose I take the time of a man who has knowledge, but is not doing as well as you? I might take a meal from the mouths of his family in demanding his time. If it is properly indented for, approved, stamped, and official, then nobody goes without.”
“I see, my lord,” said Adamiak, bowing. “Then in appreciation of your thought for those in want, I will put what the city pays me into the poor box.”
He was rewarded with the sunny smile the page was known for on the rare occasions people behaved with honour.
“I knew you were the right person to choose,” said Mariola. There were two other shoemakers in the city of Więszy-Bydlin, uncle and nephew, who were good enough shoemakers but who lacked the spark of original thought of Adamiak.
The shoemaker shut up his shop and followed Mariola to the rear of a house rented to a jeweller. Several constables were waiting, and saluted the page, lifting a board from a region of mud, where several footsteps appeared to lead to the back of the house.
“Goldsmith Dostatni informs me, as if he could read the steps, that this must be the shoe print of the man who climbed to the third floor where he has his safe,” said Mariola.
“Oh, no, certainly not, that’s impossible,” said Adamiak. “I can read these feet, and indeed, these boots, for I made them. A workman can always tell his own work, as Dostatni will know,” he added.
“So, tell me, Goodman Adamiak, what I read from these prints is that they belong to a slender, even skinny, man of about five and a half stopy in height, a little taller than me, with one foot badly twisted inwards which causes such wear on the sole, even if built up, that it has needed repairing twice.”
“It’s ridiculous! If these footprints go to the base of the house, they must be the thief!” cried Dostatni.
“Oh, no, Lord Lew describes the man very well,” said Adamiak. “I can add that he has longish, dirty, blond hair, a long moustache, is badly shaved rather than being either clean-shaven or having a beard, and is usually in rags. His name is Kuba the Beggar, and making him shoes is one of my Maundy offerings each year, but as you can see, I have already had to patch them twice because he will not have me make up enough of the sole to hold his foot straight, as he cannot bear the pain and discomfort. This is my patch, over the patch I had placed earlier. Kuba can scarcely walk; see the mark of his stick. He could never climb.”
“There! Now do you believe me?” asked Mariola, of the goldsmith. “You call me a ‘cocky little szlachik’ where you think I cannot hear the insult of calling me a lordling of no account, but you will surely accept the word of another professional townsman of your own social level?”
“He is scarcely of the level...” began Dostatni.
“We are both peasants but successful,” interrupted Adiamak, who had heard that the substarosta’s page was very volatile and good with both the sabres he wore.
“And now, I will ask the kitchen servant whether or not Kuba the beggar came to beg for food or money,” said Mariola. “Which you would have tried to prevent me from doing. Very well, Kowal, run and get plaster of Paris to make an impression of each foot for our collection.”
One of the constables inclined his head and ran off. Mariola rapped peremptorily on the back door. It was opened by a middle aged woman.
“Lew Krasiński, of the starosta’s office,” Mariola identified herself. “I just want to confirm that Kuba the beggar called.”
The woman cast a frightened glance at the goldsmith.
“My lord... he may have called, but of course, I gave him nothing.”
“Nothing? Not even food? What an unchristian household to be so mean when you are yourselves prosperous. I will speak to the vicar of your local church to pray on Sunday that the household of Jan Dostatni should be enlightened, and brought to the ways of Christ and turn away from the Satanic master, gold,” said Mariola, with malicious pleasure as Dostatni gobbled in outrage. Mariola had orders from Pan Młocki, the starosta, not to annoy Dostatni too much if she could avoid it, as he led a group of townsmen who had some power through their wealth, even though technical peasants. Mariola had decided that he had run out of her charity.
“You are...” began the goldsmith.
“Be careful,” said Mariola. “You should precede what you say with, ‘My lord,’ lest I take what you say as insolence.”
“Who the hell do you think pays your salary... my lord?” snapped Dostatni.
“I’m working voluntarily without a salary, as it happens,” said Mariola, coldly. “The taxes pay for the starostowie; you were not suggesting tax evasion, were you?”
“Of course not! But you would do well not to take too peremptory a tone with those who generate the wealth of the city... my lord,” he added, belatedly as Mariola stared at him and let her hand stray to her sabre hilt.
“Oh, I am so sorry, precious, I thought you were a goldsmith, not the town jester,” said Mariola. “I think you would have done better to have apprenticed to a serious trade, you aren’t very funny. I think you should rely on the day job as goldsmith, and behave with the due decorum your position deserves, don’t you? Because I’d hate to report that you obstructed the time of law enforcement and have to arrest you for obstruction. I want to see your safe.”
“Surely you....”
“Now!” barked Mariola. “Excuse me,” she said to the serving woman, and gently moved her to one side to march past her. “You may show me to the master’s counting house and where the theft took place.”
“But...” the goldsmith said, behind her.
“Are you disrespecting our lord?” the constable said. “If so, he might wonder if you were left over from the traitors who supported the traitor, Wronowski. Whom our lord duelled, and took his sword hand off.”
Mariola smiled a grim smile. Her constables would always back her up, and a reminder that she was accounted deadly with her pair of sabres, or even with just one, never did any harm to those who thought that they could push around ‘a mere boy.’
Those townsmen who were used to pushing others of their ilk around could forget that a slender youth was their social superior; and it was an object lesson, as there were plenty of arrogant young szlachcici who would take offence and begin by removing heads and ask apologies later. The town had quickly forgotten the arrogance of the Syruciowie and the Wronowscy, and there were those who took the softly-spoken confidence of Starosta Młocki, Substarosta Bystrzanowski, and their subordinates for weakness.
And because of the nature of Młocki’s officials, they usually lived to regret it.
Mariola regarded the study or counting house belonging to the goldsmith. The safe stood in the corner with its door open, being conspicuously empty. Mariola knelt down beside it and regarded the keyhole with some interest through the quizzing glass which looked incongruous with her almost aggressively Sarmatian garb, which gave no concession at all to western dress. Dostatni bustled in behind her, thrusting his serving woman to one side with an impatient push quite unlike the gentle movement Mariola had made earlier. The old woman stumbled.
“So obvious what a peasant you are,” sneered Mariola, “Quite bestial manners to an old woman.”
“She’s only a servant,” said Dostatni.
“Quite; you betray yourself as low, every time you open your mouth,” said Mariola. “But then, it doesn’t surprise me; though your willingness to pin the theft on an innocent man is remarkable, since there would be no chance of recovery of the goods from someone who does not have them.”
“He might yet have caught a bag thrown from the window by one of my servants, if they are dishonest,” said Dostatni.
“Oh, are you in the habit of leaving the key around for any of your servants to pick up?” asked Mariola.
“Of course not! I wear it on a chain around my neck!” said Dostatni.
“Ah? And does anyone else have a key?” asked Mariola.
“Yes, my secretary,” said Dostatni. “And my son.”
“Ah, yes, Lucek Janowiak, your secretary,” said Mariola. “He came to city hall first thing to report the theft.”
“He should have asked me first,” said Dostatni. “I would have preferred to have found it for myself.”
“And a fine mess you would have made of it,” said Mariola. “Accusing Kuba the beggar.”
“I do not see why you dismiss my assertion that some thieving servant may have thrown it out of the window, or... or an accomplice climbed up, using Kuba the beggar’s footprints to make some stupid fool who can’t see any further say that it was impossible.”
There was a gasp from the doorway, where a richly clad youth stood.
“Father! You cannot call a szlachcic a stupid fool!”
“Your father is fortunate; I scorn to sink to his level to chastise him,” said Mariola. “You’ll be Andrzej Dostatni.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You have one of three keys to the safe?”
“Yes, my lord,” said the young Dostatni.
“And there are only three keys?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I told you that... my lord,” said Dostatni.
“So, as there are no scratches on the mechanism of the lock, your theory that some third party opened it falls apart,” said Mariola. “This is a Robert Barron double lever action lock, and it’s the newest thing in locks. And I’m not sure if it’s pickable; but even if it is, you still have to lift the lever to the right level, and no higher and then release it before it will open. I don’t see how you can think that some random burglar could manage that, without making any scratches, and without knowledge of this highly modern lock and its intricacies of lever function.”
“What are you saying, my lord?” gasped Andrzej Dostatni. “Do you think that that Lucek Janowiak betrayed us to steal?”
“I am saying that, unless you can suggest how anyone might have stolen any of the three keys and returned them with the theft unnoticed, there are three main suspects; you, your father, and his secretary,” said Mariola, harshly. “Now, whilst I’d prefer not to have to clutter up our cells with all of you, nor put you to the question, I will do so if I have to do so. Now, I would like to know if you have ever left your keys lying around anywhere.”
“Not I,” said the young man. “And Father sleeps with his around his neck, as he always has with keys to strongboxes. Mine is kept in a locked box beside my bed, and the key to that under my pillow, and I am a light sleeper. I believe Lucek... Janowiak does likewise.”
“And when you share your bed with another?” asked Mariola.
“My son does not dally with the maids, and I would not have any loose woman in the house,” blustered Dostatni. “I think we should search the room of Lucek Jankowiak.”
“That would prove interesting if there is anything there,” said Mariola, neutrally.
“I cannot believe it of him,” said the younger Dostatni.
“He creeps around you, making up to you, and flattering you, but I have begun to distrust him,” said his father.
“You have a list of what is missing?” asked Mariola.
“Yes, and drawings of one or two singular pieces,” said Dostatni.
Mariola smiled.
“I predict that we shall find a single piece, one of those easily identifiable pieces, in Jankowiak’s room in a ridiculously easy hiding place,” she said. She opened the window and called to the constables. “Have you made the castings? If so, pray come up.”
She waited for them before permitting Dostatni to lead her to the secretary’s room, a very sparse sort of room considering his supposed position in the household. Mariola sniffed, speakingly.
“No wonder your servants are not that loyal to you, goldsmith,” she said. “And they gossip freely in the inns. The young master is considered a better master, but they still speak about his lover, who takes advantage of when the old master is spending his time and gold in brothels, and where he almost suffocated one young whore when his key fell forward into her mouth and was briefly lodged in her throat, and that he is banned from the place since he beat her savagely for accidentally almost swallowing his key. I imagine it was coming home early from that, that he discovered that his son has a lover.”
“Enough of your fairy tales! Have your men search!” said Dostatni, who had gone purple.
“Indeed, search, do, everywhere,” said Mariola.
“But we already...” said one of the constables.
“Just humour me,” said Mariola.
The constables searched, and quickly one found a singular ring, as described and drawn in Dostatni’s notes of what was missing.
“See?” said Dostatni.
“It wasn’t there this morning and it was on top of his underlinen,” said the constable. “There isn’t any more.”
“Then he passed it to his accomplice; and you are letting the beggar get away!” cried Dostatni. “And what do you mean, it wasn’t there this morning?”
“Oh, Jankowiak asked to have his belongings searched, as is his right, and to return with the constables in custody to demonstrate his innocence,” said Mariola. “And that means someone other than Jankowiak has placed this sapphire ring in his room.” She smiled. “And as Dostatni senior is waiting for a court appearance for a felony, to wit, beating a prostitute, I can search his room with impunity. Come, constables! Let us see what that yields.”
“I will not have rough common constables in my room! I keep money in there, and they might steal it!” cried Dostatni.
“Laying aside your disgusting suggestion of police dishonesty, your son and I will search,” said Mariola. “Now, theft from an employer is a serious offence, and would be punished by a flogging as well as imprisonment. Lucek Janowiak is a delicate man who might not survive such, even though it is not a capital crime.”
Andrzej Dostatni gasped.
“Could my father be so cruel because he does not like the though of Lucek and me....” he went white.
“I might consider it a secondary reason, since gossip also says your father is in debt, but has made a large insurance claim,” said Mariola. “Now, I am not going to look for jewellery in the drawer with underwear, but to lift the lose bit of floorboard which the maids complain about being loose, and tripping them, which the master refuses to have fixed.”
“There’s a loose floorboard? I did not know,” said Andrzej.
Mariola found the floorboard described by maids, which had been described to her by a thief who was in custody as a sure fire place for any cat burglar to search for booty. Mariola kept a good relationship with minor criminals, making sure they were treated fairly, and paying for any good information. This piece of information paid off. And under the floorboard was everything else, apart from the ring found in Janlowiak’s room, which had been listed as missing from the safe.
She put it all in a bag, and labelled it, and left the room, where the constables were blocking the entrance of Dostanti.
“Goldsmith Jakub Dostanti, you are under arrest,” said Mariola. “I found what you hid under the loose floorboard.”
“I... you cannot arrest me! It was a test for my son and my secretary, and nothing has been stolen, so there is no crime! There! And that’s why I did not want my secretary to alert the constabulary, because it was just a test!”
“Oh, but you are wrong; there are two crimes,” said Mariola. “The crime of fraud, since you have submitted a claim with your insurers; and the crime of framing Lucek Jankowiak with the purpose of somehow punishing him for his romantic interest towards your son. Take him away,” she added.
Dostatni was dragged away, shouting that confining him was illegal.
“You’ll want to get him a lawyer,” said Mariola to Andrzej.
“He did that to hurt Lucek? I cannot believe it. Well, I can, but it seems...”
“I think he meant to steal from himself anyway, as he had had some reverses,” said Mariola. “Getting rid of your lover was a secondary intent.”
“I... it is extraordinary. To commit fraud! I do not know what to do!”
“You will have to testify; but I can assure you there need be nothing about your relationship mentioned, merely that he had taken against his secretary.”
“Oh! Thank you!”
“You are welcome.”
Klemens Młocki looked at Mariola and sighed.
“I suppose you had no choice but to arrest him?”
“He will have fewer supporters when his fellow townsmen know he was committing fraud,” said Mariola.
Młocki sighed again.
“That at least is true,” he said. “But why could it not have been a simple burglary?”
“Because greed leads to dishonesty,” said Mariola. “Besides, if you want to speak about wealth generation, the cattle deals my father does probably come to two or three times as much in terms of taxes as the deals of Dostatni and others of his kind. It’s not called Więszy-Bydlin for nothing; the city exists to be a big cattle market.”
“You know, I had not considered that,” said Młocki.
