Castle Murders (8 page)

"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.

"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?"

"Count Damik."

"And what did the count say?"

"I didn't listen. I was busy watching the hedge players."

"The count and your husband exchanged words. How long did they talk?"

"A very short time, as I recall."

"And you did not hear what was said."

"I think I said that."

"Sorry, milady, simply repeating for the sake of emphasis. Did anyone else talk to the viscount while you dined?"

"No. I don't recall anyone else."

"Are you quite sure, my lady?"

"I think so. Wait a moment. Yes. Someone did approach before Count Damik. Lord Arl."

"He spoke with the viscount?"

"No. He simply passed by and touched my husband's back, as if he wanted to get his attention. I thought it strange, since the viscount and his brother weren't on speaking terms. Perhaps his touching him was simply accidental."
 

Tyrene slumped a little. "Well, I shall trouble you no more, my lady. Thank you very much for your kind cooperation in this very difficult moment."
 

Lady Rilma sniffed again. "Only too happy to oblige."

Tyrene bowed and began to walk away.

"There was one other thing."

Tyrene halted. "Yes, my lady?"

"He grunted. Just before he left."

"He . . .?"

"Made a sound. I thought . . ." She gave a tiny giggle. "I thought he belched. But it was a funny sound."

"What . . . pardon, milady, but what
sort
of funny sound? You say it was a grunt?"

"Yes, he just made this funny grunting sound and sat up straight suddenly."

"Ah. Did you look at him when he made this sound?"

"No. As I said, I thought he belched. He does that. Did that. I've often complained." She shook her head sadly. "No matter."

"And you didn't look at him."

"No, not immediately. I continued watching the players, then I turned to look at him and he was sitting up straight. He usually slouches when he eats. And he was sitting up. He put down his fork, and that was when he gave me the strange look."
 

"Then he told you he was leaving?"

"Yes. And he left. Got up and walked away. That was the last time I saw him."

"When you heard this grunt, Lady Rilma —" Tyrene said. "Please think carefully now. Could there have been someone near your husband at that time?"
 

"I was looking in the other direction."

"Yes, but did you hear someone?"

"No . . . wait."

Tyrene looked at Thaxton and Dalton with raised eyebrows.

"Yes," Lady Rilma went on. "I remember now. Someone was passing by at the moment. When I looked, he was walking between our table and the banquet table."
 

"How close would you say he was the moment you first saw him?"

"Oh, about as far away as these two gentlemen here," she said, pointing to the two beknickered golfers.

"And he was walking away from your husband?"

"Well, it's hard to say. I thought he was just passing by."