Castle Murders

Three Keep ― West Wing

"I've got it."

Switching his golf bag from one shoulder to the other, Thaxton asked, "You've got what?" He kept walking down the gloomy corridor.

"A clerihew," Dalton said.

"Give."

"Okay, here goes.

"Sergei Rachmaninoff

Turned his lights on and off.

An old Late Romantic,

He was really quite frantic."

Dalton looked at his golf partner. "Well?"

Thaxton lifted one eyebrow. "Never cared much for Rachmaninoff."

"I'm asking for your opinion of my clerihew, sir."

"Adequate."

They continued down the hallway toward a pool of light. When they reached it they discovered that the illumination came from an archway that led out into the open, affording a pleasant prospect of stately trees, lawns, sunshine, and shrubbery. A formal garden of hedgerows and flower beds was set in the midst of all this, and a party was going on in the middle of everything. Canopies had been set up, tables underneath laid with food and drink. Several dozen people in widely varying costumes were enjoying the affair, many servants attending. Music came from a small orchestra. A game of croquet (or something to do with balls and mallets) was in progress on a greensward beyond.

"What's all this?" Thaxton said, stopping to watch.

"I do believe that's Princess Dorcas's family reunion."

"Oh?"

"A servant told me about it. Most of Incarnadine's family were invited. Cousins, uncles, Prince Trent, the whole crowd. The castle nobility."

"Really. You rarely see them."

"Most of them keep to their worlds. And they don't think much of Guests."

"Ah, yes," Thaxton said. "I suppose we're N.O.C.D. to them."

"_Not our Class, Dear'?"

"Right you are. Are they all related, do you think?"

"Most are, distantly," Dalton said, "from what I understand. They're the remnants of the aristocracy that once ruled the Western Pale and its adjacent kingdoms. Hundreds of years ago, thousands, maybe, when the territory wasn't the wasteland it is today. Over the years they took up residence in Perilous, and most of them live in one aspect or another."

Thaxton hefted his bag. "Well, we're not invited."

"Not hardly."

They walked on.

"Wait a minute," Thaxton said. "I feel one coming on."

"Eh?"

Thaxton cleared his throat, then versified as follows:

"Not bad, actually," Dalton said. "Have you discovered, like I have, that there's no good rhyme for Mozart?"

Thaxton considered the matter. "Goat's fart?"

"Not the most felicitous. Beethoven's hard too, if not impossible."

"We could change category. Or we could ― what's the matter?"

Dalton had stopped to peer into a small alcove to the left. A pair of stockinged legs was sticking out from behind the arch.

"What have we here?" Thaxton said.

They entered the alcove and found a man lying face up. Dark-haired and bearded, he was dressed in a blue fur-lined gown and long-skirted orange doublet. The gown was finely embroidered with gold thread. Everything he wore was very well tailored and looked expensive. Gold and enormous jewels ringed almost every finger.

The man's lips were blue, the face ashen. The eyes looked off into nothingness in a lifeless final stare.

Thaxton knelt over the body and took the right wrist. "No pulse." He palpated the neck, then bent and put an ear to the chest. "No heartbeat. He's still warm, though. Must have died minutes ago."

Dalton went to one knee and looked at the face. "What of, do you think?"

"Could be anything. He looks about forty. You couldn't rule out heart attack."

"There's no telling age with these castle people. Some of them are centuries old."

"Quite right. And who knows if they're susceptible to the usual medical inevitabilities? With lifetimes on that order, I would tend to think not."

"But they're not immortal," Dalton said. "It's just a matter of time before nature catches up with them." He looked the body over. "No bruises. No blood. Look at that jewelry. A thief wouldn't leave those. I suppose we could rule out foul play."

Thaxton scratched his chin thoughtfully. Then he said, "Let's turn him over."

"Should we touch the body?"

"We can always put him back. Get his legs."

They shifted the body to its side, then gently rolled it over.

Thaxton's eyebrows rose. "Hello, hello, what's this?"

"Then again, foul play just might be the ticket."

A small rent in the fabric of the gown, a dark stain surrounding it, was located between the shoulder blades at a spot a little to the left of the middle of the back.

"Knife wound?" Dalton asked.

"Stiletto, I should think. Let's get this overgarment off and see the wound."

They struggled to undress the limp body. Finding a matching hole in the doublet, they wrestled with that until they had exposed a white cotton undergarment, against which the bright bloodstain stood out.

"There's the entry point," Thaxton said, fingering the cloth. "Not much blood. A thin dagger of some sort, that's certain. Deep thrust, right into the back of the heart. The attacker's aim was bad, though. Probably just nicked the aorta, causing a not-too-fast leak. Slow enough to let the victim walk out of the party and back into the castle. He got this far before internal bleeding did him in."

"The party? Is that where he came from?"

Thaxton nodded. "Have you ever seen him before?"

Dalton shook his head. "But he could be a Guest."

"Perhaps. Has the look of nobility about him, though."

"True. But do you really think he was attacked at the party? Didn't look like there'd been any ruckus."

"No," Thaxton admitted. "If it was done there, it was a quiet job."

"Why would he have come back to the castle?"

"Who knows? To get help?"

"Wouldn't he have told someone first?"

"Doesn't make sense, does it?" Thaxton shook his head. "I dunno, just a hunch. Maybe he was attacked here or nearby. Maybe he isn't one of the gentry. We'll know soon enough."

"I'll go fetch Tyrene," Dalton said, getting to his feet. "You want to stay?"

"Golf's off for today, I should think."

"I'll be as quick as I can. Be careful. The culprit could still be around."

"I'll be on guard."

Dalton hurried off.

It was quiet in the alcove, too quiet. Thaxton had a rough time getting the body dressed again, but managed to return things more or less to the state they had been found in.

He got up and stepped back, viewing the body. He exhaled.

Right.

He began to search the floor around the corpse, widening his field of operations until he was back out in the hall. He found nothing, not even a drop of blood.

He went back inside and stood over the body, thinking.

Footsteps sounded out in the hallway. Thaxton looked over his shoulder.

A man in quasi-Renaissance dress went walking by. As he did he glanced into the alcove. He did a double take and halted.

"You there," he said. "What's going on?"

Thaxton turned his head to look down at the body.

"I asked you a question," the man said as he came into the alcove. His gaze locked on the body. "Ye gods!"

Thaxton stepped aside.

After kneeling over the corpse for a moment, the man stood up and faced Thaxton. He was tall and black-bearded, like the dead man. He looked somewhat younger. His eyes were fiercely blue.

"What do you know of this?" he demanded.

"Not very much, I'm afraid."

"When did this happen?"

"My golf partner and I found him not five minutes ago," Thaxton said, "right where he is."

The man regarded Thaxton suspiciously for a moment, then turned around to view the body again, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "What happened?"

"I'm afraid I don't know that either. May I ask…?"

The man gave Thaxton a sharp look. "Yes?"

"Might I ask who this gentleman is?"

"The viscount Oren, of course!"

Thaxton nodded.

The man turned his head again and said quietly, "My brother."

"You have my condolences," Thaxton said.

"Thank you," Oren's brother answered dryly. "Did anyone see him take ill?"

"I'm afraid I wasn't at the garden party."

"Weren't you serving?" The man looked Thaxton up and down. "Oh. You're one of them. I should have known by the ridiculous costume."

Thaxton glanced down at his knickerbockers and saddle shoes, then coolly scanned the man's attire ― a rehash of the viscount's but heavier on the embroidery.

"I rather think that's a case of pots calling kettles, don't you?"

The content of the remark sailed over the man's head, but not the implication. "How dare you! I'll have none of your impertinence, do you hear? And you will address me as _my lord.'"

Thaxton coughed quietly into his hand. "Don't you want to examine the body?"

"Eh?"

"There may be clues." Thaxton added, "My lord."

He understood. "Oh, yes. Yes. The body." He began a motion to stoop, but halted. "Run and fetch someone. Tyrene."

"He is being summoned, my lord."

"Ah. Good." He knelt, then looked up. "What is your name?"

"Thaxton, my lord. And whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

"Arl. Lord Arl."

Thaxton watched Arl fumble with the corpse's clothing. "Might I suggest we turn the body to one side?"

Thaxton helped him, lifting the body toward himself. When Arl's eyes found the hole in the gown, they went round and wild.

"Merciful gods!"

He shot to his feet. "He's been murdered. My brother's been murdered!"

"So it would seem, my lord," Thaxton said. "Frightfully sorry."

Arl looked helpless, confused. "It can't be. It simply can't be."

Running footsteps came from the hallway. Breathless, Tyrene ― Captain of the Guard ― burst into the alcove, followed by two Guardsmen. He immediately went to his knees and examined the wound.

"Gods," he said in a whisper.

Presently, Tyrene stood and faced Thaxton. "Did you see anybody in the hall just before you found the body?"

"Not a soul," Thaxton said.

Arl was still standing over the corpse, unmoving.

"My lord, did you see anybody?"

Arl wrenched his gaze from his brother's body. "No. I ― no."

"Was the viscount at Her Highness's fête?"

"Yes," Arl said. "It can't be more than a quarter-hour since I saw him there."

"Did you see him leave, my lord?"

"No. No, I did not. I grew bored and left early. I was passing in the hall when I saw this man, here. And my brother… lying there. Dead."

"My sincerest commiseration is yours, my lord, in this your hour of grief."

Arl nodded absently.

Dalton puffed into the alcove, halted, bent over and put his hands on his knees for a moment and breathed deeply. Then he straightened and leaned toward Thaxton. "Just a little winded," he whispered.

"I'm sorry; I should have gone. Not thinking."

"You seemed to have had the situation well in hand."

"My lord," Tyrene was saying, "can you give me any information at all concerning your brother's actions during the fête that would shed light on the question of who may have attacked him?"

Lord Arl took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he said, "I can tell you little. As you may know, my brother and I were not on speaking terms. We did not speak at the fête, nor did we associate. I saw him playing hedge ball. Then later I saw him sup with Lady Rilma. That was not very long before I departed. I thought I'd left him at the fête."

"My lord, did you see him speak or associate with anyone else besides his wife?"

"He was playing hedge with Lord Belgard and Lady Rowena."

"Very good, my lord. My lord, if it be not too inconvenient, might we continue this line of questioning later? I must to the fête and inform Her Highness and the other guests."

"Yes. Yes, by all means, Tyrene."

"Thank you, my lord."

Two more people arrived: a young page, who carried a folded leather stretcher, and a gray-haired older man in a brown cloak. Although Thaxton had never availed himself of the man's services, he recognized Dr. Mirabilis, the castle physician. Thaxton wondered about the state of forensic medicine in the castle.

"Obviously a dagger or other sharp instrument," Dr. Mirabilis pronounced after examining the body. "I'll know more after I perform an autopsy, but I'd say there's a good chance that the viscount died as a result of the wound. There's been a great loss of blood, probably bleeding into the chest cavity. As I said, we'll know for certain later."

"When can the autopsy be performed, Doctor?" Tyrene asked.

"Immediately. If you can have the body brought to the infirmary."

The body was lifted onto the stretcher. The page produced a sheet to drape the body, then he and one Guardsman bore the stretcher away.

"I'll have my report messengered directly to you, Captain," the doctor said. Then he departed.

"His Majesty must be informed immediately," Tyrene said. "Was he at the fête, my lord?"

"He hadn't arrived by the time I left," Arl said. "But I'd heard he would be late." He looked away for a moment, then added, "I will inform Lady Rilma."

"I should be grateful to be relieved of that burden, my lord. Thank you."

Tyrene turned to Thaxton and Dalton. "I wonder if you two gentlemen would mind accompanying me to the Formal Garden? I imagine His Majesty would like to hear from your mouth any testimony you have to give."

"Certainly," Thaxton said. Dalton nodded.

Tyrene, Lord Arl, and the other Guardsman left.

Thaxton began to follow. Over his shoulder he said, "Let's go, old boy."

"What about the bags?" Dalton said, pointing to the dropped golf clubs.

"We'll send a servant. Come on, man. The game's afoot!"