Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXVI

by Unknown

  "Do you know how many patients he had scheduled for this afternoon?" Juliana resumed the questioning.

  "Three. The first one should be here by now." She looked around as if she had somehow failed to see a person sitting in the room.

  "Who is the first one?"

  "Lord Robert, the registrar at the University."

  "Can you contact the other two and tell them not to come in?" Juliana asked.

  "Shall I tell them Dr. Gheorghe has been murdered?"

  "No," Juliana said firmly. "Just tell them that something has come up." She stood there while the receptionist made the calls.

  "Ask her if he lived upstairs," April whispered to her. Juliana raised her eyebrows at April, but asked the question.

  "Yes, of course. It's so much more convenient for him, being right above his work."

  "I suppose it does make for a short commute." Juliana smiled encouragingly. "Does he live alone?"

  "Yes, usually," the girl replied, "but right now his brother is visiting."

  * * * *

  A voice came from above and behind them. "Ah, my cue!" April and Juliana turned to see a tall, dark-haired man descending the stair toward them. He wasn't the sort of person one met every day, April thought. Granted, there were men who walked the streets of Londinium in brightly-colored clothing; indeed, some of the dons at the College wore robes that probably glowed in the dark. Many men walked the streets wearing wide grins. But to wear both the colors and the grin and to descend a staircase while juggling two fountain pens, a brass ruler, an ink bottle, a large ledger, and a pouch of what sounded like silver coins—that went beyond the quotidian.

  "Sylvia," said the grinning man, not missing either a step or a flying implement, "have any messages come from my agent? Or from the theater company? We're rehearsing this afternoon, and I want to make absolutely sure they haven't changed the time."

  "No, Virgil," the receptionist said evenly. "There were no messages this morning, no messages during lunch, and no messages this afternoon."

  "Ah. Good." Nimbly he stepped around April and Juliana and, one by one, extracted each item from its orbit and set it on Sylvia's desk. "Aaaaand...there! Must get everything right, don't you know. It could make such a mess if we slip up in even one area."

  "Yes, Virgil," said the blonde, with an expression suggesting that of the many crosses she must bear, this man was the most tedious.

  "Has Gheorghe not come back from lunch yet? I declare, that man is getting later and later every day."

  The late Dr. Gheorghe, thought April, fighting a desire to giggle. That does it. I've been around Robert too long.

  "That's why we're here, sir," Juliana said. "I take it you're his brother?"

  "I am, my dear lady," the man said with a deep bow. "Virgil the Magnificent, star of the Ascot Players' production of The Mad Juggler of Canary Wharf, at your service."

  "Officer Juliana, of the City Guard Homicide Division," she said, extending her hand. With no hesitation he took it, but instead of shaking it he turned it over and kissed it. Quickly withdrawing her hand, Juliana continued, "and April, of the University of Albion."

  "Sheridan's theater people? Excellent! I take it they wish for me to deliver a lecture series? I have several prepared, you know." If his suit didn't glow in the dark, April was certain his smile would.

  "That's an interesting title for a play," she said. "I hadn't thought of the financial district as a proper location for a circus."

  "Ah, 'tis more than that," he said, rising again to his feet. "It is the circus, well and truly! And I juggle both the desk accessories and the books!" Again he beamed. "At least, I will once we're out of rehearsals and opened, which will be in a fortnight."

  Juliana took up her inquiry.

  "We're here about your brother, sir. We've found traces of what seems to be his blood. It appears he's deceased."

  The candlepower of Virgil the Magnificent's smile plummeted. "Decea— Dead? Gheorghe?" Visage falling like a deflating zeppelin, he stepped backward and sat down on the stair, putting his face in his hands. "I can't believe it. Surely there's been a mistake?"

  "He's been identified by one of his regular patients," said Juliana, "and although we haven't tested the blood yet, I believe we'll find his biosignature in it."

  He looked up at her, hope in his eyes. "So you're not utterly certain? May I see him?"

  Without hesitation Juliana replied, "That's a bit awkward at this point. The patient—April's superior—is with him now, but cannot identify his location. Nor can we." She hurried on before he could object. "So you're his brother...?"

  "Yes. His older brother. My real name is Iosif, but you can see how that lacks a certain je ne sais quoi on a marquee. Our father was a physician; the three of us came to Albion about fifteen years ago, shortly after our mother died, and he himself passed away last winter. This" —his gesture took in their surroundings— "was our home, and I come back to visit Gheorghe when I'm not touring." Abruptly his gaze became a glare. "Are you telling me you don't know where he is? Have you lost my brother?!"

  "No," she replied calmly. April was impressed; she herself would be hemming and hawing. Ah well, Guard officers have to be cool-headed. Juliana went on, "He and April's superior are in the room where Dr. Gheorghe kept his records. We'd appreciate any information you could give us about it."

  Virgil sighed. "Alas, I fear I cannot enlighten you on that score. That was strictly Gheorghe's province. I know next to nothing about his office routine."

  "I see. Well, we'll just have to determine the location the old-fashioned way. Thank you for your time." Juliana turned to go back to the hallway and the mysteriously empty closet, but then turned back toward Virgil. "By the way, that juggling was impressive. Did you learn it for this production?"

  Good question, thought April. I'm sensing something extra here. Let's see if he owns up to it.

  To her astonishment, he did. Not only that, the actor's smile now showed a certain shyness. "Actually, I can only juggle about three items at one time, four on a good day. I'm afraid I cheat just a tiny bit."

  "Oh?"

  "A bit of magic for motion enhancement—what's that term? —'ptelican e-sys.' Mine is a weak Talent; limited range and strength, but it lets me make a separate peace with gravity for the little bit of time I need."

  "Ah. Doesn't the audience catch on? Can they tell there's magic involved?"

  "I certainly hope not!" said Virgil. "So far even the people on the stage can't sense it. At least they've not said so. And," he said in a conspiratorial tone, "I would truly appreciate it if you didn't tell the critics. I want to impress them."

  Juliana nodded. "I doubt they'll hear it from me, sir. Thank you again."

  As the two made their way down the hall toward the closet, April said, "That poor man. Imagine suddenly finding that your brother is dead!"

  Juliana half-shrugged. "He's an actor. And the brother who didn't inherit, even though he's the elder. Guess which one had money and which one could be jealous of it." April realized she couldn't deny the possibility.

  "So," Juliana continued, "any ideas on how to find your boss?"

  We could try to call him, but he needs to stay in trance until we know we can rescue him. How do we find a hidden room? "Does the municipal building have architectural drawings for this property?"

  "What?" Juliana looked at her blankly.

  "If it was built, or even remodeled, after the laws started to require permits and plans, there might be something that would show a secret room...."

  "Hm. Good thought. Charles!" Juliana called down the hall, and her partner came to join them. She spoke to him softly so that the receptionist couldn't hear them. "Get contact information for Sylvia there and get her to give you her keys. While you're dealing with whatever forensic evidence you can find, we'll be at the municipal building. April thinks there may be architectural drawings there."

  "Right-o. See you later." Charles turned to deal with the receptionist a
nd April followed Juliana out the front door.

  * * * *

  The municipal building did, in fact, contain architectural drawings. Somewhere.

  "Hmmmmm...Candlewick Street, Candlewick Street," murmured the clerk, tapping his front teeth with a pen and leaving tiny black spots on them. "That's near Thornhill Cross, right? Those records would be on...the third floor? No, the fourth. I think. Goodness sakes, we haven't had to refer to those for a couple of years now..." He turned and shouted down the corridor. "Hazel! Where are the plans for the Thornhill Cross area? Third floor or fourth?"

  A distant voice made its way back. "Fifth! Third was cleared out last fall for remodeling."

  Great, fumed April. My boss could suffocate, and you people don't even know what floor your files are on...The clerk led them up three flights of stairs to a massive pair of fire doors. From his belt he removed a large ring and sorted through the keys dangling from it. He chose one, held it up to the light and squinted at its end, then shook his head. "Nope. That's not it." He grabbed another and examined it. "That's it." Brandishing his find, he turned and unlocked one of the fire doors, which opened with the groan of little-used hinges.

  The two women stood frozen to the spot, gazing at the room beyond.

  "Oh my beads and bustles," said April.

  The room was immense, filled from one end to the other with rank upon rank of filing cabinets, standing quietly on either side of a central aisle like an army awaiting inspection. April wondered, if she were to sneeze, how long it take before they heard the echo.

  The clerk turned back to them with a smile. "There you go. The plans should be there. Let me know if you have any trouble." Before they could do anything of the kind he trotted back down the stairs, leaving them gazing in horror at the array.

  April could feel her chin sink toward the floor, along with her heart. A glance at Juliana showed the latter closing her eyes and silently counting to twenty, her hand gripping and twisting the hilt of her short sword. The eyes opened to a gaze of steely determination. "Right, then," said the Guard. "How long does Lord Robert have?"

  April thought. "He's suspended, to save air. Perhaps eighty, ninety minutes."

  "All right. We give this twenty minutes. If it takes one second more, that bloke downstairs is shishkebab." She looked around the room, apparently trying to decide where to begin.

  Files, thought April. So many files...She shook herself. Pull yourself together, girl. This is the kind of thing your office deals with all day, just an order of magnitude greater. With a certitude that surprised her, she strode over to the first cabinet on their right and slapped its top. "Here, you start with this one. I'll start down there with that last one on the left. Check every other cabinet, top drawer. Look for the names of streets in the surrounding area — Baker, Smith, Last, Coopersmith, Fletcher, and, um, what was it...Hastings, right. And Candlewick, of course. Scan quickly; if you find something, look there or in the other drawers; if not, move to the next cabinet. When you finish one row, move to the one behind it. Let's see what we can do in the first five minutes."

  Juliana turned and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Without a word, she complied.

  It took seven. "Here!" the investigator cried, holding an envelope aloft in triumph.

  "Thank God." April slammed the file drawer she was checking shut and ran to join her. Together they spread the contents of the envelope on the floor before them.

  "Here's the reception area," said Juliana, pointing to the spot. Her finger moved. "The hallway...the first examining room, here. So here" —she tapped a location— "would be that closet."

  The space marked on the floor plan did indeed appear to be a closet. But whereas April expected it to be at least a walk-in cloakroom, it seemed to be merely a tiny enclosure that could hold a few coats at most. "Not even a secret stairway," she observed. "Then where could they be?"

  "It's a small space," said Juliana. "Could there be a spell that shrinks files to a micro-form of some sort, so that they can all fit there? Perhaps you wouldn't be able to sense Lord Robert if he were a different size."

  "I doubt it," said April. "I've heard of some wizards doing research in scale-shifting, but it hasn't produced any good results for living beings. If Lord Robert had been miniaturized, I don't think he'd have survived long enough to call me."

  Juliana stared at the diagram. "So it's not a records closet." She pointed. "What do you make of this?"

  April followed the other's fingertip. Under it was a handwritten design. A decorating motif? This would be a strange place to indicate non-structural elements—

  Suddenly it clicked into place. "That's Arabic! I've seen the kind of writing our students from Arabian territories use, and this looks like their alphabet. Let's see..." She tried to separate the curves and swirls into their component parts. "That's a shiin...haa...raa...zaay. Four consonants. I don't know the vowels; they aren't written in here."

  Juliana chuckled. "Sheherezade?"

  "That might work," April said seriously, "if there were also a final daal. But there isn't."

  "So what is it? A spell in Arabic?"

  "It might be. Or Kurdish, or Urdu, Farsi, Turkish, several others. It may be an incantation in itself, or perhaps it's the final trigger for a spell built into the closet. Do you think we should try it?"

  The investigator shrugged. "It seems our only lead so far. Might as well. But what do we do about the vowels?"

  "The language uses only three vowels: a, i, and u. If we start by assuming there's no vowel at the end of the word, that's three vowel placements, with three possible choices for each vowel...so, three-cubed, or twenty-seven possibilities. It shouldn't take too long to say twenty-seven words. I hope."

  * * * *

  April stood in front of the door with her scribbled list. Juliana stood beside her, with one hand grasping April's arm and the other on the hilt of her sword.

  "Here we go," April muttered. Clearing her throat, she called out, "Shaharaz!"

  Nothing happened. "I suppose it's too much to expect a hit on the first try," said the investigator. "What's the next one?"

  "We pretend it's ternary notation and rotate through the vowels accordingly. Shahariz!"

  Again, no result. "Shaharuz!"

  The door stood quietly, unresponsive. April imagined it sticking out its tongue at her. Aloud, but primarily to herself, she said, "It's boring, but you know you haven't skipped anything. Shahiraz!"

  She staggered as the hallway spoke to her.

  Juliana's grip tightened on April's arm, preventing her from falling to the floor. Changing hands, the officer caught her with a free arm and helped her regain her feet. "What happened?"

  April shook her head to clear it. "Did you hear that?"

  The other shook her head. "You're the Sensitive, not I."

  "Huh. It was a kind of...noise? No, not noise, but not entirely words either...More like a mix of symbols. Two ideas came through, though. It said, something something," —she whispered the word— "Shahiraz again, then something that seemed like 'name,' then a quick something and...'yes.' You know, I think there's an entity living here whose name is Shahiraz."

  Juliana tapped her lip with a finger. "Interesting. Do you think Virgil knows about it?"

  "I have no idea at all. Why, what are you thinking of?"

  The officer pursed her lips. "A hunch. It's a gamble, but it just might work." She went up the hallway and stopped at the reception desk. "Sylvia, is Virgil still here?"

  "He should be. Do you want me to call him?"

  "Please."

  Sylvia pushed her chair back, then stood and yanked on one of several bell-pulls against a near wall. After a moment a light rumble sounded and an eager Virgil appeared, moving down the stair case faster than anyone April had ever seen. "Did they call? What did they say?"

  Juliana held up a hand to stop him. "No, not a call. We've found something we want to talk to you about." She motioned to him to follow her; half
way down the hallway she stopped him, placing herself between him and the front entrance. Her voice became stern. "Virgil. We know you killed Gheorghe. We have a witness who saw the whole thing."

  The actor raised an eyebrow. "A witness? That's interesting. Who?"

  "Shahiraz. He named you specifically."

  April didn't know what a guilty man would do at this point. Maybe he would protest his innocence; maybe he would begin to sweat; maybe he would try to justify himself...

  Virgil did none of these. He laughed.

  The laugh was deep and rich, a joyful belly-laugh that left April and Juliana staring, not knowing what to do next. "She's here?! How wonderful! I thought she had moved on when Father died." He raised his eyes toward the ceiling and called out, "Hello, Sheherezade!"

  April's head filled with that strange not-really-noise sensation again, and this time she almost thought she could understand it. [Hello-warm] Iosif. [Wondering] you silent [duration-long].

  "I'm sorry! I had no idea you were here. Gheorghe didn't say anything, and I thought... Oh, Shaz, it's so good to hear your voice again!"

  Juliana raised an eyebrow. "'Shaz'?"

  Virgil smiled, evidently forgetting that not twenty seconds ago he had been accused of murder. "A jinn doesn't need to hear her true name over and over again, and you don't want others hearing it. So I called her 'Shaz' and 'Sheherezade' as a child. Other kids had invisible friends; I had Sheherezade. And unlike their 'friends,' mine told me stories. She's had a long and interesting life."

  Juliana was thinking. "If not you, then who—"

  April, meanwhile, was looking around the hall and the reception area. Her gaze fell on the reception desk; something was different about it, but she didn't know—

  The pencil cup. It was empty. April shouted, "SHIELD!" and hit the floor.

  Her conversations with the campus Guardsmen, from whom she and Robert had picked up a fair amount of procedural information, had taught her well; that was exactly the right word to say. Juliana's hand reflexively went to her belt, and as her fingers closed on the talisman a bubble of force sprang into being around the three of them, just in time. The nail file smacked into it, bending in half. Juliana turned and walked toward the desk, while pencil after pen after pencil speared through the air at her head, bouncing ineffectually off the shield. She moved toward the door, forcing Sylvia to attack her rather than the others. Rounding the desk, she strode deliberately toward the receptionist, who was looking frantically around her for something else to throw.