The Second Randall Garrett Megapack

by Randall Garrett

  Pateley glanced up at Lord Darcy, who nodded silently. The physician detached the keys from the belt and handed them to Sir Pierre.

  The Privy Secretary looked at them for a moment, then selected a small gold key. “This is it,” he said, separating it from the others on the ring. “Come with me, your lordship.”

  * * * *

  Darcy followed him across the room to a broad wall covered with a great tapestry that must have dated back to the sixteenth century. Sir Pierre reached behind it and pulled a cord. The entire tapestry slid aside like a panel, and Lord Darcy saw that it was supported on a track some ten feet from the floor. Behind it was what looked at first like ordinary oak paneling, but Sir Pierre fitted the small key into an inconspicuous hole and turned. Or, rather, tried to turn.

  “That’s odd,” said Sir Pierre. “It’s not locked!”

  He took the key out and pressed on the panel, shoving sideways with his hand to move it aside. It slid open to reveal a closet.

  The closet was filled with women’s clothing of all kinds, and styles.

  Lord Darcy whistled soundlessly.

  “Try that blue robe, your lordship,” the Privy Secretary said. “The one with the—Yes, that’s the one.”

  Lord Darcy took it off its hanger. The same buttons. They matched. And there was one missing from the front! Torn off! “Master Sean!” he called without turning.

  Master Sean came with a rolling walk. He was holding an oddly-shaped bronze thing in his hand that Sir Pierre didn’t quite recognize. The sorcerer was muttering. “Evil, that there is! Faith, and the vibrations are all over the place. Yes, my lord?”

  “Check this dress and the button when you get round to it. I want to know when the two parted company.”

  “Yes, my lord.” He draped the robe over one arm and dropped the button into a pouch at his belt. “I can tell you one thing, my lord. You talk about an evil miasma, this room has got it!” He held up the object in his hand. “There’s an underlying background—something that has been here for years, just seeping in. But on top of that, there’s a hellish big blast of it superimposed. Fresh it is, and very strong.”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised, considering there was murder done here last night—or very early this morning,” said Lord Darcy.

  “Hm-m-m, yes. Yes, my lord, the death is there—but there’s something else. Something I can’t place.”

  “You can tell that just by holding that bronze cross in your hand?” Sir Pierre asked interestedly.

  Master Sean gave him a friendly scowl. “’Tisn’t quite a cross, sir. This is what is known as a crux ansata. The ancient Egyptians called it an ankh. Notice the loop at the top instead of the straight piece your true cross has. Now, your true cross—if it were properly energized, blessed, d’ye see—your true cross would tend to dissipate the evil. The ankh merely vibrates to evil because of the closed loop at the top, which makes a return circuit. And it’s not energized by blessing, but by another…um…spell.”

  “Master Sean, we have a murder to investigate,” said Lord Darcy.

  The sorcerer caught the tone of his voice and nodded quickly. “Yes, my lord.” And he walked rollingly away.

  “Now where’s that secret stairway you mentioned, Sir Pierre?” Lord Darcy asked.

  “This way, your lordship.”

  He led Lord Dacy to a wall at right angles to the outer wall and slid back another tapestry.

  “Good Heavens,” Darcy muttered, “does he have something concealed behind every arras in the place?” But he didn’t say it loud enough for the Privy Secretary to hear.

  * * * *

  This time, what greeted them was a solid-seeming stone wall. But Sir Pierre pressed in on one small stone, and a section of the wall swung back, exposing a stairway.

  “Oh, yes,” Darcy said. “I see what he did. This is the old spiral stairway that goes round the inside of the Keep. There are two doorways at the bottom. One opens into the courtyard, the other is a postern gate through the curtain wall to the outside—but that was closed up in the sixteenth century, so the only way out is into the courtyard.”

  “Your lordship knows Castle D’Evreux, then?” Sir Pierre said. The knight himself was nearly fifty, while Darcy was only in his thirties, and Sir Pierre had no recollection of Darcy’s having been in the castle before.

  “Only by the plans in the Royal Archives. But I have made it a point to—” He stopped. “Dear me,” he interrupted himself mildly, “what is that?”

  “That” was something that had been hidden by the arras until Sir Pierre had slid it aside, and was still showing only a part of itself. It lay on the floor a foot or so from the secret door.

  Darcy knelt down and pulled the tapestry back from the object. “Well, well. A .28 two-shot pocket gun. Gold-chased, beautifully engraved, mother-of-pearl handle. A regular gem.” He picked it up and examined it closely. “One shot fired.”

  He stood up and showed it to Sir Pierre. “Ever see it before?”

  The Privy Secretary looked at the weapon closely. Then he shook his head. “Not that I recall, your lordship. It certainly isn’t one of the Count’s guns.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Quite certain, your lordship. I’ll show you the gun collection if you want. My lord the Count didn’t like tiny guns like that; he preferred a larger caliber. He would never have owned what he considered a toy.”

  “Well, we’ll have to look into it.” He called over Master Sean again and gave the gun into his keeping. “And keep your eyes open for anything else of interest, Master Sean. So far, everything of interest besides the late Count himself has been hiding under beds or behind arrases. Check everything. Sir Pierre and I are going for a look down this stairway.”

  The stairway was gloomy, but enough light came in through the arrow slits spaced at intervals along the outer way to illuminate the interior. It spiraled down between the inner and outer walls of the Great Keep, making four complete circuits before it reached ground level. Lord Darcy looked carefully at the steps, the walls, and even the low, arched overhead as he and Sir Pierre went down.

  After the first circuit, on the floor beneath the Count’s suite, he stopped. “There was a door here,” he said, pointing to a rectangular area in the inner wall.

  “Yes, your lordship. There used to be an opening at every floor, but they were all sealed off. It’s quite solid, as you can see.”

  “Where would they lead if they were open?”

  “The county offices. My own office, the clerk’s offices, the constabulary on the first floor. Below are the dungeons. My lord the Count was the only one who lived in the Keep itself. The rest of the household live above the Great Hall.”

  “What about guests?”

  “They’re usually housed in the east wing. We only have two house guests at the moment. Laird and Lady Duncan have been with us for four days.”

  “I see.” They went down perhaps four more steps before Lord Darcy asked quietly, “Tell me, Sir Pierre, were you privy to all of Count D’Evreux’s business?”

  Another four steps down before Sir Pierre answered. “I understand what your lordship means,” he said. Another two steps. “No, I was not. I was aware that my lord the Count engaged in certain…er…shall we say, liaisons with members of the opposite sex. However—”

  He paused, and in the gloom, Lord Darcy could see his lips tighten. “However,” he continued, “I did not procure for my lord, if that is what you’re driving at. I am not and never have been a pimp.”

  “I didn’t intend to suggest that you had, good knight,” said Lord Darcy in a tone that strongly implied that the thought had actually never crossed his mind. “Not at all. But certainly there is a difference between ‘aiding and abetting’ and simple knowledge of what is going on.”

  “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course. Well, one cannot, of course, be the secretary-in-private of a gentleman such as my lord the Count for seventeen years without knowing something of what is going on, you’
re right. Yes. Yes. Hm-m-m.”

  * * * *

  Lord Darcy smiled to himself. Not until this moment had Sir Pierre realized how much he actually did know. In loyalty to his lord, he had literally kept his eyes shut for seventeen years.

  “I realize,” Lord Darcy said smoothly, “that a gentleman would never implicate a lady nor besmirch the reputation of another gentleman without due cause and careful consideration. However,”—like the knight, he paused a moment before going on—“although we are aware that he was not discreet, was he particular?”

  “If you mean by that, did he confine his attentions to those of gentle birth, your lordship, then I can say, no he did not. If you mean did he confine his attentions to the gentler sex, then I can only say that, as far as I know, he did.”

  “I see. That explains the closet full of clothes.”

  “Beg pardon, your lordship?”

  “I mean that if a girl or woman of the lower classes were to come here, he would have proper clothing for them to wear—in spite of the sumptuary laws to the contrary.”

  “Quite likely, your lordship. He was most particular about clothing. Couldn’t stand a woman who was sloppily dressed or poorly dressed.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well. Well, for instance, I recall once that he saw a very pretty peasant girl. She was dressed in the common style, of course, but she was dressed neatly and prettily. My lord took a fancy to her. He said, ‘Now there’s a lass who knows how to wear clothes. Put her in decent apparel, and she’d pass for a princess.’ But a girl, who had a pretty face and a fine figure, made no impression on him unless she wore her clothing well, if you see what I mean, your lordship.”

  “Did you ever know him to fancy a girl who dressed in an offhand manner?” Lord Darcy asked.

  “Only among the gently born, your lordship. He’d say, ‘Look at Lady So-and-so! Nice wench, if she’d let me teach her how to dress.’ You might say, your lordship, that a woman could be dressed commonly or sloppily, but not both.”

  “Judging by the stuff in that closet,” Lord Darcy said, “I should say that the late Count had excellent taste in feminine dress.”

  Sir Pierre considered. “Hm-m-m. Well, now, I wouldn’t exactly say so, your lordship. He knew how clothes should be worn, yes. But he couldn’t pick out a woman’s gown of his own accord. He could choose his own clothing with impeccable taste, but he’d not any real notion of how a woman’s clothing should go, if you see what I mean. All he knew was how good clothing should be worn. But he knew nothing about design for women’s clothing.”

  “Then how did he get that closet full of clothes?” Lord Darcy asked, puzzled.

  Sir Pierre chuckled. “Very simply, your lordship. He knew that the Lady Alice had good taste, so he secretly instructed that each piece that Lady Alice ordered should be made in duplicate. With small variations, of course. I’m certain my lady wouldn’t like it if she knew.”

  “I dare say not,” said Lord Darcy thoughtfully.

  “Here is the door to the courtyard,” said Sir Pierre. “I doubt that it has been opened in broad daylight for many years.” He selected a key from the ring of the late Count and inserted it into the keyhole. The door swung back, revealing a large crucifix attached to its outer surface. Lord Darcy crossed himself. “Lord in Heaven,” he said softly, “what is this?”

  He looked out into a small shrine. It was walled off from the courtyard and had a single small entrance some ten feet from the doorway. There were four prie-dieus—small kneeling benches—ranged in front of the doorway.

  “If I may explain, your lordship—” Sir Pierre began.

  “No need to,” Lord Darcy said in a hard voice. “It’s rather obvious. My lord the Count was quite ingenious. This is a relatively newly-built shrine. Four walls and a crucifix against the castle wall. Anyone could come in here, day or night, for prayer. No one who came in would be suspected.” He stepped out into the small enclosure and swung around to look at the door. “And when that door is closed, there is no sign that there is a door behind the crucifix. If a woman came in here, it would be assumed that she came for prayer. But if she knew of that door—” His voice trailed off.

  “Yes, your lordship,” said Sir Pierre. “I did not approve, but I was in no position to disapprove.”

  “I understand.” Lord Darcy stepped out to the doorway of the little shrine and took a quick glance about. “Then anyone within the castle walls could come in here,” he said.

  “Yes, your lordship.”

  “Very well. Let’s go back up.”

  * * * *

  In the small office which Lord Darcy and his staff had been assigned while conducting the investigation, three men watched while a fourth conducted a demonstration on a table in the center of the room.

  Master Sean O Lochlainn held up an intricately engraved gold button with an Arabesque pattern and a diamond set in the center.

  He looked at the other three. “Now, my lord, your Reverence, and colleague Doctor, I call your attention to this button.”

  Dr. Pateley smiled and Father Bright looked stern. Lord Darcy merely stuffed tobacco—imported from the southern New England counties on the Gulf—into a German-made porcelain pipe. He allowed Master Sean a certain amount of flamboyance; good sorcerers were hard to come by.

  “Will you hold the robe, Dr. Pateley? Thank you. Now, stand back. That’s it. Thank you. Now, I place the button on the table, a good ten feet from the robe.” Then he muttered something under his breath and dusted a bit of powder on the button. He made a few passes over it with his hands, paused, and looked up at Father Bright. “If you will, Reverend Sir?”

  Father Bright solemnly raised his right hand, and, as he made the Sign of the Cross, said: “May this demonstration, O God, be in strict accord with the truth, and may the Evil One not in any way deceive us who are witnesses thereto. In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  “Amen,” the other three chorused.

  Master Sean crossed himself, then muttered something under his breath.

  The button leaped from the table, slammed itself against the robe which Dr. Pateley held before him, and stuck there as though it had been sewed on by an expert.

  “Ha!” said Master Sean. “As I thought!” He gave the other three men a broad, beaming smile. “The two were definitely connected!”

  Lord Darcy looked bored. “Time?” he asked.

  “In a moment, my lord,” Master Sean said apologetically. “In a moment.” While the other three watched, the sorcerer went through more spells with the button and the robe, although none were quite so spectacular as the first demonstration. Finally, Master Sean said: “About eleven thirty last night they were torn apart, my lord. But I shouldn’t like to make it any more definite than to say between eleven and midnight. The speed with which it returned to its place shows that it was ripped off very rapidly, however.”

  “Very good,” said Lord Darcy. “Now the bullet, if you please.”

  “Yes, my lord. This will have to be a bit different.” He took more paraphernalia out of his large, symbol-decorated carpet bag. “The Law of Contagion, gently-born sirs, is a tricky thing to work with. If a man doesn’t know how to handle it, he can get himself killed. We had an apprentice o’ the guild back in Cork who might have made a good sorcerer in time. He had the talent—unfortunately, he didn’t have the good sense to go with it. According to the Law of Contagion any two objects which have ever been in contact with each other have an affinity for each other which is directly proportional to the product of the degree of relevancy of the contact and the length of time they were in contact and inversely proportional to the length of time since they have ceased to be in contact.” He gave a smiling glance to the priest. “That doesn’t apply strictly to relics of the saints, Reverend Sir; there’s another factor enters in there, as you know.”

  As he spoke, the sorcerer was carefully clamping the little handgun into the padded vise so that its
barrel was parallel to the surface of the table.

  “Anyhow,” he went on, “this apprentice, all on his own, decided to get rid of the cockroaches in his house—a simple thing, if one knows how to go about it. So he collected dust from various cracks and crannies about the house, dust which contained, of course, the droppings of the pests. The dust, with the appropriate spells and ingredients, he boiled. It worked fine. The roaches all came down with a raging fever and died. Unfortunately, the clumsy lad had poor laboratory technique. He allowed three drops of his own perspiration to fall into the steaming pot over which he was working, and the resulting fever killed him, too.”

  By this time, he had put the bullet which Dr. Pateley had removed from the Count’s body on a small pedestal so that it was exactly in line with the muzzle of the gun. “There now,” he said softly.

  Then he repeated the incantation, and the powdering that he had used on the button. As the last syllable was formed by his lips, the bullet vanished with a ping! In its vise, the little gun vibrated.

  “Ah!” said Master Sean. “No question there, eh? That’s the death weapon, all right, my lord. Yes. Time’s almost exactly the same as that of the removal of the button. Not more than a few seconds later. Forms a picture, don’t it, my lord? His lordship the Count jerks a button off the girl’s gown, she outs with a gun and plugs him.”

  Lord Darcy’s handsome face scowled. “Let’s not jump to any hasty conclusions, my good Sean. There is no evidence whatever that he was killed by a woman.”

  “Would a man be wearing that gown, my lord?”

  “Possibly,” said Lord Darcy. “But who says that anyone was wearing it when the button was removed?”

  “Oh.” Master Sean subsided into silence. Using a small ramrod, he forced the bullet out of the chamber of the little pistol.

  “Father Bright,” said Lord Darcy, “will the Countess be serving tea this afternoon?”