Ten Little Wizards: A Lord Darcy Novel (9 page)

Goodman Lourdan nodded, his face assuming a doleful expression. “One of them, your lordship. The woman was Demoiselle ‘Lisbeth Augerre. She worked here at the inn.”

“And the man?”

“We are assuming that he was a guest,” Prefect Henri said. “But we have no proof one way or the other.”

“What tests or spells did you perform on the bodies?” Master Sean asked anxiously.

“None,” Sir Pierre assured him, “save a preservation spell. They await your arrival, my dear Master Sean, in the same state as I found them.”

“And Father Brunelle? Did the good father give the last rites, or invoke any of the power of the Church?”

Sir Pierre smiled. “I think he felt like invoking several, ah, powerful names—but he restrained himself.”

“Excellent,” Master Sean said. “Excellent!” He picked up his carpetbag. “Why don’t I go and begin my magical examination, my lord, while you continue your questioning?”

“Of course,” Lord Darcy agreed. “Unfair of me to keep you here when there’s work to be done.”

“Thank you, my lord. Sir Pierre, what sort of preservation spell did you put on the bodies?”

“Just a standard commercial spell,” Sir Pierre told him. “More suited to meats and vegetables, perhaps, than bodies, but I fancy it has done its job.”

“I’m certain it has,” Master Sean agreed.

“I’ll come with you and remove the spell,” Sir Pierre offered. “Also the avoidance spell I left on the door to the room holding the bodies. That should save you a few seconds.”

“Very kind of you,” said Master Sean.

“Not at all,” Sir Pierre told him. “I shall use it as an excuse to linger and watch you at work. It is always a pleasure to observe a true master, and as forensic sorcery is one of the disciplines that has always fascinated me, I shall be doubly lucky.”

“How was that avoidance spell on the patch of ground worked?” Lord Darcy asked.

“Come,” Sir Pierre said. “I’ll show you.”

Goodman Lourdan unlocked the door to a little corridor to the side of the bar and pulled it open. “Storage rooms and a couple of private dining rooms,” he explained, leading the way in. He walked rapidly down the corridor and stopped about ten feet from the last door on the left. “That room in there,” he said, waving at it. “I would prefer not to get any closer, thank you.”

They all felt the same urge: to stay away from that room at all costs. Somehow they all knew that to enter that room, or even to look at the door too closely, was to invite sure and certain disaster.

“Now that,” Master Sean said admiringly, “is what I call an avoidance spell!”

Sir Pierre approached the door and opened his wizard’s bag. “This will just take a second,” he said.

The others stood a bit farther back. It is never wise to interfere in the work of wizards, even in the simplest things.

Working with the deftness of long practice, Sir Pierre set a bronze brazier on a small tripod and put about a quarter of an inch of finely powdered charcoal on the bottom. He touched his wand to the brazier and muttered a few words, and the charcoal burst into flame. Then a prepared packet of precisely weighed and measured herbs and powders was tossed in on top, and sweet-smelling smoke wafted through the corridor. A softly murmured incantation of removal, and the work was done.

“Well done,” Master Sean said. “The hand of the true master can be seen in even the small details.”

Sir Pierre nodded his thanks to Master Sean. “Mind the brazier,” he said, carefully placing it to the side of the door. “It’ll take a minute to cool down.”

Goodman Lourdan bustled ahead of them, pulling a large brass key from the bunch at his belt. “It seemed a mite unnecessary to keep the door locked, what with Sir Pierre’s spell,” he said, unlocking the door, “but the formalities must be observed. Right, Prefect Henri?”

Prefect Henri smiled good-naturedly. “It is citizens like yourself who ease our work, Goodman Lourdan,” he said. “Honest, conscientious men who are willing to put themselves out for the good of the Empire.”

Goodman Lourdan beamed. There’s nothing that pleases a loyal citizen more than telling him that some minor inconvenience he has tolerated was for “the good of the Empire.”

Sir Pierre led the way into the small dining room. The dining table had been pushed to the back of the room and was now covered with a white tablecloth. The shape of the tablecloth suggested what lay under it.

The sight of the cloth-covered bodies brought a somber look to the faces of the five men. Goodman Lourdan seemed fascinated by it for a long moment, then he shook his head. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, gentlemen, I really should get back to tending to my guests. If there’s anything you need, just let me know.” He nodded to each of them and backed out of the room.

“We should let you get to work, Master Sean,” Lord Darcy said. “But I am curious about that avoidance spell on the hillside.”

Sir Pierre pointed to a small serving table to the left of the door. “There it is,” he said. “I don’t know what to make of it, except that it’s very clever. It seems sort of a convoluted way to go about such things.”

On the table Lord Darcy saw what appeared to be a brown blanket which had been folded into a neat one foot by two feet rectangle. “That’s the spell?” he asked.

“A receptacle for the spell,” Sir Pierre explained.

“May I examine it?”

“Be careful, my lord,” Master Sean advised. “Such unattached spells can be dangerous.”

“I’ll watch myself,” Lord Darcy told him. “Thank you for the warning.” He cautiously touched the blanket, which felt like...a blanket; stiff with dried mud, of a thick weave, coarsely sewn around the edges. He unfolded one flap, which protested and shed dried mud as it opened. There was no sensation of any sort that suggested a spell. Even more cautiously he unfolded the blanket another fold.

A rolling wave of nausea enveloped him, accompanied by an unreasoned fear. He suddenly knew that he could no longer be in this room with this blanket. It was an object of disgust and loathing, not to be touched. Lord Darcy dropped the blanket and retreated hastily across the floor.

“So that’s it,” he said, using a powerful act of will not to go running out the door. “The spell is imbedded in one side of the blanket. That’s a new one. Would one of you master magicians close that for me? I find that I don’t want to go near it.”

Sir Pierre retrieved the blanket and refolded it, placing it back on the small side table. “Is it not interesting, Lord Darcy?” he asked. “I, also, have never seen anything quite like it.”

“Very impressive,” Lord Darcy said. “I apologize for my over-reaction, but I was not expecting anything that strong.”

“Your reaction was quite moderate, my lord,” Sir Pierre told him. “Most people who are not sorcerers are unable to remain in the same room with that spell-in-a-blanket when it is unfolded. Notice that Prefect Henri is nowhere to be seen. He left rapidly when you lifted the fold.”

“A very clever notion,” Master Sean said. “Very clever indeed. I shall examine the workings of that spell with much interest.”

“I fail to see the purpose of it,” Sir Pierre said, “although it is indeed cleverly done. It would be more effective to put the spell directly on the objects you don’t want disturbed. This seems an indirect and dangerously roundabout way of achieving that end. As evidenced by the fact that we have, indeed, dug up the bodies this was meant to conceal.”

Lord Darcy felt in his pocket for his pipe, and then, reflecting that the tobacco fumes might muddle some of the signs Master Sean was looking for, left it in place. “True,” he said, “but that was largely fortuitous. This would seem to be an ingenious method for allowing someone who does not possess the Talent to use the spell.”

“My thought exactly, my lord,” Master Sean said.

“I see,” Sir Pierre said thoughtfully. “I didn’t think of that. Sort of a variant of the preservator box.”

Lord Darcy agreed. The preservator box, which kept food placed within it fresh, had a general preservation spell placed over the whole box, and thus eliminated the need to place a spell on each separate item of food. “Except in this case,” he said, “it was an avoidance spell. Clever adaptation of an existing idea. It also shows careful advance preparation on the part of the murderer.”

“And that he had the aid of a master sorcerer,” Master Sean added. “Yon blanket is not the work of a journeyman.”

“How big is it when it’s unfolded?” Lord Darcy asked.

“About six feet long by four feet wide,” Sir Pierre told him.

“Very interesting,” Lord Darcy said thoughtfully. He took his pipe out of his pocket. “I shall leave you two to your forensic labors now, and anxiously await your conclusions in the barroom.”

“Very good, my lord,” Master Sean said. “Now, Sir Pierre, about the preservation spell you put on the bodies. I trust you used the Elmsley Count rather than a Jordan...”

Lord Darcy left the two master sorcerers to their work. He found Prefect Henri settled at the corner table in the barroom and joined him. “I should like to speak to the staff,” Lord Darcy told Goodman Lourdan when he came over, “one at a time, if it’s convenient.”

“I’ll send them in,” Goodman Lourdan said. “Can I get your lordship a drink? Or you, Chief?”

“Caffe would be acceptable, if you can manage it,” Lord Darcy told him.

“A pot of caffe and a pitcher of cream coming right up,” Goodman Lourdan said. “And yourself, Chief?”

“Make it a big pot,” Prefect Henri said.

Lord Darcy busied himself lighting his pipe, and then turned to Prefect Henri. “Tell me about Demoiselle ‘Lisbeth Augerre,” he said. “Who was she, what did she do, who were her friends, what sort of man would she be with, and why did she get herself killed?”

“And I thought you were going to ask me something difficult,” Prefect Henri said. He took a packet of scribbled-on white cards from his pocket and leafed through them. “Here we are,” he said. “Demoiselle ‘Lisbeth Augerre. Daughter of Goodman Jourald Augerre, a teamster and drayman. Twenty years old. Worked at the inn for the last four years. Good grades at school—she went to the parish grade school—but quit at sixteen, as soon as she could. Well-liked by the rest of the staff, although the men thought her a bit standoffish.”

“The virginal type?” Lord Darcy asked.

Prefect Henri looked up from his notes. “The truth is, my lord, that the girl had an innate fondness for older men, and men of...quality. And she was, let us say, sexually promiscuous.”

“Are you saying that Demoiselle ‘Lisbeth was, in life, a prostitute?” Lord Darcy asked. “If so, then say it, Prefect.”

“But that would be inaccurate,” Prefect Henri protested. “The demoiselle did not, as far as we know, ever put a price on her affections. It is just that she was honestly attracted to mature, important men. She liked working at the
Gryphon d’Or
because it attracted such of the nobility as pass through Tournadotte. She spent her days making beds and her nights making memorable the stay of such unattached males as she deemed important enough to interest her.”

“A, ah, noble attitude,” Lord Darcy said. “When was she missed from the inn?”

“About a month ago,” Prefect Henri said. “It was not like her not to show up for work, but nobody took it seriously amiss for about a week. There were, you see, so many possible explanations. Then the armsmen were notified, and a missing commoner report was filled out.”

“And now we know where she’s been,” Lord Darcy said. “And the man?”

Prefect Henri shrugged. “A naked, middle-aged man in good physical shape, with a trimmed mustache and a spade beard. No such man has been reported missing. We can’t even begin to look for someone answering a description that fits about twenty percent of the male population of the Duchy of Normandy.”

“Could he have been a guest of the inn?”

“If so he was going from no place to no place, and nobody missed him when he failed to arrive.”

“An apt image,” Lord Darcy said. “Did the demoiselle have any suitors? Was there anyone who might have suffered an attack of raging jealousy watching the demoiselle in action?”

“I think not, from what I could discover,” Prefect Henri replied.

“I also think not,” Lord Darcy said. “Any explanation that does not account for that spell-binding blanket is no explanation at all.”

Goodman Lourdan returned to the table bearing a large pot of caffe, and the bar girl brought a pitcher of cream and a pair of fine china cups. “I’ll begin sending the staff in now, Your Lordship,” Goodman Lourdan said. “Will Your Lordship mind if I remain and listen? I’ll stay as quiet as a mouse.”

“No, that’s fine,” Lord Darcy said. “Sit yourself down, goodman.” He turned back to Prefect Henri. “Well, let’s hope that Master Sean comes up with something to aid in the identification. It’s hard to establish motive—or much of anything else—until you find out who the corpse is.”

For the next two hours Lord Darcy talked to the staff of the inn, from the assistant bottle washer to the chief housekeeper. None of them said anything of the faintest interest or use, until finally even Goodman Lourdan began to show his boredom with the procedure. “Your Lordship certainly is thorough,” the innkeeper said.

“Detection is mostly a process of elimination,” Lord Darcy told him. “Not as thrilling a process as the novelists make it out to be. But then, they can leave out the dull parts, while you and I, Goodman Lourdan, must sit through them.”

There were a series of crashes from the main room, as though doors were being slammed and a heavy object or two was being dropped, then the sound of boot-clad feet stomping across the room toward the barroom door. It swung open to reveal a noble youth in riding dress. The youth removed his wide-brimmed hat and held it across his chest. “Lord Darcy?” he asked.

“Yes?” Lord Darcy felt a quickening of excitement, as his trained mind analyzed and deduced so fast that it seemed like a premonition when he heard the youth say:

“I am the Chevalier Raoul d’Espergnan, my lord. A King’s Courier. I have been dispatched by the direction of Lord Peter Whiss to request your immediate return to Castle Cristobel. There has been another murder.”