“I do see,” Lord Darcy said. “I trust that the, ah, miasma will not linger about the throne.”
“I made a point of dissipating it, my lord,” Master Sean told him.
“Of course,” Lord Darcy said.
“There were two people in here at the time of the murder, aside from the victim. One was a strong—powerful—person. In a psychic sense, that is. The other...well, I’m getting a mite tired of reporting this, but the other was a ghost.”
“I understand your reaction, Master Sean,” Lord Darcy said. “Two people—now, that is interesting. What about the picture test?”
“You mean the eye test, my lord? Developing the victim’s retinal image of the killer? I checked the eyes, my lord, and I’m afraid death was not quick enough for that. Unless death is practically instantaneous, we don’t get any results.”
“A pity,” Lord Darcy said. “But I suppose it was too much to hope for. Tell me about that back door, Master Sean.”
“The spells on that lock have not been tampered with,” Master Sean told him.
“What about the guards on the other doors?” Lord Darcy asked.
“Well, my lord, what about them?”
“Could magic have been used on them to effect an entrance? Could someone have gone by them using, say, the Tarnhelm Effect to remain invisible?”
Master Sean shook his head. “I won’t say it’s impossible, my lord, but I will say that it’s so close to impossible as to be inconceivable. If conditions were exactly right, for just the right length of time, it would have worked. But the magician couldn’t have known that they would be, so he couldn’t have planned on it.”
“And if conditions weren’t exactly right?”
“Well, you’ll remember that the Tarnhelm Effect does not make the user truly invisible. It only makes those in the room with him look everywhere but where he is.”
“That’s so,” Lord Darcy agreed. “I remember you pointing that out to me the last time we discussed it. But it’s hard for a layman to translate that into practical terms.”
“Well, look at it this way, my lord; you can’t see the invisible man, but you can see the effects of the invisible man. If you are a guard in the King’s Gallery and a magician wrapped in a spell using the Tarnhelm Effect passes you, you will find yourself looking everywhere but where he is. You won’t see him, even though he is actually in plain sight next to you. You will glimpse him with your peripheral vision, but your mind will interpret it as an umbrella rack, or a portrait of His Majesty Gwiliam the Second.”
“And so?”
“Now, in a larger space, more crowded with objects, that might work. As long as there weren’t any mirrors. But in a confined area like the end of a long hallway? Imagine the conversation, as one guard says to the other? ‘Wasn’t that a portrait of Gwiliam the Second that just walked by and entered the throne room?’ and the other replies, Funny, I thought it was an elephant-foot umbrella stand.’”
“I think you’ve made your point, Master Sean,” Lord Darcy told him.
“I will have the guards notify the Castle mortician to take away the body before morning—that is, I assume Your Lordship is done with it?”
“You assume correctly,” Lord Darcy assured him. “And ask them to have a cleaning crew in here before matins. Bloodstains are hard to remove.”
“That is so, my lord,” Master Sean agreed. “And then I’ll go to bed. And double-bar my door, and add a few extra protective spells, while I’m at it.”
“I cannot say you are being foolish,” Lord Darcy told him. “I wish I could.”
* * * * * * *
The next morning over breakfast Lord Darcy gave Mary of Cumberland the details of what had happened in the throne room the night before. “And the coronation is now—what?—a little more than a week away,” he said. “And there’s a maniacal poetical killer on the loose, and the threat to His Majesty is still a threat, and the deaths in the Gryphon d’Or are still a mystery. And everyone else is sitting around waiting for me to apprehend the killers. As well they might, after all, it’s my job.” He sighed. “It’s a lucky thing I’m not up for a promotion, isn’t it, Mary?”
“You’re feeling depressed because you haven’t solved these murders yet, is that it?”
Lord Darcy nodded. “That is exactly it,” he said, pouring cream into his caffe.
“Well, we’d better get busy then, hadn’t we?” the Duchess of Cumberland asked him.
Lord Darcy smiled. And then he laughed. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose we’d better.”
“Good! What shall we do, then?”
“You interview some of the people on that list—the ones who were at the inn when the murders were committed.”
“All right. What am I to ask them?”
“That,” Lord Darcy told her, “is the hard part. I don’t know for sure what to ask them. I’m looking for something out of the ordinary, something that will give me a hint of what went on that night. I’ll know it when I hear it, Mary, and I’ll have to hope that you will too.”
“I’ll do my best,” Mary of Cumberland said. “What will you be doing while I’m interviewing?”
“I’ll be talking to some of the others. And with any luck,” he told her, “speaking to a spy.”
After their second cups of caffe, Mary of Cumberland went off to find and speak to the people on a subset of Prefect Henri’s list, while Lord Darcy sought out Lord Peter Whiss.
“I want to speak to your man in the Polish delegation,” he told Lord Peter, standing on the other side of his antique walnut desk and tapping his fingers on its polished surface.
Lord Peter considered briefly, and then nodded. “I guess it has come to that,” he said. “I’ll arrange it as soon as possible. Check back with me early this afternoon.”
Lord Darcy nodded and turned away, consulting his list of names. As he reached the door, the Chevalier Raoul d’Espergnan arrived at the other side, coming in to see if Lord Peter had any orders for him for that day. Lord Darcy recognized the young man as the one who had been sent to notify him of the second wizard’s murder when he was in Tournadotte. And further—his name was on Prefect Henri’s list.
“I’d like to speak to you, Sir Raoul, if I may,” Lord Darcy told the young Chevalier when Lord Peter had verified that he had nothing for him.
“Of course, my lord,” Sir Raoul said, doing his best not to look puzzled.
“You can use the inner office—through the right-hand door,” Lord Peter offered.
“No, I think not,” Lord Darcy said. “We’ll stroll together to Between the Walls and sit over cups of caffe, or perhaps mugs of good Norman beer at that little pub with outdoor tables on the square. That is, if Sir Raoul does not object?”
“The Sword in the Stone? Certainly, my lord, that will be fine with me,” Sir Raoul said. Now he was doing his best not to look worried. What could the Empire’s Chief Investigator want with him?
Lord Darcy walked with Sir Raoul through the Castle and out, onto the narrow, winding streets of Between the Walls. There was no particular motive to this, but he felt restless and thought that a little outdoor exercise and another cup of caffe might clear his head and start some productive thoughts flowing. “Relax, Chevalier,” he said. “I merely want to ask you some questions about something you may or may not have seen about a month ago.”
“A month ago?” Chevalier d’Espergnan thought back. “In London?”
“On your way here from London,” Lord Darcy told him. “In Tournadotte.”
They reached the pub, and sat at one of the outside tables.
“Oh, yes, my lord,” Sir Raoul said. “I remember that trip. Packet boat to Cherbourg, rail to Tournadotte, overnight in Tournadotte, and then on to Castle Cristobel in the morning. It was just before the heavy flooding started. Everything went very well. Got in on time. What did you want to know, my lord?”
The publican came over, rubbing his hands on his starched white apron and smiling down at th
em with the smile of the happy innkeeper. Lord Darcy ordered a brandy and caffe, and the Chevalier decided that a pint before lunch couldn’t do him any harm.
“Cast your mind back to your night in the Gryphon d’Or,” Lord Darcy told Sir Raoul when the publican had gone off to fill their orders. “I want you to tell me everything you can remember about that night.”
Sir Raoul looked blank for a moment. “The Gryphon d’Or?” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t remember much after a month. Nothing meaningful or important, certainly.”
“Don’t try to remember anything specific,” Lord Darcy told him. “Neither of us knows what may turn out to be meaningful. Just try to remember what happened as it happened. What time did you arrive at the inn?”
“The train got in about four o’clock,” Chevalier d’Espergnan remembered. “I walked to the inn from the station. It took, I imagine, fifteen or twenty minutes. I got a room and went upstairs to take a nap. At around seven o’clock I woke up and went downstairs for dinner. Veal, I believe. Overcooked.”
“Did you see anybody you recognized at dinner?”
Sir Raoul’s face screwed up with the intensity of his remembering. “Yes,” he said finally. “Sir Darryl Longuert was eating dinner at a nearby table.”
“Alone?”
“As far as I could tell, yes. As a matter of fact I thought of asking him if he’d mind if I joined him for caffe. But I only know him casually, from the court in London, you know. And I thought he might think it presumptuous. So I didn’t.”
“Anyone else?”
“Nobody I recognized,” the lad said. “Let’s see. There was a major from one of the colonial regiments. In full legionnaire regimentals, he was. I remember because I was trying to work out what the various campaign ribbons he was wearing were for. There was a very pretty black-haired lady who was there with an older man who seemed angry about everything. And there was an Italian gentleman.”
“How did you know he was Italian?”
“By his dress, I suppose. Short, dark-haired man with a spade beard. Very dapper. Those are the only people I remember specifically. The dining room was fairly full, I recall, but the others are a blur.”
“You’ve done very well after all this time,” Lord Darcy said. “What about after dinner?”
“I’m afraid I went to sleep. In the courier service you learn to get as much sleep as you can. So I went to sleep shortly after dinner. All by myself.”
Lord Darcy looked up. “Why did you say that?” he asked sharply.
“What?”
“All by myself. Why did you say you went to bed all by yourself?”
“Only an expression,” said the young Chevalier. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Actually, you probably did,” Lord Darcy interrupted. “I don’t mean consciously, but unconsciously. You were dredging thoughts from your memory about that night, and something keyed in that response.”
The Chevalier looked confused. “You think so?” he asked. “But I’m not the sort to, er, kiss and tell, as it were.”
“I’m sure you’re not, Chevalier,” Lord Darcy assured him. “If you had enjoyed the company of some local demoiselle that night, you probably would have consciously avoided mentioning it unless I convinced you it was relevant. But ‘I went to bed alone’ is not the sort of thing one volunteers unless there would be reason to doubt it. Or unless, for some reason, the fact that you were alone stuck in your memory.”
“I see what you mean,” Chevalier d’Espergnan said. He leaned back in his chair and stared deeply into his beer mug.
“Now why...”He mused some more. Suddenly he sat up. “I remember,” he said. “I’m rather embarrassed by this, and I’m sure it’s meaningless, but I suppose I’d better tell you after all.”
“Fair enough,” Lord Darcy said.
“It’s funny how memory works,” the Chevalier said. “I would have thought this completely forgotten. It was just a casual observation at the time. But it must have been stronger than I thought, since it caused that silly statement about going to bed alone.” He paused and reflected for a second. “This is going to sound—well, I don’t know how it will sound to you. The truth is, I saw one of the inn’s maids going into a guest’s room with him. And I remember thinking at the time that he, at any rate, wasn’t going to sleep alone.”
“Yes?” Lord Darcy said in a tone calculated to encourage Sir Raoul to continue to unburden himself.
“Not very nice, I suppose,” the young Chevalier said, “but I remember thinking that it was odd that she’d picked an old man over me.”
“An old man?”
Sir Raoul shrugged. “Compared to me, my lord. And she was a young girl. Not over seventeen, I’d say.”
“Twenty,” Lord Darcy said.
“Really? Then you know who the girl was? How strange.”
“I’m afraid I do,” Lord Darcy said. “But I don’t know who the, ah, old man whose room she entered was. Do you?”
“It was that Italian,” Sir Raoul said.
“You don’t know his name?”
“No, my lord.”
Lord Darcy thought that over. The only Italian on his list was Count d’Alberra, who was definitely not dead. But perhaps the girl had skipped merrily from room to room that night.
“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?” Lord Darcy asked.
“I’m not sure, my lord. Perhaps.”
“Well,” Lord Darcy said, tossing a sixth-bit on the table to pay for the drinks, “then perhaps we’ll make the experiment. Come along, Chevalier.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Duchess of Cumberland knocked on the door of Master Sorcerer Sir Darryl Longuert’s suite and waited for a response. About twenty seconds later she heard the sounds of two heavy bolts being pulled from within, and the door swung open. Sir Darryl, with his shirt-sleeves rolled up, and the toes of a pair of cotton slippers peeking out from under his wide trowser legs, smiled warmly at her. “My lady of Cumberland,” he said. “What an unexpected pleasure. Please come in. You will excuse my appearance, and that of my room; I was working, and not expecting company.”
“If you’d like me to return at another time...” Mary of Cumberland offered.
“No, no,” Sir Darryl assured her. “I gratefully accept the excuse of the company of a beautiful woman to take me away from my work.”
“How nicely phrased,” Mary of Cumberland said. “I have actually come here to ask you a few questions.”
“Ah!” Sir Darryl said. “How can I help you? Advice on an affaire de coeur? We elderly gentlemen are very good at giving advice on love affairs.”
Mary of Cumberland laughed. “I have a feeling that any advice you gave on that subject would be both accurate and useful. But, unfortunately, it is on another subject that I seek information.”
“Ah?” Sir Darryl closed and bolted the door behind Mary of Cumberland and led her into the living room. “A little refreshment, Your Grace? I have some xerez, set into cask in Spain in 1892. It is mellow enough to drink, and quite pleasing, although it will take another fifty years to complete the complexity of its aging.”
“Tell me,” Mary of Cumberland said, “you have the door double-bolted—”
“There is a madman out there,” Sir Darryl said, “who seems to be seeking out sorcerers. I would just as soon not be caught unawares.”
“Of course,” Mary of Cumberland said. “But when I knocked, you threw the bolts and opened the door wide without even asking who was there.”
“I knew,” Sir Darryl said. “Of course I knew. After all, my dear Duchess, I am not the Wizard Laureate solely because of my good looks.”
“Of course,” Mary of Cumberland said. “How silly of me.” She sat down and accepted a glass of the viscous, straw-colored liquor.
“Now, what sort of information can the master give his favorite journeyman?” Sir Darryl asked, replacing the decanter and sitting opposite her.
“That’s nice of you to
say, Sir Darryl, but I know I’m much too much a dilettante to be worthy of consideration for my magical skills.”
“Your Talent is strong, Your Grace,” Sir Darryl said. “And, if you have never possessed a sufficiency of that narrowness of mind that enables one to focus only on one small thing, why then, you enable us all to profit from the breadth of your knowledge.”
Mary of Cumberland laughed. “You’ll have to write that one down for me, Sir Darryl. It’s the best excuse for an unfocused life I have yet heard.”
Sir Darryl smiled and silently touched glasses with her.
“I am here this morning on behalf of Lord Darcy,” Mary of Cumberland said.
“Ah!” Sir Darryl replied, taking a sip of his golden xerez.
“We need to know what you remember of your last stay—I assume it was your last stay—at the Gryphon d’Or in Tournadotte. About a month ago?”
Sir Darryl nodded. “Yes. I was there about a month ago. On my way here to join the court, as it happens. I had to be here early, you see, to arrange for the ceremonial magic that will surround the coronation. When you’re the Laureate, they stick you with jobs like that.”
“Do you remember anything specific about your stay at the inn?”
“Let me think. Oh, goodness—was that when the murders took place?”
“That’s right,” Mary of Cumberland affirmed.
“Well then, it does become important, doesn’t it? Let’s see. Tournadotte. I arrived there early in the morning, I remember that. Spent most of the day at the train station trying to find out why my baggage wasn’t traveling on the same train I was. When it finally turned up, it was too late to go on to Cristobel, so I checked in to the inn for the night. Had dinner there, and then retired to my room to do some work on a manuscript.”
“Did you notice anything strange at all, or anyone that you knew?”
“No, can’t say that I did. The next day, however, on the train to Castle Cristobel, I ran into Master Raimun DePlessis. He was feeling disliked, as I remember.”
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