Curiosity Killed The Cat

by T. H. Hunter

  ***

  As neither could gain a lead by two hits, the match continued beyond seven points. Then, Vox suddenly pulled ahead by executing a particularly difficult strike to the chest. He needed one more hit to win the match and the entire tournament. He was like a demon unleashed, stringing one stab to the next like a berserker. Raphael was on the defensive, parrying and evading blows as if he were fighting two people simultaneously. Vox was driving him towards one of the walls, trying to restrict his opponent’s options.

  Raphael was almost in the corner now, but Vox, overly impatient, went in for the killing blow a little too soon. Raphael dodged just at the right time, bringing his blade down on Vox’s shoulder in a swift move. He had evened the score. He could still win.

  In contrast, Vox seemed to have lost his nerve. He was still as fast as ever, but his decisions were becoming erratic. If before there had been some method to the madness, it was now truly impulsive. For Raphael, the tides were noticeably turning. He landed two blows within a minute, and the second set ended as abruptly as the first had started. The third would establish the victor and the vanquished.

  We spent the break passionately discussing the match. It all came down to whether Vox was able to sustain his speed and tremendous reflexes for long enough to win. Undoubtedly, the prolonged match favoured Raphael’s style, though the element of surprise and its psychological effects couldn’t be underestimated in a tournament setting.

  As soon as Doctor Yurasov raised and lowered his arm for the third time, Vox unleashed a furious hail of blows with a viciousness that surpassed even the first set. For a while, I was seriously worried. Éven a few minutes of swordfighting was extremely taxing to the body – even for regular humans. How could Vox have possibly gained that strength during a ten-minute break? It defied all reason, vampiric or otherwise.

  But Raphael was on top of his game this time. He mastered every lightning attack with increasing confidence and power. Soon, he was up by three.

  “Two more points,” I said, more to myself than anyone else.

  Vox wasn’t going down without a fight, that much was certain. He lashed out like a beast. Though they say an animal is more dangerous when cornered, Vox became more erratic, too. Raphael landed another neat blow right in his opponent’s chest. One more point to go.

  They were squaring off when Vox suddenly began to teeter, like a speed addict going cold. Raphael, foolishly perhaps, withdrew and looked at Doctor Yurasov quizzically. The latter was just about to pause the match when Vox suddenly flung himself forward as if pushed ahead by an invisible spring. It was too late to dodge, so Raphael parried the blow just in time, twisted his blade around his opponent’s in one fluid motion and struck him hard on the right side of his ribcage. The match was over. Raphael had pulled through victorious.

  The Great Hall, tense until the very last moment, suddenly erupted in applause like a volcano. There were standing ovations all around as Vox, totally exhausted, shook Raphael’s hand and collapsed onto a nearby chair.

  Raphael, with gratitude and relief on his face, bowed first towards the Royal Box atop, then to his opponent, Doctor Yurasov, and then the rest of the room.

  And then, the main doors swung open, hitting the walls with a clang. On the threshold stood none other than… but this wasn’t possible…

  “It’s Doctor Wiley,” somebody shouted, and the entire hall fell silent.

  Lurching into the room, his face like a death mask, Doctor Wiley was clutching a massive metal arrow that was lodged in his chest. He was heaving horribly for breath, his eyes bulging and popping. He tried to speak, reaching out his hands in the process, but collapsed instantly. Several people rushed immediately to his side, first and foremost Raphael and Doctor Yurasov, who were standing closest to him.

  There were screams and yells from the gallery. People started rushing for the exits in wild panic. While Raphael was attending the wounded Wiley, Doctor Yurasov turned to the spectators.

  “Everybody,” he boomed in a deep voice, “stay seated. Remain calm. You will be escorted group by group to your quarters.”

  He quickly beckoned Mrs. Prill, who had been sitting below in the crowd, towards him. After a quick exchange, she nodded, and began organising helpers into pairs.

  Several other staff members had rushed to Doctor Wiley, but from all that we could see, it didn’t look good. A stretcher was produced from one of the rooms below, and they hurriedly carried him off, no doubt to the hospital, while we were escorted back to our rooms.

  15

  The next day, we didn’t hear any news until dinner. Doctor Wiley had died from his wounds during the day. He hadn’t recovered consciousness. I felt slightly foolish for asking these things, though I had been so engulfed in training for the tournament that few other things had crossed my mind in the past weeks.

  “So how can a vampire die from an arrow?” I asked.

  Most people at the table looked at me in amazement.

  “Look, I didn’t grow up amongst you lot. I feel bad enough having to ask this stuff all the time.”

  Steve chuckled but stopped almost instantly.

  “I guess it’s not really funny. Not in the light of what happened, anyway. The First Warden is going to make an announcement after dinner, but I talked to the janitor and his son this morning. They had to clean up all the mess. More than willing to tell me the whole thing. Apparently, Wiley was shot with a bolt – you know, from a crossbow. We couldn’t really see from where we were sitting. But it wasn’t any old crossbow. It must have been a special design.”

  “How do you know?” asked Lynn.

  “Well, because the bolt was pure silver. That’s the only way a vampire can truly die, except for burning of course. But that’s tricky to handle if you want to assassinate someone.”

  “Why not use a gun?” I asked. “I bet you could make a silver bullet or something.”

  “Technically, it’s not the impact that kills the vampire like with humans. Otherwise you could use anything really. It’s the silver itself that rots the body away from within, and because a crossbow bolt is much more massive and is usually stuck deep in the body, it’s much better than a bullet shot from a gun. The Slayers figured that one out long ago.”

  “So, like lead poisoning for humans?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I guess. Silver swords, especially with added silver tinctures, were also used quite often, but it’s much messier and far less certain to kill. It’s got to stay in the body long enough to do the damage, you see, or you’ll just be knocked out.”

  “Quite the history buff,” Lynn said, rather impressed.

  “I do my best,” Steve said, flashing a grin at all of us.

  “So that’s why Wiley was still able to walk into the hall…” I said. “Any ideas where he was all this time?”

  “Nobody knows. That’s still a big mystery. I think, though, that the killer must have kept him fairly close to the Great Hall before he shot him. As you might imagine, you aren’t going to be running any marathons with that thing in your chest.”

  “Couldn’t he have just pulled it out?” Lynn asked him.

  “No, not if it’s a Slayer weapon. They used small hooks on their bolts. You’d just spread the poison even deeper. You wouldn’t be able to get it out without any help.”

  We were all left stunned. The thought of Wiley dying such a horrible and slow death was disconcerting to say the least.

  “And you know, the strange thing was that they found a small figurine in one of his hands. Also silver. Strange thing to carry around with you, isn’t it?”

  “What?” I almost fell out of my chair. Lynn looked equally shocked.

  “A figurine. Beccs, what’s up?”

  “Who’s in charge of the investigation?”

  “I – I don’t know. You could ask Mrs. Prill, though. She’s right over there.”

  I walked as fast as possible over to her. She was standing at the edge of the hall, busily berating some senior students.r />
  “And mind you keep out of trouble for at least a day or two for a change,” she said, then turned to me irritably. “Yes, Miss Flynn?”

  “I’ve got to talk to you, Mrs. Prill, about the murder of Doctor Wiley.”

  “It is too early to speak in such a way. We do not know all of the facts yet. Let us not speculate unduly, Miss Flynn.”

  She really was insufferable but I thought better of starting an argument. It would only cost time, time the killer could spend getting away. If he hadn’t long since done so already.

  “Who’s in charge of the investigation?”

  “Miss Flynn, I would advise you not to bother Doctor Yurasov at present, he is very busy. Anything you can tell him, you can tell me. I will pass it on, if it really is important.”

  I scowled. Fine, at least she was listening for a change.

  “They said that they found a silver figurine in his pocket. When Lynn and I were in the cellar, our attacker dropped a similar figurine. I think it might be connected somehow.”

  “You mean, when you vandalised castle property? Really, Miss Flynn, I do not see the point of repeating your little stories over and over again.”

  “They happen to be the truth,” I said, my temper rising.

  “Even if it were – and I do not believe it for a second – then it is just coincidence. Or do you mean to say that Doctor Wiley attacked you?”

  “No, no. He didn’t have his build.”

  “I thought you didn’t recognise him?”

  “He ran right into us! I would have noticed if he’d had Doctor Wiley’s size.”

  “I hardly think this is the time and place to comment on such personal matters, Miss Flynn.”

  I stared at her in disbelief. Her lips were sealed disapprovingly in a tight line. Her small grey eyes had a look of outraged offence. There was something seriously wrong with her or she was intentionally misunderstanding me. Either way, she wouldn’t help.

  “Is that all, Miss Flynn? Because if it is, I would advise you to stop playing detective and start working for your upcoming exams. Life isn’t all rapiers and games, you know.”

  “But…”

  “I am warning you, Miss Flynn. This is no concern of yours. Stay out of it.”

  “Right.”

  ***

  Of course, I hadn’t the slightest intention of staying out of it. I raced immediately up to the library, though Doctor Yurasov was nowhere to be found. No doubt he had begun with his own inquiries into the entire affair. It was already close to ten o’clock when I arrived in my room to change into something more suitable for Sarah’s party, which would take place tonight. I had asked Lynn to come along, but she had declined earlier this morning. I was disappointed, though I looked forward to it all the same.

  Steve had also been invited by Sarah, so, when the time came, we made our way to the East Tower together. I liked him a lot as a friend. He had a great sense of humour. And his knowledge of history was extensive. He made it interesting. Not the sort of boring list of names and dates that usually passes for history in schools.

  The room was already crowded when we arrived. At least a hundred people must have been there.

  “Ah, here’s the first-year menace,” Sarah said, punching my shoulder in a friendly manner. “Glad both of you made it.”

  “Thanks for invitation,” I said. “Didn’t know the nickname was spreading.”

  Doctor Wiley’s sudden appearance and death were of course the major topic of discussion amongst the party guests. It seemed everyone had their own theory of who was behind it.

  “I don’t think it’s the Slayers,” a self-important man with a monocle was saying. “I fought in the war, you know. No activity from them since. Don’t think they’d risk it.”

  “Who do you think it is, then, Charles?”

  “Radicals within our own ranks, of course. Want to destroy everything we’ve built. Siding with the Outlaws, no doubt. Lawless scum, the lot of them.”

  “You’re not paranoid if they’re really out to get you, eh Charlie?”

  They all laughed and eventually the man called Charles joined in as well.

  Closer to the fireplace, another group was discussing the possibilities of infiltration by Slayer agents, how the castle was crawling with spies observing us at every turn.

  It was terrible and fascinating at the same time to listen to all of these theories. Steve, who had a natural interest in politics as such, was also keen to discuss the matter.

  “So who do you think it is, Beccs?”

  “I’m not really sure. What about you?”

  “You know, I think it might be a simple act of murder. Perhaps he had a dark secret we didn’t know about, or perhaps he was quarrelling with the wrong sort. The fact is, anyone could have got that crossbow. Or even built it themselves. Easy to place the blame on someone else.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But why kidnap him? Seems like a crazy risk to take if you’re just trying to bump someone off. They must have needed him alive, at least for a while. Other things just don’t add up, either. I mean, why was he carrying one of those figurines around with him?”

  I hold told Steve all about the figurine the attacker in the storage cellar had dropped, though he remained unconvinced.

  “Look, this is one I found in that cellar,” handing him the figurine I now invariably carried in my pocket.

  He examined it carefully before handing it back.

  “Looks like good craftsmanship. But why do you keep going on about these figurines? They could just be collector’s items. Like tin soldiers or something. Perhaps Wiley was a collector.”

  “As far as we know, it was the only thing in his possession, right?”

  “From what the janitors told me, yeah. They said his pockets were all empty. They checked because they needed the key to his room.”

  “So no keys, no handkerchief, nothing. Only that figurine in his hand,” I said.

  “I admit it’s unlikely, but what other explanation is there?” Steve asked.

  I pondered the question for a while.

  “If he was kidnapped, they would have emptied his pockets to make sure he didn’t have anything on him. It would make sense that he grabbed the figurine after he was kidnapped, probably shortly before he was shot with the crossbow.”

  “But why would he do that?”

  “Perhaps it was a sign, to lead us to his killer,” I said.

  Steve laughed nervously.

  “You’re crazy, Beccs. But if your hunches are as good as your fighting instincts, we should be able to apprehend the killer in no time.”

  ***

  Part of me was hoping that Raphael would turn up, but he was nowhere to be seen. Then, to my great surprise, I bumped into Jayden.

  “Oh, hello Jayden. I thought you were with Lynn this evening?”

  I don’t know whether he was on something, but he had trouble focussing his eyes properly. They also had a feverish look about them. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced than ever.

  “Oh, yeah, I – I just wanted to get something. ‘Scuse me, Beccs.”

  He walked dazedly over to one of the cupboards and began opening the drawers. He took something out of it that I couldn’t see from a distance, said goodbye, and headed for the door.

  Without trying to arouse any suspicion, I casually walked over to the drawer and peered into the drawer Jayden had opened. To my astonishment, silver figurines, scattered throughout the drawer, glimmered up at me.

  “What’s going on, Beccs?” Steve asked.

  I shut the drawer hastily. The figurines were turning up everywhere. Now, Jayden was involved. A terrible thought crossed my mind. And yet, Jayden was no killer, I was sure of that. If he was innocent, I didn’t want to get the rumour wagon rolling. As much as I valued Steve, he wasn’t one to keep a secret.

  “Sorry, Steve, I’ve really got to go somewhere. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

  “Ok, Beccs, but why…”

>   “I’ll explain later, I promise.”

  I quickly stepped out of the room and into the adjacent corridor. Jayden already had a head start, though was presumably walking fairly slow. I was determined to get to the bottom of this. I headed for the tower exit.

  To my relief, I saw his figure lumbering over the courtyard towards the Great Hall and followed, making sure there was enough distance between us. But he was so absorbed that I think he wouldn’t have noticed either way. I felt guilty, but I kept telling myself that if Lynn was involved somehow that I could help her. Or at least, if it was harmless, I could keep out of it with a clear conscience.

  Jayden entered the entrance hall, but didn’t continue on to the Great Hall beyond. Instead, he stepped through a door I hadn’t noticed before. I waited a bit before following and then slowly pushed it open. The door led down a flight of stairs.

  Calling this the cellar area would have been an understatement. Catacombs would have been more accurate, though it obviously also served as some sort of water supply system, too. Huge pipes were everywhere. Lit torches hung on the walls and Jayden took one of them in his hand, as his footing kept slipping on the moist stone floor. I couldn’t see any water, but I heard an unmistakable flow of it echoing off the damp walls and arched ceilings.

  Moving faster to keep up with my quarry, we came to the next flight of stairs. Or rather, slabs cut out of rock would have been more accurate. They looked dangerous, and it was quite a drop down if anyone had the misfortune of slipping here.

  At the bottom, I could hear that we were very close to the water source, the steady rush of it was unmistakable. But Jayden headed in the other direction, to our right. I hesitated briefly, though decided on following him. There would always be time to investigate this place later.

  With the sound of the stream getting softer again, I was sure I could hear human voices, laughing and whooping, like a party going wild. We now entered into a series of narrow cavities, small rock-cut chambers, each of them damper and colder than the subsequent one.

  Why had he been so secretive about coming here? Surely, he could have just said it was a private get-together. The next room was full of old boxes and dysfunctional equipment. But in the next, a party of sorts was raging. There were no torches there, but instead blue neon lights that played off of the walls in a sinister fashion. I was the first to enjoy a good time, but the laughter and cries within had an aggressive undertone, like guests that had overstayed their welcome.