Too Many Magicians (lord darcy)

by Randall Garrett

  Sir Frederique had served drinks all around, then had quietly retired.

  My lord the Marquis of London looked them all over once and then said: “My lords, Your Grace, gentlemen.” He paused and looked them all over once again. “I will not say that it was very good of you to come. You are not here by invitation, but by fiat. Nonetheless, all but one of you have been asked merely as witnesses to help us discover the truth, and all but that one may consider themselves my guests.” He paused again, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “It is my duty to inform you that you are all here to answer questions if they are put to you — not simply because I, as Lord of London, have requested your cooperation, but, more important, because you are here by order of our Most Dread Sovereign, His Majesty the King. Is that understood?”

  Nine heads nodded silently.

  “This is, then,” My Lord Marquis continued, “a Court of Inquiry, presided over by myself as justice of the King’s Court. Lord Bontriomphe is here as Clerk of the King’s Court. This may seem irregular but it is quite in accord with the law. Is all of that understood?” Again, there were nine silent nods of assent. “Very well. I hardly think I need say — although by law I must — that anything anyone of you says here will be taken down by Lord Bontriomphe in writing, and may be used in evidence.

  “The Reverend Father Patrique, O.B.S., is here in the official capacity of amicus curia, as a registered Sensitive of Holy Mother Church.

  “As official Sergeant-at-Arms, we have Chief Master-at-Arms Hennely Grayme of this City.

  “Presenting the case for the Crown is Lord Darcy, at present of Rouen, Chief Investigator for His Royal Highness, Prince Richard, Duke of Normandy.

  “Although this Court has the power to make a recommendation, it is understood that anyone accused may appeal without prejudice, and may be represented in such Court as our Most Dread Sovereign His Majesty the King may appoint, by any counsel such accused may choose.”

  My Lord Marquis took another deep breath and cleared his throat. “Is all of that quite clear? You will answer by voice.” And a ragged chorus of voices said, “Yes, my lord.”

  “Very well.” He heaved his massive bulk up from his chair, and everyone else stood. “Will you administer the oath, Reverend Father,” he said to the Benedictine. When the oath had been administered to everyone there, my lord the Marquis sat down again with a sigh of comfort. “Now, before we proceed, are there any questions?”

  There were none.

  The Marquis of London lifted his head a fraction of an inch and looked at Lord Darcy from beneath his brows. “Very well, my Lord Advocate. You may proceed.”

  Lord Darcy stood up from the red leather chair, bowed in the direction of the Court, and said, “Thank you, my Lord Justice. Do I have the Court’s permission to be seated during the presentation of the Crown’s case?”

  “You do, my lord. Pray be seated.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Lord Darcy settled himself again in the red leather chair.

  His eyes searched each of the nine in turn, then he said, “We are faced here with a case of treason and murder.

  “Although I am aware that most of you know the facts, legally I must assume that you do not. Therefore, I shall have to discuss each of those facts in turn. You must understand that the evidence proving these facts will be produced after my preliminary presentation.

  “Three days ago, shortly before eleven o’clock on the morning of Tuesday, October 25, Anno Domini One Thousand Nine Hundred and Sixty-Six, a man named Georges Barbour was stabbed to death in a cheap rooming house in Cherbourg. Evidence which will be produced before this Court will show that Goodman Georges was a double agent; that is, he was a man who, while pretending to work for the Secret Service of His Slavonic Majesty King Casimir IX, was also in the pay of our own Naval Intelligence, and was, as far as the evidence shows, loyal to the Empire. Will you testify to that, Captain Smollett?” he asked, looking at the second chair from his right.

  “I will, m’lud Advocate.”

  “Very shortly after he was killed,” Lord Darcy went on, “Commander Lord Ashley of the Naval Intelligence Corps reported the discovery of Goodman Georges’ body to the Armsmen of Cherbourg. He also reported that he had been ordered to give one hundred golden sovereigns to Goodman Georges because the double agent in question needed it to pay off a certain Goodman FitzJean.”

  Bit by bit, item by item, Lord Darcy outlined the case to those present, omitting no detail except the precise nature and function of the confusion projector. Lord Darcy described it simply as a “highly important Naval secret.”

  He described the discovery of the murder of Sir James Zwinge, the attack upon the Damoselle Tia, the fight upon the bridge, the Damoselle Tia’s statement, the discovery of the body of Goodman Paul Nichols, and the search for and arrest of Master Ewen MacAlister.

  “The questions before this Court,” Lord Darcy said, “are: Who killed those three men: And why? It is the contention of the Crown that one person, and one only, is responsible for all three deaths.”

  He looked over the nine faces before him, trying to assess the expressions on their faces. Not one betrayed any sign of guilt, not even the one whom Lord Darcy knew was guilty.

  “I see you have a question, Captain Smollett. Would you ask it, please? No, don’t bother to rise.”

  Captain Smollett cleared his throat. “M’lud.” He paused, cleared his throat again. “Since we already have the guilty man under arrest, may I ask why this inquiry is necessary?”

  “Because we do not have the guilty man under arrest, Captain. Master Ewen, no matter what his actual crimes, is not guilty of a single murder — much less a triple one.”

  Captain Smollett said “Um,” and nothing more.

  “You have before you, my lords, Your Grace, gentlemen, every bit of pertinent evidence. It is now the duty of myself as Advocate of the Crown to link up that evidence into a coherent chain. First, let us dismiss the theory that Master Ewen MacAlister was more than remotely connected with these murders. Master Ewen was, it is true, an agent of His Slavonic Majesty, working with the owner of the Manzana de Oro, the Sidi al-Nasir. This evidence can be produced later; let us merely accept these facts as true.”

  He turned to the Chief of Naval Intelligence. “Captain Smollett.”

  “Yes, m’lud?”

  “I wish to put to you a hypothetical question, and for the sake of security let us keep it hypothetical. If… I say, if… you were aware of the identity of the Polish Chief of Intelligence for France and the British Isles, would you order him assassinated?”

  Captain Smollett’s eyes narrowed. “No, m’lud, never.”

  “Why not, Captain?”

  “It would be stupid, m’lud. Yes. As long as we know who he is… uh… if we knew who he was… it would be much more to our advantage to keep an eye on him, to watch him; to see to it, in fact, that he got the information that we wanted him to have, rather than the information he wants. Also, our knowing the Chief of Polish Intelligence would lead us to his agents. It is much easier to keep the body under surveillance when one can identify the head, m’lud.”

  “Then would you say, Captain, that it would be very stupid of Polish Intelligence to have murdered Master Sir James Zwinge?”

  “Very stupid, m’lud. Wouldn’t be at all good Intelligence tactics. Not at all.” For a moment, Captain Smollett blinked solemnly, digesting this new thought.

  “Not even if Master Sir James had discovered that Master Ewen was working for the Poles?” Lord Darcy asked.

  “Hmn-m-m. Probably not. Much better to pull Master Ewen out, move him to another post, give him a new identity.”

  “Thank you, Captain Smollett.

  “Now. As you have seen,” his words took in the entire company, “there is some question about whether Master Ewen could have committed this crime by Black Magic, and so skillfully hidden the evidence thereof that his complicity in the crime was undetectable. I put it to you, my lords, Your
Grace, gentlemen, that he could not.

  “Father Patrique.” He looked at the Benedictine.

  The priest bowed his head. “Yes, my lord?”

  “You have examined Master Ewen since his arrest, Reverend Father?”

  “I have, my lord.”

  “Is Master Ewen’s Talent as strong, as powerful, as effective as that of Master Sean O Lochlainn?”

  “My lord Advocate…” The good father then turned his attention to my lord of London. “…And may it please the Court…”

  “Proceed, Reverend Sir,” said my lord the Marquis.

  “…I feel that, while my own testimony is adequate, it is not the best. In answer to your direct question, my lord, I must say that Master Ewen’s Talent is weaker, far poorer, than that of Master Sean O Lochlainn.

  “But I put it to you, my lords, that this is not the best evidence. Observe, if you will, the relative ease with which Master Sean conquered Master Ewen in the battle of wills at the Manzana de Oro. Observe how very simple it was to break the spells on Master Ewen’s room lock and upon the carpetbag in which he carried his tools. I beg your pardon, my lord Advocate, if I am out of order.”

  “Not at all, Reverend Sir,” said Lord Darcy. “But I will ask you once more. Will you testify that Master Sean’s Talent is much more powerful than Master Ewen’s?”

  “It is, my lord.”

  Lord Darcy looked at Grand Master Sir Lyon Gandolphus Grey.

  “Have you anything to add to this, Grand Master?”

  Sir Lyon nodded. “If it please the Court, I should like to put a question to Commander Lord Ashley.”

  “Permission granted,” rumbled de London. “Ask your question.”

  “My Lord Commander,” said Sir Lyon. “You have described to the investigators the use by Master Ewen of the Tarnhelm Effect upon his smallsword. Would you—”

  “One moment,” said Lord Darcy. “I should like My Lord Commander to testify directly. If you would, Lord Ashley?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Lord Darcy looked at Sir Lyon. “You want a description of the battle on Somerset Bridge, Sir Lyon?”

  “Yes, if you please, my lord.”

  Lord Darcy looked at Lord Ashley. “If you will, My Lord Commander.”

  Lord Ashley described exactly the sword fight on the bridge.

  Then Sir Lyon said, “With the Court’s permission I should like to ask the witness a question or two.”

  “Granted,” said My Lord de London.

  “My Lord Commander,” said Sir Lyon, “what kind of sword was Master Ewen using?”

  “A smallsword, Grand Master. A sword with a triangular cross section — no edge — about two and a half feet in length — very sharp point.”

  Sir Lyon nodded. “You saw it. Then, when he began to use it, it disappeared?”

  “Not exactly disappeared, Sir Lyon,” Lord Ashley said. “It… it flickered. I… I find it difficult to explain. It is simply that I couldn’t keep my eyes on it. But I knew it was there.”

  “Thank you, Commander,” said Sir Lyon. “Now, if the Court will permit, I will give my testimony. A really powerful sorcerer, such as Master Sir James or Master Sean O Lochlainn—”

  “Or yourself?” Lord Darcy asked suddenly.

  Sir Lyon smiled. “…Or myself, if you insist, my lord Advocate. Any powerful sorcerer could have made his sword so completely invisible as to be totally undetectable.”

  “Thank you,” said Lord Darcy. “The question I wish to put before the Court is this: Is it possible that a man of Master Ewen’s limited Talent — even though it was of Master grade — could have acted out a rite of Black Magic and then covered it up to such an extent that neither Master Sean O Lochlainn nor the combined Talents of the other Masters of the Guild at the Convention could have failed to discover what he had done?”

  “Absolutely impossible, my lord,” said Sir Lyon firmly.

  Lord Darcy glanced back at the Benedictine priest. “What say you, Reverend Father?”

  “I agree completely with Grand Master Sir Lyon,” Father Patrique said quietly.

  Lord Darcy turned to look at the Marquis of London. “Is there any need at this point, my lord, to call to the Court’s attention the testimony of Master Sean O Lochlainn, Master Sorcerer, that he could detect no Black Magic involved in the murder of Master Sir James Zwinge?”

  “You may proceed, my lord. If such evidence becomes necessary, Master Sean’s testimony will be called for if and when it is needed.”

  “Thank you, my lord. We have” — Lord Darcy paused and looked the group over again — “then the evidence before us that Sir James Zwinge was killed by ordinary physical means. There was no Black Magic involved in the murder of Sir James Zwinge, and yet the evidence shows that he was alone in his room when he was stabbed at approximately nine o’clock and when he died half an hour later. Now, how could that be?

  “I put it to you that we are far too prone to accept a magical explanation, when a simply material explanation will do.”

  He leaned back in his chair, but before he could say anything, Sir Thomas Leseaux raised his hand. “If I may, my lord, I should like to say that any theory of this murder which includes thaumaturgical processes would be mathematically impossible — but I do not see how a man could have been killed in the middle of a locked room by ordinary material means.”

  “That is why I must explain the Crown’s case,” said Lord Darcy. “Although, I repeat, the evidence is all before you.

  “The point we have all tended to overlook is that a man need not be in the same room with another in order to kill him. There was no one else in Goodman Georges Barbour’s room when he was stabbed, true — and yet he fell so near the door that it is not only quite possible but very probable that someone standing in the hall stabbed him.”

  “Come now,” said Commander Lord Ashley, “that may be possible with Goodman Georges, but it certainly does not apply to Master Sir James.”

  “Oh, but it does, My Lord Commander,” Lord Darcy said. “Given the proper implement, Master Sir James might easily have been stabbed from the hallway outside his room.”

  “But — through a locked door?” asked Lord John Quetzal.

  “Why not?” asked Lord Darcy. “Locked doors are not impermeable. The doors to the rooms in the Royal Steward are very old — couple of centuries or more. Look at the size of the key required to open them. And then look at the size of the keyhole required to admit such a large, heavy key. Although the door to Sir James’ room was locked, its keyhole was easily large enough to admit a one-inch wide blade.”

  Lord Darcy looked at Master Sean O Lochlainn. “You have a question, Master Sean?”

  “That I do, my lord. I agree with you that the blade that stabbed Master Sir James came in through the keyhole. At your suggestion, I took scrapings from the keyhole and found traces of Sir James’ blood. But” — he smiled a little — “if your lordship will pardon me, I suggest a demonstration of how a man could be given a high downward stab through a keyhole.”

  “I agree,” said Lord Darcy. “First, I must direct the Court’s attention to the peculiar bloodstain near the door. A full description of that bloodstain appears in the written record.”

  My lord the Marquis nodded. “It does. Proceed, my lord Advocate.”

  Lord Darcy turned and looked to his right at Lord Bontriomphe. “Would you ask Sir Frederique to bring in the door?”

  Lord Bontriomphe reached behind him and pulled a cord. The rear door opened and Sir Frederique Bruleur, followed by an assistant, brought in a heavy oaken door. They placed it in the center of the room between the area of yellow chairs and the Marquis’ desk, and held it upright.

  “This demonstration is necessary,” said Lord Darcy. “This door is exactly similar to the one on Sir James’ room. It is taken from another room of the Royal Steward Hotel. Can all of you see both sides of it? Good.

  “Master Sean, would you do me the favor of playing the part of your
late colleague?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “Excellent. Now, you will stand on” — he gestured — “that side of the door, so that the door handle and keyhole are on your left. For the purposes of this demonstration, I shall play the part of the murderer.” He picked up a sheet of paper from Lord Bontriomphe’s desk. “Now, let’s see. Lord Ashley, might I borrow your sword?”

  Without a word, Commander Ashley drew his narrow-bladed Naval sword from its sheath and presented it to Lord Darcy.

  “Thank you, Commander. You have been most helpful throughout this entire investigation.

  “Now, Master Sean, if you will take your place, we shall enact this small play. You must all assume that what you are about to see actually occurred, but you must not assume that the words I use were those that were actually used. There may have been slight variations.”

  Master Sean stood on one side of the door. Lord Darcy walked up to the other and rapped.

  “Who is there?” said Master Sean.

  “Special courier from the Admiralty,” said Lord Darcy in a high-pitched voice that did not sound like his own.

  “You were supposed to pick up the envelope at the desk,” said Master Sean.

  “I know, Sir James,” said Lord Darcy in the same high-pitched voice, “but this is a special message from Captain Smollett.”

  “Oh, very well,” said Master Sean, “just push it under the door.”

  “I am to deliver it only into your hands,” said Lord Darcy, and with that he inserted the tip of the sword blade into the keyhole.

  “Just push it under,” said Master Sean, “and I’ll take it. It will have been delivered into my hand.”

  “Very well, Sir James,” said Lord Darcy. He knelt and, still keeping the tip of the sword blade in the keyhole, he pushed the paper underneath the door.

  Master Sean, on the other side, bent over to pick it up.

  And, at that point, Lord Darcy thrust forward with the sword.

  There was a metallic scrape as the sword point touched Master Sean’s chest.

  Immediately Lord Darcy pulled the sword back. Master Sean gasped realistically, staggered back several feet, then fell to the floor. Lord Darcy pulled the paper from beneath the door and stood up.