Murder by Magic

by Rosemary Edghill

  The tall man seated beside Dame Hillyard looked with interest at Brenda, also noting the civil guard who had brought her into the room. She knew she was not a very prepossessing sight. Her eyes and nose must be red with crying, and her dress was limp and creased—not surprising because she had slept in it for three days. She clutched the beautiful knitted shawl Amy had given her tighter around her shoulders as she realized this man must be the person who was going to investigate Amy’s death.

  She glanced up at him quickly and down again. Yes, this must be the person. The murder of which she was accused had been reported by telex, because they had no telepath in the village, and it had taken him two days by train and carriage to get to Smallbourne.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being a witch,” the tall man remarked, his brow creasing in a frown.

  Brenda’s heart leaped with hope, but she suppressed that hope at once. What he had said was a required response. Brenda knew there were laws prohibiting discrimination against witches, no matter how repulsive they looked.

  “Oh, well.” Dame Hillyard’s voice drew her attention, and she looked up to see the woman shrug. “I suppose there isn’t. I’ve been told that they’re very useful in predicting the weather and in things like cursing locusts so they don’t ruin the crops.” She snorted lightly. “But I notice they don’t ever kill all the locusts.” A slight shrug and a snicker. “That would put them out of a job, wouldn’t it?”

  “It might also unbalance the ecology,” the man said.

  Dame Hillyard snorted again. “Well, it wouldn’t matter in this case, since Brenda Willcoming can’t curse away a flea, much less kill a locust. She’s a witch according to the testing procedures, but she can’t do a thing”—she sniffed—“except see things no one else can see.”

  “Can she?” the man asked, sounding interested.

  “Yes, I can,” Brenda put in. Her voice was a little hoarse but firm.

  Now the man looked directly at her; his eyes were a bright brown, lively and curious. “I am Detective Inspector Maxime Farber,” he said, but was then interrupted.

  “So you say, Brenda,” Dame Hillyard snapped, “but no one else ever saw . . .” Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Maybe you can see what no one else can. Maybe you saw where Amy Lightfeather hid her money. That’s why you killed her! For her money.”

  “I didn’t kill her,” Brenda cried. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t hurt Amy. She was my friend.” She had sworn to herself that she would be calm and simply insist on being sent to Centertown where she could be truth-spelled, but she couldn’t help sniffling, and tears ran down her face. “I wouldn’t hurt anyone,” she sobbed.

  “You knew that she had money hidden?” Farber asked.

  “Everyone knew.” Brenda swallowed another sob. “She was careful. She didn’t dress in fancy clothes or put on expensive jewelry, but she did get things that no one else had. When the elf traders came through the village last year, she got one of their gossamer scarves. No one saw her buy it. I was with her at the fair and I saw her admire the scarf, but she didn’t buy it. She didn’t even ask the price. But a week after the traders left, she had the scarf. And then there was the amulet . . .”

  Brenda couldn’t help it. She burst into sobs anew and wavered on her feet. Farber gestured to the civil guard and told him to bring Mistress Willcoming a chair.

  “Very well, Dame Hillyard,” Farber said, taking a pad and writing tool out of the large purse hanging at his hip. “I’ve already examined Amy Lightfeather’s body. Now I would like you to tell me what you did and saw—what you saw yourself, not what you were told by others. We’ll get around to the others soon enough.”

  Brenda could feel her eyes widen in surprise. She had thought that he had already heard Dame Hillyard’s tale and accusation and that he had accepted her guilt. When he sent for her, she had been overjoyed, hoping to appeal to him to be tested in the city. If she were left to local justice . . . She drew the shawl closer about her.

  “It was Tiw’s day,” Dame Hillyard began, “just at noon meal, and Amy wasn’t in her place. Brenda had been killing time setting the tables for more than half an hour, so I sent Brenda to fetch Amy. I knew Amy couldn’t have gone far because I’d seen her when I told Brenda to set the tables just before the first lunch bell. Amy was in the garden, staring at flowers through that stupid amulet.”

  “Why send Brenda, if she was busy setting the tables?”

  “She was the most likely to know where Amy would be. Amy was becoming impossible. She wanted to be a witch, and ever since she got that amulet, she would wander into the woods with it. Maybe the amulet was only an excuse. Maybe she had her money hidden there. Anyway, Brenda was most likely to know, so I sent her after Amy.”

  But Brenda hadn’t been the first to look for Amy. She shifted slightly in her chair, wondering if she should mention that Amy’s uncle had come to the school looking for her. Brenda had seen him through the window talking to Abel in the garden. Her head lifted; her lips parted; but then she decided not to speak.

  “Then Brenda was Amy’s friend?” Farber asked.

  “Friend!” Dame Hillyard sniffed. “No one wanted to be Brenda’s friend. Amy wanted to be a witch. Maybe Amy hoped if she spent time with Brenda, the witchcraft would rub off.”

  “So the girls were together a good deal? Would you say that Brenda knew Amy well?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Yes. Then go ahead. Brenda went out to look for Amy and . . . ?”

  “And about five minutes later Abel Springwater—he isn’t a student; he’s one of the gardeners—came running in and said someone was screaming. Then, of course, we all rushed out. We found Brenda kneeling over Amy with the amulet in her hand. She killed Amy and was about to steal the amulet!”

  “No!”

  It was a strained whisper, but both Dame Hillyard and Detective Inspector Farber looked at Brenda. She shook her head and swallowed. She wouldn’t speak again until asked.

  “Do you know how Amy died?” the inspector asked.

  “By magic, of course,” Dame Hillyard said before Brenda could answer. “There wasn’t a mark on the girl.”

  “Do you mean to say that Brenda killed Amy in five minutes by magic?” Farber raised his brows in patent disbelief. “If so, she must be an incredibly powerful witch . . . and an incredibly stupid one, too, since she would be the most likely suspect. And didn’t you just tell me that Brenda couldn’t even drive away a flea, much less kill a locust?”

  Dame Hillyard’s lips thinned. “It must have been her.” She flashed a look of intense dislike tinged with fear at Brenda, who was staring at the detective inspector with her mouth open. Shrilly, Dame Hillyard continued, “She was the only one there. She had her hand on Amy’s neck and was about to steal the amulet. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s been hiding her power all along for just such a purpose.”

  “Are you a witch, Dame Hillyard?”

  “No! Of course not!”

  Farber nodded. His face showed nothing as he turned toward Brenda. “Now I would like to hear from you just what happened, Mistress Willcoming. Dame Hillyard asked you to find Amy and bring her back to the school to have lunch. Did you know where Amy would go?”

  “Not for sure, sir. If she was looking through the amulet, she would have followed the spirits of the air wherever they went. But they did like the stream in the woods, which is why I went that way.” She shuddered suddenly, and her eyes filled with tears again. “She was there, just where the wall around the school turns.” Her throat closed, and for a moment she thought she wouldn’t be able to continue. She swallowed hard. “There’s a little shelter—I think it was once a guardhouse—at the corner. I looked in—”

  “Why?”

  For a moment Brenda considered not answering, but she had to if she was going to request examination under truth spell. Maybe the inspector was using a truth spell now—although he didn’t look like a witch. She could feel color coming into her face, and she look
ed down at her soiled gown.

  “Because she used to meet Abel there sometimes,” she whispered at last. “You can’t be seen from the school in the little house, and there are bushes. You can slip behind them before anyone coming along the path could see you.”

  “Liar!” Dame Hillyard exclaimed. “It was against the rules to fraternize with the help.”

  “No, I’m not lying.” The tears that had filled Brenda’s eyes dried up in the heat of her anger. “I’m not lying, and I’m not saying anything bad, either. I never saw them doing anything they shouldn’t, only talking.”

  “I thought Abel was in the garden,” Farber said. “Dame Hillyard said he ran in when he heard you scream. It was you that screamed, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Tears filled her eyes and overflowed again. Brenda wiped her face with the heel of her hand.

  Detective Inspector Farber took a kerchief from his sleeve and handed it to her. She wiped her face and blew her nose, letting her hands drop to her lap, holding the kerchief tight, as if it were a lifeline.

  “Did you scream as soon as you saw Amy?” he asked.

  She blinked. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t know she was dead. I thought she had tripped and fallen, and I knelt down and took hold of her shoulder. She didn’t respond, and I was afraid she had hit her head when she fell, so I tugged her over onto her back. It wasn’t until I touched her face that I realized she was dead.” Brenda shuddered again and bit her lip. “It was then that I screamed.”

  “How did you know she was dead?” the inspector asked.

  Brenda stared at him. “I . . . I don’t know,” she answered uncertainly.

  “Did you See that there was no life force?”

  “I don’t know what life force is,” she whispered.

  Farber looked displeased. “Your tutor doesn’t seem to have taught you anything,” he said.

  “Tutor?” Brenda repeated, looking puzzled. “I do as well as all the other students. I’m good at reading and writing and ciphering. I can spin and weave and sew. I don’t need a special tutor in anything.”

  “I see,” Farber said.

  But Brenda’s mind had gone back to the original question, and she said, “It was . . . her skin was different, cool and . . . and not rough the way skin gets when you’re chilled. It was smooth, maybe a little clammy.”

  Farber looked interested again, but all he said was, “So then you screamed. Had you already picked up the amulet?”

  “No. I did that right after. I only cried out once, but then I thought if I looked through the amulet, I would be able to hear the spirits of the air and I could ask them what happened to Amy.”

  “Hmmm.” Farber did not look convinced. “Did you plan to steal the amulet?”

  “No!” Brenda exploded, but then she looked down again, and her cheeks felt hot. “I did want it, but I knew taking it would be silly. I wouldn’t be allowed to keep it. It must have been very costly, and Master Lightfeather would want to sell it.”

  “She says that now.” Dame Hillyard’s voice was flat. “But we caught her with it in her hand, just before she tucked it away into her clothing. It would have been easy to say Amy wasn’t wearing it when she arrived.”

  Farber nodded, but Brenda protested, “No one would have believed that. Amy always wore it, even to bed. I didn’t kill her. Why should I? I can already see the spirits of the air and the pixies and sometimes even a unicorn . . .” Her voice faded, and for a moment she was again looking through the trees at that magical beauty.

  Brenda sighed and continued, “Why should I kill her? All I needed to do was to borrow the amulet for an hour or two. I’m sure I could have learned to understand them, and then I wouldn’t have needed the amulet at all. Why should I kill my friend for it?”

  “Maybe because she wouldn’t lend it to you.” Dame Hillyard sighed and looked at Farber. “I don’t see the purpose of this. Brenda is the only witch in the village, and Amy died from no known cause. You looked at her body, Inspector. Did you see a crushed skull? Any knife wounds? She wasn’t strangled; her face wasn’t purple, and her tongue was in her mouth. Our apothecary swore she wasn’t poisoned.”

  “No,” Farber said. “She wasn’t poisoned, but if you have no other witch in the village, I don’t see where Mistress Willcoming could have learned the spell she would need to kill Amy with magic.”

  “Amy had a grimoire,” Dame Hillyard said, grim and angry.

  “But there was no spell in it for killing people,” Brenda protested tremulously.

  “Did you use the grimoire?” the inspector asked Brenda.

  “I tried,” Brenda admitted. “Nothing worked.”

  “Do you know where Amy got the grimoire?”

  Brenda shook her head. “She just had it one day, like the gossamer shawl and the amulet.”

  “Do you know where the grimoire is, Mistress Willcoming?” Farber asked next.

  “Yes, sir,” Brenda whispered. “It’s in my room, just on the bookshelf with the other books.”

  “Did you take the grimoire first and kill Amy to prevent her from complaining of the theft?” Dame Hillyard cried. “And then decided to steal the amulet, too?”

  “No! Amy couldn’t use the grimoire, so she left it with me for safekeeping. She . . . she didn’t trust her uncle William or her cousin Marcus.”

  “Brenda, that is an outrageous thing to say!” Dame Hillyard exclaimed. “Master Lightfeather took her in when her parents died, and raised her with the same care he gave his own son. You are only trying to make others seem guilty of the crime you committed.”

  “But Mistress Willcoming denies that she committed any crime, and I haven’t seen any evidence yet that she did commit one,” Farber said. “In fact, it seems unlikely, since Amy must have died as much as half an hour before Brenda found her and she, according to what you told me, Dame Hillyard, was in the dining room setting the table for about half an hour before she found the body.”

  Dame Hillyard’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again to gasp in outrage while her face got quite red. “Well!” she exclaimed indignantly. “I am shocked and disappointed in the Peacekeepers. I have always believed that they were astute enough to rely on the knowledge of those who knew best. Constable Willis agreed with me completely when I said the girl must be kept under restraint until the procurator of justice could send a warrant for her removal.”

  “Begging pardon, ma’am,” the civil guard said softly. “I did agree that Mistress Brenda be kept under restraint, but that weren’t because I thought she killed Mistress Lightfeather . . . at least ’er no more’n anyone else. It were because Master Lightfeather were talkin’ quite wild about hangin’ ’er.”

  “This would be Marcus Lightfeather, the victim’s cousin?” Farber asked.

  “Yes, sir. And ’is father were worse. He wanted to put ’er to the torture to make ’er confess and then hang ’er.”

  “Torture?” The horror in Inspector Farber’s voice was enough to make Constable Willis shrug apologetically.

  “We got no witch to do a truth spell, and it costs a pretty penny to bring one from Northbourne. And I been constable for . . . ah . . . goin’ on twenty year and I never ’ad a crime that called for more’n pointin’ my finger.”

  “How fortunate,” Farber breathed. “And what were you going to do about this crime?”

  “Nothin’, sir. I know when I’m in too deep. I sent the telex. I figured Justice Procurator’d send someone.”

  “You sent a telex!” Dame Hillyard hissed.

  “And it’s just as well he did,” Farber snapped. “If a removal had been done without an authenticated report from a truth-spell-trained witch or a justice-recognized investigator, those involved would have found themselves in serious trouble.”

  “Constable Willis is fully empowered—”

  “No, ma’am, I ain’t. I’m a civil guard, appointed by the village council, that’s all. I can’t do removals.”

  Brenda, who had been f
rozen stiff with horror when she heard what Dame Hillyard and the two Lightfeathers had planned for her, gasped when a sharp rap on the door immediately preceded the entry of both William and Marcus Lightfeather.

  “You the inspector?” William asked sharply.

  “Yes,” Farber said.

  “You’ve seen my niece’s body, the constable’s man said. Now I want the key to that room where Willis’s been keeping her. Time and over time for her to be buried.”

  There was a silence in the room while the investigator looked carefully at William Lightfeather. Then he said slowly, “Why are you so eager to have your niece buried? Is there something about her body that you do not wish to be revealed?”

  “There’s nothing to reveal,” Marcus yelled, voice shaking. “Amy was good as gold. The witch killed her with magic. You’ve got the witch. Burn her like she should be, and let us put poor Amy to rest.”

  “But Mistress Willcoming doesn’t seem to have been anywhere near Mistress Lightfeather when she died.”

  “Who knows when she set the spell?” William snarled. “We know Centertown keeps witchs’ evil secret so they have use of it. I want my niece’s body now!”

  “You cannot have it, sir,” Farber said quietly. “It must wait until my Reader arrives. She will be here tomorrow, I believe, and tell me all sorts of things from an examination of the body. Now, perhaps, you can explain to me—”

  However, the inspector did not bother to finish his sentence because William rushed out; Marcus fled on his heels, slamming the door behind him. The civil guard half rose to his feet, looking very worried, but Farber shook his head. Brenda swallowed, frightened again. If the inspector wasn’t willing to act on such suspicious behavior, had his comments about her innocence only been some kind of trap?

  “What if they flee?” Constable Willis asked.