“Just a standard commercial spell,” Sir Pierre told him. “More suited to meats and vegetables, perhaps, than bodies, but I fancy it has done its job.”
“I’m certain it has,” Master Sean agreed.
“I’ll come with you and remove the spell,” Sir Pierre offered. “Also the avoidance spell I left on the door to the room holding the bodies. That should save you a few seconds.”
“Very kind of you,” said Master Sean.
“Not at all,” Sir Pierre told him. “I shall use it as an excuse to linger and watch you at work. It is always a pleasure to observe a true master, and as forensic sorcery is one of the disciplines that has always fascinated me, I shall be doubly lucky.”
“How was that avoidance spell on the patch of ground worked?” Lord Darcy asked.
“Come,” Sir Pierre said. “I’ll show you.”
Goodman Lourdan unlocked the door to a little corridor to the side of the bar and pulled it open. “Storage rooms and a couple of private dining rooms,” he explained, leading the way in. He walked rapidly down the corridor and stopped about ten feet from the last door on the left. “That room in there,” he said, waving at it. “I would prefer not to get any closer, thank you.”
They all felt the same urge: to stay away from that room at all costs. Somehow they all knew that to enter that room, or even to look at the door too closely, was to invite sure and certain disaster.
“Now that,” Master Sean said admiringly, “is what I call an avoidance spell!”
Sir Pierre approached the door and opened his wizard’s bag. “This will just take a second,” he said.
The others stood a bit farther back. It is never wise to interfere in the work of wizards, even in the simplest things.
Working with the deftness of long practice, Sir Pierre set a bronze brazier on a small tripod and put about a quarter of an inch of finely powdered charcoal on the bottom. He touched his wand to the brazier and muttered a few words, and the charcoal burst into flame. Then a prepared packet of precisely weighed and measured herbs and powders was tossed in on top, and sweet-smelling smoke wafted through the corridor. A softly murmured incantation of removal, and the work was done.
“Well done,” Master Sean said. “The hand of the true master can be seen in even the small details.”
Sir Pierre nodded his thanks to Master Sean. “Mind the brazier,” he said, carefully placing it to the side of the door. “It’ll take a minute to cool down.”
Goodman Lourdan bustled ahead of them, pulling a large brass key from the bunch at his belt. “It seemed a mite unnecessary to keep the door locked, what with Sir Pierre’s spell,” he said, unlocking the door, “but the formalities must be observed. Right, Prefect Henri?”
Prefect Henri smiled good-naturedly. “It is citizens like yourself who ease our work, Goodman Lourdan,” he said. “Honest, conscientious men who are willing to put themselves out for the good of the Empire.”
Goodman Lourdan beamed. There’s nothing that pleases a loyal citizen more than telling him that some minor inconvenience he has tolerated was for “the good of the Empire.”
Sir Pierre led the way into the small dining room. The dining table had been pushed to the back of the room and was now covered with a white tablecloth. The shape of the tablecloth suggested what lay under it.
The sight of the cloth-covered bodies brought a somber look to the faces of the five men. Goodman Lourdan seemed fascinated by it for a long moment, then he shook his head. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, gentlemen, I really should get back to tending to my guests. If there’s anything you need, just let me know.” He nodded to each of them and backed out of the room.
“We should let you get to work, Master Sean,” Lord Darcy said. “But I am curious about that avoidance spell on the hillside.”
Sir Pierre pointed to a small serving table to the left of the door. “There it is,” he said. “I don’t know what to make of it, except that it’s very clever. It seems sort of a convoluted way to go about such things.”
On the table Lord Darcy saw what appeared to be a brown blanket which had been folded into a neat one foot by two feet rectangle. “That’s the spell?” he asked.
“A receptacle for the spell,” Sir Pierre explained.
“May I examine it?”
“Be careful, my lord,” Master Sean advised. “Such unattached spells can be dangerous.”
“I’ll watch myself,” Lord Darcy told him. “Thank you for the warning.” He cautiously touched the blanket, which felt like...a blanket; stiff with dried mud, of a thick weave, coarsely sewn around the edges. He unfolded one flap, which protested and shed dried mud as it opened. There was no sensation of any sort that suggested a spell. Even more cautiously he unfolded the blanket another fold.
A rolling wave of nausea enveloped him, accompanied by an unreasoned fear. He suddenly knew that he could no longer be in this room with this blanket. It was an object of disgust and loathing, not to be touched. Lord Darcy dropped the blanket and retreated hastily across the floor.
“So that’s it,” he said, using a powerful act of will not to go running out the door. “The spell is imbedded in one side of the blanket. That’s a new one. Would one of you master magicians close that for me? I find that I don’t want to go near it.”
Sir Pierre retrieved the blanket and refolded it, placing it back on the small side table. “Is it not interesting, Lord Darcy?” he asked. “I, also, have never seen anything quite like it.”
“Very impressive,” Lord Darcy said. “I apologize for my over-reaction, but I was not expecting anything that strong.”
“Your reaction was quite moderate, my lord,” Sir Pierre told him. “Most people who are not sorcerers are unable to remain in the same room with that spell-in-a-blanket when it is unfolded. Notice that Prefect Henri is nowhere to be seen. He left rapidly when you lifted the fold.”
“A very clever notion,” Master Sean said. “Very clever indeed. I shall examine the workings of that spell with much interest.”
“I fail to see the purpose of it,” Sir Pierre said, “although it is indeed cleverly done. It would be more effective to put the spell directly on the objects you don’t want disturbed. This seems an indirect and dangerously roundabout way of achieving that end. As evidenced by the fact that we have, indeed, dug up the bodies this was meant to conceal.”
Lord Darcy felt in his pocket for his pipe, and then, reflecting that the tobacco fumes might muddle some of the signs Master Sean was looking for, left it in place. “True,” he said, “but that was largely fortuitous. This would seem to be an ingenious method for allowing someone who does not possess the Talent to use the spell.”
“My thought exactly, my lord,” Master Sean said.
“I see,” Sir Pierre said thoughtfully. “I didn’t think of that. Sort of a variant of the preservator box.”
Lord Darcy agreed. The preservator box, which kept food placed within it fresh, had a general preservation spell placed over the whole box, and thus eliminated the need to place a spell on each separate item of food. “Except in this case,” he said, “it was an avoidance spell. Clever adaptation of an existing idea. It also shows careful advance preparation on the part of the murderer.”
“And that he had the aid of a master sorcerer,” Master Sean added. “Yon blanket is not the work of a journeyman.”
“How big is it when it’s unfolded?” Lord Darcy asked.
“About six feet long by four feet wide,” Sir Pierre told him.
“Very interesting,” Lord Darcy said thoughtfully. He took his pipe out of his pocket. “I shall leave you two to your forensic labors now, and anxiously await your conclusions in the barroom.”
“Very good, my lord,” Master Sean said. “Now, Sir Pierre, about the preservation spell you put on the bodies. I trust you used the Elmsley Count rather than a Jordan...”
Lord Darcy left the two master sorcerers to their work. He found Prefect Henri settled at the corner table in th
e barroom and joined him. “I should like to speak to the staff,” Lord Darcy told Goodman Lourdan when he came over, “one at a time, if it’s convenient.”
“I’ll send them in,” Goodman Lourdan said. “Can I get your lordship a drink? Or you, Chief?”
“Caffe would be acceptable, if you can manage it,” Lord Darcy told him.
“A pot of caffe and a pitcher of cream coming right up,” Goodman Lourdan said. “And yourself, Chief?”
“Make it a big pot,” Prefect Henri said.
Lord Darcy busied himself lighting his pipe, and then turned to Prefect Henri. “Tell me about Demoiselle ‘Lisbeth Augerre,” he said. “Who was she, what did she do, who were her friends, what sort of man would she be with, and why did she get herself killed?”
“And I thought you were going to ask me something difficult,” Prefect Henri said. He took a packet of scribbled-on white cards from his pocket and leafed through them. “Here we are,” he said. “Demoiselle ‘Lisbeth Augerre. Daughter of Goodman Jourald Augerre, a teamster and drayman. Twenty years old. Worked at the inn for the last four years. Good grades at school—she went to the parish grade school—but quit at sixteen, as soon as she could. Well-liked by the rest of the staff, although the men thought her a bit standoffish.”
“The virginal type?” Lord Darcy asked.
Prefect Henri looked up from his notes. “The truth is, my lord, that the girl had an innate fondness for older men, and men of...quality. And she was, let us say, sexually promiscuous.”
“Are you saying that Demoiselle ‘Lisbeth was, in life, a prostitute?” Lord Darcy asked. “If so, then say it, Prefect.”
“But that would be inaccurate,” Prefect Henri protested. “The demoiselle did not, as far as we know, ever put a price on her affections. It is just that she was honestly attracted to mature, important men. She liked working at the Gryphon d’Or because it attracted such of the nobility as pass through Tournadotte. She spent her days making beds and her nights making memorable the stay of such unattached males as she deemed important enough to interest her.”
“A, ah, noble attitude,” Lord Darcy said. “When was she missed from the inn?”
“About a month ago,” Prefect Henri said. “It was not like her not to show up for work, but nobody took it seriously amiss for about a week. There were, you see, so many possible explanations. Then the armsmen were notified, and a missing commoner report was filled out.”
“And now we know where she’s been,” Lord Darcy said. “And the man?”
Prefect Henri shrugged. “A naked, middle-aged man in good physical shape, with a trimmed mustache and a spade beard. No such man has been reported missing. We can’t even begin to look for someone answering a description that fits about twenty percent of the male population of the Duchy of Normandy.”
“Could he have been a guest of the inn?”
“If so he was going from no place to no place, and nobody missed him when he failed to arrive.”
“An apt image,” Lord Darcy said. “Did the demoiselle have any suitors? Was there anyone who might have suffered an attack of raging jealousy watching the demoiselle in action?”
“I think not, from what I could discover,” Prefect Henri replied.
“I also think not,” Lord Darcy said. “Any explanation that does not account for that spell-binding blanket is no explanation at all.”
Goodman Lourdan returned to the table bearing a large pot of caffe, and the bar girl brought a pitcher of cream and a pair of fine china cups. “I’ll begin sending the staff in now, Your Lordship,” Goodman Lourdan said. “Will Your Lordship mind if I remain and listen? I’ll stay as quiet as a mouse.”
“No, that’s fine,” Lord Darcy said. “Sit yourself down, goodman.” He turned back to Prefect Henri. “Well, let’s hope that Master Sean comes up with something to aid in the identification. It’s hard to establish motive—or much of anything else—until you find out who the corpse is.”
For the next two hours Lord Darcy talked to the staff of the inn, from the assistant bottle washer to the chief housekeeper. None of them said anything of the faintest interest or use, until finally even Goodman Lourdan began to show his boredom with the procedure. “Your Lordship certainly is thorough,” the innkeeper said.
“Detection is mostly a process of elimination,” Lord Darcy told him. “Not as thrilling a process as the novelists make it out to be. But then, they can leave out the dull parts, while you and I, Goodman Lourdan, must sit through them.”
There were a series of crashes from the main room, as though doors were being slammed and a heavy object or two was being dropped, then the sound of boot-clad feet stomping across the room toward the barroom door. It swung open to reveal a noble youth in riding dress. The youth removed his wide-brimmed hat and held it across his chest. “Lord Darcy?” he asked.
“Yes?” Lord Darcy felt a quickening of excitement, as his trained mind analyzed and deduced so fast that it seemed like a premonition when he heard the youth say:
“I am the Chevalier Raoul d’Espergnan, my lord. A King’s Courier. I have been dispatched by the direction of Lord Peter Whiss to request your immediate return to Castle Cristobel. There has been another murder.”
CHAPTER NINE
Two hours later, at half past eleven that evening, Lord Darcy closed his examination of the murders at the Gryphon d’Or. As incomplete as it was, it would have to be wrapped up and abandoned for the time being. The summons from Lord Peter was, by extension, a summons from His Majesty, and could not—must not—be put off. As the Chevalier d’Espergnan had no knowledge to convey of the murder he was reporting, Lord Darcy and Master Sean, by common consent, declined to speculate on the event. They would soon know all there was to know, and would be striving to discover the rest.
The Oostend-Paris Express, due through Tournadotte four hours before, had not yet arrived at the station, but was now expected momentarily, which saved Lord Darcy and Master Sean the necessity of slogging through the flooded valley on horseback, as the young chevalier had done to reach them. The train might take all night to reach Castle Cristobel, but with any luck they could get some sleep while it was pushing its way through the great lake that the Norman coastal valley had become.
Master Sean had completed the bulk of his forensic examination by that time, and he left the few remaining tests in the capable hands of Sir Pierre, who was eagerly anticipating the new experience. He spent half an hour giving Sir Pierre detailed instructions and a few special substances from his symbol-covered carpetbag, before he was satisfied.
Prefect Henri accompanied them on their watery way back to the station. The barge was affixed with lanterns at the four corners, and Lord Darcy thought they must make an odd sight indeed as they poled their silent way along the deserted streets. “I was looking forward to sitting and talking with the two of you over a pint of ale on the morrow,” Prefect Henri said. “But we’ll have to put it off. It’s always life’s pleasures that we have to put off. Life’s tragedies have a way of insinuating themselves into your daily activities until they cannot be ignored. About these murders—”
”Give me a day or so to reflect,” Lord Darcy said, “and to talk over Master Sean’s findings with him. I shall get word to you.”
“Do you have any suggestions of a direction in which we should point our investigation?” Prefect Henri asked. “Any little hint will help. I have to keep on it, and I’d like to feel that I’m making progress instead of just motions.”
“There are several indications,” Lord Darcy said. “The answer certainly lies in the identity of the guests of the inn from about four weeks ago. One may have been the murderer, and another was certainly the victim. I had intended to get a copy of the inn’s register for the period. Would you please do that for me and send it along as soon as possible? Include whatever particulars the staff can remember about each guest. Then try to track them down in both directions; where they came from and where they went. See if you can establish l
inks between any two or more of them. A difficult task, after so long a time, but do what you can. I’d be especially interested in any guests who planned to go on to Castle Cristobel.”
“You think that a guest committed this crime?”
“Not necessarily, but I think, as you, that the victim was a guest. But even that notion presents problems. Why did nobody miss him when he failed to show up wherever he was headed? But then, perhaps he was missed and, because of this cursed weather, we haven’t heard of it yet. We must find out. I will inform the Court of Chivalry that we are assuming this case, so you will get what help you need—if this rain ever stops, so people can get through.”
“Then you believe that this case is important?” Prefect Henri asked.
“All murders are important,” Lord Darcy replied, “but this one—or these two—may be of special importance to the Empire. Yes, I believe so.”
An hour later the Oostend-Paris Express came chugging and sloshing to a stop along the platform and Lord Darcy and Master Sean boarded the first-class carriage. All the sleeping compartments were filled, but they managed to get a day compartment to themselves. Lord Darcy stretched himself out across one of the two facing seats. “I’m going to try to get some sleep,” he told Master Sean, who was settling into the other seat. He closed his eyes.
When he woke up, light was streaming through the window. Master Sean was still sitting in the same position across from him, reading a book. Lord Darcy stretched and pushed himself to a sitting position. Out the window, as far as the eye could see, was water. Except for one lone elm tree a couple of hundred yards away, they might have been in the middle of an ocean. The sky was slate gray, and the diffused light cast no shadows. The train was not moving.
“What time is it?” Lord Darcy asked. “Where are we? The view reminds one suspiciously of what one imagines of the River Styx.”
“Good morning, my lord,” Master Sean said, looking up from his book. “It is about eight o’clock. I have no idea precisely where we are, but I don’t think we’re dead. The dining car is serving breakfast, and I understand that the dead don’t eat. Did you sleep well?”
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