Castle Murders Read online

  “You mean it’s always like this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How sad. How sad to see a world end.”

  “Yeah. I think I’ll take a nap, too.”

  Linda rested her head on Gene’s shoulder.

  “Gene, do you think we’ll ever get back?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t look like it.”

  She watched a high thin cloud drift toward the sun.

  “Gene, I’m glad we’re together.”

  “Yeah.”

  Linda stared at the watercolor sky. Presently, she closed her eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Peele — Dining Hall

  The lords and ladies had grudgingly assembled, rousted out of their beds in the early morning hours. Vehement protest was still being voiced when Tyrene arrived with Thaxton, Dalton, and Dorcas.

  “We’ve not had our breakfast yet,” complained a bewhiskered and indignant baronet.

  “My lords and ladies,” Tyrene announced, “I humbly beg forgiveness for this inconvenience, but we have arrived at what we think is a solution to the murder of the viscount Oren, and, perforce, to that of Count Damik.”

  A hush fell over the assembled nobility.

  Tyrene continued: “We have been up all night with the working out of this solution. Much traffic has passed between the two castles, Perilous and Peele, and between the raindrops, as ’twere. What we would ask you to witness is in the nature of a demonstration. Ordinarily, for any other criminal case, we would hold off presenting this evidence until the preliminary hearing. But the nature of this evidence is so extraordinary and of such subtlety that I wish to reveal it here this morning. My reasons are twofold. One, a person of quality is involved. It has been so long since a scion of a noble house has been brought up on capital charges that I wish this individual’s peers to be impressed with the strength of the prima-facie case, so that there is no feeling that we are merely casting about for a suspect, hauling in the first hapless fish to be netted. Two, I believe the evidence to be forceful enough to dissuade a lord magistrate from releasing this individual on his own cognizance after arraignment but prior to a hearing, as is the custom when the defendant is of high noble station. I have no doubt that, were this custom followed, the suspect would flee through a well-chosen castle aspect, where decades might go by before justice prevailed. I hope I have made myself clear.”

  Tyrene surveyed the room, as if to acknowledge anyone who would pose a question. No one did.

  “Very well, my lords and ladies. I shall now turn these proceedings over to the individual by dint of whose unflagging determination and incisive intellect the case was cracked. I am speaking of Mr. Thaxton of the castle.”

  A murmur went up, borne on a note of surprise mixed with no little displeasure.

  Thaxton strode forward. “My lords and ladies. What you are about to see is a demonstration of magic. Now, I well realize that, as castle inhabitants, you regard magic as a commonplace on the order of toast and tea or the Monday wash. But this magic is unusual in that the feats we will perform here this morning are among the few that are known to be possible in this aspect, this world. And they are, at first, not very impressive as magical tricks go. But bear with us, please. I should like at this time to beg the assistance of one of the castle’s leading adepts, a person whom you all know, Her Royal Highness, the princess.”

  Dorcas stepped forward.

  Thaxton held up something shiny. “I have here in my hand a coin, a shilling, which I’ve been carrying in my pocket for a good while now, not having any place to spend it. I’m going to ask Her Highness to make this coin invisible.”

  Thaxton gave Dorcas the coin. Dorcas held her right hand palm up and placed the coin in it. She brought her other hand down on top of it and stretched her arms out. Then she began to speak some strange words, a few sentences. When she was done, she held her stance for a moment longer, eyes shut.

  She took her left hand away. The right was, apparently, empty.

  No one seemed impressed.

  “Mere legerdemain,” someone said.

  Dalton came to her, bearing a small cast-iron pot with a metal handle such as would be found in the castle kitchens. He held it below the princess’s outstretched hand.

  Dorcas slowly tilted her right hand. Something in the bucket clinked.

  Mild surprise was evinced. Dalton shook the pot and it rattled dutifully. Thaxton reached his hand and seemed to pick something up. He held his hand up.

  “As you can see … rather, as you cannot see, the coin is invisible.” He poised his hand over the pot, and the pot clinked again. Thaxton repeated the action. He then picked the invisible object out of the pot again.

  “My lord, if you would be so kind?”

  Uncertain, Lord Arl looked around, touched his chest and said, “Are you addressing me?”

  “Yes, my lord. Please take this coin so that everyone knows no sleight-of-hand was involved.”

  Reluctantly, Lord Arl came forward. Thaxton handed him nothing.

  Arl took the non-thing and hefted it. He nodded. “I feel it. It’s invisible all right.” He handed it back to Thaxton.

  “Thank you, my lord. Now, Her Royal Highness has told me that she did not put so great a charge on the coin as the instructions call for. Consequently, it should become visible very shortly.”

  Thaxton knelt, tilted his hand. There came the unmistakable sound of a coin clinking against the stone floor and settling into a spin. The sound eventually stopped.

  Thaxton rose and stepped back, his eyes on the floor. The crowd edged closer.

  It took about a minute. Suddenly, the shilling appeared on the floor.

  Thaxton picked it up and pocketed it. He looked over heads and made a motion.

  Two servants moved a table to the back of the room, and the crowd shifted, clearing a way to it.

  Thaxton took a handful of something from another servant. “I have here about half a dozen common tavern darts,” he said, holding them up, “borrowed from the Peele Castle recreation room. On the far wall — there, in front — we have placed a target such as could be found in any pub in half a hundred worlds.”

  Dorcas approached the circular target, reached out, and touched the center ring with her right index finger. Then she accompanied Thaxton to the table, which stood about forty feet away.

  Dorcas took a seat at the table. Thaxton handed her a dart. She took it and laid it on the table in front of her. She then began to trace complex patterns above it with both hands. This done, she picked it up with her left hand and gently stroked it with her right.

  “I bid thee fly, and strike where I laid my touch.”

  She handed it to Thaxton. He took it, faced the target, made a few peremptory motions, and threw.

  Forty feet away, the dart struck the target dead center.

  Dorcas was already working on a second dart. Her preparations done, she gave it over to Thaxton. This time Thaxton faced in the opposite direction and threw the dart over his shoulder.

  The dart flew with amazing and quite unjustifiable speed toward the round corkboard target, thunking squarely into the inner ring, tight against its mate.

  The crowd by this time was quite impressed.

  Thaxton took another prepared dart. He faced the target this time, and simply held the dart between thumb and forefinger. He relaxed the pressure of his fingers and the dart jumped from his hand, streaking to the target with astonishing speed.

  Thaxton threw the fourth dart toward the left wall. The dart’s curving trajectory led it inevitably toward the front of the room and the target. It struck the bull’s-eye with a solid thud.

  Thaxton said, “My lords and ladies, what you have seen is simple parlor magic. Real magic, to be sure, not sleight-of-hand or illusion, but — nevertheless — quite trivial. The spells employed came from a book.”

  Dalton handed it to him.

  “They come, in fact, from this arcane tome, my lords and ladies. The Book of
Magical Diversions by Baldor of the Cairn. This copy comes from the Peele Library, and I’m told it’s been there for generations, quite conceivably dating to the time when the castle was occupied by the aboriginals of this aspect. I am also informed, by qualified scholars, that the book originated in this world, and is in fact the only volume extant dealing in the magic here. As you have no doubt by now guessed, these two spells — the Coin Invisible and the Charmed Dart, could be combined into something quite deadly.”

  A wave of murmuring realization spread through the assembled nobility.

  “Yes, I think you all see what I’m driving at. Some adaptation would be necessary, but the two innocuous spells you have just seen could be cobbled together into an effective assassination spell. A malevolent spell of black magic.”

  Thaxton set the book on the table. “Of course, the question is, who did the thing? Let’s tick off a list of qualifications which any suspect must have. First, he or she must be an adept magician. That would include a large portion of the population of Castle Perilous. But the degree of skill would have to be rather high. High enough to exclude the average magician, which would eliminate most of the castle’s Guest population except for a very few, but would include most if not all the castle nobility. And as no Guests were present at the princess’s fête, we must cross them off the list entirely. No, only members of the castle’s noble families would qualify.”

  Thaxton began walking the perimeter of the circle of noble men and women who had gathered round.

  “It’s clear we’re still not very near the point where the identity of the murderer becomes obvious, for this book has been sitting on the shelf in the Peele library for centuries. Anyone could have read it, anyone here. But perhaps it would be helpful to find out who read it recently, or who could have read it recently. And for that we need another book. Peele Castle’s guest book.”

  Bearing a folio1 volume, Ruford pardoned his way past his betters. He handed Thaxton the book.

  “As you know,” Thaxton continued, “it’s customary for Peele guests to sign in and check out, hotel-style, so that charges for food, servant wages, and overhead can be assessed. Let’s take a look at those who recently stayed at Peele, shall we?”

  Thaxton opened the book. “And we find something very remarkable. The half-dozen most recent guests include three individuals who have or had a motive to commit the murder. Lady Rilma, for one.” Thaxton stopped in front of her. “It that not true, my lady?”

  Lady Rilma drew herself up. “This is an outrage.” She glowered at Tyrene. “I will not be browbeaten by this barbarian upstart.”

  “But you did read the book, my lady, did you not?”

  “I certainly don’t remember.”

  “We have testimony from one of the chambermaids. She remembers seeing the Baldor book lying on your night table.”

  “The word of an illiterate chambermaid —!”

  “Who happens to be doing graduate work in magic at the University of Thule. Shall I have the young lady come down and give oral testimony? Tyrene has her deposition already.”

  Lady Rilma seemed about to explode. “All right! Yes, I read the book. Of what significance is that?”

  “None, my lady, except that you hated your husband. He was malicious, boorish, ruthless, and cruel beyond belief, in addition to being an incorrigible philanderer.”

  “How dare you!”

  “True or not?”

  “Gods!” Rilma’s gaze fell to the floor. “How can I deny it? It’s true, all too true. Yes. There is not a person in this room who does not know that I hated Oren. Enough to kill him? Yes! Gods, yes. On one occasion I even tried. He laughed at me when I picked up the scissors. He turned away … and I struck. Had he not been wearing that thick leather hunting waistcoat, I would have stabbed him in the back. But all that was exposed was his arm. If I’d had the presence of mind, I would have opened the scissors and slit his jugular.”

  “Yes,” Thaxton said. “And the fête, when you said you heard your husband grunt with pain and surprise, could the reason really have been because at that moment you plunged an invisible dagger into his back?”

  “I did not do it.”

  “You had a dagger in your possession. True?”

  “Yes, concealed in my bodice.”

  “You saw Oren make improper advances — however acceptable to or even encouraged by the recipient — improper advances to Lady Rowena. You knew this would happen at the fête, because it always did when your husband and the lady met at any gathering. It happened again. You then prepared the dagger, made it invisible —”

  “Yes, I did. Yes! I was going to use the spell. But not for him! I didn’t kill him!”

  “No? Then who was the spell intended for?”

  Lady Rilma pointed across the room. “Her! That woman!”

  Lady Rowena paled, her hand going to her throat.

  “Yes, her! She was just as responsible for my constant humiliation. Even more, because she could have protested, and he would have listened to her. But she had to play the hussy in front of her husband! That vile vixen! It was she I wanted to kill.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t take the spell any further. Why?”

  Lady Rilma wobbled. One of the lords assisted her to a nearby dining chair, into which she slumped.

  Her voice was low. “Because the monster would have succeeded in corrupting me completely. He was vile, he was bestial. But if he had driven me to kill, he would have won over me. His victory would have been complete. Through the grace of the merciful gods, I realized this, and I did not go up to Lady Rowena and lay the targeting touch on her. I put the dagger away. Not even when Oren threw the capon wing at me did I take it out again, though anger flashed through me, as it did whenever he struck me.”

  Thaxton walked away from her, turned. “But the spell would not have worked, my lady.”

  Rilma was slow in answering. “No?”

  “No. There was no way to work the flying-dart spell using a dagger instead of the dart, as it is written in this book. Your Highness, would you explain why?”

  “Yes,” Dorcas said. “An assassination spell is malevolent magic, sometimes called black, but of course color has nothing to do with it. These parlor tricks are innocuous magic, sometimes called white magic. The latter employs the cooperation of playful spirits, benevolent spirits. Sprites, pixies, wraiths, call them what you will. They will do the bidding of any magician who has the skill to guide and direct them. But a black spell requires the command of a malevolent spirit. The spells in this book are not of this variety. You can render a dagger invisible, but you cannot do harm with it. The flying-dart trick will not work if the dart is directed at a human being.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Thaxton said. “So you see, Lady Rilma, you were in no danger of committing murder, unless you had actually attacked Rowena or your husband in the old-fashioned way.”

  Thaxton continued walking the grim circle of suspects, witnesses, and innocents.

  “So, it would take quite a good magician to work up a new spell, in an aspect that didn’t admit of much magic. This would take a bit of research. Research that you were in the habit of doing … Lord Belgard.”

  Belgard took out his monocle, rubbed it on the sleeve of his morning coat, and fit it back in. “I won’t stand for this.”

  “You do a lot of reading in magic, don’t you, my lord?”

  “And what of it?”

  “Very dangerous magic.”

  “Sometimes. Purely a scholarly interest.”

  “Oh? Then why did you purchase a Helvian dagger? You needn’t deny it. Tyrene’s plainclothesmen traced the knife by the tiny initials of the smith carved into the boxwood handle. Not usual in a cheap item, but some craftsmen have pride all the same. The vendor sold that particular type of dagger to several people, but he remembered your monocle. Again I ask you, my lord, why did you purchase the weapon?”

  Belgard
looked around, huffed, and said, “I simply bought one, that’s all.”

  “So it was you Count Damik saw buying the dagger.”

  Belgard’s shoulders fell. “Yes.”

  “And he, being a knife fancier, asked you why you wasted your money on such inferior merchandise.”

  “Yes. He did say that.”

  “And what was your answer, my lord?”

  Belgard summoned his ruffled pride. “I didn’t owe him an answer, and I’m damned if I owe you one.”

  “Could it have been because you were contemplating just such a spell as Her Highness described, an assassination spell to do Oren in at the fête, and you wanted to do it with a common knife that would be hard to trace, a cutlery version of what is known in my world as a Saturday night special?”

  “No! I had no such intention.”

  “You could have read the Baldor book.”

  “Never clapped eyes on it.”

  “And there are no witnesses to your having done so, my lord. In that you’re quite safe. But the Perilous library has records of dozens of books on magic which you took out on loan.”

  “What of it? Lots of people do research on magic.” Belgard sneered. “Even chambermaids.”

  “Yes, but not everyone has a motive for killing. You did. You’ve been stewing in hatred for years. And Oren was eminently detestable. He was a rotter, a scoundrel, and a villain. To say nothing about tupping your wife —”

  “You bastard!” Belgard swung his Malacca cane, which Thaxton neatly sidestepped. Belgard lost his grip and the cane went clattering across the flagstone floor.

  “So sorry,” Thaxton said calmly.

  “Yes!” Belgard screamed. “Yes, I hated him, and I would have killed him, once I perfected my spell. And it is a guided dagger spell, but nothing like the child’s play you seem to think I’d toy with. No, I’ve been working on mine for years. It was designed to foil all his protections, all his defenses. It’s effective over great distances. I can even cast the spell in my home aspect and have the dagger travel — invisibly — through the castle and into Oren’s aspect. It’s a masterpiece, and it would have worked, if I’d had the time to perfect it. But cast it here? In this aspect? Nonsense! Why? I never saw that book of yours. I don’t care how long it’s been in the Peele library. I never set eyes on it!”