A Study in Sorcery: A Lord Darcy Novel

by Michael Kurland

  Master Sean peered out at the ship. “It hasn’t unloaded yet?”

  “We think not,” Lord Darcy said. “It moved away from its pier shortly after Lady Irene brought it the message, and moored where you see it. The captain must be awaiting instructions to unload, but they haven’t come yet.”

  “Why don’t you apprehend him?” Master Sean asked.

  “We’re keeping him under observation instead,” Lord Darcy said. “Powerful telescopes are watching at all times. We want to see who goes aboard. If no one makes contact by tomorrow night, the Coast Guard will bring it in.”

  Lord Darcy turned away from the view and focused his attention on the work at hand. Rather than going into either temple, he slowly worked his way around the outside of the two and the narrow space between them, part of the time on his hands and knees, part of the time flat on his stomach, examining every inch of the stone surface.

  Master Sean stood with his arms folded and watched Lord Darcy crawling about. The sight satisfied him and made him feel good. Lord Darcy was working as though he had hold of something; Master Sean could recognize the signs. And when Lord Darcy had hold of something, however tenuous, he could usually squeeze it into revealing the elusive truth.

  “Come here, Master Sean,” Lord Darcy called about twenty minutes later. He was now at the back of the pyramid, about three stones down from the top.

  “Yes, my lord?” Master Sean asked, peering over the edge at him.

  “There’s a small stain on the corner of this stone,” Lord Darcy said. “Would you give it a similarity test, if you can manage it.”

  “Certainly, my lord,” Master Sean said, pulling open his symbol-decorated carpetbag. “What shall I test for, my lord— blood?”

  “Possibly,” Lord Darcy said. “But much more probably the same oil that we found in the hidden room—the oil the weapons are packed in.”

  “Aye, my lord,” Master Sean said. “I have saved a small sample of it for testing purposes. It will take me but a minute.”

  Master Sean prepared himself for the test and then, standing at the edge of the platform and keeping his body straight, slowly leaned forward. His body went through an arc of a hundred and thirty degrees before he ended up, upside down, facing the suspected spot. He went to work.

  “It is the same sort of oil, my lord,” he said, swinging back to an upright position.

  “Good,” Lord Darcy said. “I assumed it was, but one cannot construct a logical chain on assumptions. Now the chain is complete.”

  “You know who the murderer is?” Master Sean asked.

  “For some time I have known who the murderer is,” Lord Darcy said. “The difficulty was in proving it. Now I believe I can do that.”

  “Through that spot of oil?”

  “No. That was merely confirmation. Come, let us return to the Residence. I think we are going to have a busy day tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “You can go now, Mullion,” Lord Darcy said, sitting at his desk in the study after dinner, “I’ll look after myself for the rest of the evening.”

  “Yes, Your Lordship,” said the incurious Mullion.

  Ten minutes later Mullion appeared at the study door. “Good night, Your Lordship. I’ve left the dishes stacked.”

  “Good night, Mullion. Of course you have.” Lord Darcy heard the front door open and close, and he got up to make sure that his temporary man had gone in the direction he seemed to take. Not that he suspected Mullion, but a possibility eliminated is a risk not taken.

  After assuring himself that he was indeed alone in the apartment, Lord Darcy returned to his desk and the reports he had been going over.

  Three hours later the doorbell tinkled. Lord Darcy glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost eleven, which was earlier than he expected his appointment. He rose and went to the door.

  Lady Irene pushed by him into the apartment. “I trust I’m not disturbing you, my lord. I must apologize for springing myself upon you so late,” she said.

  “Don’t apologize,” Lord Darcy said, closing the door behind him and showing her into the study., “I’m going over details I have gone over a dozen times before, like a carpenter measuring and remeasuring the same piece of wood. Come, Cousin Irene, distract me. Tell me funny stories of our aunt Bertha.” He took her hand. “May I offer you some wine?”

  “No, nothing, thank you.” She closed the study door behind her.

  “I must speak with you,” she whispered. “Is this room safe?”

  “Safe?”

  “Can we be overheard?”

  “Not possibly,” Lord Darcy said, noting that the girl was trembling slightly. “The room has been checked and secured by Master Sean. It is part of our routine when we are, ah, away from home. And, curiously, he went over it again earlier today. But just to be sure—” Lord Darcy went to the table and raised the lid of a small egg-shaped case that rested on a gold quadripod. The crystal egg inside glowed with an undisturbed green light. “We are alone,” he said, “And unobserved.”

  “Good,” she said, but she did not raise her voice. “Come sit with me on the couch.. Do not let go of my hand.”

  Lord Darcy allowed himself to be pulled to a seat on the couch. “What is it?” he asked. “What can I do?”

  “I’m to take you to bed tonight,” Lady Irene told him softly, staring intently into his eyes.

  “I’m complimented,” Lord Darcy said carefully. “I could even say I’m delighted. But that’s an odd way for you to phrase it.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I have been instructed to make love to you.”

  “Instructed?”

  “And then to kill you,” she finished.

  Lord Darcy nodded without changing his expression. “I see,” he said. “Somehow the suggestion sounds a trifle less appealing than it did a moment ago. The Serka?”

  “I received the order a few hours ago,” she said. “I don’t know what to do!”

  “How did the order come?” Lord Darcy asked. “And how are you to do the job?”

  “In an envelope under my door,” she said. “On a sheet of read-once paper, which disintegrated as I finished reading it. There was also—this.” She took from her purse a small paper twist, barely large enough to hold a caffe bean. “I am to put the powder inside in your drink before we retire to the bedroom. You will then die of exertion, or so it will seem, during the course of our, um, endeavors.”

  “Good God!” Lord Darcy said. “What a horrible thing for you. Have you ever been called to perform such a service before?”

  “I imagine it is even more horrible for the victim,” Lady Irene said. “No, no—so far, I have never been involved in a like act, although I understand it is a common method of assassination in the Serka, when they can manage it.”

  “I can see why,” Lord Darcy said. “In some ways, it is almost perfect. It is the sort of accident that is almost always hushed up. Although several rumors involving the demise of well-known men come to mind. I think some careful checking of a few natural-death cases is in order.”

  “My problem,” Lady Irene said in an earnest murmur, “is that if I fail to kill you, the Serka will, most assuredly, kill me. You are a wise and clever man; help me find a way out of this dilemma.”

  “I see what you mean,” Lord Darcy said. “The interesting question is: Why would they suddenly decide to kill me?”

  “The note didn’t say,” Lady Irene told him. “I don’t think I like this game much anymore.”

  “And why do they think that we are so attracted to each other that I would not find it striking unusual for you to show up in my bedroom?”

  “I imagine that someone observed us together at the anniversary fete and made a not-unnatural conclusion from the way we were looking at each other.”

  “Not unnatural, eh?” Lord Darcy said, smiling.

  “Not at all unnatural,” Lady Irene assured him.

  “I’m glad of that. Now, let us think our way out of this
perplexity. How can you kill me without my suffering any ill effects from the deed?”

  “Or how can I not kill you without my suffering any ill effects from the deed?” Lady Irene suggested.

  “No,” Lord Darcy said thoughtfully. “What with one thing and another, I think it would probably be best if you killed me.”

  “My lord?”

  “There is one reason why the need to do away with me might have just arisen. If so, I can respond best by allowing myself to be killed.”

  Lady Irene put her hand against his shoulder. “But my lord Darcy—”

  Lord Darcy took the hand into his own. “Oh, I intend to die in name only, I assure you,” he said “Come now, this should be quite interesting. Let me see—”

  The doorbell sounded again, and Lord Darcy excused himself and went to answer it. When he returned to the study he was accompanied by a handsome, rugged-looking officer of the Imperial Legion. “Lady Irene Eagleson,” Lord Darcy said, “allow me to present Coronel Ivor Hesparsyn of the Duke’s Own. He has just returned from escorting the Azteque treaty party from Mechicoe.”

  The two politely acknowledged each other, but each of them flashed Lord Darcy a strange look. His Lordship laughed. “You each think me insane,” he said. “Each of you has come to see me on most secret business, and is wondering why I would welcome the other at a time like this. Well, my friends, we are going to help each other.”

  “Whatever you say, my lord,” Coronel Hesparsyn said, but it was clear he was merely being polite. Lord Darcy returned to the couch with Lady Irene, and the coronel lowered himself into a straight-back chair opposite them.

  “Coronel, I requested your aid in the coming events because, as you and your men have been gone for the past three months, you couldn’t possibly be involved in some of the events that have happened since you left,” Lord Darcy said. “And, looking at your record, I see that you’re trustworthy, intelligent, loyal, and competent to handle any job that comes up. Well, take my word for it, Lady Irene is, as well. And she has just provided the last link in the chain of evidence.”

  “I have?” Lady Irene asked.

  “Indeed,” Lord Darcy said. “Tell Coronel Hesparsyn why you came to my room tonight.”

  Lady Irene blushed, a fact which surprised her as much as it did Lord Darcy. Then she complied, telling clearly and concisely who she was, and what she had been ordered to do.

  “Well I’ll be damned!” the coronel said when she finished. “Excuse the profanity, my lady.”

  “People fight their wars in different ways,” Lord Darcy remarked.

  “That’s a fact,” Coronel Hesparsyn said. “I think you’re a very brave young lady. But what are you going to do about this? We could take Lady Irene away someplace where she would be safe. If I put my men to guarding her, I think we can keep her safe regardless of who this villain is.”

  “I don’t think we have to do that, Coronel,” Lord Darcy said.

  “But thank you very much for the offer,” Lady Irene told the coronel. “I may take you up on it sometime. The thing is, Lord Darcy has decided that the best thing would be for him to die.”

  “He—you—my lord?” Coronel Hesparsyn was at a loss for words.

  “I assure you I expect to live through my death,” Lord Darcy said. “But the chief of the local Serka wants me dead for a reason. 1 think I know what that reason is, and it would be best to allow it to go forward.”

  “I’m willing to be convinced,” the coronel said. “Besides, as Lord Guiliam Rottsler, the nineteenth-century philosopher, wrote: ‘Is not each man’s death strictly his own affair?’”

  “Did he?” Lord Darcy asked. “It’s an affair that many of us would as soon never consummate. But I go gladly to mine—this time. Lady Irene, would you sneak through the corridors and bring Master Sean back, please? Tell him to use the Tarnhelm Effect in returning, and come invisibly to these chambers. In the meantime, Coronel Hesparsyn and I have a bit of strategy to discuss.”

  “I will, my lord,” Lady Irene said. “But I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “So do I,” Lord Darcy said.

  * * * *

  Master Sean O Lochlainn looked down at the body of his friend and chief, Lord Darcy, and sighed. “A difficult job at best,” he said. “But this should suffice.” He folded the arms across the chest.

  Lord Darcy lay on his own bed, dressed in a bathrobe and slippers, his eyes closed, his breathing stopped, his heart stopped. The only difference between the magically induced cataleptic state he was in and true death was that, for the next twelve hours or so, Master Sean could bring him back to life. If anyone but Master Sean tried, or if Master Sean waited longer then twelve hours, Lord Darcy’s chances of being restored were vanishingly slim.

  “I think I’d better go,” Coronel Hesparsyn said. “I have no explainable reason to be here.” He shook Master Sean’s hand. “If I hadn’t seen it—I don’t think I’ll believe it until I see Lord Darcy up again.”

  Master Sean looked down at the body. “Truthfully,” he said, “neither will I. This is going to be a very long day for me.” He turned to Lady Irene. “I, also, will leave, my lady. Wait about half an hour, and then come find me and tell me you just realized His Lordship is dead. Me, you understand. Nobody else. If anyone interrupts you, make sure you get to me before anyone else has a chance to reach the body. It’s very important.”

  “I understand that, Master Sean,” Lady Irene said.

  “You sure you can do it? Staying here for that half hour, I mean.”

  “I’ll have to,” she said. “It won’t be pleasant.” She also took Master Sean’s hand. “Take care of yourself,” she said. “Don’t let anything happen to you today.”

  * * * *

  Father Adamsus walked slowly out of Lord Darcy’s bedroom looking faintly disturbed. He kissed the heavy gold cross he carried and put it back into its black leather case. As though seeking the answer to a puzzling question, he went down the hall and turned into the parlor, where the New England friends of Lord Darcy were gathering as word spread of his untimely death.

  “Can we go in now, Father?” Duke Charles asked, rising from the dark wood chair with the red velvet cushion on which he had been waiting. The whole room was done in dark woods and red velvet, which was why Lord Darcy had not used it; he found the combination depressing.

  “What?” Father Adamsus said, startled out of his preoccupation by the question.

  “I asked if we could go in now,” the duke repeated patiently.

  “Yes, certainly,” Father Adamsus said. “I’ve done everything I can for him.”

  As Duke Charles and Count de Maisvin left for the bedroom to pay their last respects, Father Adamsus sought out Master Sean where he sat quietly in a corner. “Did you notice, Master Sean,” he said in a low voice, “there is a strange—feel—to that room, to that body. It doesn’t feel right, somehow.”

  “Ah, yes, Father Adamsus,” Master Sean said. “You, being a sensitive, would notice that sort of thing. Yes, Father, I was aware of it. As a matter of fact, it’s the result of one of the spells I used on the body. I’ll explain it all to you in the near future, if you like.”

  “Ah?” the good Father said. “You relieve my mind. If it’s something you’ve done, then I’m sure it’s for the best. Although this is still an incredible shock. I think I’d best go and sit with Lady Irene and see if I can comfort her. The psychic shock to her must be severe if, ah, Lord Darcy’s death was as I have heard it.”

  “I think she could indeed use some comforting, Father,” Master Sean agreed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The night was cold and dark, and the sliver of moon that was visible did little to light the land below. The squat lugger, sailing without running lights, rounded the corner of Pyramid Island and cautiously approached the beach on the mainland to the south. It anchored a few yards offshore, in water no more than a few feet deep, and a dozen barefoot men carrying folding spades dropped off th
e side and crept silently ashore. Ahead of them was the clearing where Chief Karlus and his men had camped until they were called away that afternoon.

  The men reached the edge of the clearing and waited, feeling strongly that they should not go on. As they had been instructed to wait at that spot, the feeling mattered little. A minute later another man dressed all in black and with, even in that darkness, a black mask covering his face, walked into the clearing and put down a small bundle he carried. An occasional dull light flickered in front of him as he worked a spell over the bare ground, and the slight breeze carried the murmur of his words back to the waiting men.

  The feeling that they should not enter the clearing dissipated, and the man in black beckoned them on. They followed his gestured commands to dig here and here, and busied themselves efficiently and silently moving earth.

  A foot under the hard-packed earth, the diggers came to wooden hatches that pulled off to reveal two large underground rooms filled with crates of Dumberly-FitzHugh repeating rifles and boxes of ammunition. They dropped their spades and began hefting the heavy crates to the surface.

  Suddenly it was light. In a split second the night vanished, the protective dark was gone, and in its place the blazing light of a magical sun lit up the clearing and its secret diggers.

  “Stand where you are!” a powerful, commanding voice ordered from within the surrounding brush. “You are completely surrounded. Anyone offering resistance will be shot where he stands!”

  The men gazed around in astonishment. From the surrounding woods appeared a line of Imperial Legionnaires, each carrying at the ready one of the O’Sullivan multiple-fire shotguns that the Legion used for close work.

  Some of the men glanced back toward the bay, but when they did, they saw that an Imperial Coast Guard cutter had somehow pulled alongside the lugger, and the men left aboard were standing on the foredeck with their arms raised very high.

  The men in the clearing stood up slowly and raised their hands. There was nothing else they could do. The fighting seemed to be over before it had begun.