Castle Murders

Nineteen Castle by the Sea

"I was talking to Baron Delwyn when I heard someone groan behind me," the princess was saying to Tyrene.

"Yes," the baron said. He was a small man in knee breeches and hose. "It was Damik. Actually he was just passing by. I saw him. He walked behind Her Highness, stopped, seemed to be about to go back the way he'd come, then groaned."

"He bumped into me," Dorcas said. "He turned around with this awful look on his face, clutching at his chest. I saw blood where he was touching. Then he collapsed."

"Baron, you saw no one near him?" Tyrene asked.

"Well, there were a dozen people milling about out here after dinner. But I didn't see anyone near him when he fell."

"And you were faced the other way, Your Highness?"

"Yes. I didn't see a thing until Damik backed into me."

"Who was out here at the time?" Tyrene asked the group of lords and ladies in the foyer.

Lord Arl looked around first before answering. "I was one," he volunteered. "Although I went into the library shortly before it happened."

Tyrene said, "My lord, did you see anything suspicious?"

"Such as?"

"Did you see anyone near the count?"

"Well… I hesitate to direct suspicion at anyone."

"My lord, there has been a murder committed. Someone stabbed the count. Someone here, in this room."

Trent said, "I was talking to him. Out here in the hall. I suppose there's no denying that he left me just moments before he collapsed."

"And where were you when he did, Your Highness? If I might ask."

Sheila, disturbed and distraught, was standing at Trent's side, her arm in his. He pressed her hand reassuringly. "Right there, near the door to the dining hall. Right where I spoke to Damik."

"And what, sir, were you doing at that exact moment?"

"Just standing there thinking. Thinking about what Damik had just said."

"Sir, which was?"

"That he was going to go to you with the name of the person who owned the dagger."

"He was…?"

"He claimed he saw someone recently purchase a dagger similar to the murder weapon. He told this to Thaxton, Dalton, myself, and my wife."

"I see."

Baron Delwyn said, "He told me as well. In fact, he seems to have told a number of people. Lord Linwold remarked to me just an hour ago that Damik had told him the same thing. Seems he was disturbed about this and didn't know what to do."

Tyrene nodded. "So. This is very interesting. Count Damik was privy to potentially damning information regarding the identity of the murderer, and now he's dead."

Thaxton and Dalton were standing off to one side.

Dalton leaned over and whispered, "They were all in a position to stab him. Trent, Belgard, Rilma…"

"And a cloud of witnesses standing about, none of whom saw anything, as usual."

"Well, this murderer seems to have some tricks up his sleeve. Don't forget your hypothesis about magic. Hypnosis, black magic spells…" Dalton thought. "Invisibility?"

"An invisible murderer," Thaxton said. "Now that would explain a lot."

"Yes," Dalton agreed. "It would. If it weren't for the fact that there's no magic in this aspect."

"Who says there isn't?"

Everyone watched silently as Guardsmen bore the body away.

When they were gone, Tyrene turned to face the assembled group. "I will do all further questioning in private, my lords and ladies," he announced. "But in the morning. There is a storm gathering, and it looks to be an ominous night. There is a murderer loose in the castle. I suggest you all retire to your rooms and bolt your doors. Good night to you all, and may your respective deities, whosoever they may be, forfend any harm."

The group broke up and dispersed, almost all ascending the wide staircase that led to the level where most of the bedrooms were.

Tyrene came over to Thaxton and Dalton. "At least there will be no more murders tonight. I'm going to post guards at the doors of all the prime suspects."

"Ah, you have a list," Thaxton observed.

"And a short list it is," Tyrene replied. "Unlike those in mystery romances."

"I should say not," Thaxton said. "Just under a dozen suspects is de rigueur."

"Thank the gods that's not our problem here," Tyrene said. "I can't say that I'm close to a solution of these crimes, but things are becoming increasingly clear."

"Such as?" Thaxton asked.

"That this is a relatively simple matter made obscure by deliberate obfuscation, if not outright lying."

"How so?" Dalton asked.

"Gods, man. Can't you see? They're all covering up for someone! Murder's committed under their noses, yet no one sees a thing. A likely story! Oh, they're thick as thieves, this lot. They'd rather see the culprit go scot-free than break their damnable code of _discretion.' Scandal is the worst thing they can imagine."

Dalton said, "We were discussing the possibility of some supernatural means."

"Don't think it didn't occur to me. I suspected thaumaturgical homicide right off, but have since discounted it. There are a thousand dark spells designed to do a man in, and this lot knows 'em all, I'll wager. But, you see, each is a magician himself, and can employ forfending spells to ward off a hex or a curse or a dozen other eldritch evils. They're all well versed in these matters, let me assure you. Which is why the simplest method is all the more effective. It's unexpected."

Thaxton said, "And you think the murderer is counting on the silence of his peers to keep his identity concealed?"

"Damik did much soul searching about revealing even circumstantial evidence," Dalton pointed out. "Though he decided in the end to do it."

"So Trent says," Tyrene acknowledged. "But he may be lying."

"Wouldn't Trent lie the opposite way?" Thaxton asked, "and say that Damik wasn't going to tell?"

"Possibly," Tyrene said.

"In any case, I find it unlikely that Damik would announce to a group that included the murderer himself that he knew who the murderer was."

"Damik was like that," Tyrene responded. "Very given to subtleties and devious ploys. It may have been his way of giving Trent notice, yet providing witnesses if anything should happen to him, which in fact it did."

"I see," Thaxton said. "But I find it difficult to imagine Trent a murderer."

"You didn't know him in his youth," Tyrene told him. "Admittedly that was quite a spell ago, even as Perilous time is reckoned, but he was one hotheaded young buck, quick to anger, quicker to pick a fight. I'll admit I've seen him change, and he was an exile on Earth for the longest time, which might have worked some ameliorative influence on him ―"

"Earth isn't exactly the most peaceful of places," Dalton pointed out.

"Be that as it may. He has changed for the better in some respects, but I'm old enough to know that pards may change their spots yet still be pards."

"Leopards," Dalton supplied to Thaxton. "Poetic usage, as a lot of castle lingo is."

"Yes, leopards, I beg your pardon. But you take my meaning, I'm sure." Tyrene scratched himself, which Thaxton had by then put down to nervous habit. "If only these were a pack of your common cutthroats. I could order a strip search and turn up the second murder weapon in a trice. We weren't so lucky the second time. No one left a knife lying about for us to ―"

Tyrene had turned his head as he spoke, and now froze. Thaxton and Dalton followed his astonished gaze. Something was lying near the base of the far wall.

"Ye gods!" Tyrene breathed.

They went running to it.

"Damn me!" Tyrene said, kneeling to examine it. He was mortified.

The knife lying on the floor next to the wainscoting was a twin of the first murder weapon.

"That's what you kicked," Dalton said to Thaxton.

"What's that?" Tyrene asked, looking up.

Thaxton told him.

"So it was there all along. But how is it no one saw it before?"

"It was invisible," Thaxton said.

"Damn me." Tyrene clucked and shook his head. "So it was magic."

"I think so," Thaxton said. "But we're no closer to finding out who did the magic."

"True," Tyrene conceded, "but the light grows ever brighter."

"Invisibility certainly explains why no one saw anything," Dalton remarked. "There was nothing to see."

"At least not in the murderer's hand," Tyrene said. "You might tend to dismiss or forget seeing someone do this" ― he made a fist and brought it up against Dalton's chest ― "if it looked like a jape or a friendly tap."

"Again, though, there's a problem," Thaxton insisted.

"What's that?" Tyrene asked.

"Why would the murderer drop his weapon at the scene of the crime? For the second time?"

The captain ruminated before answering. "Ordinarily, I would say, simply to get rid of it as quickly as possible so as not to have it turn up in a search. But they all know I wouldn't and couldn't ask them to submit to such an indignity." Tyrene scowled. "I simply haven't a clue as to why the knife was dropped."

"Neither do I," Thaxton said. "As of now, anyway."

Tyrene's brow lifted sardonically. "I trust you'll apprise me of any sudden revelations."

"I'll be sure to," Thaxton said dryly.

Tyrene picked up the knife. "I suppose it won't do any good to test it for prints. I'm not going to get a messenger through that storm out there, anyway. It can wait till the morrow."

"No prints," Dalton said, shaking his head. "I can't recall any of the prime suspects wearing gloves."

"Aye, but I'll wager any purse it'll be clean, as before. Mayhap the trick was done magically," Tyrene declared. "Damn me again. I'm hoist by my own petard."

"Well," Thaxton said. "I suppose there is nothing left to do. Everyone's locked doors by now."

"I suggest you gentlemen do the same," the captain told them. "And I'll take my own advice. I'm fagged out, truth be told. This nasty business has sapped me. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense."

"As though of hemlock you had drunk?" Dalton asked.

"Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains." Tyrene yawned. "I crave your pardon, gentlemen. I must to bed." He turned and walked off, waving. "Until the morrow, then."

"Good night, Captain," Thaxton said.

"These people have such poetic speech," Dalton observed, marveling.

It was a dark night of Sturm und Drang.

Lightning split the sky, revealing the desperate sea as it dashed itself against the rocks below. Rain pelted the castle, and wind wailed over the ramparts. Between flashes, the sea was gray green, suffused with a strange luminescence, boiling and churning.

Dalton came away from the window and sat back in the stuffed chair. He picked up The Moswell Plan and resumed reading.

Thaxton lay in bed, absorbed in Magiekal Divershyns.

They read as rain spattered the diamond-patterned windows and thunder rolled across the coast.

There came a knock at the door.

"Who the devil could that be?" Thaxton said, making to get up.

"I'll get it," Dalton said, rising.

Dalton turned the huge key in the lock, threw the bolt, and opened the heavy oaken door, its wrought-iron hinges creaking.

"Good evening, Mr. Dalton."

"Princess Dorcas. Your Royal Highness, please come in."

"Thank you. I'm so glad you're still up. I had no wish to disturb you."

"Not at all."

Dorcas came into the room, smiling. Thaxton was already on his feet.

"Your Royal Highness, what a pleasant surprise," he said.

"You're wondering why I'm up and about," Dorcas began.

"Well, ma'am, it's not the wisest thing to be doing with the murderer about."

"The murderer has already tried to kill me," she said, "and failed. There will be no second attempt. That would be too risky. I think the murderer realizes now that I won't reveal what I know."

The two men looked at each other.

Thaxton said, "Ma'am, if I might be so impertinent as to ask, what do you know?"

"The identity of the killer."

Dalton coughed, recovered, and said, "Won't you please sit down?"

Dorcas sat in the stuffed chair. "Please, gentlemen, be seated."

Dalton dragged up the hard-backed chair. Thaxton sat on the end of the bed.

"You say you know who the murderer is," Thaxton said. "May I ask how?"

Dorcas smiled. "That will take some explaining." She glanced at the book beside the reading lamp on the table. "Ah, I see you're reading my book."

"Oh, that's your copy?"

"No. I wrote it."

Dalton's eyes went wide. "You wrote The Moswell Plan? You're Dorcas Bagby?"

"That was the pen name I chose, yes. You see, I really don't have a surname, so I took the name of my landlady. I was living in England at the time. Most of our family have spent a good deal of time there, getting educated. Trent, Incarnadine, all of us. Oh, there is the family name of Haplodie, but that sounds so strange, and in fact it's a gens name, a clan name, not a proper surname. Anyway, writing the novel was something to pass the time while I spent a summer in Kent with friends of the family. It was a short-lived phenomenon. The urge to write never came over me again."

Dalton said, "Well, I can tell you that I'm enjoying it immensely, and it's an especial joy to be actually reading it after so many years of hearing about it."

"It's known?" Dorcas asked.

"Mostly by reputation. But it is known."

"I'm elated. I'd thought the book consigned to obscurity. It's long been out of print. The publisher is no longer in business."

"Are you sure this isn't your copy?"

"No. Where did you find it?"

"In the Peele library."

"I didn't know there was a copy here. Well." Dorcas sat back. "And now, I suppose you want me to explain how I can claim to know who the murderer is? Very well, I'll tell you, though you might not believe me. It's very simple. I saw guilt on the person's face."

A flash of lightning threw diamond patterns across the room, and a loud report shook the windows.

"And the person knew it when I looked. We locked eyes, both aware of the other's thoughts. It lasted only a second, but it was as if we had spoken for an hour. This happened very shortly after we were informed of the viscount's death. I knew then that I was in danger."

"Sounds as though it was a frightening experience," Dalton said. "Would you explain in more detail how this ability of yours works?"

"It is the Eye of Yahura, the Interior Eye. With it one can look into one's own soul, and into that of others. It's the soul, of course, that radiates from the eyes and communicates emotions to other people. Most people assume it's the face and the facial muscles, but of course the face can move very little. With the Eye of Yahura it's possible to see even deeper, down to the seat of the emotions, and there read the state of the samra, or soul-substance, which remains hidden and is not usually revealed by the eyes, except in the case of certain holy persons."

"Were you born with this ability?" Dalton asked.

"No, not at all, though I was a fairly adept castle magician until I gave up that school of magic and adopted another entirely. I learned it partly from my husband, the Diktar of Sagrapore, and partly from a very wise and holy woman by the name of Bassara Ulani. I studied for several decades before becoming proficient."

"Very interesting," Thaxton said. "What do you intend to do with this knowledge… of the identity of the murderer, I mean?"

"Nothing."

"Why?"

"My brother Incarnadine is wise. He made a law which prohibits a person from being charged with a crime based on information obtained from divination, necromancy, clairvoyance, or any paranormal means. The law is a very vital protection of human rights. It prevents the abuse of magic and gives jurisprudence an objective basis. Imagine if someone could be charged, tried, convicted, and even executed on the word of some clever and malicious charlatan. Or on the false evidence of a real magician. It is unthinkable. That is why my revealing the murderer's identity would do no good whatsoever. I have no evidence on which to base such an accusation, and nothing but evil would come of it. That is why I must remain silent. I think even the murderer realizes that now."

"You remained silent even though your life was in danger," Thaxton observed. "Remarkable. Tell me this, ma'am, if you please. Count Damik is dead. You're saying that the murderer meant to kill you instead?"

"Yes, that I also read on the murderer's face. I am sure the killing of Damik was somehow a mistake."

"If Damik was stabbed, which looks certain, how could it have been a mistake?"

Dorcas shook her head slowly. "It puzzles me, too. But I am certain the murderer meant to kill me, not Damik. The murderer touched me."

"He ― or she ― touched you?"

"Yes. On the back. Just one finger, lightly, in passing. I thought the person wanted to speak to me, but no, not even a look. Just a touch. It was the touch of death. I could feel it. It was like the touch of a corpse. Cold, unfeeling."

"How long before Damik's murder did this happen?"

"Just moments. Perhaps forty-five seconds. A minute at the outside."

"And somehow," Thaxton prompted, "Damik got in the way."

"Yes. But I don't understand how. I know it was magical, and that the knife or the dagger was somehow incorporeal, or ―"

"Oh, it was corporeal all right," Dalton interjected. "It was just invisible for a little while."

"I see," Dorcas said. "Of course. And the dagger was thrown?"

"Possibly," Thaxton said. "That's what we don't know."

"Your Highness," Dalton said, "why have you come to us?"

Dorcas smiled. "For sympathy. I had no one to share this with. My husband is recuperating from an illness and couldn't come to the fête. I couldn't go to my relatives; they're distrustful and might think me trying to stir up trouble. They'd rather see the whole matter dropped. Murder doesn't disturb them so much as the adverse reflection on the family. Also, I had a feeling about you two gentlemen."

"What sort of feeling?" Thaxton asked.

"That you knew even more than Tyrene. That you were closer to getting to the bottom of this than he was, as good a man as Tyrene is and as good as his intentions are. I wanted to be close to you, to reassure you that you were on the right track, although I can't give you any guidance whatsoever. All I can do is lend you my emotional support. And, finally, you're Guests. Guests seem to have special talents, sometimes. I find that fascinating."

Dalton said, "You're talking to two very untalented Guests, magically speaking. I can levitate about an ounce of weight, if I set my mind to it. Thaxton… Thaxton, old boy, exactly what can you do?"

"Not a bloody thing, I'm embarrassed to say."

Dorcas said, "Oh, I think you have great untapped potential. You've simply never explored it."

Thaxton was surprised to hear it. "You don't say?"

Dalton yawned. "Excuse me. It's way past my bedtime, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I'm keeping you up. I'm so sorry."

"Let us walk you back to your quarters," Thaxton suggested.

"Would you gentlemen consider letting me stay here for the night? I'd feel much better."

"Of course," Thaxton said. "You'll take the bed, Dalton the cot, and I can curl up in the chair."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't put you out. I intend to go into bramhara sleep, and that's usually done in a sitting position." She got up and sat back down with her legs in an improbable knot under her.

"However do you do that?" Dalton wondered.

Dorcas wrapped her arms around her upper body so tightly that she seemed to be trying to touch her hands together behind her back. "This is the position of bramhara sleep."

Thaxton said, "Uh… which is?"

"An alternative state of consciousness in which being is contingent upon discretionary choice, not imposed by ontological fiat."

"Oh, that."

"It is a restful state as well as being contemplative and transmaterial. I often go into bramhara during times of emotional stress. I'll be fine right here on this chair, gentlemen. Please just ignore me."

Dalton rose and went to the cot. He picked up the nightshirt that Ruford had laid out for him. He held it up. "I ought to have a sleeping cap with this. I'll go into the bathroom to change. But one more question, Your Highness."

"Certainly."

"How do you keep that stone on your forehead?"

"The Eye? Very easily." Dorcas unwrapped her arms. Cupping her hand in front of her face, she tilted her head down. After a second or two, the diamond dropped into her hand. She held it up. "Just a common diamond. I tune my body so that there is a natural affinity between the organic element of which it is composed, carbon, and the carbon which makes up a great deal of my body. The two naturally attract." She tilted her head back so that she was looking directly at the ceiling, then placed the diamond on her forehead. She held this position for about five seconds, then slowly brought her head back to the perpendicular. The stone stayed put.

"Remarkable," Dalton said, shaking his head. "Absolutely remarkable." He went into the bathroom and shut the door.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to stay up a bit longer and read," Thaxton said.

"Please do anything you wish," Dorcas said, and went into position again. Her eyes closed.

Thaxton lay on the bed and picked up the book.

Dalton was dreaming of a woman, a beautiful woman. She wore a white gown, a thin chemise, and was walking barefoot at the surf's edge, the breakers washing up the smooth packed sand to wet her feet. The sky was blue between white puffy clouds. She was coming toward him, sea breeze blowing the thin cloth of the gown tight against her well-formed body. She was smiling. This was her kingdom, this kingdom by the sea….

"Dalton!"

"Huhhh?"

"Dalton, old boy. Wake up!"

The woman, the sky, the sea ― all faded away.

Dalton opened his eyes. Thaxton was bending over him, hand on his shoulder.

Thaxton shook him again. "Are you awake?"

"Good God, Thaxton, what is it?"

Thaxton was excited. "I've got the solution, old boy. I know how the murder was done. And if I can get a messenger through to the castle, we may be able to find out just who the murderer is."

"God, I hope I see her again," Dalton said.

"Eh? Get up, old boy. We must go see Tyrene."