by Dan Wingreen
The Prince's theory fit.
With one small exception.
"How did he poison her?" Elias asked.
"Does it really matter? We have motivation, Elias!"
"Motive without means is meaningless," Elias replied.
"Fine. He could have slipped her something."
"You've met the marchioness," Elias said. "Does she seem like the kind of person who would eat or drink anything given to her by a lowly guard commander?"
"He could have poisoned her food when she wasn't looking."
"She's the daughter of a duke. She wouldn't eat with him under any circumstances, and he couldn't get into her rooms without some kind of official document giving him access. And even if he had one," Elias continued when it seemed like the Prince was about to suggest just that, "he would have been watched intently every moment he was in her rooms, either by a servant or Selma herself. He would have had no opportunity to secretly poison anything she might have been eating."
"All right." The Prince ran his fingers through his hair. "How did he poison her, then?"
Elias let out a frustrated sigh. "I have no idea…"
He was getting incredibly annoyed at having suspects who fit the crime in every possible way, save for the one he and the Prince needed to actually prove them guilty. Investigating never seemed this hard when he was interviewing guards after the criminal was convicted, and certainly not in any detective novels. If only there were some doubt about the cause of death, but there were multiple witness reports stating there was no blood and no wounds on the body. Something the reports from the guards who responded to the alarm and removed the body also confirmed…
Although, if Spellings is the murderer, surely he could have ordered them to say whatever he wanted.
Elias stopped breathing, his eyes widening in realization and self-recrimination.
"We are utter fools."
The Dark Prince raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"We are fools." Elias repeated it with a disgusted huff. "Imbeciles. Simpletons. Idiots, Highness. We are charlatans, pretending at proficiency we have no right to claim, in a profession with which we have no actual experience. And, as such, we have overlooked one very simple and irrefutable fact."
"That you being wordy and condescending is incredibly attractive?"
"What?" Elias shook himself. "No! That Spellings being a suspect changes everything because we can no longer trust the report."
There was a pause, and then the Dark Prince's eyes widened as well. "You're right," he said. "We're idiots. And you are attractive right now, no matter what you might think."
"Highness." Elias growled, ignoring the sudden flush on his cheeks.
"Yes, yes. Time and place, I suppose," the Prince said, waving off Elias's protest. "We never talked to even one of those supposed witnesses, did we?"
"No, we didn't," Elias said, censure threaded through every syllable. "We just assumed."
"So, I suppose your theory about the blood-painted walls isn't completely off the table anymore."
"Nothing is off the table," Elias said. "Nothing which involves Spellings, at least."
To Elias's surprise, the excitement he was starting to feel at no longer being stuck did not seem to be spreading to the Prince.
With a long sigh, the Prince sank deeply into his chair and let his face fall into his hands. "We're going to have to talk to everybody on that list, aren't we?"
"Of course not," Elias said. His mind resorted facts and assumptions, rearranged theories and possibilities. After feeling for so long like his head was filled with sludge, the experience was singularly euphoric, and Elias didn't even mind that his prince was acting very much like the Crown Prince in a sulk. "We need only do what we should have done the first time I read through the file."
"Oh?" The Dark Prince said, perking up slightly. "And what would that be?"
Elias smiled.
"We need to see a doctor."
Chapter 27
The coroner's office was located on the lowest level of the castle, below even the dungeons. It had originally been built as a storage facility for various alcoholic beverages, taking advantage of both the residual cold of the underground ice river which ran underneath the castle's foundation and the fact that the room was geographically opposite to the part of the castle which housed the guards. Drunkenness on duty and the cost of importing blocks of ice from the frost giant's lands were the lowest of any kingdom on the continent—for the first several centuries of Ellington's existence, at least. Eventually, the nobles got tired of waiting for their alcoholic oblivion—and the servants got tired of trekking into the bowels of the castle every time a duke or a baron needed "just one last drink"—and the decision was made to move the storage room to a much more accessible area of the castle. The question of what to do with an empty, near freezing storage room was understandably not at the top of anybody's list of problems to solve, so when the art of medical examination began to come into prominence just over one hundred years ago, there was little fuss made when the castle's first coroner asked for the room to be converted for corpse examination. Thus, a problem no one knew existed was solved, and the odd doctors who poked around in dead bodies were less likely to be seen wandering the halls where they might frighten the nobility. It was a tidy, satisfactory solution for all involved.
It was less satisfactory for a Dark Prince without any winter wear.
"Winter doesn't exist in Mournhelm, Elias," the Prince said defensively, shivering as they made their way down into the castles depths. "And, as I wasn't planning on leaving the castle if I had stayed here long enough to experience one of yours, I saw little need to go to the trouble of dragging heavy robes halfway across the continent."
"Then you should also see little need in continuing to complain about your lack of said robes, Highness."
While he would admit the Prince's complaints had at first been somewhat endearing, in a childlike way, they had very quickly begun to grate on him. Especially since the Prince, in preparation for the drop in temperature, had wrapped himself in three of his own outer robes and—very reluctantly—one of Elias's heavier scholar's robes, and he should have been warm enough. Elias was starting to suspect the Prince was just complaining to hear the sound of his own voice. Which was decidedly less endearing. Elias was starting to envy Chappy, who was waiting for them above, having refused to step foot into the cold basement.
"Complaining keeps me warm, my dear," the Prince said, smirking. "It's all I have, since my intended is being selfish and keeping his only set of winter robes all to himself."
Elias decided ignoring the Prince was probably the best option from then on. He just hoped the Prince didn't rub Dr Albright the wrong way. Elias had built up a cordial relationship with the man from interviewing him about cases over the course of writing his books, but the self-proclaimed Master of the Medicinal Examinatory Arts was nothing if not high-strung and prone to hold a grudge. There was a decent chance he would refuse to see them if the Prince acted…princely.
Eventually, they made their way to the underground hall, which contained the coroner's office itself, and came to a stop in front of the only door.
"It's going to be even colder in there, isn't it?" the Prince asked, giving the door a resigned pout.
Elias sighed. "You could have stayed upstairs if the cold bothers you this much."
"No, I couldn't, and you know exactly why." The Prince had moved on to glaring at the door.
With an act of superhuman self-control, Elias refrained from commenting. He did know what the Prince was referencing, of course. Since they had thrown out any and all previous theories until after they could determine a cause of death for themselves, the Prince had suddenly decided it was entirely possible that magic had, in fact, been used to commit the murder. Something only he would be able to determine. Personally, Elias thought the Prince was just fed up with being left behind to skulk in corridors and listen in on Elias's conversations without being a
ble to place himself in the middle of them, yet Elias couldn't jeopardize their investigation just because the Prince was only probably full of it.
Sometimes he really hated how well the Dark Prince knew him.
"Then use your magic to warm you up and stop whining," Elias said before knocking on the heavy wooden door with a gloved hand.
"Magic doesn't work that way, my dear," the Prince said, rubbing his glove-free hands together for warmth. "I can't warm the air around me without setting something on fire. All I can do is raise my own body temperature, and that would just give me a fever."
Elias glanced at him, intrigued despite himself. "Truly?"
The Dark Prince shot Elias a short, knowing grin. "Oh, yes. The mechanics of my magic are actually incredibly fascinating—"
Elias would have to wait until later on to find out just how fascinating those mechanics were, because the Prince was interrupted by the door in front of them being flung open by someone who most assuredly wasn't the thin, wizened seventy-year-old man Elias was expecting. Instead, there was a short, heavyset woman in white healers' robes standing in the doorway glaring at the both of them like they had personally offended her, her bright red hair and pale skin only adding to the impression of barely contained rage.
"You!" She bellowed, pointing at Elias.
Elias's eyebrows twitched in surprise. "Me?"
The woman kept speaking, neatly ignoring his question. "You're going to go back to that son of a bitch Horace and tell him that I asked for a guard, not a couple of fucking scholars."
"I—"
"And I mean tell him! Not ask. Tell. I don't care how scary he thinks he is or how many fucking scars he was stupid enough to get, he doesn't get to hold up my workload. It's not my fucking job to babysit the slowly decaying body of some noble chit while all my other work gets pushed to the side because he won't send a fucking guard down to go over the autopsy!"
By the end of her rant, she was gesticulating rather erratically, and even though Elias was almost certain he was slightly traumatized by her foul language, he was also strangely impressed she hadn't managed to hit either of them or smash her hand into a wall. He hoped her luck didn't abandon her while he was there. Almost as soon as he'd had the thought, however, it was rendered moot. She crossed her arms over her ample chest and glared a hole through Elias.
"Well? Are you just gonna stand there?" she said, snarling.
He took a moment to consider her words, if not the ridiculous question. If the only other option was to follow an enraged, possibly unhinged, cursing woman into a room, of course he was just going to stand there. It took him a few moments, between plotting out possible escape scenarios, to figure out why the name Horace sounded familiar. He'd only heard it once, after all, but she had provided more than enough context clues.
"Guard Commander Spellings didn't send us," Elias said, deciding to get right to the point. "We're here for our own purposes, although they might also align with yours."
If Elias had expected her to soften upon learning they had nothing to do with a man she was obviously infuriated with, he was destined to be disappointed. Her eyes hardened and her lip curled into an expression of disgust.
"You're not gonna get to play with the corpses."
Elias frowned in confusion. "Excuse me?"
Before she could speak, the Dark Prince burst into laughter.
"You are so very innocent still, my dear," he said fondly. "She thinks we want to perform sexual acts upon the recently deceased."
Elias's jaw fell open. "What?" His voice caught in his throat, turning the word into an embarrassing squeak. He cleared his throat. "That's disgusting!"
Elias looked at the Dark Prince, hoping to see a smile that would indicate he was joking—because this was actually more disgusting than the woman who had sex with horses, and did people actually do that with corpses?—but the only expression on the Prince's face was one of tolerant tenderness.
"You've never come across anything similar in your studies of repetitive offenders?" the Prince asked.
Elias glared. "If I had, then I would not be surprised such a concept exists, would I?"
"Hmm. No, I suppose not. My apologies, Elias. If I knew the idea was going to upset you so, I probably would have eased you into it."
"Probably?" Elias snapped.
The Prince smiled.
Elias was so caught up in attempting to process his unwanted new knowledge, as well as attempting to keep from hitting his probable future husband, he quite forgot about the large, angry woman standing in front of him. An oversight which was rectified when she cleared her throat.
"You study repetitive offenders?" she asked, almost quietly compared to her previous volume. "And your name is Elias?"
Elias turned his attention back to her and blinked at the startling change which had come over her. Instead of vibrating with rage, she seemed like…well, like Elias when he got his hands on a rare text he'd never read before. The sudden shift was strangely off-putting.
"Yes," he answered hesitantly.
"Elias Sutterby?" And now it was her turn to squeak.
Elias frowned. "How do you know my name?"
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the Prince take a few discreet steps away and wondered why he—
The woman screamed.
Elias jumped in place, then scurried back when she started towards him. She caught up with him before he got more than a few steps and, to his horror, grabbed his left hand in both of hers and stared up at him with wide-eyed awe. He blinked again. Hadn't she been taller than him a moment ago?
"Oh! Oh! Oh! By all the gods, I can't believe I'm actually standing right in front of Elias Sutterby!" She beamed at him, which somehow added ten years to her face and made her look like a child at the same time. "I've read all your books and I absolutely love every single one. Your insight into the Mermaid Builder and the Ripper of Pantomimists was just…amazing! I couldn't stop reading! I must have read through those two books at least a dozen times—which isn't to say your other works aren't perfect! I love them all. I'm even saving up enough money to hire a scribe to copy them so I don't have to sneak into the library every time I want to read them. Which is kind of unfair, since I never should have been banned from the library in the first place, but that fucking librarian can't deal with a woman who has an education—no matter what he says. It wasn't like I hit him that hard. And it never would have gotten that far if he would have just agreed to give you any one of the three dozen letters I'd written. Oh! Do you want me to get them for you? That crotchety old man stole them all from me, but I've reproduced each one from memory. They're under my bed back in my quarters, it won't take me even ten minutes to run up and get them."
"Wh—"
"No, you're right, that can wait until later. Oh! I still can't believe you're actually down here in my corpse cooler! And mother always said nothing good would come from getting an education. Ha! If the old bitch wasn't dead, I'd throw this in her withered old face!"
Elias had absolutely no idea what was going on, but he was almost one hundred percent sure he was destined to never again meet a sane, pleasant female.
"I have so many questions! Did the Gnome Strangler really spend in his pants just from wrapping his hands around their throats? Why didn't the Crawford Castrator ever cut off his own penis, if he hated them so much? What ever happened to the wife of the—"
"Are you insane?" Elias asked when he couldn't keep it in any longer.
The woman's adoring smile faltered, her grip on his hand tightening until it was almost painful.
"What Elias means," the Prince said, quickly and deftly cutting in, "is that he's never met a fan as devoted or as passionate about his work as you are."
The disturbing smile was back full force, but his fingers were no longer in danger of being broken, so he sent the Prince a small, grateful smile.
"Really?" she asked in a suspiciously watery voice. "I'm your biggest fan?"
Elias wasn'
t quite sure what a fan was, but he was more than perceptive enough to understand there was only one answer he could give if he wanted any chance of asking about Selma's body. "Yes. Of course."
The woman's eyes widened and Elias was alarmed to see the beginnings of tears gleaming in the torchlight. "This is the best day of my life."
"Ah," Elias said, hoping whatever he said wouldn't cause the tears to fall. "Quite."
Thankfully, the Prince once again stepped in. "I'm sure you have a lot to talk about with Elias, and I'm equally sure Elias would be thrilled to talk about all his work with you"—Elias shot him a slightly panicked look—"but I'm afraid we actually came here for a specific reason."
To her credit, the woman managed to keep her tears from falling. She blinked them away and gave herself a tiny shake before glancing over at the Prince. "Really? And what would…" Her eyes widened. "Are you working on another book? Dr Albright told me you used to interview him for your books sometimes, but I always thought he was just trying to get in my pants by offering to introduce us."
I could have happily lived my entire life without ever having an image so utterly hideous burned into my brain.
"Are…are you here for that?" She flushed. "I don't mean to get in my pants! I just mean… Are you…going to interview me?"
Elias tried to remove his hand from her increasingly uncomfortable grip, but any movement only served to make her squeeze tighter. He was seriously starting to consider giving her a kick, when he saw a brief flash of purple light off to his right and her hands suddenly went completely limp. He snatched his hand back and smiled gratefully at the Dark Prince before turning his attention back to the woman, who was now frowning at her hands.
"No," Elias said. Her eyes snapped back to his. "I would need to be actually writing a book—"
"And right now he's just in the preliminary stages of his outline." The Prince cut in with a dazzling smile for the woman and a look that all but screamed "shut up and let me handle this" for Elias, who was more than happy to do so. "He's ever so particular about not jumping ahead. Which is what makes our dear Elias a great scholar, if slightly less than fun at parties. Are your hands all right?"
