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

landscape.
‘You two! All board, back on the train!’
‘The cause of the interruption?’ shouted Edgar in reply, an authoritarian manner both commanded and curious within his voice.
‘Mechanical failure!’ yelled the engineer. ‘Now please, good sirs, all aboard, we are leaving again now!’
The engineer hopped back into the front of the black locomotive out of sight and Edgar turned to Juraj with a raise of his eyebrows.
‘Better get back on then, shall we?’ Edgar met Juraj with a slight smile.
‘Right, yes. Okay then,’ responded Juraj, still clearly nervous and shaken.
The warmth of the carriage met them both kindly—a welcome grace. Returning to their carriage and seats, they undressed and settled back down into their seats as the train’s timely departure started up its sequence once more.
‘Your brother, Juraj,’ started Edgar as they rested back into the consolation of their seats. ‘You say he was your protector growing up, that he was always there for you. It sounds to me like he was someone you could always rely on, perhaps you even idolized him?
Juraj thought for a brief moment then responded without hesitation, the words forceful and absolved of any doubt, ‘Yes, I believe that would be fair to say. Without Peter, who knows how my life would have played out. I cannot imagine how things would have been at home without him, and it pains me now to consider how life will fair for my future without his guidance and love.’
‘I see,’ echoed Edgar in response, ‘and if that is something you feel so strongly about, how would you explain his behaviour of the last recent years?’
‘I am not sure I follow,’ murmured Juraj, a look of offence and confusion painted clearly upon his face.
‘Well, you said Peter was always there for you, correct?’
‘Yes, and?’
‘If that was the case, how might you explain your lack of awareness into his personal affairs?’
Juraj paused for a moment, stretching his mind through various cycles of thought.
‘He was a private man, aren’t we all, Edgar?’
‘Perhaps, yet if you two were as close as you say, it seems to reason with me that you would be aware of his love interests. Is that fair to say?’
Juraj stared blankly at the detective and then looked away. He swallowed hard, so much so that an audible gulp could almost be made out, even amongst the ruckus and churning of the train as it continued its plight forward.
‘Maybe,’ responded Juraj, not making eye contact with Edgar as he stared out the window, watching the rolling hills and the landscape flitter past, ‘but I shall speak no more of this now.’
Edgar nodded with a frightful disposition—an expression of reluctance and candid experience sent a tremble through Juraj’s spine.
‘Very well, Juraj. As you wish.’
The pair sat in silence for quite some time, only the sound of the locomotive and the occasional inquiry from a waitress asking if they were satisfied and required any further refreshment disturbed the awkward impasse. Without question, the fact that had troubled Edgar most so far was Juraj’s reluctance to reveal his involvement with Anita or lack thereof.
For what reason or cause would he have to hide such a matter? Indeed, had the fact been known earlier to Edgar that the maid and Peter’s secret love affair potentially conflicted with Juraj’s own interests, he could have questioned the maid directly himself whilst he had been present at the Teralov Manor.
Such a peculiar business, he thought.
Had she not concluded it wise to profess her potential involvement? To instruct the detective of her—albeit alleged—involvement with Juraj, as per Jozefs stark warning? Such information would have paid dividends—compelling information which may have led to the whereabouts of the killer, perhaps. A family of such calibre and spotlight in the public eye were always susceptible to blackmail and bribery, who knows what nasty business Peter may have found himself involved in?
With cautious eyes and a straight-mouthed pertinence, Edgar turned to watch Juraj closely, his fingers twiddling amongst themselves. What more did this man have to hide?
‘When were you going to tell me?’ Edgar challenged suddenly with an undertone of displeasure and suspect inquisitiveness.
Juraj stammered and hesitated. ‘About what, exactly?’
Edgar took a deep breath and puffed his chest out; an escape of air rattled throughout the rumbling carriage.
‘You know damn well what—speak now or I’ll have you sent straight to Moscow the moment we arrive in Bratislava, and there will be no question about the matter.’
A look of fear and paleness overcame Juraj’s face and he gulped, his throat swollen like he had swallowed an apple whole. Edgar was clearly angry and seemed to have finally lost his patience with him.
Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow as it slowly dripped downwards, Juraj looked up at the detective and began to speak.
As he did, Edgar thought much to himself how it was indeed too much information, and how the situation had turned him from a frozen mute into a singing bird. How exactly this transformation had occurred even his intuitive powers could not deduce.
‘You see,’ began Juraj, ‘it all began some years ago when Peter and I were living at home with our mother. We had all lived together in the Manor, and with father having passed long before that it was hard on her to make sufficient keep of the place. To be quite frank, she never was likely to remarry, being so awfully dedicated and in love with father—that’ll never pass her by.’
Juraj moved his hand from his mouth, staring out of the window for a moment as the sun began to dip down over the hills and cast its lightened shadow across the landscape.
‘Go on Juraj. The girl, the maid—what happened there?’
‘Well sir, it is quite simple: Anita was hired by mother for services, as you know, to tend the chores of