The Last Chance Hotel

by Nicki Thornton

  Seconds later, Papperspook shook her head gravely from where she was kneeling beside Dr Thallomius. ‘It is too late for help. I’m afraid there is nothing to be done.’

  ‘No!’ wailed Count Marred. ‘It cannot be!’

  ‘I’m sorry, but Dr Thallomius is dead,’ announced Papperspook. ‘And it looks like poison.’

  A small series of gasps went around the room, sounding like a whisper.

  Seth felt as if his insides had been hollowed out.

  Kingfisher spoke loudly, saying that he was in charge, but it was lost in the clamour of hysterical voices.

  ‘Gloria, look away my dear. Let’s get you away from here.’ Professor Papperspook grabbed Gloria and started to hustle her from the room, trying to shield her eyes. ‘I don’t want you to have to see this.’

  Dunster-Dunstable waved the long-stemmed glass dish in the air, almost swiping Angelique across the nose. ‘The dessert,’ he cried, ‘he ate this and he died. The dessert killed him.’

  ‘That was very clearly labelled to be eaten only by Dr Thallomius,’ trilled Professor Papperspook, her parting shot as she and Gloria fled up the spiral stairs.

  Seth was frozen to the spot. He was aware of Mr Bunn and Tiffany sharing a shocked glance. Then Dunster-Dunstable advanced on Tiffany. She took a step back. The boy was much smaller than her, but still Tiffany hunched back alarmed as he moved closer, waving the dessert glass in her face.

  Somehow everyone seemed to move at the same time and Seth could see Dr Thallomius, completely motionless in a heap, his hand still gripping a long silver spoon, his eyes wide, his mouth open. Seth wanted to turn away, but his eyes seemed locked to the horrible scene.

  The confusion and clamour was drowned out by the real horror before him and for a moment all he could hear was the pounding of blood in his ears and that nightmare vision of Dr Thallomius’s dead body on the floor. His nose picked up a faint scent, like bitter almonds. Strange.

  ‘I’ll handle this,’ said a voice. Seth thought it was Kingfisher, again trying to get some control. ‘We were told this was your work, Tiffany Bunn. That dessert! What did you put in it?’ he snapped.

  Tiffany stared around, her eyes wide in horror, and she started to shrink back into the corner. Her father threw a protective arm around her shoulder.

  Count Marred clasped his head in his hands and let out a huge, rending wail. ‘My friend. My friend is dead.’ He shook his large head from side to side. He began to advance on Tiffany, who was now cowering in the farthest corner. ‘Why did you do this?’

  Tiffany’s face drained of colour as she shrank against the wall, her eyes big and wary.

  Then she seemed to regain her confidence, and shrugged off her father. ‘It was nothing to do with me!’ she announced, as she stood up straight and her gaze began combing the room. She stopped as her eyes locked with Seth’s where he hovered just outside the dining room door, frozen, still unable to truly take in what had happened.

  Then her face grew fierce and she moved forward in a swift movement, shoving aside Angelique, then Dunster-Dunstable, who was still waving his glass aloft. She moved relentlessly forwards.

  Everyone stepped out of her way as she advanced.

  Seth felt her grab him by the collar and he was shoved, stumbling, in front of the crowd.

  He faced many pairs of shocked and accusing eyes. Tiffany held the back of his tunic in a powerful grip. There was no escape. Nowhere to hide.

  ‘The desserts were nothing to do with me at all,’ she announced. ‘It was all Seth. He’s the one responsible.’

  A murmur raced around the room and started to grow.

  ‘Don’t look at me. It wasn’t me. If anyone here poisoned someone it was Seth!’ Tiffany declared, her voice ringing with confidence.

  Seth saw Kingfisher approach, his face livid.

  Before he even knew what was happening, Seth felt himself bundled out of the dining room and was shoved from behind towards the broom cupboard. He catapulted into the darkness and the door was locked.

  12. A Search for Deadly Poison

  Seth groped in the cramped, dark space, his only company a well-worn mop, a bucket and a box of rusty tools. He turned the bucket over to use as a stool and slumped down, drawing his hands through his untidy hair. It was difficult to take in what had just happened. Impossible to believe that kindly Dr Thallomius was really dead.

  And it looked like everyone thought it was something to do with that apricot dessert he had made. But how could it be? He sank back shakily.

  Only a few hours ago he’d been convinced today was his day, his chance to turn the tables on Tiffany and change his life. Instead, Henri’s portentous prediction when he’d seen that firefly had come horribly true. Murder had come to the Last Chance Hotel.

  ‘So,’ hissed a voice from the other side of the locked door. ‘Plan A, I guess you sit there and just keep your fingers crossed things will sort themselves out and maybe they’ll realize you are completely innocent.’

  Seth moved closer to the door. Had someone come to let him out? And just who was it speaking in that low, purring voice?

  ‘That security chap has called all of them into the hotel lounge to make their statements. That means now’s your best chance to search everyone’s rooms.’ A female voice. It was a strange accent, soft. ‘You need to find out who is really responsible or you’ll get the blame. Be brave, Seth. Get to it.’

  Seth felt small and terrified and not at all brave. ‘I’ll get caught and things will be even worse.’

  ‘They won’t sit in that room for ever, looking at each other like they don’t trust each other a whisker. You have to do it now.’

  Still Seth didn’t move.

  ‘Not the first time you’ve been locked in with the mops and the buckets is it? You’ve dreamt of getting away the last couple of years. Prison might not be so bad. Thought you’d at least miss the garden. So, it’s goodbye then,’ went on the voice, more urgent now. ‘Or . . . you could remember the toolbox . . .’

  How did the voice know Seth had been locked in this cupboard many times?

  Seth sat for just one moment longer, then he scrabbled around. The toolbox was where it always was and in the darkness he groped for a screwdriver and removed the hinges from the door. They came away easily.

  ‘Who are you?’ Seth asked, looking around as he emerged into the softly twinkling lights of the deserted lobby.

  He felt something move past his legs, but it was only Nightshade, who leapt on a carved figure, one that Henri spent his free time whittling.

  ‘I hate these things,’ the voice hissed as Nightshade pawed at it.

  Seth stared at the cat. ‘Nightshade . . . that’s not you speaking?’

  ‘Looks that way. But don’t go asking me to explain.’

  ‘Hang on a minute. I mean . . .’ He shook his head hard. This could not be real.

  ‘I’ll tell you the truth, Seth,’ she purred. ‘I’ve always thought I could talk, I just never saw a reason to do so until you needed my help.’ Nightshade darted ahead of him up the stairs. ‘You are in a pretty pickle and we need to move. Master key, Seth!’

  ‘What are we doing, Nightshade?’

  ‘My whiskers, do I have to tell you, Seth? Someone brought poison to this hotel. Let’s try to find it before they have a chance to get rid of it.’

  On any other day, he would have at least paused to puzzle out how it had happened that his cat had started talking, but he was already too stunned by everything else happening, his thoughts too busy imagining a hand seizing his shoulder and an angry voice demanding why he was no longer safely locked up. If he really was going to sneak out and try to search some of the rooms for poison, he had to do it fast.

  His terrified legs managed to move and he sneaked past the hotel lounge where, behind the closed door, he could hear agitated, raised voices. He dived to swiftly take the big key from under the counter of the welcome desk and followed Nightshade as she padded up the stairs, his breat
h coming short and fast, fearful of being caught at any moment.

  ‘But how will I even know what the poison is?’ Seth asked helplessly.

  ‘You think. You were in the dining room. I bet you smelt the poison. Use your nose.’

  Seth forced himself to think of the dining room. He had to focus on his nose and not think of the horror of watching Dr Thallomius writhing in agony. Yes, there had been a smell.

  ‘There was something. A sort of sweetly bitter smell. Like bitter almonds.’

  Had that been the poison? It must have been, because he’d never come across that smell in the hotel before. Nightshade was standing by the first door and he unlocked it, still not quite believing that he was taking advice from his cat.

  ‘Professor Papperspook’s room.’ Nightshade slid past his legs. ‘Looked right upset when that Darinder mentioned Dr Thallomius was here. Let’s see what she’s hiding.’

  Seth went straight over to a smart black leather case with heavy straps. It was sitting on the desk, wide open. And it contained bottles. Seth couldn’t believe his luck – two rows of small, intricate glass bottles, eight in total. Perfect for bringing poison to the hotel.

  Each had a label. Lark Song, Blackbird Warning, Robin Calling and Blue Tit Cry. What did they mean? Gingerly, Seth put his nose close to the bottles. But he could smell nothing.

  ‘I’m going to have to take out a stopper.’

  ‘Just be quick.’ Nightshade was right behind him.

  He seized a bottle and pulled out the stopper. Instantly, the room was filled with the sudden powerful swell of birdsong, as loud as if he’d set off an alarm in the room. As if a flock of birds was right there with him. He thrust the stopper back in and the sound immediately ceased. Seth breathed again, darting a look over his shoulder and waiting to see if the noise had brought a footfall on the stair.

  ‘Can’t you be bit quieter, Seth?’

  They were both still for a moment. Seth was convinced he heard a creak from below and his heart lurched.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll just go and . . .’ said Nightshade, slipping out of the door, returning a moment later saying the coast was clear and everyone was still in the lounge.

  ‘But do get on with it. Sure you used to move a lot faster,’ she growled.

  ‘Terrific. I’ve got a cat that’s decided to tell me she learnt to speak ages ago and she just insults me.’

  But Seth followed, his heart pounding, his eyes shifting left and right as he crept next door into Gloria Troutbean’s room, where he searched under the stern eye of a portrait of a woman with a long face who looked like she’d love to squeal and give him away.

  Nightshade sat on the bed and began to slowly lick her front paw.

  ‘Nightshade,’ he said irritably, ‘Please can you not sit on the bed. You know you’re not allowed anywhere near the guest rooms. If Norrie finds so much as a single cat hair I’ll be dead anyway.’

  The cat instantly leapt off the bed.

  ‘Tell you what, Seth, I’ll keep a look out.’ She slipped out again and Seth examined some very weird-looking boots, a strange design with extra-thick soles. He picked them up and turned them over.

  ‘Who are these people?’ he muttered. ‘Do they all have weird stuff?’

  He was crouched low and his nose told him that somewhere in this room there was the smell of something . . . pears maybe, but unusual.

  He followed his nose, which took him to the bed. He fumbled around under the mattress and pillow, reached in and he was right, there was something hidden there. He brought out a paper bag, which he opened hopefully.

  And he was staring at pear drops. A lot of pear drops.

  His hopes sagged.

  A creak came from outside and there was a soft warning pawing on the door. Seth held his breath and kept his ear pricked.

  If the questioning in the hotel lounge was over, any moment now someone was going to realize he was no longer under lock and key. He had to get back downstairs.

  ‘I should never have listened to you, Nightshade,’ he muttered.

  All he could do was stay silent and hope Miss Troutbean was not coming.

  Then the soft pawing came again and he hoped this was Nightshade giving him the all-clear signal because he slipped straight outside.

  Nightshade led the flight back down the stairs, but stopped halfway, Seth almost tumbled over her. He realized why she’d stopped. There was someone in the lobby below.

  He waited, breathing heavily, his shoulder next to a portrait of a tiger that looked like it would love to reach out a claw and take his left ear off. He positioned himself ready to fly downstairs the moment the coast was clear and get back into that cupboard the second he got the chance, or fling himself back up the stairs if he was spotted.

  Voices. And they were coming from right outside the cupboard where he was supposed to be imprisoned. Any second now someone would open it and discover that Seth wasn’t inside.

  Seth’s heart hammered painfully. He should never have done it. It had been stupid to go upstairs. Now there was no way he’d slip back inside without anyone knowing he’d escaped.

  This was what happened when you found yourself taking advice from a talking cat.

  He was doomed.

  13. Entrance of Film-Star Hair

  ‘See sense, Kingfisher – I can’t believe you’re being so obstinate,’ said a girl’s voice, rising.

  ‘I am in charge of security here, Angelique,’ replied the voice of Kingfisher, who was pacing the lobby below. He shook his shoulders and straightened his suit. ‘Please remember.’

  But after a short pause, in a voice that told Seth she was used to organizing other people, Angelique Squerr added, ‘But you are following basic procedure? All exits and communication channels are sealed?’

  Kingfisher snapped. ‘What’s the point? I took statements from everyone. They all ate the same food. Except that dessert. It’s an open and shut case.’ Seth heard the sound of papers being shuffled. ‘He produced a dessert secretly in a small cubbyhole behind the deep freeze so that no one could see what he was doing.’ It sounded as if Kingfisher was reading aloud from notes. ‘He did it last minute and then the dessert was labelled very clearly for Dr Thallomius. It was placed directly behind him, so that there was no risk of anyone else eating it. The very second the dessert arrived, the door was locked.’

  Seth listened with a creeping feeling of horror.

  It was all true. That was exactly how it had happened.

  The dessert had been the last thing to go into the dining room – and after that the door was locked. And from the moment it was unlocked, the dining room had been full of people. So, when had it been poisoned?

  Surely no one would have taken a great risk of slipping something into Dr Thallomius’s dessert in a room full of people? And, if so, how had they managed it without being spotted?

  That seemed extraordinarily unlikely, so how else could the poison have got into that dessert glass?

  ‘Murder by the kitchen boy is the only thing that adds up,’ said Kingfisher smoothly. ‘Unless someone was utterly brazen and slipped something in that dish in full view of everyone? And managed to do it without anyone noticing what they were up to? I mean, come on. Really how else could the poison possibly have got into that dessert? You answer me that and I’ll arrest them instead.’

  Even when he’d been accused and locked in the cupboard, Seth had clung to a hope that everyone would have to recognize he wasn’t responsible for what had happened to Dr Thallomius. But the full chill of what they were saying was sinking in.

  No one else could have done it.

  How on earth had the poison really got into that dessert glass?

  Unless he could find an answer for that, Seth had a terrifying vision of himself on a long uncomfortable ride in a police car before the evening was even over. Followed by a life in jail. What on earth was he going to do?

  ‘All right, so it appears clear-cut,’ said Angelique, although her voice was
full of curiosity and doubt. ‘And as I was sitting in front of that dessert the whole evening and no one went near that table, I can tell you that is not the answer either. What we have here is a real mystery. And do think about who we are dealing with here.’

  Seth was puzzling and worrying so frantically, he thought he must have misheard what she said next.

  ‘The Sorcerer General has been murdered. Just imagine Gregorian, just for one moment, that you are wrong. And that you just let all the other suspects go.’

  Sorcerer? Seth’s brain reeled again. What was she talking about?

  ‘I had that Seppi character fixed as a bad lot from the start. I can get him to confess,’ Kingfisher continued, his voice like cold steel. ‘I can get it wrapped up and we can all be out of here tonight.’

  There was the soft rustling of silk and Angelique Squerr moved into view. She was wearing a black evening dress with a red cape and leant on a long, silver-topped, red-lacquered cane, which she lifted to point at Kingfisher’s chest.

  ‘Follow procedure. Get MagiCon here now. You know you must.’

  Seth kept perfectly still, his ears pricked, Nightshade at his side, desperate to find out more.

  ‘Don’t interfere,’ drawled Kingfisher.

  Angelique tossed back her hair and jabbed at Kingfisher with the end of her cane. ‘The most important sorcerer in the land has been murdered. You’re really going to take on the whole investigation single-handed, Gregorian?’

  Kingfisher’s fingers worried at his moustache. ‘If MagiCon rage on at me for wasting their time I shall blame you, Angelique. I’m telling you, this case could not be simpler.’

  Heavy footsteps took Seth by surprise. Kingfisher was on the move. Seth flattened himself again against the central wall around which the stairs spiralled.

  ‘And I should make sure you have thorough background on everyone before you close down communications because they will ask you,’ Angelique called. ‘Follow procedure!’

  Seth listened hard, not yet daring to breathe normally, waiting for the second set of footsteps to follow, his heart beating rapidly as he waited. All he needed was one small chance to get back in that cupboard.