The Haunted Wizard

CHAPTER 4

Sir Orizhan stared, then whirled to exchange glances with Sergeant Brock, who only stared back at him.

“Where did the prince fall?” Matt asked.

“Over here.” Sir Orizhan led the way to the foot of the stairs, where a dark stain covered the floorboards, three feet across.

Matt looked down, nodding. “Pool of blood, all right. What time did it happen?”

“Time?” Sir Orizhan frowned; the medieval mind scarcely thought in terms of hours, let alone minutes. “In the middle of the night, my lord. What more can we say?”

Matt raised his voice. “Is there a man of the Watch here?”

“Here, my lord.” One of the Merovencians stepped forward. He didn’t wear livery, like the soldiers, but only a brassard to show his office.

“How far into your Watch did this happen?”

“We were almost done, my lord, when a pot-boy came running to summon us. We were in time to see the folk come streaming out of the inn.”

“An hour before midnight, then.” Matt had set up the duty rosters himself. The first Watch began their shift at dusk, which would have been about seven o’clock in this season. “Where is the body now?”

“We brought it back to the castle, milord,” Sir Orizhan said. “We thought his parents would wish it.”

“I’m sure they do. And Pargas and Laetri?”

“At the castle also, milord,” Sergeant Brock said, “but in the dungeons.”

“Of course,” Matt said sourly, gazing down at the stain. “But you saw the prince’s body. Where was the wound?”

“In his back, my lord.” Sir Orizhan’s face writhed with disgust, and he spoke with contempt. “It was truly the stroke of a base coward.”

“But Pargas fought the prince face-to-face, with only a club.”

“Two clubs, milord,” Sergeant Brock told him. “Small ones. I fought him myself, till some fool of a Merovencian pulled me away and stabbed at me.”

The Merovencian soldiers’ faces darkened, and Matt hurried on. “Two small clubs? Why did he only have one when he was standing over the body?”

“Because someone had stabbed his left shoulder, milord.”

“You?”

“No, milord,” the sergeant said. “He had both clubs when I was torn away from him. Then another brawler came at the prince’s back, felling the soldier who warded him there, and I had to leap to guard him from behind until I was laid low in my turn by some other Merovencian bully boy.”

“Probably the prince who stabbed Pargas, then.” Matt turned away before the sergeant could object, and measured the distance from the stain to the bottom step with his eyes. “Ten feet clear of the stairs, at least. The prince fought a good way into the room.”

“He was a decent fighter with a knife, milord.” The sergeant’s tone was neutral.

“And not very many noblemen are good knife-fighters, hm? Not his first tavern brawl, no doubt. Unfortunately, he made it far enough away from the walls so that virtually anyone could have come at his back.”

The room was very quiet.

Into the silence, Sir Orizhan said, “Then anyone here might have struck that blow?”

“Anyone,” Matt agreed. “Start asking questions, Sir Knight. You, too, Sergeant. I want to know where everyone was when the prince fell.”

They started asking. Half an hour later Matt had a complete picture of where everyone had been. Each one of them remembered whom he had been fighting, and their stories all checked—except for two men whose opponents had disappeared chasing the fugitive, but Matt was inclined to believe them, so the escapees couldn’t have been the murderers. One of the Bretanglian troopers even remembered that he’d been fighting Pargas when Laetri screamed, and that he’d seen her over the pimp’s shoulder the whole time. The serving wenches had all been hiding behind the bar, and all remembered each other’s presence.

“It would seem that the murderer was the man who went out the window after all, milord,” Sir Orizhan said.

“That,” Matt agreed, “or somebody’s lying. Let’s go back to the castle, Sir Orizhan. I want a look at the body before I talk to its father.”

“A look at the body? But why?”

“Tell you outside,” Matt muttered, men snapped, “Come on, Sergeant. Let’s go!”

They strode out into the night—and Matt halted, turning to face the two men. “I didn’t want to say this where the bystanders could hear—but if the man who went out the window didn’t stab the prince with his own hand, and everyone else remembers who they were fighting, there’s a very good chance the prince was killed by magic.”

The knight stared, face sickening, eyes filling with dread— but Brock’s expression turned stone cold.

Prince Gaheris’ body lay in state in the Great Hall, surrounded by candles and Bretanglian guards. His face and hands had been washed, but the servants couldn’t undress him to bathe because of rigor mortis. Sir Orizhan had to do some fancy talking to keep the guards from objecting to Mart’s inspection, and Sergeant Brock had to order them away from the casket—all the way to the edges of the room, so they couldn’t hear the muttered conversation.

Matt turned the body over and stared at the wound in the back. Doublet and cut alike were stiff with dried blood. He swallowed heavily against nausea and whispered to Sir Orizhan, “You really think a knife did that?”

“Assuredly not!” The knight’s face turned gray. Even Sergeant Brock turned pale.

It was a huge, gaping, horizontal cut, at least six inches long. The edges were ragged, as though someone had cut in with a saw instead of stabbing.

“What weapon made that?” Sir Orizhan whispered “A sword,” Sergeant Brock told him, “or a spearhead. Even then, the murderer must have twisted it and hacked a bit, to make the edge so ragged.”

Matt turned the prince faceup again. “A lump on the left-hand side of his forehead—Pargas scored once, at least. A few more bruises, but I don’t see any blood on this side “

“No,” Sir Orizhan agreed. “I have seen sticks hit men hard enough to make them bleed, but nowhere nearly as much as the prince did. The pimp could not have slain him, then, could he?”

“A club doesn’t cut into a body too well, no,” Matt acknowledged, “and it’s hard to hit both the front and the back of a man at the same time.” He scanned the body, frowning. “Notice what’s missing?”

Both men stared down, thinking. Then Sir Orizhan said, “His purse!”

“Right.” Matt nodded. “Sergeant, send somebody back to the inn to search. Might be the prince really did think he’d been robbed.”

“Why else would he have accused her?” Sir Orizhan asked. His face sickened as he realized the answer.

“Right again.” Matt nodded. “Gaheris wanted an excuse to beat up on her.”

“I assure you, this prince never troubled with such an excuse.”

“A real sweetheart,” Matt said grimly. “Still, it might be interesting rinding out where that purse is. Send someone, would you, Sergeant?”

“There’s no need,” Brock said, voice very low. “I watched you fight the sorcerer from the shadows. I wondered why he needed two purses. I thought perhaps one held magical powders.”

“Not a bad guess, but wrong this time.” Matt nodded with satisfaction. “You’ve got sharp eyes, Sergeant. So whether or not the sorcerer struck the death blow, he did provide the excuse for the brawl.” He stepped away from the corpse. “Okay. I can’t put it off any longer. Time to tell his parents.”

They went out of the Great Hall, but Sir Orizhan said, “I can see you do not believe all you have seen, Lord Wizard.”

“Oh, it’s believable,” Matt told him. “I’ve seen knives big enough to make a wound like that.”

“Short swords, more likely,” Sergeant Brock grunted, then stared in surprise at his own words.

Matt nodded “Could have been a short sword, like a Reman gladius, yes.”

“But you do not believe it,” Sir Orizhan pressed.

“No, I don’t,” Matt told him. “It’s much more like the hole a scissor blade would make, or maybe a paring knife, if you stuck it into the back of a straw doll and jabbed it around a little for good measure. It wouldn’t even be an inch long, of course, but on the real body…”

“Witchcraft!” Even the toughened sergeant shuddered.

“Or sorcery.” Matt nodded. “No way to defend yourself against it, is there? And all three of us know the man who went out the window was a sorcerer.”

“Then you must tell the king that his son was slain by one of his own countrymen!” Sir Orizhan exclaimed.

“Yes,” Matt said heavily, “and I don’t think he’s going to like that In fact, I don’t think he’s going to believe me at all.”

“You lie!” King Drustan cried, and Queen Petronille declared, “You seek to shield a man of your own!”

Their rage was frightening, but Matt felt a surge of anger at being called a liar. “If I had the man here, you couldn’t deny it”

“If you had him here, aye!” Drustan roared. “Lord Wizard, do you call yourself? When a peasant sorcerer can outdo you in magic? Or did you let him escape in order to shield your country from war?”

“Ask your own man.” Matt nodded at Sergeant Brock. “Ask him how I fought.”

“He wrought wonders,” the sergeant told the king. “It was pure bad luck that he lost, and good luck he lived.”

Matt flashed the man a look of surprised gratitude, but Drustan roared, “Bad luck for him, for he’ll die in battle on a Bretanglian lance!” He struck Brock backhanded.

“How dare you insult us by saying our son was slain by our own countryman!” Queen Petronille cried, white-faced and trembling.

“There can be no question of peace between our countries now!” Drustan shouted, and turned to Alisande. “We go back to Bretanglia at first light—to gather our armies, and march in vengeance!” He spun to Sir Orizhan and Sergeant Brock. “You have failed in your duty, knight and soldier! You were set to guard the prince, and he is dead! Do not think to come back to Bretanglia until you have found his murderer, or avenged his death!” He whirled back to Alisande. “Prepare your people for war, Your Majesty!” He made the words an insult. “Prepare for war—and defeat!”

Matt stood beside Alisande on the battlements, watching the Bretanglian royal family ride away from Bordestang surrounded by their entourage—knights, soldiers, servants, and ladies-in-waiting. “So the sorcerer gained what he wanted— war.”

“Not the sorcerer alone.” Alisande gazed after the departing party, saddened and troubled. “They came to seek an excuse for war, Drustan and Petronille both.”

Matt stared at her. “You don’t think they planned on their son being assassinated!”

“Of course not!” Alisande looked up, shocked that he could even think of such a thing. “They meant to rely on their own tempers and insults to provoke me into declaring war.” She turned to look after her erstwhile guests. “Nonetheless, my heart is heavy with their sorrow. I have a son now, and know how Petronille must grieve.”

“That heart is too good,” Matt said softly.

She looked up and found his eyes doting, and smiled, taking his hand. “You are a greater comfort than you know, husband, and I have need of such reassurance now.” She turned to look after the Bretanglians again. “Unpleasant though he may have been, Gaheris was my cousin, for so is his mother, though rather distant kin. I am overcome with guilt that he should have been slain in my capital.”

“You couldn’t prevent it,” Matt assured her, “if someone in their own party was planning it all along, and just waiting for this trip to set that plan into motion.”

Alisande turned to him with a frown. “Do you truly think so?”

“I do, but howls for me telling you about it inside? This spring wind is brisk, and a warm fire would be a great comfort, too, just now.”

Alisande smiled again and laid her arm on top of his. “Let us go down to the solar, by all means.” The huge clerestory windows justified the solar’s name, letting the sun bathe the room in early morning light. With a roaring fire to warm them outside and spiced cider to warm them inside, they could relax with Mart’s parents and mull over the nights events.

Alisande sat back with a sigh. “I confess it is a relief to have them gone, though that relief will be short-lived.”

“Yes, you must prepare for war,” Mama agreed, “though we hope you will not have to wage it.”

“An honest, open battle would be better than this skulking in shadows and stabbing men in their backs,” Papa huffed.

“Now, husband!” Mama reproved. “There has been only one man stabbed”

“Yes, but how many were waiting their turn?”

“Everyone in that inn has an alibi,” Matt said, “even the two who managed to slip away. Sir Orizhan and Sergeant Brock questioned them with me, and each one remembers who he was fighting when the prince was killed. Their stories check out—both opponents remember each other, and the only two whose foe wasn’t there, remember fighting one of the two men who escaped.”

“Rather convenient,” Papa sniffed “Who remembers fighting this man who went out the window?”

“No one. Boosts his chances of being the murderer.”

“At whose command?” Alisande said quietly.

Mama and Papa turned to her in surprise, then looked apprehensive. Mama said, “Surely you do not mean someone in his own family hired the killer!”

“It’s been known to happen,” Matt said with a smile of irony, “and I don’t see any great love lost between those siblings.”

“Petronille does not seem all that fond of either her eldest or her youngest,” Mama admitted. “Odd. The second child is usually the rebel, and rarely the favorite.”

“Considering what Brion is rebelling against, any mother would favor him,” Matt told her.

“Do Drustan and Petronille remember this sorcerer being with their party?” Alisande asked.

“I didn’t think I should mention the issue,” Matt said apologetically. “They were too upset.”

“Upset? They raged as soon as you told them the man had escaped,” Papa exclaimed, “and they kept raging! You had no chance to ask!”

“Well, I could have asked before I told them the bad news.”

“Without the culprit there? Do you think they would have said anything but ranting?”

“Thanks, Papa,” Matt said with a warm smile. He shrugged. “Anyway, why would a king or queen remember one soldier out of all the rest? I don’t expect he went along wearing sorcerer’s robes.”

“Surely this sergeant you speak of would remember,” Alisande said.

“He should,” Matt admitted, “but he saw the man’s face in the moonlight, too, and tells me he wasn’t one of their soldiers. Says he doesn’t remember him being with the entourage at all, in fact.”

Papa stared. “You don’t mean he was already in Bordestang, waiting for them to arrive!”

Matt sat still for a minute. Then he nodded slowly. “Now that you mention it, that’s a distinct possibility.”

“Perhaps not,” Mama offered. “If he is a sorcerer, as you say, he could have come at any time, or even been with them, but invisible.”

Matt threw up his hands. “Almost anything is possible, when you’re dealing with magic! Whenever he came over, though, I think he waited his chance, and when the princes went tavern-hopping, he stole Gaheris’ purse while he was, uh, distracted, and waited for the brawl to start. Then he pulled out a doll that already had a lock of Gaheris’ hair on it and stabbed it with a paring knife. Stabbed two or three times, just to make sure.”

Papa shook his head. “It seems so improbable! Why be there at all? And if he was, why not simply stab with a real blade?”

“I was not aware that stabbing a doll made the wound show,” Mama said slowly.

Matt sat still again. Then he said, “You’re right—it doesn’t. That would have taken an extra spell.”

“Which your sorcerer might have cast, if he wished to place the blame on a man of Merovence,” Papa pointed out.

“I suppose so,” Matt said, “so it cancels out.”

Alisande nodded. “The point was not the simple murdering of the prince—it was the provoking of war.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Matt said slowly. “Why not accomplish two objectives with one murder? As you pointed out yourself, dear, nothing says the sorcerer was working for himself.”

Papa frowned. “Do you mean that someone else would have wished to kill Gaheris, and waited until his death could be useful?”

“Yes, and with impending war to distract people from looking for the murderer, there’d be less chance of either boss or hit man being found out!” Matt said. “Let’s think, now— who wanted Gaheris dead?”

The room was silent a moment. Then Mama said, “Who did not?”

“That was unkind!” Alisande cried.

“Quite unkind,” Mama agreed, “but probably true. Be honest, my dear—he was a very disagreeable young man. If you wish, you may count his friends instead of his enemies.”

Alisande was silent for a moment, then admitted, “I cannot think of any—but I do not know them well.” She looked up. “Sir Orizhan! There is one!”

“Sir Orizhan was assigned to be the princes’ companion and watchdog,” Matt said. “That doesn’t say he liked them.”

“But if he has known them for ten years…”

“He could learn to really despise them,” Matt finished for her. “But he’s a very chivalrous knight. I don’t think he’d let his feelings show.”

“Can you not read him at all?” Alisande challenged.

“Well, I do get the impression that he didn’t approve of Gaheris’ taste in entertainments.” Matt frowned, mulling it over. “In fact, I don’t think he approved of Gaheris at all—but especially not as a fit husband for the princess Sir Orizhan had sworn to protect.”

“Ye—ssss!” Alisande lifted her head. “A true knight would make the welfare of his ward his first duty, would he not?”

“Especially,” Matt said, “if he liked her.”

“Why would he?” Papa asked. “She seemed little more pleasant than her future family.”

“How can you say that?” Mama challenged. “The poor thing spoke scarcely at all while we dined!”

“When she did, though, she spoke rather sharply,” Papa pointed out.

“Only to Brion, and she is obviously in love with him,” Mama said.

“She is?” Matt looked up in surprise.

“Aye, my husband.” Alisande smiled. “She may not know it herself, but it is there in her eye, in the tilt of her head, but most especially in the sharpness of her tongue as she addresses a man she desires but knows she cannot have.”

“She can now,” Matt said softly.

The room was quiet as Mama and Alisande digested his comment, eyes widening in horror. Then both spoke at once.

“You cannot think she ordered him slain!”

“That sweet little thing couldn’t have—have—”

“Oh, yes she could,” Matt said in answer to both. “Stop and think, ladies—would you want to marry Gaheris?”

“Well, of course not!” Alisande said indignantly.

“But that does not mean I would slay him,” Mama maintained.

“You’re not a medieval princess being set up as an international sacrifice.” Matt knew the Prince of Toulenge had died, and that Rosamund was officially the province’s ruling princess, though her mother ruled as her regent. Apparently, though, the dead father’s bargain with Drustan couldn’t be broken—as long as Gaheris was alive. “I’d say it’s quite possible that Rosamund hired the footpad to kill Gaheris so she wouldn’t have to marry him. In fact, considering Gaheris’ idea of fun, you might even call it self-defense ahead of time.”

There was another short silence. Then Alisande admitted, “I could not truly blame her.”

Matt had another thought. “Is Brion in love with her?”

“That is harder to say,” Mama said. “He is so easily baited, at least by her—” She broke off, looking thoughtful.

“You spoke truly, my love,” Papa said quietly. “To his brothers, he gave jibe for jibe, but to her, he could only protest, and that with some sign of hurt.”

“His defenses aren’t up to their usual standard with Rosamund,” Matt agreed.

“Yes, I would say there is some sign that he is in love with her, then,” Mama said, “though like her, he denies it.”

“But he might be able to find an excuse to defend her,” Matt said, “by killing his brother.”

“The murder does make him heir apparent,” Alisande agreed.

There was another silence as the next thought occurred to them all. Matt finally voiced it. “Does Rosamund go with the crown?”

“In law, the betrothal was only with Gaheris,” Alisande said, “but it was made because he was the heir apparent.”

“So it would have to be renegotiated with Brion, but probably will be?”

“It would,” Alisande said, “but with a war, such negotiation will be impossible.”

“Which means Brion gets to keep her.”

“Or,” said Mama, “that Drustan does—for if she is betrothed to no one, he can keep her near with none to bar him.”

Papa turned to her. “Then you think Petronille’s jealousy has some basis?”

“Oh, yes,” Mama said quietly. “Did you not see the gleam in Drustan’s eye when he looked at Rosamund?”

“Yes, I did,” Alisande said darkly. “If this war serves no other purpose, perhaps it will allow us to rescue my cousin.”

“Maybe Sir Orizhan thought the same way,” Matt said.

Papa smiled. “We have come full circle, my son. The only two we have not suspected are Queen Petronille and young John.”

Matt shrugged. “I don’t see what John would gain by killing Gaheris.”

“Might he be striking back at a bully?” Mama suggested.

“Might,” Matt agreed, “and there’s always sibling rivalry. But since John seems to have established himself as Papa’s pet, he has all the protection against Gaheris that he needs, and probably revenge, too.”

“I cannot see that Petronille has anything to gain,” Alisande said, “other than the beginning of war, which may gain her birthright, her quarter of Merovence, for her favorite Brion…” Then her eyes widened.

So did Mart’s. He finished the sentence for her. “… or even the whole kingdom!”

“Yes,” Alisande whispered. “If Brion is her favorite, she would wish to see him as King of Bretanglia—but surely she would not kill her firstborn to gain the crown for her second!”

“Brion becoming heir might not be motive enough in itself,” Matt said slowly, “but if Drustan really does desire Rosamund as much as the queen seems to think he does, jealousy is all the reason Petronille needs.”

“To slay Rosamund, perhaps.” Alisande turned to him with a troubled frown. “Why would she thereby have Gaheris slain?”

“Who did Rosamund live with as long as she was engaged to Gaheris?” Matt asked.

“Why, with the king and his family.”

“But what if the king and queen separated? Who would Gaheris live with then?”

“With his father.” Alisande frowned. “He resents his mother, as you may have seen.”

“Oedipus complex, no doubt,” Papa mused.

“Who would she live with now that Gaheris is dead?” Matt asked. “If they separated, that is.”

“Brion is his mother’s darling, and would no doubt live with her,” Alisande said slowly, “and if Petronille can bring about his betrothal to Rosamund …” She shook her head violently. “No! It is not possible that Petronille would have ordered her own son slain only so that she might take Rosamund away from Drustan!”

“If she disliked Gaheris as much as everyone else does, and feels at all protective toward Rosamund, I would say it is quite possible,” Papa said softly.

“I think that is too much for any mother to consider,” Mama said firmly, “even one so vindictive as Petronille.”

“Let us trust so,” Alisande said with a shudder. She rose. “So! Any of them might have hired an assassin, or none of them—but in any event, I must prepare for war.” She looked up at Matt. “I thank you for counseling me to build a navy, husband. We may have only ten ships thus far, but they will do to harry the coasts of Bretanglia—and may distract Drustan enough to prevent his invading Merovence.”

“Be nice if we had the English Channel in this universe,” Matt said.

“You have told me of that.” Alisande frowned. “A twenty-mile-wide stretch of water between the Bretanglia and Merovence of your own world, is it not?”

“In our version of this universe, yes—only we call them ‘England‘ and ‘France‘ there, and they speak two different languages.”

Alisande nodded. “I can see how the speech would have drifted apart, if Bretanglia were an island. There would have been far less coming and going between the two lands.”

“Yes, Bretanglia was part of Hardishane’s empire here, wasn’t it? After all, he could just march in and conquer.”

“As he did in Ibile, Latruria, and Allustria,” Alisande said, “overcoming evil kings who were devoted to sin and Satan. He even conquered far beyond, well into the lands of the Rus. It is small wonder we all speak the same language.”

“No wonder at all.” Matt frowned. “But there was never another invasion of Bretanglia, was there? After Hardishane’s empire broke up, I mean.”

“Well, the Danes and Vikings harassed their coasts,” Alisande said, “and even carved out their own kingdom in the eastern counties, to both sides of the wall built by great Reme’s soldiers.”

“Truly?” Mama asked. “The Vikings held land in both England and Scotland?”

“There are Scots in the northern part of Bretanglia,” Alisande acknowledged, “and it was a separate land until the Vikings came. They married into all the noble families, and Drustan’s father welded them together into one kingdom. This Drustan, his son, is the sixth of his name, and still rules all one land.”

“Does he have a Viking fleet?” Matt asked.

Alisande smiled. “The Vikings ceased sailing two hundred years ago, husband. I think Drustan may have a few warships, but nothing more. What need of them has he, when he can ride into Merovence at will?” She turned somber. “Now, though, I fear that he will come riding in earnest, with all his armies, and with fire and sword.”

“I think I might be able to find some way to keep him from invading,” Matt said slowly.

Alisande looked at him with misgiving. “I would welcome that, but not at the price of danger to you.”

“We’re in danger already, love. Besides, there shouldn’t be all that much peril in this method of distracting him.”

“Which is?” Alisande asked, misgiving yielding to dread.

“Gaheris’ murder was definitely no simple tavern brawl,” Matt told her. “Okay, maybe the Man Who Went Out the Window stuck the knife in Gaheris himself, but I suspect someone hired him to do it. In fact, there just might be a whole conspiracy underlying it.”

Alisande’s eyes lighted. “If you can learn who has wrought this conspiracy and what its goal is, you may set Drustan and Petronille to rooting it out so earnestly that they forget to attack Merovence!”

“Right.” Matt nodded.

“But if there was no conspiracy?” Mama frowned. “If the murder was only the work of this Man Who Went Out the Window, for whatever reason he may have had?”

“That’s even better,” Matt said. “If the murder wasn’t the product of intrigue, handing the assassin over to Their Majesties should bring the armies to a grinding halt, especially if he’s Bretanglian.”

“I see.” Papa smiled. “No Merovencian to blame for the murder means no war.”

“Right.” Matt nodded. “Of course, after they’ve hanged the traitors, they’ll remember that they wanted to conquer Merovence.”

“But if the assassin proves to be a man of Bretanglia, Drustan and Petronille will have no cause to attack.” Alisande smiled. “They shall have to discover a new one.”

“Excellent!” Papa cried.

But Mama frowned. “How shall you go about discovering this conspiracy, my son?”

“Well, that is the knotty part,” Matt admitted. “They’ve gone back to Bretanglia now. I’ll have to follow them if I’m going to be able to track down who’s doing what.”

“No!” Alisande cried.