‘The lady Peter was with, she was no different. One can only assume they had met during a night in the city and Peter had wooed her to stay here, as he often did with women.’
‘Nonetheless,’ declared Edgar, ‘it is clear we must follow the trail to Bratislava. Juraj, how long will it take?’
‘No more than a day, good sir,’ Juraj remarked. ‘I do suggest we make way now though, for alas the last train will leave within the hour by my watch.’
Pleased with the assessment, Edgar stood and thanked the manager graciously for his time and assistance.
‘Where do you plan on staying, once you arrive at Bratislava?’ enquired Jozef, his eyebrows raised, mouth slightly ajar in anticipation.
‘I cannot say I’d given that much thought at this juncture,’ remarked Edgar, stroking his long beard, which was littered with neatly patterned streaks of grey. ‘Do you have a recommendation?’
‘I’m glad you asked,’ chuckled the manager. ‘I happen to own another establishment in the city: the Old Town Hotel,’ he announced gladly. ‘You’ll be quite well taken care of, I assure you—only the best for a Teralov and company, am I right, Juraj?’ he said with a wink.
Juraj shrugged, his face blasé and still moderately annoyed by the manager and his incessant condescension and superfluous manner. Furthermore, thought Juraj, the Old Town Hotel was not renowned for its prestige, quite the opposite in fact. If the manager was playing some sort of angle with Edgar, he convinced himself—against his better judgment—that now was not the time to exhibit protest. Besides, Edgar was a fine, outstanding detective—the best in his field. Dispatched all the way from the USSR, Juraj suspected he could smell a rat a mile off, and this one surely did stink.
Collecting themselves to embark once more on the scent of the hunt, the manager abruptly grabbed Edgar by his arm. ‘Mr Rollenvart,’ started the manager, ‘may I have a word sir… in private?’
Edgar looked at Juraj, who shrugged with a blank expression upon his face. Led away from the brother of the deceased, in a spare moment out of earshot of any other, the manager began, in no uncertain terms, a statement which caused the utmost of alarm to Edgar.
‘It’s Juraj, you see,’ he began, ‘you ought to know—Peter and the maid of the Teralov Manor, they were secretly in love. Everyone knows it—everyone but their mother, of course. But a man like Peter would never have won the approval of his family. Only, the thing of it is, Juraj was in love with her too, but of course, she never loved him back. She’s only ever had feelings for Peter… that’s all—I thought you should know.’
4.
A faint and gentle rocking embodied the carriage of the train as it hissed along the countryside in the heart of the land, making its journey bound to Bratislava from where it had set off in motion, in Prague.
The central station of Prague was both grand and glorious. Its black high-reaching beams formed an arched structure, crafted from iron. The casting presence of the tall terminal made for a significant break in the city’s landscape. At night, it cast a silhouette across the infrastructure and streets surrounding it. A mainstay and important economic hub for the city, trains bustling in and out from various places all over Europe. Frequently, passengers would arrive from Berlin in Germany, Budapest in Hungary, and from Vienna in Austria. Cargo would also be transported to and from the station, especially towards more industrious areas such as Stuttgart in Germany and Wroclaw in Poland.
Leading the front was a magnificent, black steam locomotive, painted proudly with stripes of blue, white and red to represent the nation. It was comprised of six large wheels, with spindles made of iron and an impressive stock of coal pulled in pursuit to power the churning of the steam engine. The train hissed as the wonderous creation sprang into life and the release of the hot steam was propelled into the crisp air as it accelerated, making for a joyous and satisfying sound.
The journey was to take the better part of a day, door to door. It was a comfortable ride for the most part, the fine green hills rolling past the windows as Edgar peered out, searching for answers as he contemplated the meaning of all he had learnt so far.
‘Your brother, you cared for him dearly?’ asked Edgar quizzically.
‘Yes, of course,’ responded Juraj with a frown. ‘Who could not care for their own? All brothers are close, are they not?’
‘I suppose you could say so,’ Edgar surmised thoughtfully, acknowledging Juraj with a nod. ‘I have a brother myself, back home in Moscow. We were not particularly close growing up but, then again, we were quite different people.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, have you ever wanted to be close to someone, to know them as well as a person can, but they simply won’t let you close enough? As though there is some invisible barrier between you, stopping all earnest attempts that leave you unsure of what you may have done wrong? My brother is like this. It is not the fault of his own, in fact, I am not sure if he even means to behave in such a way. It is simply his manner. After a while you are forced to give up, to let go.’
‘I see,’ replied Juraj, a look of concern breaching his face. ‘Peter was not like this at all. Quite the opposite. He was always there for me, as a big brother should be.’
Edgar nodded silently with a slight wince of his eyes, indicating his heightened focus, an encouragement for Juraj to continue.
‘I vividly remember the details of a day when we were smaller, one that stays with me even now. We went to the same school as children in the city and, for the
