Castle Murders (26 page)

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 folio* volume, Ruford pardoned his way past his betters. He handed Thaxton the book.

[*Up yours, Osmirik.]

"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!"
 

Thaxton walked away. "No, I don't think you did, my lord."

Thaxton kept stalking. He stopped in front of Trent, who was standing hand-in-hand with his wife.

Trent grinned. "And this is the point in the scene in which the murderer blurts out a confession, right? All right. Means? You're looking at one of the best magicians in the omniverse, if I do say so myself. Motive? I would have killed the son of a bitch eventually, either in a duel or some other way, for molesting my wife and attempting to sodomize her. The man was a mad dog and should have been put out of his misery years ago. There is no end of victimized servants — he had a taste for teenage upstairs maids especially — who can attest to that. And he wasn't content with just rape and 'involuntary deviant intercourse' as the statutes put it. He usually added beating as a lovely little fillip. Opportunity? I could have thrown demons at him at any time, defenses or none, and Tyrene's men would have found his body parts artfully arranged around his billiard room. But Inky would have gotten wind of it and would have been pissed off at me. So, as far as the murderer is concerned, whoever he may be — all I can say is, there but for the grace of the gods go I. Yeah, I confess to intent. But I didn't kill him. Somebody beat me to it."
 

Thaxton strolled on. "Be that as it may. There is another name in the Peele guest registry. And the name is one that hasn't been bandied about very much, if it was on the suspect list at all. Why do you think that is . . . Lord Arl?"
 

"Because there's nothing to connect me with the crime," Arl said mildly.

"Oh, but I beg to differ, my lord. You have a reputation as a competent magician."

"Hardly in Trent's league."

"No, but a good one. And you have been known to research in the library."

Arl laughed. "I must say, this is turning into quite a charming little witch hunt. Am I suspect merely because of my bookish ways? Have something against intellectuals, do you?"
 

"Very clever ploy, my lord, turning the tables like that. Admirable. But it so happens this matter has much to do with reading habits. You did a lot of browsing in the Closed Stacks, where the 'eldritch and pernicious tomes,' as Osmirik likes to call them, are kept. Isn't that true?"
 

"As did Belgard, Trent at one time or another, and any number of other people. Dangerous books are fun, after all."

"Jolly good fun, but you happened to give close attention to a particular book of black magic, the ironically titled
Flowers of Forgetfulness
. It is in fact a book of spells to do people in, isn't it? A book of assassination spells."
 

"Never chanced across it, so I can't say."

"Never read it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"I see. Isn't it interesting, though, that this book contains a Flying Dagger spell that is similar in form to the Charmed Dart spell."
 

"Does it? How interesting indeed."

"Yes, quite. And one very amenable to adaptation. It could easily — given that the practitioner was skillful enough — easily be combined with the dart spell and made to work in the Garden aspect."
 

"Really."

"Yes. And the spell in the
Flowers
book explains another puzzling aspect of this case. Namely, who pulled the knife out and dropped it? The answer is: it pulled itself out. Would you like to know how, my lord?"
 

"I'll bite."

"Because the Flying Dagger spell is designed to return the dagger to the assailant after the deed is done. Neat trick, that. No murder weapon to trace. The dagger travels stealthily to the target, strikes, wiggles some to cause more damage — twistin' the knife, don't you know — yanks itself out, and returns as sneakily as it came. But in the viscount's case, that part of the trick didn't work, not completely. Your Highness, would you be good enough to explain to his lordship?"
 

"Certainly, Mr. Thaxton," Dorcas said. "When spells are combined, as they often are, there is always some difficulty with parts of the component spells canceling each other out. That is probably what happened in this case. The dagger succeeded in extricating itself from the body of the victim, but at that point the spell misfired, and the dagger fell to the ground, inert, the spirit freed from the task of returning it to the assailant."
 

Arl regarded Thaxton frostily. "Why did you think I wouldn't know about spell misfires?"

"I beg your pardon, my lord. Just trying to be thorough."

"In any event, it makes no difference," Arl said, "because I neither read the book nor cast the spell."

"Let's return to that in a minute, my lord. When I happened to find the dagger, just before I did, I almost ran into you. Could you have been looking for it?"
 

"Hardly."

"You thought the spell had failed when you didn't get the knife back. It should have dropped harmlessly at your feet. Even though the dagger could not easily be traced, you would have felt safer finding it before the invisibility part of the spell failed as well. Isn't that right?"