Castle Murders

Twenty-five 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?"