by Tom Lloyd
As he spoke, Brandt reached over and gave the papers sitting on my side table a sharp tap. Scratching the stubble on my chin I picked up the first of the stained pages that harked back to my days of servitude for the city. It was a constant source of private amusement and public embarrassment that our records were always in a bad state. Food, drink, sweat, blood; we had presented to the court evidence with a whole range of trappings and clearly things had not changed much since my dismissal.
‘That one is the murder report,’ said Brandt, indicating the ink-spattered page I had taken. ‘The others are in order underneath so you might want to read it last.’
As directed, I slipped the sheet to the back of the pile and peered at the one revealed. Noticing the effort this required, Brandt took the reports from my unresisting hand and declared he would read them aloud. I was happy to accede since Danc was standing at the door with razor and towel in hand and a maid had appeared with some breakfast for Brandt. I relaxed while the world progressed about me.
‘Firstly some background information about the marshal,’ Brandt began after a reviving swallow of wine, ‘furnished by your good friend the count. Marshal Calath was well thought of by those who knew him; a man of intellect and scholarship, whose leg was malformed and twisted from a difficult birth. It is said that he was a shy child who became bookish because he could not join in with the other children, but quickly he came to love the pursuits when he realised he could excel and leave others his age in his wake.
‘Calath became prominent as a historian before turning his hand to theology and the … ah, unnatural aspects of the Land most particularly. The stranger worlds of necromancy, daemonology, cults, local Aspects, these things appear to have been particularly fascinating to a crippled youth. When Calath’s father realised just how intelligent his son was he employed the best tutors in the city, but the younger Calath outstripped their teachings by his twentieth winter.
‘This, ah, episode, took place some three months ago, a minor matter perhaps but telling to what happened more recently perhaps. It seems the marshal had been taken ill after working late, some sort of fit the doctor believed. Ah, here it is …
‘“I was summoned to the house of Marshal Calath in the early hours of the morning by a stablehand. Upon reaching the house I perceived a gloom upon the place. The servants spoke in low anxious voices and glanced nervously about themselves. When I questioned one I was informed several had heard distant, whispering laughter echo through the house; so evil and portentous in tone that they feared to investigate. A terrible cry had followed not long after a second instance of laughter – they believed that to be the marshal’s voice crying out with such horror that they were spurred to action.
“Outside his chamber they found the lady of the house desperately attempting to open the door, but unable to turn the handle. The housekeeper had her set of keys so these they tried, but discovered it was not locked – rather secured from within.
“The stablehand and coachman were fetched and together they put their shoulders to the door. The task was not easily accomplished, but with the urgings of Lady Calath they succeeded, doing considerable damage to the door and frame in the process. Once admitted they discovered a scene of complete disorder. Papers were scattered over the floor and the long mirror that stood in the centre of the room had shattered. The marshal himself was slumped unconscious on the floor. He appeared unharmed, but they could not rouse him and I was called.
“What they could not explain when I arrived was how the door was secured. There was no sort of bar or bolt to fasten it – only the lock that the housekeeper swears was open and inspection of the damage bore the assessment out – and nothing had been dragged to block the passage of the door inwards.
“The presumption was that the marshal fell at the door and prevented its opening. When I made a cursory examination however I could find no bruising or other injury one would have expected, considering the force required to damage the door as they had. The nature of his injury was mysterious. I could find no wound save cuts to his knuckles where he had apparently broken the mirror. His breathing was shallow and laboured, his pulse weak but constant with no sign of fever. I tried to rouse him with smelling salts but he was caught in a state deeper than some mere faint.
“The marshal’s condition appeared to be stable. I concluded he would only benefit from rest and instructed his lady wife to massage his head to encourage the flow of blood. I could only presume his injury was one born of the imagination, something I knew to be powerful for I had on more than one occasion been privileged to hear the ghost stories of his own devising.
As the first rays of dawn touched his bed the marshal began to stir. Evidently he had been greatly disquieted by his experience, but I knew my place well enough not to intrude on a wife’s work. As soon as I was sure he was well enough, I took my leave.”’
‘Well, what more?’ I asked, taking advantage of the fact that Danc’s blade was currently not at my throat.
‘That’s all the good doctor says in his statement. He didn’t dawdle in the house and paid no attention to what the marshal said as he was roused. We have to rely on the testimony of the manservant, one Imah Veser, for the next part, but I found him to have little imagination and a distinct fondness for his master so I believe it’s faithfully told.’
‘Good, but wait. I believe you need the attentions of this razor more than I. Danc can read the next passage while you become presentable for my wife.’
Brandt acceded to this, knowing that my wife’s fondly sharp tongue would delight in his appearance. He took the mirror and blade offered by my man with a smile, propping the mirror against a vase and touching it slightly to the left in search of the best light. As a nobleman he had grown up with people to do such things for him – as a watchman he preferred to wield himself any blade at his throat.
Danc made his way around the table and took the seat I had indicated to him, much accustomed to reading and writing on my behalf now that age and past injuries make the two difficult.
‘“My master awoke with a pale and shaken appearance, but the presence of Lady Calath seemed to calm him and he relaxed under her touch. While I attended him and helped him dress, my lady gently questioned him on what had happened. He seemed unwilling to speak freely in my presence, which I found strange if you don’t mind me observing. I’ve been with him for years now, since long before he married, and believe myself trusted entirely regarding all of his business and personal affairs. What he did say was confusing. I think his dreams must have been unpleasant since he spoke of taking fright at his reflection. I overhead something of ‘a face in the mirror that was not his own’, which made me think that he had seen a face at the window though I cannot see how an intruder could have scaled the wall.”’
‘That’s true,’ interjected Brandt with a flourish of the razor. ‘We investigated the entire building after the murder. It would have taken a man with unnatural skill to climb the blank face and peer in. The servants also remembered the drapes being closed and the window fastened on the night of the murder, despite the warm evening.’
This information imparted, Danc took up matters once more.
‘“For the next few days the master of the house lay abed, recovering. Lady Calath gave instructions for the other two looking glasses in the building to be covered – such was my master’s dread of a reoccurrence. He gave no explanation for the laughter other than blanching at his wife’s mention of it, which prevented further discussion of the matter. Once his health – always a somewhat tentative circumstance in my experience – was restored, life returned to normal and we spoke of the incident no more. The door was repaired before the master left his bed and the frame of the mirror removed to the attic where it remains now”.’
At that break in the proceeding my wife entered to greet her son-in-law. The interlude during this murky affair gave me the chance to reflect upon what I had heard thus far. I am not a man who can leap to the correct conclusion in a
fit of inspiration. Years of practice mean a slow repetition of the facts in my mind might lead me to the same destination as my more illustrious friends, but it is a far longer process. Unfortunately I found myself only able to note that any clue to the marshal’s illness died with his wife, but it was too early to pursue that grim path.
Having made her pleasantries my wife discreetly excused herself, once she had secured the promise of a family meal that night. With the nervous smile of a man who worked irregular hours at the best of times, Brandt watched her retreat and continued.
‘I, ah … Ah yes. When pressed, the manservant did give us two further pieces of information, though only with great reluctance.’
‘For what reason?’
‘None selfish,’ replied Brandt after a moment’s consideration.
‘Firstly, he is extremely loyal and they do cast a strange light upon the household. Secondly, he showed little regard for either source and only mentioned them out of diligence and my insistence. The first was the account of a chambermaid – who didn’t strike me as quite the fool Veser believes – of an incident that by itself one would dismiss. The other I have only Veser’s retelling as my source, for he heard it from a visiting cousin of the marshal, one Darayen Crin, who has since returned to his holdings in the north.’
‘Well, enlighten me all the same,’ I said eagerly. I must confess that when the enigma is not my responsibility, I enjoy a mystery immensely. Reclining there, with this story unfolding before me, was an excellent way of passing a morning allocated by my wife to financial affairs.
‘Very well. The cousin had visited Marshal and Lady Calath a few weeks after that original fit, for want of a better word. He is related to the marshal through his mother, younger sister of the previous marshal. There was a difference in age between them, but according to the manservant this only resulted in an air of levity surrounding all three.’
‘The lady enjoyed this cousin’s company? We sure he’s not returned to the city in secret? She was several winters younger than her husband if I recall.’
My suspicions had now been raised, but before I could get over-excited Brandt dismissed the notion.
‘The manservant assures me the lady treated this cousin as a foolish younger brother. While Veser is a man to protect his master’s honour, if his feelings about Lady Calath were feigned he’s a better actor than any agent of the king’s. I have confirmed that the cousin is well married, with an heir born two summers past.’
‘You still possess an overly naive view of the human nature, my boy.’
Brandt’s grin told me what he thought of that suggestion. ‘Perhaps, old man, but the cousin’s a merchant by trade and led his wagon train back to Inchets. Any absence would be hard to hide and Count Antern has sent someone to check up.’
My son-in-law cleared his throat pointedly. ‘Anyhow, if you can control your suspicions for five minutes, I’ll tell you what the cousin reportedly said.’
I gestured for him to continue, which Brandt did with a ceremonious shuffling of papers as though daring me to interrupt and jump to another conclusion again.
‘When Master Crin first arrived at the house, the marshal had spent the morning abed. He explained it as nothing grave; merely a headache that he wanted to clear, so as to enjoy the company of his guest. Crin had arrived early and since they were close he visited the marshal immediately. They spoke greetings for a minute and then Veser arrived to attend his master.
‘After he had retired from the room, Crin took the manservant aside and asked whether he had noticed anything unusual. Veser replied no, but Crin had been insistent that when he first arrived, the marshal’s face and arms were covered with long red marks. He described the marks as scratches that had just failed to break the skin, raised welts that had faded as they talked. The marshal seemed unaware of the marks and nothing was said, but his cousin expressed concern over his constitution again before departing one week later.’
‘Curious, but minor. Read me the statement given by the maid, I want to hear what Veser was so happy to dismiss.’
Brandt took first some tea to clear his throat, then returned to the papers and scanned his eyes over the sheet for a moment. ‘Actually, this should fit in later, but I’ll read it now. The reason will become apparent.
‘“It happened three weeks back, well, the first thing did. That man who came to the door was a few days after, but his shadow came first so that’s where I’ll start. I was cleaning the dining room as usual when the marshal came in looking vexed. I stepped into the window bay to keep out of his way and watched him take a box from the corner cabinet and open it on the table. I didn’t see what he was looking at, but I did see his shadow on the table. I don’t know how, but as I watched it the shadow began to ripple, like it was a reflection on water or something.
“At first I thought it was the heat, but it just got stronger and then moved all of its own. I swear it did; the marshal never moved, but his shadow reached out a hand to me and it had claws on the ends of its fingers! I couldn’t take that no more and I screamed. I’m sorry but it was going to touch me! As soon as I screamed and the marshal turned, the shadow went back and I ran for the kitchen.”’
Brandt finished abruptly and fixed his gaze upon me. With his hair in some semblance of order, Brandt’s dark eyes were arresting and bright with intelligence. Despite his slightly dishevelled air he looked a nobleman once more. I felt a swell of pride that such a fine man waited for my opinion, not to mention was father to my only grandchild, before reminding myself of the task at hand.
‘And the man who came to the door?’
Brandt hesitated a moment and then raised the page once more. ‘I’m not entirely sure what to make of this, but certainly it’s odd enough:
‘“Three days after that a strange man came to the door late at night. It was past midnight when I was woken by a knocking on the kitchen door. I thought it was one of the kitchen boys at first, so I opened the small window in the door to tell him Master Veser had locked up and retired. But it wasn’t anyone I knew, I’ve never seen anyone who looked like that. He had long black hair, loose over his shoulders, and the prettiest face I’ve ever seen on a man.
“I know that’s a strange thing to say, but he weren’t so much handsome as pretty like a girl, like the mistress was. He was stood close up to the door, waiting for me to open the window. He asked for the master so I said he’d have to wait while I fetched Master Veser. His voice was strange; high like a woman’s but it was certainly a man – he sounded like he was almost singing the words to me.
“He was dressed like some sort of minstrel and had the same air of confidence that type perform with. If you’ll forgive the thought, it reminded me of when I saw the king when I served at a ball – he commanded the room with just a look while the whole Land turned around him. His smile worried me though, the minstrel’s I mean. Made me think of a cat, I didn’t see his teeth but something about him made him look like he was about to bite. After a moment he stepped back and told me to give the master a message instead and not disturb the whole house. He said his name was Rowshak, or something like that …”’
‘Rojak,’ I interrupted with a cold feeling in my stomach. ‘I’ve heard the name mentioned at my club. Can’t remember what about, but it’s foreign, Embere I believe.’
‘Rojak then. Anyway;
‘“he said, ‘tell your master, he’s been prying where he shouldn’t and he owes me a debt already. He’ll see me next time I come.’
“Then he just turned around and left. When I told Master Veser the next day, he took me straight to the marshal. I told him how it happened, but he didn’t say anything. He just looked ready to be sick, and locked himself up in his study the rest o’ the day.
“The minstrel never came back in the end. If it weren’t for the master’s reaction I’d have thought he’d come to the wrong house. I did smell something like peach brandy when I opened the window and wondered if he’d been drunk – though no drun
k I ever saw looked so focused as that. Can’t for the life o’ me think how the master might know him though; to owe him money or anything of the sort. He never gambled or did anything illegal. He was as good a man as any I ever met, kind to us all and the Lady Calath too. To mix with a rogue like that, I just can’t imagine it.”’
I was quiet a long while.
‘It’s too much of a coincidence for the man to have found the wrong house,’ I admitted at last, my fervour for the mystery now waned. ‘However, the marshal makes a strange candidate for blackmail, the more likely coincidence could be that a man from his past came to collect on an old debt from a wilder youth – hearing Calath was settled and respectable there might be more to collect.’
On another day I might have felt this was a prank to be played on retired watchmen with not enough to occupy their days, but I knew that was not the case. I could not admit it to Brandt, but I knew the name Rojak – had heard mention of a minstrel cruel and utterly without morals from men who moved in more dangerous circles than I – and did not envy him the involvement.
‘I can find no real political interests at all,’ Brandt said in agreement, apparently accepting my plausible assessment, ‘nothing that would require corrupt dealings and his personal life seems to be one of sleepy contentment. Marshal Calath appears in all respects to have been a man of learning who lived on a stable income and well within his means. From what I know of his research the only illegal works would be useless to him, but a nobleman’s reputation can be a fragile thing.’
‘Useless in what way?’
‘Well, there are no legal limitations on access to historical or academic works, certainly not to a man so highly respected as Marshal Calath. The only works that are banned are the dangerous magical tomes and I’m told they’re just books unless you have the ability to use them. To you or I they are nothing but words on paper, no matter how knowledgeable one might be.’ At my expression he added, ‘I went to the College of Magic and spoke to the Archmage. He explained all of this, and checked that none of the books we found were banned even to mages.’