The Affliction of Praha: A gripping murder mystery set in 1920s Czechoslovakia

way out with haste and slight perturbation whilst glancing at Juraj with a look that suggested it was time for them to be about their way.
‘Detective?’
The shrill and inquisitive voice of the Baroness was not quite ready to liberate him; the irony of the moment struck Edgar with a fond sense of perverse humour—normally the reluctance of one and the insistence of another would be that of the roles reversed.
Edgar analysed the Baroness’ face closely before responding.
‘Might I have a moment, alone?’
Juraj brushed his feet awkwardly on the thick woollen sheep’s skin rug, tousling at it with a great reprise.
The detective, with a look of expectation that was not to be met with confliction, raised his eyebrows slightly towards Juraj. The young man quickly excused himself from the engagement, citing the need to go pack some of his belongings for their continued search.
‘A small pack will do,’ he muttered, as he strolled wayward out of the room.
Speaking quietly between themselves, the Baroness exchanged a private word with Edgar, who were both, all the while, acutely watched by the maid. Though unable to hear any words exchanged, she noticed a small piece of folded paper pass into the detective’s hands. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was a pamphlet of some description.
A few minutes later, Juraj emerged with his pack in hand. Juraj and his mother embraced one another before he and Edgar had to leave.
‘Don’t worry mother—we’ll find whoever is responsible for this.’
‘Make them suffer, Juraj,’ she responded vehemently, ‘and take good care of this detective, won’t you?’ she jested, with a small wink.
Edgar could not but help himself to release a short burst of laughter, wondering what exactly he was in for. His respect for the Baroness was great and she demanded it. Yet, for all her brute power, of which he was clearly aware, he could not but feel a keenness towards her. She was clearly straightforward and direct and, in a world of so much dissent and falseness, it was an admirable quality. The idea of Juraj accompanying him further was a strange one and he wrestled with the idea of protesting the fact, but it was clear the Baroness willed for Juraj to join him and, quite frankly, that was enough for Edgar to avoid quarrel. He had always worked alone, but he agreed that a friendly face in a foreign land was not the worst of his potential troubles. The detective assured himself he could endure Juraj’s presence, albeit a temporary one.
‘Oh, and detective?’ Edgar turned to face the Baroness’ call. ‘Find her,’ she cautioned, whilst eyeing the pamphlet Edgar held within his hand. Looking up, she met Edgar’s gaze directly. ‘I know she was with my boy.’ Her tone warranted no reassurance and it was not a request. Edgar understood full well it was a demand.
All the while, as they made their way out of the entrance hall, bid their farewells and made passage across the stony pathed courtyard and beyond the grounds, the maid watched Juraj with a look of sincere contempt.

3.
Forty-five minutes later, after ushering for a horse and carriage from the Manor back to the centre of the city, they arrived at the Grand Hotel in East Street.
One of grandeur and eloquence, it was by far the finest hotel in the whole city of Prague, if not that of Europe. Golden arches stood upon a backdrop of pearly white ivory. Black and white marble flooring with great pillars reached high into the finely painted ceiling, somewhat a work of art within itself—curated and carved centuries before them, as if they stood in the precipice of time itself. The centrepiece of the room was undoubtedly a large crystal chandelier, its arms dangling low like branches from a willow tree. Sparkling with spectrums of light, it twisted and turned slowly and quietly in the ceiling way up high.
The pair announced themselves at the hotel’s lobby. They were welcomed by a huge red carpet with golden trimmings that spanned from the entrance of the door to the desk, where a clerk awaited. Edgar promptly requested to speak with the general manager of the establishment, for he had questions of both a discreet and sensitive nature.
Without complaint, the clerk was nothing but agreeable and scurried into a backroom, exclaiming he should not be too long.
A few moments later, a sharp-looking man emerged with a large smile, well-dressed all in white complete with a chestnut-made cane, topped with an ivory handle. He tipped his hat in welcome. ‘I am Jozef and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. How might I be of service on this fine day, gentlemen?’
Edgar responded with a less hospitable tone. ‘I am are here with the business of investigating the murder of Peter Teralov—this is his brother, Juraj. Do you have someplace we can speak privately?’
Shock and disbelief rushed over the previously joyous host’s face and with a whisper he muttered, ‘Yes, but of course. Juraj I know, but yourself I do not. What might I call you?’
Edgar responded with a firm and authoritarian manner, ‘You may call me Mr Rollenvart.’
‘Very well, Mr Rollenvart,’ conceded the manager. ‘Please, do follow me.’
Steering them towards a private space, he waved over a porter.
‘You there—do take these good gentlemen’s jackets, won’t you?’ he instructed.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied the porter. ‘Will they be staying the night?’ he asked the manager inquisitively.
The manager rolled his eyes and snapped at the porter: ‘Of course not! Do they look like they are here to stay, dim-witted fool? They are here to investigate a murder.’
Patience had worn thin for Jozef and the additional stress of the potential loss of reputation to his excellent establishment had contributed to his angered outburst.
‘Please, call me when you are ready to leave and I shall retrieve your coats for you without complaint,’ whimpered