Castle Murders (30 page)

"What the shit is this nonsense?"

"You wanted vapor, you got vapor," Linda said, laughing.

"Probably hair spray. Or deodorant." He holstered his weapon. "Let's beam the hell offa this jerkwater planet."

"Right, Captain."

"We need an ending, here. Where's Gene Roddenberry when you need him?"

 

 

 

Castle Perilous — Apothecary

 

In rumpled evening suit with black tie undone and hanging, the King of the Realms Perilous came walking in, holding an ice bag to his head.
 

"Ramon!"

No answer. He bellowed again, wincing. "Ramon!"

Ramon the apothecary came out of the back room. "What's the big emergency? — Oh. Your Majesty. What can I do for you?"

"You can shoot me or give me something for this headache. It's killing me."

"Can't you whip up a spell?"

"If I had any pharmaceutical spells handy I'd whip one up, but as you can see, I'm dying. Besides, what I'm hung over with, magic can't touch. Now, can you get cracking?"
 

Ramon raised his pale eyebrows. "Well, you don't have to shout."

"Move, Ramon."

"Yes, Your Kingship." Ramon went back into his cubicle. There he rattled bottles and retorts, put pestle into mortar and pestled something, then poured something which bubbled and fizzed. He came out carrying a beaker of fizzing, bubbling stuff.
 

"Drink this off," he said.

The king took it and downed it.

"Gods, that's awful."

"It'll work."

The king gave back the beaker. "Thanks, Ramon. See you later."

"I'll put it on your bill."

"Yeah."

 

He held the ice to his head all the way up to the castle's Administrative Offices.

He came through the door to find his secretary typing away. The secretary jumped to his feet.

"Sire, you're back! There are a hundred matters . . ."

"Just the important stuff, Tremaine. I'm dyin'."

"What's amiss, Sire?"

The king went through to his office. "My frigging head, that's what. What have you got?"

"We must review the case of the Advocate General against Lord Arl. That is the most important. Then there is . . ."

"Wait a minute."

The king took a seat at his desk. Behind him, a cinquefoil window opened onto an aerial aspect of a huge modern city.

"First things first. Draft a letter of commendation to Tyrene and his detectives. They did a good job of basic legwork. And, let's see . . . oh, yeah. Thaxton."
 

"He cracked the case, Sire."

"So I was told. I was suspicious of Arl, but I wasn't sure, because when I scanned the scene of the crime I couldn't see a thing. I knew magic was afoot, but I wasn't sure Arl was up to it. Anyway, Thaxton really surprised me. Let's give him a peerage."
 

"What? I mean, Sire, we can't — "

"Why not? Make him a duke."

"Duke?"

"Duke."

"Duke of what?"

"Duke . . . duke . . . Duke of Earl."

Tremaine sputtered, "Duke . . . Duke — ?"

"Duke of Earl," the king repeated.

"Sire, I really don't think we have a slot available for a duke."

"No? Okay. Forget the peerage, just give him a fancy title. Uh . . . make him a lord."

"Very good, Sire."

The king swiveled around to look out the window. "Gods, my head. Leave me alone for a minute." He watched the clot of traffic on the streets below. "Oh, Tremaine?"
 

At the door, Tremaine said, "Sire?"

"Dorcas's boy Clare? He's back. Send him down to the stables for six months. Punishment detail."

"Yes, Sire."

"Half a year of shoveling shit ought to straighten that foul ball out.
Uhhh
, my head."

"Very good, Sire."

Tremaine shut the door, silently mouthing, "
Duke of Earl?
"

 

 

 

Gaming Room

 

The whole gang was on hand, talking, laughing, gaming.

The windows opened to the castle's "real" world, and mullioned glass doors led out to a balcony that provided a spectacular view of the Plains of Baranthe, now steeped in the light of a full moon.
 

Thaxton and Dalton were playing chess. So were Gene and Goofus. The chess pieces were big enough for Goofus to get a good but delicate grip on them with his teeth.
 

Gene castled. Goofus moved his queen's bishop up for a daring gambit.

M. DuQuesne looked on with amazement. "That is one intelligent animal."

"I dunno about that," Gene said. "He's only beat me once."

Dalton looked up at his partner. "You suspected Arl from the very first, didn't you?"

"Yes. The first thing he said when he saw the body was, 'What do you know of this?' Not 'What happened?' or 'How did he die?' Subtle difference, there, and at first I thought I might be imaginin' things, but I got the feeling he knew more than he was telling."
 

"Remarkable. I wonder what his fate will be."

"The rope, I suspect."

"You think?"

"If they don't give him a bloody medal. Oren was a monster. No one's going to be mournin' the blighter."

"Still, murder is murder."

"And murder will out. 'Out, damned spot' and all that sort of rot. And a bit of 'O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.'"

"I must say, you've a cheery outlook on this sort of thing."

"Oh, well, it was a bit of fun, and we all had a jolly good laugh. Actually, old boy, I owe it all to you."

"Eh? How's that?"

"Well, if it hadn't been for Dorcas Bagby, I wouldn't have found Baldor of the Cairn next to her in the B's."

"Message for Mr. Thaxton!"

A young page rushed to Thaxton had handed him a wax-sealed envelope.

"Thanks, m'lad." Thaxton looked at the seal. "The king's signet. Well, I wonder what — "

Everyone crowded around as Thaxton read the note.

Dalton drummed the table with his fingers. "Well? For pity's sake, Thaxton."

Thaxton said, "Seems I'm bein' elevated to the peerage."

"Really!"

"That's wonderful," Linda said, pecking his cheek.

"Congratulations," Gene said. "What rank?"

"Lord."

"Is that high?"

"Oh, I don't really know. It's not a rank in itself, I don't think. It's a rather general title. It comes with no estate, so it's nothin' more than an honorific."
 

"You mean I'll have to call you 'Lord Thaxton' from now on?" Dalton said.

"Well, as there's no hereditary title or estate, the usual custom is to use the given name."

"You know," Dalton said, "this is extremely odd, but I don't know your given name. If you've told me, I've forgotten."

"It's Peter."

"So your title would be 'Lord Peter'?"

"That's right, old man. But don't feel obligated to use it. I'm not one for puttin' on airs."

Dalton eyed him at an angle. "Any reason why you're suddenly dropping your g's?"

"Am I?"

Dalton moved his knight. "Check. And, I believe, mate."

Thaxton surveyed the board. "So it is. Good game, old man."

"Really. Now, usually you get good and mad."

"Do I? Sorry. Well, I need a bit of air."

 

Out on the balcony, Thaxton breathed deeply. The air was cool, fresh, unpolluted. It was a balmy spring night. The moon — bigger and with different markings than Earth's — hung like a beneficent smiling face in the sky. The castle was spread out below, vast and mysterious in the moonglow.
 

Leaning against the balustrade, Thaxton laughed into the night.

"Bloody marvelous."

 

 

 

Administrative Offices

 

In the streets below, traffic was approaching gridlock. It was a typical day in the big city. Strangely enough, in all the days since he'd moved into this office, he'd never bothered to find out what city it was, though it had always seemed to him that it looked a lot like . . .
 

The intercom buzzed.

"Yeah?"

"Call on line one."

"Who?"

"A man who says he's the Land Surveyor?"

"Rats. Okay, I'll take it."

He picked up the phone.

"Hello? . . . Yeah, this is the castle . . . yeah . . . uh-huh . . . uh-huh . . . no. No, I'm sorry. Look . . . yeah . . . yeah . . . Look, Franz, can you? . . . Yeah . . . yeah . . . yeah . . . Hold it a minute . . . Wait, let me give you some advice."
 

He glanced down at the hopelessly clogged traffic, then leaned back in the swivel chair.

"Franz? Get a life."