Ten Little Wizards: A Lord Darcy Novel (5 page)

“I have no interest whatever in going in,” Coronel Lord Waybusch said firmly. “I shall leave that to Lord Darcy here. No point in my mucking around when I have the services of two such experts as yourselves.”

“Ah, Your Lordship,” Master Sean said, turning to face Lord Darcy. “I didn’t see you standing there. Would you like to see what there is to be seen?”

“I would indeed,” Lord Darcy said. “I have been admirably patient, Master Sean, and kept out of the shop while you were busy. Now let us go in together and I shall look things over while you tell me what happened.”

“As I’ve told you before, my lord, I am but a magician, not a miracle worker,” Master Sean said. “I may be able to give you a few indications as to what took place, but don’t expect a lot of detail. Forensic sorcery needs facts to work on; and when the facts aren’t there, the greatest magic in the world cannot create them.”

“All that I ask, my dear Master Sean, are the facts you have assembled and any logical surmises you can make from them,” Lord Darcy said, peering into the doorway. “How long will it take for this smoke to clear?”

“Oh, yes,” Master Sean said. “Sorry about that.” He took a small silver wand from the leather pouch at his waist. “If you’d stand aside for an instant, my lord...” He stood in the doorway, legs planted firmly in a position of power, and felt the air in the room with his left hand as though there were an invisible handle somewhere just within his grasp. Then, with the wand in his right hand, he drew some small circles in the air and muttered a set of unintelligible phrases.

There was a low, prolonged crackling noise, which went on for about twenty seconds, and the room was clear of smoke.

“Excellent, Master Sean,” Lord Darcy said.

“Elementary, my lord,” Master Sean replied, a broad smile creasing his chubby face.

“Well, then,” Lord Darcy said, rubbing his hands together, “let’s see what there is to be seen.” He stepped into the room and turned slowly around, observing and categorizing, getting the feel of this space that now enclosed a murdered man. “What are your findings, Master Sean?” he asked.

Master Sean stooped over to touch his tripod-supported bowl, and decided it was still too hot to put away. “’Tis a shame,” he said. “Lying there on that wooden floor is the mortal remains of Master Raimun DePlessis, a true gentleman, and one of the finest theoretical thaumaturgists of our time.”

“A friend?” Lord Darcy asked sympathetically.

“A casual friend,” Master Sean said. “But a friend all the same. We would meet at the occasional sorcerers’ convention. We dined together, and sat and talked many times. We appeared together on a panel once. He was a healer, you know. Most of his theoretical work was on the healing art. He will be missed.”

Lord Darcy patted Master Sean on the shoulder. “And his killer will be punished,” he said. “We’d better put our minds to that part of it. What did you find?”

“Aye, my lord, you’re right,” Master Sean said. He took a small notepad from his cloak. “The victim was killed by an upward thrust to the heart by a blade of small cross-section. It penetrated between the third and fourth ribs, and was certainly fatal. Death occurred within a couple of minutes of the wound. There were no other indications of violence on the body or in the room.”

Lord Darcy walked over to the counter and looked down at the large body lying behind it. Someone, presumably the murderer, had spent some time and effort straightening the body itself and its clothing, until it looked as if it was laid out for burial. Going around, Lord Darcy knelt down at the foot of the body to take a closer look. “Master DePlessis was a very large man,” he said. “And he has left a very large corpse. there isn’t much space here between the counter and the wall; whoever arranged the body must have been acting under a powerful compulsion. Were you able to get everything you need in this confined space?”

“Actually, my lord, I raised the body to the countertop—after I put the preservation spell on it, of course. I returned it when I was done so that you can see exactly how he was found. I never know what Your Lordship is going to find pertinent to an investigation.”

Very thoughtful of you, Master Sean,” Lord Darcy said. But I ve seen everything I can down here. Help me move the body back to the countertop.”

“ That won’t be necessary, my lord,” Master Sean said. “Just stand away for a second.”

Lord Darcy moved back and watched as, with a few gestures, Master Sean floated the body from its spot on the floor to the wooden top of the counter, which groaned slightly as the heavy corpse settled onto it.

“I didn’t know you could do that so simply, Master Sean,” Lord Darcy said. “I thought levitations were a more complex procedure.”

“Oh, they are, my lord,” Master Sean affirmed. “But when I did it the first time, I built in a tendency to repeat. The spell is worn out now, and it will take either another spell or two strong men to move Master DePlessis to his next resting place.”

Lord Darcy examined the body. “Stabbed through the heart, you say?” He opened the sorcerer’s cloak and saw that the puncture went through the gold-trimmed light blue sorcerer’s gown, which was soaked with blood. The area where the corpse’s head had been showed a small pool of blood, not quite congealed. Of course, it had stopped congealing when Master Sean had put the preservation spell on the body. No further biological action would take place until the spell was removed.

“Not too much blood,” Lord Darcy commented. “Of course, if he died within a minute or two, then the heart didn’t have much time to pump blood through the wound.” Lord Darcy tried to move one of the crossed arms, but it resisted his pull and snapped back into place. “Hmm, rigor is setting in. How long ago would you say it happened?”

“Between three and three and a half hours before I performed the tests, my lord,” Master Sean said. “Which was about a half hour ago. Let us say that Master DePlessis died between eleven-thirty and twelve o’clock.”

“Good, let us say that,” Lord Darcy agreed. “Here—what’s this?” He pried open the corpse’s hand and worked loose a folded piece of paper that had been concealed in the loosely-made, but now tight-as-iron fist. “Did you notice this?”

“Yes, my lord, but I left it for you,” Master Sean replied. “I felt that it was more in your province than mine.”

“You figured correctly, Master Sean. Thank you for your forbearance. Let’s see.” Lord Darcy unfolded the paper and held it up to the light of the nearest lamp. “A stiff, yellowish paper, about four by six inches. Torn from something on two sides, but neatly. Probably with a straightedge.”

“Yes, Your Lordship, but what does it say?” Master Sean demanded.

“Ah, I can see that you really did exercise self-control in not removing this from Master DePlessis’s hand before I got here,” Lord Darcy commented. “Let me see. Broad-nibbed pen. Steel point. Printed rather than written. What a shame, handwriting is so much more suggestive of character. Our murderer gave us something here, but is it enough?”

“Is it from the murderer, then?”

“I believe so. Certainly.”

“Then, my lord, what—”

”Here,” Lord Darcy said. “Read it yourself.”

Master Sean O Lochlainn took the yellowish paper rectangle and moved over to the window.

“It’s a rhyme,” he said. “A children’s rhyme.”

“It is a hellish message,” Lord Darcy said, staring out the window at the gray sky “It frightens me.”

Master Sean read it to himself:

Ten little wizards sat down to dine

One wizard stuffed his face—and now there are nine.

“It can be understood in several ways,” the Archbishop of Paris said, thoughtfully rubbing the scrap of paper in his right hand between his thumb and forefinger. “As a pronouncement, as a challenge, as a threat, as a warning; even merely as a comment. A ‘look how clever I am’ sort of thing.” He smoothed it out on the table and passed it back to Lord Darcy. “But at any rate, I think you’re quite right, Darcy; whoever did that is dangerously insane. That, however, is my opinion as worried human being, and a not particularly skilled, second-hand judge of character, not as a cleric and a sensitive. As a sensitive, I get nothing useful from that paper.”

They were meeting at ten in the evening in the private study of Duke Richard’s suite in the private quarter of the castle. A severely plain and functional room, uncluttered with any decoration save for a shield blazoned with the coat of arms of Normandy on the far wall and a recent portrait of His Majesty between the recessed windows on the near wall; it showed clearly that the Duke of Normandy wished to be thought of as a serious-minded man. As, indeed, he was.

Duke Richard, his lean, bearded face creased with worry, sat in a heavy, solid, unadorned Geoffrey II wooden chair behind its companion Geoffrey II table, which had been on that spot since it was placed there for the use of an old, stout, rheumatic Geoffrey II some three hundred years before. Matching chairs were drawn up around the table in front of him, holding the same assemblage that had gathered before in the Map Room, with the addition of Master Sean O Lochlainn and Coronel Lord Waybusch. The group formed what Marquis Sherrinford was pleased to call an “Extra-Ordinary Council for the King’s Safety.”

“Why ‘ten little wizards’?” Duke Richard wanted to know.

“Perhaps he just liked the rhyme, Your Highness,” Lord Darcy suggested. “Or perhaps he has a grudge against nine other sorcerers. At any rate, the verse is taken from an old children’s rhyme.”

“Really?” Duke Richard asked, turning his somber gaze on Lord Darcy. “I don’t think I know it.”

“It’s very English, Your Highness,” Lord Darcy explained. “The original refers to ‘ten little Skreymen.’ The English firmly believe that people from the Isle of Skrey are—I suppose the best word is ‘foolish.’”

Coronel Lord Waybusch nodded. “I remember,” he said. “A nursery rhyme. Haven’t thought of it for years. It went something like this:

“Ten little Skreymen bought a cask of Skreyish wine,

One fell in, splash, and then there were nine.

Nine little Skreymen swinging on a Skreyish gate,

One fell off, plop, and then there were eight.”

“Ah, I see,” Duke Richard said. “It’s an enumeration to the vanishing point. Do you remember the rest of it, Coronel?”

“I think so, Your Highness, although it’s been a long time.” Coronel Lord Waybusch pursed his lips thoughtfully.

Eight little Skreymen baking with a Skreyish oven,

One shoveled coal in, crack, and then there were seven.

Seven little Skreymen fighting with their Skreyish sticks,

One put a point on, ping, and then there were six.

Six little Skreymen...

“Ah, let me see....”

The coronel faltered, and Lord Peter Whiss picked up the recitation:

Six little Skreymen setting out their Skreyish hive,

One called the queen names, buzz, and then there were five.

Five little Skreymen—”

”Enough, enough—I think we get the point,” Duke Richard said, waving a hand at Lord Peter. “A sort of seriation of disaster. In this context one would suppose that it must be taken as an implicit threat. Thank you, Lord Peter.”

“I don’t suppose that we can conclude that the assailant of poor Master Raimun is an Englishman?” the Archbishop of Paris asked. “Not that it would help us very much if we could.”

“On the basis of his knowing the rhyme, you mean, Your Grace?” Marquis Sherrinford asked. “I don’t think so. I knew it myself, and I grew up in Brittany.”

“Can we conclude that this killing is or is not related to the threat to His Majesty’s life?” Duke Richard asked.

“I’m afraid not, Your Highness,” Lord Darcy said. “We can conclude very little from the evidence we have so far.”

“Beyond the fact,” Sir Darryl said dryly, “that the killer, whoever he is, seems to have a well-developed dislike for sorcerers.”

Duke Richard stood up and moved around to close the heavy drapes that framed the two windows. A royal duke did not usually close his own drapes; a push of the call button at his feet would have produced a servant in very few seconds. But it was something to do—and at that moment he needed something to do. He turned back to the group and gripped the back of his chair. “That’s what I was afraid of,” he said, staring at them somberly. “Let us review the precautions that are being taken to safeguard His Majesty’s life. Please feel free to comment on another’s remarks; this is not the time to stand on ceremony.”

Marquis Sherrinford leaned forward. “I suppose I should begin,” he said. “I have the responsibility of seeing to His Majesty’s physical safety from moment to moment—at the best of times a difficult task. His Majesty is not the sort of man who can be managed, but we do our best. We are closing off the royal apartments to everyone who has no need to be there. Every person entering has to be personally known to the guard and, if not a member of the royal family, must know the day’s password. I’m afraid they all think it’s rather silly, particularly since we are not telling them what it is for, but I can’t help that. The avoidance spells at all the doors are being strengthened.”

“That is so,” Archbishop Maximilian said. “One of the best lock-and-key men in the sorcery business is here for the coronation. He happens to be the Papal Envoy, His Eminence, Cardinal Sabatini. Privacy and avoidance spells are his avocation.”

“And very good he is at it,” Master Sean agreed. “With his spells on the doors, those with no business in the royal apartments won’t even realize that they’re passing the doors.”

Sir Darryl nodded his agreement. “A pleasure to watch him work, Your Highness. Deft, sure touch. Simple, elegant spells. The better someone knows his subject, the easier he makes it look to outsiders. High technical skill indeed.”

“Unfortunately,” Marquis Sherrinford said, “we have no way to assess the technical skills of our adversary. We must do more.”

Coronel Lord Waybusch coughed. “I have drawn up a plan,” he said, “with the assistance of Lord Peter Whiss and Lord Darcy, and the advice of Sir Darryl Longuert, for the increased physical security and policing of the entire Castle Cristobel inner area.” He pulled a rolled-up paper from his boot and unrolled it on the table. “Now you understand, Your Highness, that this, of itself, cannot capture the, ah, Polish agent. It can, however, make it damned difficult for him to wander about.

“This map of Castle Cristobel shows the revised plan. The Castle is, as you can see, actually made up of three ‘castles,’ interconnected and surrounded by a common great wall. The Arthur Keep, the oldest, contains the private quarter we are in, as well as the throne room, the ballroom, and most of the administrative offices. This has seven entrances, four of which can be closed off, and the other three guarded. We are also instituting a roving guard everywhere except the royal suites themselves.

“Now the throne room itself is an unlikely point of attack, as Lord Darcy and Sir Darryl agree, but we are not taking any chances. As you can see by the map, the throne room can be entered by four doors, one in each wall. There are the Gallery of Kings and the Gallery of Queens on the sides, and the Great Hall in front, through the Doors of State. To the rear, there is a small door that connects to a private corridor. To the left it goes to an inner stair up to the royal quarters, and to the right it leads into what is now the Lord Chamberlain’s offices. Right across the corridor from the throne room is this door, which leads to a small antechamber and then to the ballroom.”

Everyone leaned over the map and examined it with interest. Here was a tangible thing to look at, to make them feel that something was being accomplished.
Everything’s under control
, Lord Darcy said wryly to himself,
we have a map.

“This area is being closed off completely,” Coronel Lord Waybusch continued, indicating the corridor in back of the throne room. “The door to the Lord Chamberlain’s office will be sealed.”

“But His Majesty uses that passage to go to the throne room from his apartments,” Marquis Sherrinford objected.

“Special triplex locks are being put into the doors from the throne room and the ballroom. The locks will only open to three keys, and the keys are tuned—is that the right word, Sir Darryl?—tuned to the individuals holding them.”

“That’s right,” Sir Darryl said. “A spell of relevancy ties in the three, do you see? The person, the key, and the lock must all agree, or it won’t work and the door won’t open. A very time-consuming and expensive spell to put into operation, but very effective. Only the three people with tuned keys can open the locks, and no new keys can be created.”

“Absolutely positive, Sir Darryl?” His Highness asked.

“Absolutely? No, Your Highness, not absolutely. Anything the mind of one man can create the mind of another man can unravel. But there are very few sorcerers who could do it—I can only think of six—and it would take even the best of them quite a long time.”

“How long?” Marquis Sherrinford asked.

“Say half a day or longer,” Sir Darryl replied.

“That’s good enough,” His Highness agreed. “And who gets these keys?”

“His Majesty the King, Her Majesty the Queen, and Marquis Sherrinford here,” Coronel Lord Waybusch said.

“Go on,” His Highness directed.

“Yes. Well, the Kings and Queens galleries are constantly guarded. Formerly there were three guards in the galleries at all times, now we have upped it to six. And these are all hand-picked men, with orders not to let anyone through who hasn’t a daily pass, which will be given out at the Lord Chamberlain’s office. And that means anyone, even Your Highness. Of course, your pass will be brought to you each morning.”

“Me?” Duke Richard looked startled, “But—”

”That is to allow for impersonation, Your Highness,” Lord Darcy interjected smoothly. After all, the guards can’t be expected to know Your Highness’s appearance well enough to be sure that you are really you, if you see what I mean.”

Duke Richard nodded. “Very good thinking. If any guard fails to ask me for my pass, I will personally have him patrolling the moat every night for the next month. What else?”

“The Great Hall entrance to the throne room presents the most problems,” Coronel Lord Waybusch said. “It can’t be closed off. But it can be controlled. Luckily there is a guardroom to the right of the Doors of State. A company of guards will be based there from now on. Nobody will get in or out those doors who hasn’t been personally checked by a captain of the guard. Presumably if they’ve earned their captain’s fleurs-de-lis, they’re intelligent enough to handle the job. Any who aren’t will be removed.”

The map kept trying to roll up as Coronel Lord Waybusch talked, so he reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a pair of gold parallelepipeds about an inch and a half square and three inches high, which he used to weight down its far corners.

“Now the second castle...” Coronel Lord Waybusch paused while Duke Richard reached curiously for one of the odd rectilinear objects and picked it up to examine it.

“They are traveling salt and pepper shakers, Your Highness,” Coronel Lord Waybusch explained, looking faintly embarrassed. “Twisting the top reveals the holes. Gifts of my lady wife. She seems to have a horror of my being stuck in the field without condiments.”

“I see,” Duke Richard said, twisting the top of the one he was holding several times, and then replacing the object. “Very clever. Do go on.”

“Now the second castle, the so-called White Chateau, is not properly a castle at all. Built, as it was, within the walls that existed at that time, it was never meant to be fortified. In case of attack, it would be abandoned and its residents evacuated to the Arthur Keep. It is where most of our honored guests are staying, or are going to stay, for the coronation. It can, and I am told it will, hold over two thousand people in comfort. The main building has over four hundred rooms, and the two els have over two hundred fifty each. There are thirty-two exits, in all directions.”

“Hard to guard,” Marquis Sherrinford said.

“True,” Coronel Lord Waybusch agreed. “And also, luckily, unnecessary. As Lord Peter has pointed out, the White Chateau does not connect with the Arthur Castle directly, and His Majesty has no call to go to the White Chateau. We are placing increased guards about, but mainly to report anything of a suspicious nature that occurs.

“Now the third, Great Cristobel, is the most recent—which still makes it over four hundred years old—and is more like what I think of as a castle. Several great halls, a grainery, troop quarters downstairs, servants’ quarters upstairs, and with only six entrances to the whole place. Easily guarded, easy to check who goes in and out, and also quite pointless. But we shall do it, nonetheless. Even Between the Walls shall have both roving and stationary guard points.

“The internal guardposts have been set up so that a roving guard will pass each stationary post at least every quarter hour of the night. Very mundane, very ordinary, but it’s what gets the job done.” Coronel Lord Waybusch took his gold shakers back, and the map rolled closed with a snap. He stuffed it back into his boot. “I don’t say it’s perfect,” he said. “I’ll be damned glad of suggestions or criticisms.”

“We should eliminate burglary and reduce petty theft to the vanishing point,” Marquis Sherrinford said, “but I don’t know how much good this will do in protecting His Majesty.”

“Nor do I,” Coronel Lord Waybusch agreed. “When you have a better idea, let me know. There will be close to six thousand people here for the next few weeks; an unmatched forest for our lone tree to hide in. Particularly since we cannot, as yet, call it by name. Give me something more to go on, and I swear to you that I will find someplace to go.”