Nadir had not been born in Mazandaran, but it was now the place he thought of as home. It had been fully twenty years since he first came to place, young and with the world at his fingertips. His high appointment had come from the old Shah directly, and with it a generous stipend and a Qajari princess to serve at his table and in his bed. Well, the princess had died young and childless, and the stipend had not been adjusted in well over a decade, and the flattering office had devolved into difficult career of only moderate importance. But Mazandaran had remained, with its emerald forests that still dazzled Nadir's desert-raised eye.

He was surrounded by those forests now, leisurely making his way home from Tehran. Darius was somewhere ahead, his horse set at a more purposeful canter along the vague paths through into the undergrowth. Nadir felt no such compunction. He had completed a necessary and vaguely unpleasant job at Naser al-Din's request, and he was in no great hurry to be given another one. He let his horse amble along a stream, watching otters play at their water acrobatics.

He remembered taking this same route some years before, in the pursuit of a jewel thief. In the end, a tiger had done the job for him. Murderers had fled here, as well, darting around the broadleaf trees. Nadir had once spent three days tracking down a runaway cow for an old farmer's widow. One day, he would very likely be obliged to hunt Erik here.

That thought soured Nadir's mood, and he started to travel with a bit more purpose. At first, he had been delighted to be away from his fiendish charge, but the he found that he really could not escape him.

God alone knew what sort of mischief Erik had found during Nadir's absence. It had been a month, and Erik could find trouble within hours. Precious little news had drifted up to the capital, which could be either good or bad. Nadir could only hope that he would not return to find Erik executed and a knife with his own name written on it.

And even if everything had gone well, there was still the future to consider. Summer was fast leaving Mazandaran, and the Shah's court would soon follow it away. Would the Shah demand that Erik remained attached to him? Or would he stay on the Caspian coast? And if he did, would Nadir be stuck as his keeper? And if so, would that be better or worse for Nadir's already frayed nerves?

Worse, he decided. Much, much worse. The whole affair gave Nadir a headache. He found himself longing for a stream of murders to overtake the land—something, anything to keep his mind away from Shahs and courts and intrigues and young masked men with too much intelligence and too little soul.

Alas, nothing short of the heavenly hosts would save Nadir from those concerns today. He cleared the forests at last and traveled ever onward to the palace at Nowshahr.

Darius had displayed a glimmer of competence—a groom awaited Nadir at the palace courtyard, and a servant stood by with refreshments. Perhaps there was hope for the boy, even if his idea of police work was puffing out his chest and trying to look disapproving. Well. At least he brewed a good pot of tea.

Nadir longed to loiter in the gardens for a moment, but he knew there was no point in putting off his interview with the Shah. With any luck, it would be brief and painless. Rather like the execution Nadir figured would one day come for him.

He wiped off the grime of travel from his face and hands, shook out his robes, and set off.

It did not take long for him to meet with… trouble.

"Did you miss me, Daroga?" Erik's voice—but not Erik, ha—appeared at Nadir's side. For a moment Nadir's eyes roved madly about the long hall, but there was little to see. The walls were paneled with mirrors and every time Nadir thought he saw something, he was confronted by the reflection of his own eyes.

"I did not," he finally grumbled to the empty air. "Who could?"

Erik answered with a demonic chuckle that echoed from all sides. Nadir willed his hand to relax from the hex sign he had unwittingly formed. There was a very good chance Erik could actually see him, and Nadir was loath to give him the satisfaction of appearing disturbed.

"Go away, Erik. I'm tired and busy and do not need to be bothered."

"Then you had best turn around or you'll walk right into Naser al-Din, and we all know how tedious he is."

"I shall not dignify that with response," Nadir said primly. He noticed a beat too late that he was now in earshot of the Shah's guards.

Erik did not deign to answer and Nadir was left glaring at the confused men.

He was admitted into the Shah's presence quickly enough, despite appearing to talk to himself.

"I am glad you came, Nadir," the Shah said, "I had wished to speak with you privately."

Nadir had to wonder if Naser al-Din knew the first thing about privacy. A dozen retainers milled about him now—even when he slept, four women stood as sentinels right by him.

"Well?" the Shah asked. He had a large book of maps before him and was making notes in the margins.

"The murderous traitor has been discovered and apprehended, Your Majesty," Nadir said.

"And executed?"

"He is under such a sentence, Sire."

"Make sure it is done. I do not care for my cousins being killed."

Nadir supposed he ought to feel a bit of relief at that comment, but he did not. "Yes, Sire."

The Shah looked up from his atlas. "The murderer—he was a Russian agent, yes?"

Nadir hesitated. "It did not appear so, Your Majesty. Amir Daroga did not think so."

The Shah's mustachios wiggled in amusement. "There was a reason I dispatched you, Nadir Khan. But I am sure there is much for you to attend to here."

Nadir took this dismissal graciously and began to bow out.

"A moment more, Daroga—" the Shah made another note in his book before sparing Nadir a glance. "How was our cousin Yosef killed? One hears such stories."

Nadir hesitated again. "He was strangled, Your Majesty."

The Shah considered this for a moment and then waved Nadir away.

When Nadir at last made his way home, he found Erik waiting for him.

And given the state of the sitting room—used teacups piled on a tray, papers stacked on chairs, and an abused tar sticking out from under the rug—Nadir was forced to conclude that Erik had occupied the space for far longer than the few hours since their hallway conversation.

"I see you've taken up residence," he said, dropping on to the divan unceremoniously.

"I was doing you a favor," Erik said, "I trust neither your cook nor your steward. Nor do I trust your errand boy, but he was hardly a concern this time."

"You've been terrorizing my servants?"

Erik's gold eyes were fixed on Nadir's face, his black masked unsmiling.

"Training them. You see, I have reached a conclusion."

Nadir raised a wary eyebrow. Erik took this as encouragement to continue.

"You Persians are lazy," he declared.

"Is that all?" Nadir asked.

"Is that— ugh." Erik huffed and reached down to pick up the tar. He plunked the strings one by one. "I think you're melancholic. The Mirror of Princes suggests high pitched tones for the melancholic temperament." He started to strum the instrument accordingly.

Nadir winced but soon found that the music Erik seemed to be pulling out of the air was quite soothing. "I see you've found the time to start studying the classics."

"Well, I had to amuse myself. Your cousin Feridoon wasn't much… fun." Nadir was about to reply tartly, but the song had taken on the winsome tone of a lullaby and he found that he would much rather listen to it than complain.

"As I was saying—lazy. Given the option, you do nothing for yourself. Actually, given the option you do nothing at all. One sees it from the steward who loafs about when his master is away right up to Naser al-Din himself. Just look—the Shah sends you off hither and thither to run his errands. Could he not go to Tehran himself?"

Nadir had not realized that he closed his eyes until he was obliged to open one to look at Erik. "Are you suggesting that the supreme ruler of this empire should personally attend to every piece of business that is connected to him?"

"I do," Erik said.

"Really? I hear that you're building this palace on the coast. Am I to believe that your hand is in every detail of its construction?"

"Everything," Erik asserted. "I have laid out every design—inspected every brick—gone over every inch of the construction myself."

Nadir blinked at him. "Do you sleep?"

"I—that is not the point." He had seemed to come to the end of this subject and set aside the instrument. "So you catch murderers."

"From time to time." Nadir willed himself to arise and call for a light meal. His steward replied with uncommon promptness.

"How?"

"Are you asking me how to get away with murder, Erik? You seem to do that well enough on your own."

God help him, but the boy seemed to flinch at that. When he spoke again, his voice was singsongish and mocking. "I do beg your pardon for trying to have a conversation. I thought Persians liked to talk about themselves. It seems to be the only subject most of them are educated on."

Nadir considered him for a moment, looking him over critically. Dear Lord, was the boy trying to be human? Nadir supposed it was an improvement over magician or ghost. He sighed. "Different crimes are investigated differently. No two are the same—no two murders are the same, no two thefts are the same, even when the villain is the same." He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a square of folded silk. "This man used a technique that has been seen in Kashmir and Punjab, but with something I had never quite encountered before, " He pulled out a long coil of wire fashioned into a crude noose. Blood stained it near the knot. "He strangled his victim with this."

Erik took the wire and examined it closely. "Piano wire."

"How can you tell?"

Erik pointed the end towards Nadir. "Copper core."

"And you know that piano wires are made of copper… how?"

"I play," Erik replied.

"Do you?"

"Hm."

"Where did you learn? Not at Nijni Novgorod, I think."

Erik hummed vaguely. "My mother played piano. Did you say he strangled a man with this? Oh, yes, I see it." Nadir nearly choked on his tea when Erik slipped the wire around his own throat and tightened it carefully. "If I move the knot over the jugular—ah, yes, just a little pressure—"

"Stop it," Nadir commanded. "I see you've simply stored up all your mischief for my return."

Erik laughed. "Oh, Daroga. When will you learn? Mischief is life, and I am the living Death."