She walked through and stepped out into a forest glade of huge oaks and beech. Birds twittered in the treetops. Little toadstools grew on a rotting stump to her right. Forest smells were strong. A brook ran through a ravine below.
She realized before long that this was an aspect, and a very pleasant one. The air was temperate, and bright sun played atop the leafy canopy overhead, sending shafts of light through to dapple the shade. She walked out farther from the aperture, then turned around to view it. The portal looked like a huge 3-D photograph standing upright. It was flat, like a screen, with nothing behind it. Yet within its depths the corridor was still there, in three lifelike dimensions.
She marveled at the sight, then turned away to stroll down a well-worn path.
She didn’t get very far. Hearing Linda call her name, she turned back. When she reached the portal, Linda was standing on the other side, shouting down the hallway.
“Here I am.” Melanie took a few steps toward the portal.
Linda whirled and looked dismayed. “Melanie, get out of there! That’s a —”
Then Linda disappeared, along with the corridor and the castle.
Without warning, the upright oblong had vanished, closing off the hole leading back to the world of Perilous, and leaving Melanie utterly alone with birdsong and the soft rustling of leaves in the wind.
Chapter Six
Formal Garden
The Earl of Belgard was indignant.
“You mean to say we’re trapped here until His Majesty makes an appearance?”
Tyrene nodded and gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m afraid those were his explicit instructions, my lord.”
The earl mumbled something which Tyrene tactfully ignored.
“Might I ask again, my lord — when was the last time you saw the viscount?”
“If it was not when we were playing hedge, I do not know when it was. And I must tell you I highly resent this line of questioning.”
The earl was a tall man with a handlebar mustache, dressed in morning coat, striped trousers, and top hat. He carried a Malacca cane and wore a monocle.
“My lord, I have been charged by His Majesty himself with the task of investigating the murder of the viscount, and I am acting in his behalf. I beg your cooperation.”
All over the garden, lords and ladies sat idly by, waiting. They looked bored, nervous, and put out, all at the same time.
The earl took his monocle out. He rubbed it on the sleeve of his coat and re-fit it over his right eye. The lens was, Thaxton guessed, a double affectation. The earl probably didn’t need spectacles at all. The monocle was extraordinarily good, though, for projecting pique.
The earl said, “And I tell you I have nothing whatsoever of value to relate. My wife and I played hedge ball with the viscount, but as to the last time I saw him, I do not remember exactly where or when it was. I take little notice of trivialities.”
Tyrene bowed slightly. “Thank you, my lord. My apologies.”
The earl huffed again and turned away.
“Well, nothing so far,” Tyrene said to Thaxton, who, along with Dalton, had been standing within earshot.
“You have a few people yet to interview,” Thaxton noted.
“Quite a few, and if they’re all as helpful as the earl, I’ll get nowhere and Lord Incarnadine will have me thrown in the oubliette for incompetence.”
“I doubt it. He realizes the problems involved. These upper-class types are a touchy lot.”
Tyrene looked glum. “I was exaggerating about the oubliette, but I hope His Majesty will be understanding just the same. Nobody here seems to have seen anything.”
“Perhaps there was nothing to see. But what do we have so far?”
“Naught, I’m sorry to say,” Tyrene replied. “According to Princess Dorcas, the viscount arrived at precisely one o’ the clock, castle time. He talked with almost everybody, seeming in good spirits. He played hedge ball with Belgard, Lady Rowena, and Count Damik. He ate — quite a bit, as he has a good appetite — then, quite suddenly, he left the party and walked back into the castle.”
Dalton said, “Then it’s pretty clear he was murdered in the castle.”
“Which fact,” Thaxton offered, “swells the suspect list to something near infinity.”
“Aye,” Tyrene agreed, with a pained expression. “All too true.”
“And gives everyone here an ironclad alibi,” Thaxton pointed out.
“I don’t know whether to feel relieved at that or to wish for some clue gainsaying it,” Tyrene said.
“A clue to the contrary would narrow things down a bit,” Thaxton said. “But we don’t have a murder weapon, or even a good suspect, yet.”
“Has there ever been a murder in the castle?” Dalton asked.
“Not within recent memory,” Tyrene told him. “Gods be thanked, Perilous doesn’t seem to attract the murdering sort. A few thieves now and then, but no cutthroats.”
“And since the viscount’s jewels were left, we can rule out robbery as a motive,” Dalton said.
“Might you two have frightened the thief away?” Tyrene asked.
“Possibly,” Thaxton said. “But we would have seen him leave the alcove. Otherwise he heard us coming very far off. In that case, any self-respecting thief would have grabbed those rings.”
“Quite right,” Tyrene agreed. “Unless …”
“An aspect?”
“Yes, there is an intermittent aspect in that alcove. At least the castle registry lists one. The name eludes me at the moment, but the murderer could have escaped through there. If he knew the periodicity of the aspect.”
“Know what’s on the other side?”
“Not offhand, but it can be checked. In any event, it might be beside the point. The murderer could have dragged the body into the alcove simply to hide it from view.”
“He didn’t do a very good job,” Thaxton remarked. “We were just passing by.”
“I happened to glance in,” Dalton said. “Otherwise we’d be playing golf now.”
“But where was the viscount bound?” Tyrene wondered. “He was walking in a direction opposite from the one he’d have been going in had he been on his way home.”
Thaxton looked over Tyrene’s shoulder, and the captain turned, following his gaze, to find Princess Dorcas approaching.
“Your Royal Highness,” Tyrene said, bowing.
The princess was dressed in something like a sari, but even more colorful. She wore large gold earrings shaped like butterflies, several gold bracelets, and a heap of gold chain necklaces. A single diamond was somehow affixed to the middle of her forehead. She was a pretty woman, if somewhat overweight and, by consequence, somewhat matronly. Her hair was an almost-black and her eyes were large and very blue. The eyes had a penetrating quality, belied by an ever-present smile, which, though still present, was now not quite so wide or all-embracing.
“Tyrene, any word from my brother?”
“No, madam. The messenger has not yet returned.”
“He must not mean for us to stay here forever.”
“I think not, madam, but I must await word.”
“Of course. The king’s word is law.”
“I think it will not be long, madam. I sent word that, so far at least, there is no evidence to suggest that the murder was committed here in the garden.”
“Can you be sure?”
“My investigation will continue, of course, but as of now there is no prima facie reason to hold everyone here.”
“I’m sure my brother had his reasons for ordering that no one leave the garden.”
“As am I, madam. But I think he will rescind that order.”
The princess looked off toward the playing green. “Of course, if the murder was committed here, the murderer might escape easily if he is let back into the castle.”
“If we had to track him through all 144,000 aspects, madam, I assure you, we would. He —”
“Or she,” the princess interjected.<
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“Of course — he or she would not escape.”
“But it would be a task, would it not? Tracking the culprit through Creation.”
“Aye, it would, madam. But we’re up to it.”
“I’m sure you are, Captain Tyrene. Quite sure.”
Thaxton had detached himself from the conversation and wandered over to one of the huge oak tables that must have taken six servants apiece to haul out from the castle. He surveyed the food. It was quite an ostentatious spread, even for the castle, all colorful garnishes and frills. A towering blancmange executed in scrolls and involutes stood in the middle, a single gouge taken out of it. For main dishes there was everything imaginable, from honeyed partridge to prime ribs au jus to whole suckling pigs mouthing apples.
He looked around casually before helping himself to a stuffed mushroom. Chewing briskly, he sauntered away from the buffet toward a long dining table on which lay plates that held the cold, half-eaten remains of an interrupted meal.
He almost bumped into Lord Arl, who was crossing from the right, looking at the ground.
“Pardon, my lord,” Thaxton said.
Arl nodded and moved on. Thaxton watched him. A young man of about eighteen, dressed in a costume matching Arl’s, came up to the lord and spoke. He looked like a younger version of Arl, without the beard, and when Arl put his arm around him, Thaxton assumed him to be the nobleman’s son.
Thaxton took a few paces forward and stopped.
He saw something on the ground and bent over to look.
He swallowed the mushroom. “Hello.”
There on the grass was a knife with plain wooden hilt and a narrow blade. A stiletto. The blade was encrusted with blood.
“Hello, hel-lo.” He straightened and looked toward Tyrene, who was still talking with Dorcas. He waved and caught Tyrene’s eye. He and Dalton came walking over.
“What is it?”
Thaxton pointed.
Tyrene stooped and examined it. “Ye gods and tiny pink salamanders.”
“It’s a wonder no one saw it before,” Dalton said.
“And I wonder why,” Thaxton mused.
Tyrene fished out a kerchief and picked the thing up by the blade.
“I think we have our murder weapon,” Dalton said.
“Unless someone was paring their nails and slipped,” Thaxton suggested.
“That proves it,” Tyrene declared. “The murder was done here.”
“No,” Thaxton objected. “That only makes it likely that the murderer was here at some point to drop the weapon.”
“But why would he drop it here?”
“Could have been inadvertent. But I’m just playing demon’s advocate, don’t you know. I’d say there was a good chance the murder was done in the garden, however unlikely it seems.”
“It does seem unlikely,” Dalton said. “If it was done anywhere here, it was a mighty stealthy job.”
“I’ll grant you that, but I still stand by my statement.”
“What are you basing it on?”
“The murderer would hardly come back to the party with the murder weapon and drop it.”
“Nobody left the party,” Tyrene said, “except Lord Arl, and that was later.”
“No one was observed to leave the party,” Thaxton corrected. “But I don’t think anyone did.”
“Well, this thing gets sent to Dr. Mirabilis straightaway. We’ll know soon enough if it was the murder weapon.”
“I was wondering …” Thaxton said.
“Yes?”
“Just what have you got in the way of … well, modern police methods in the castle?”
“Do the terms nanotechnology or DNA pattern identification mean anything to you?”
“Good Lord! That modern?”
“Well, yes. Dr. Mirabilis keeps quite up-to-date.”
“He keeps in close contact with Earth developments?”
“Earth? Oh, I doubt it. Earth is hardly the most advanced aspect in the field of forensic medicine. Or anything else, for that matter.”
Chastised, Thaxton murmured, “I see.”
“Not only can we positively identify the victim by the blood sample, but we can identify the murderer if he left any dead skin cells on the handle.”
Dalton and Thaxton exchanged bemused looks.
Thaxton decided not to ask about fingerprints.
“Tell me, why not use magic to identify the murderer?”
“Castle law,” Tyrene informed him. “No magic is to be employed in the investigation of a major crime or introduced as evidence in a trial resulting from such an investigation.”
“Really. That seems most enlightened.”
“His Majesty is a most enlightened man.”
“Oh, yes,” Thaxton said. “Yes.”
Tyrene summoned a Guardsman, gave him the knife wrapped in the kerchief, instructed him, and sent him off.
“Well, this is another hue of steed entirely,” Tyrene announced. “I’ll have to send word contradicting my last word. I shouldn’t have spoken so soon. Damn their eyes.”
Dalton said, “Whose?”
“My men. They were told to search this area thoroughly. And there it was, right under their drippy noses. There’ll be many a black mark awarded, I’ll warrant. And some promotions denied.”
“It was under all our noses,” Thaxton said. “I swear I walked past that spot, and I didn’t see it.”
“No one did,” Dalton added. He insinuated one saddle shoe into the grass. “Grass is a little high. Maybe it got tramped down.”
“Likely so,” Tyrene said.
“Or it was dropped there just a short while ago.”
Thaxton frowned. “Isn’t that the chair where the viscount was sitting just before he left?”
Tyrene walked over to it. “And Lady Rilma sat next to him, here. And you found the knife in this spot, directly behind the viscount’s chair.”
“So,” Thaxton asked, “would the murderer come back and deliberately or accidentally drop the murder weapon at the very spot where his victim had been sitting?”
Tyrene said, “Then you’re saying the murder was committed here, where the viscount supped with Lady Rilma?”
“Yes, that’s more or less what I’m saying. And the knife was dropped immediately.”
“Why was it dropped?”
“Don’t know that,” Thaxton admitted.
Tyrene reached a finger up to scratch his shoulder underneath his leather cuirass. “Damn me. But Lady Rilma —?”
“Must have been looking the other way.”
Dalton said, “But with all these people around?”
Thaxton sighed. “No, it doesn’t make sense, does it? But murder often isn’t well thought out.”
“Oh?” Dalton said, with interest.
“Hardly ever. Ninety-nine percent of murders are done on the spur of the moment. Impulsive acts. Your locked-room mystery is a creation of fiction writers with overblown imaginations.”
“Really.”
“We’d better have a talk with Lady Rilma again,” Tyrene decided. “As much pain as it causes.”
Lady Rilma was sitting in a canvas chair beneath a stately weeping willow, which was appropriate, because she was still wetting a white embroidered handkerchief. Three ladies attended her.
Tyrene approached. “My lady, I realize —”
Lady Rilma burst into full cry again.
Tyrene regarded the sky for a moment. Then he said, “If I might have a further word with you, milady?”
Sniffling, she nodded.
“Is there something, anything, you can tell us about what happened shortly before your husband left?”
Lady Rilma was wore a red wimple and little makeup. Her nose was long and her teeth were small and somehow feral-looking. She looked to Thaxton like a nun in a colored habit.
“I told you,” Rilma said. “We were dining, quite pleasantly —”
“Alone?”
“Yes, as I told you.”
“Were you talking?”
“Yes. I can’t remember exactly what about, but we were indeed talking, yes.”
“Did he mention that he was afraid of something, that he feared something would happen?”
“No.”
“Did he mention that he had had words with someone, some argument?”
“No.”
“Did he …?” Tyrene scratched his head. “My lady, did he ever at any time express to you the fear that someone might make an attempt on his life?”
“No.” Lady Rilma was offered a fresh hanky and took it. She blew her nose loudly into it.
“Now, what exactly happened just prior to the time your husband left?”
“Why, nothing, I told you. He just got up and left.”
“Did he say something?”
“Yes. He said, ‘I must leave.’”
“Were those his exact words?”
Lady Rilma shrugged. “I don’t remember his exact words. He said, ‘I’m going’ or ‘I must be going now,’ or something to that effect.”
“Could you tell me anything else that might be helpful. How did he look?”
“Look?”
“Did he look frightened or upset?”
“No.” Lady Rilma honked into the hanky again, then thought. “He did look … well, I don’t quite know how to describe it. He did look a little … strange.”
“Strange? In what way, milady?”
Lady Rilma inclined her head to one side, then the other. “In a strange way. How else can it be put? He had a strange look on his face.”
“How strange? Slightly strange? Very strange?”
Lady Rilma glanced heavenward. “Gods! Yes, slightly strange, if you will.”
“I beg your indulgence, my lady. He gave you this strange look, then he said that he had to leave?”
“Yes.”
“At that point he got up and left?”
“Yes, he got up and left.”
“He said nothing else?”
“Nothing.”
Tyrene looked off for a moment, halting a motion to scratch himself again. “Yes, I see. I see. And nothing untoward happened up to that point.”
“No, nothing.”
“No one came up to your husband, no one approached?”
“Well, yes, someone did, but that was well before he left.”
“Who talked with him?”
Castle Murders Page 6
