‘I understand your quandary, Mr Teralov—I never intended for anyone to get hurt. I simply followed instruction to preserve my own life. I must confess, terrorizing Jozef was pleasurable—seeing him squirm after many years of his abuse and mistreatment was gratifying, however, not at the cost of the debt that surmised afterwards.’
Juraj pondered and searched his brain for help, running through the ramifications of what all this meant.
‘This note… it is not written like the rest, it is different,’ started Juraj. ‘Did you write the others to me as well?’
‘I did, Mr Teralov. Apart from what I had been instructed to communicate to Jozef, I received further command that was very specific in detailing a letter of warning to yourself. I believe you have worked out by now how I got the letter into your possession?’
‘No doubt the same way you retrieved the brooch from Edgar?’
‘Correct.’
‘I see,’ Juraj sighed.
The entire situation was relentlessly complex, a tyrant at the helm, leading a charge of hidden soldiers, an army with no name or purpose other than self-preservation. Were they any different than himself? Martin, Jozef, Milos… all victims in a web of lies and deceit, an affliction that spanned the entire city of Prague and reached farther beyond than anyone could have possibly imagined.
‘If you did not kill Peter, then who did?’ Juraj spoke, with futile hope and expectation.
‘I am truly sorry, but this I do not know.’
‘And if Vladislav was not your brother, whom do you suppose he meant by the one he loved most?’
‘Once more, Mr Teralov, I cannot begin to imagine—somebody who lingers in the shadows, I suspect.’
The porter looked out across the city. It was beautiful and majestic from this vantage point, birds flying high above, darting through the clouds endlessly, a picturesque view of a proud city, full of prouder men and women. In the distance, the black spires of St. Vitus Cathedral could be seen. It dominated the skyline and reminded them both of men’s great accomplishments, and yet weakness at the same time.
‘I want you to know something, Mr Teralov—not that it means anything now.’ He turned to face Juraj, who looked back at him as a child would at their mother when they had stolen something insignificant from the cupboard and been caught—innocently guilty, yet fully apprehensible.
‘My actions are not ones I am proud of. But I had contributed one clear directive to this undertaking. The note I had received made one incorrect assumption. I had not yet heard of the death of Peter, and I had in fact seen him leave the hotel that late afternoon. But of course, at the time, I thought nothing of it, as he would often go for walks by the river at such hours. When I received the letter some hours later, I knew what I had to do. I assumed the worst and made an anonymous call to the police. I hoped for the best, Mr Teralov, I truly did. But when I heard that the police found the body by the river, and with no suspect in mind, I panicked and followed through with the instructions, for fear of my own life. Whoever is behind all of this, they are a truly terrifying force.’
Juraj felt an understanding rise from within himself—this man was no longer his enemy. The fear and penitence within his voice demonstrated that he had already suffered a far greater punishment than he, or the hand of law, could possibly inflict upon him.
‘And what of the brooch? What did you do with it, after you stole it from Edgar?’
‘I did as I was instructed, Mr Teralov. A final note arrived, dictating for me to perform one final action and to also seemingly traumatise you further. I had been told to deliver a parcel to the Teralov Mansion. The instructions were very specific—return the brooch to its rightful home.’
‘The Teralov Mansion, my mother?’ Juraj spoke with aghast and estranged disbelief.
‘Not specifically addressed, but yes, Mr Teralov, the brooch was delivered to your mother’s home,’ he replied, resoundingly calm and assured.
‘And you did not think to tell the police and to take this information to them?’ Juraj spat, angry once more with the porter’s role in the disarray.
‘Mr Teralov,’ the porter began, ‘when one fears for their life, what good does it to run to the authorities of this state? You know it all too well, had you not been grateful for the services of Edgar yourself, the ineptitude of our own kind.’
Juraj sighed, the splitting juxtaposition of emotions equally severed between him. Half of him felt sorrow and pity for him, the other wanting to hold him accountable and finally quench the thirst of revenge. But he had made a valid point. And although rage raced through his blood, his fight was not with this man. He had played a role in the death of his brother without doubt, but by that same accord, Juraj was also responsible for the death of Edgar and Milos, both innocent of such undeserving ends.
20.
Upon arriving at the Teralov mansion, Juraj remained calm, ensuring he did not reveal his hand.
His mother was curious and intrigued to know how his journey to Bratislava had gone. Juraj revealed how he had spent time in the city, including his visit to Borlog’s Winery and the encounter with Lenka. As he and his mother sat there, drinking from the tea the maid had prepared, he carefully watched his mother’s reactions and demeanour, gauging and deciphering for any sign of guilt or omission of her involvement in the plot. Finding none, he decided to unveil the ultimate demise of Milos and Edgar.
‘Both were slain, Mother,’ Juraj began, gritting his teeth in an unbearable torment, his every being dying to unleash his fury and anger. The
