Too Many Magicians

CHAPTER 3

At precisely 7:03 that evening, Lord Darcy, Chief Investigator for His Royal Highness, Richard of Normandy, stepped out of a cab at the front door of the immense town house of my lord the Marquis of London. In Lord Darcy’s hand was a large suitcase and in his eye was a purposeful gleam.

The soldier at the door, wearing the bright yellow uniform of the Marquis’ Own Guard, asked him his business, and Lord Darcy informed the guard in a quiet, controlled voice that My Lord Marquis was expecting Lord Darcy from Rouen.

The guardsman looked at the tall, rather handsome man with the lean face and straight brown hair and wondered. In spite of the name and the city he gave as his residence, the gentleman spoke Anglo-French with a definite English accent. Then the guardsman saw the cold light that gleamed in the eyes and decided that it would be better to check with Lord Bontriomphe before he asked any questions.

Lord Bontriomphe was at the door in less than a minute, ushering Lord Darcy in.

“Darcy! We weren’t expecting you,” he said with an affable smile.

“No?” Lord Darcy asked with a smile that had the hardness of chilled steel about it. “Am I to presume that you expected me to receive My Lord Marquis’ message and then take off on a pilgrimage to Rome?”

Lord Bontriomphe noted the controlled anger. “We expected you to call us on the teleson from Dover,” he said. “We would have had a carriage meet you at the station when the train pulled in.”

“My Lord Marquis,” said Lord Darcy coolly, “has not indicated that he was willing to pay for any expenses; therefore I assumed that such expenses would come out of my own pocket. Weighing the cost of a teleson message against the cost of a cab made me prefer the latter.”

“Um-m-m. I see. Well, come on into the office. I think we’ll find My Lord Marquis waiting for us.” He led Lord Darcy down the corridor, opened a door and stood aside to allow Lord Darcy to pass.

The office was not immense, but it was roomy and well appointed. There were some comfortable-looking chairs and a large one covered with expensive red Moorish leather. There was a large globe of the world on a carved stand, two or three paintings — including a reproduction of a magnificent Vandenbosch which depicted a waterfall — and a pair of large desks.

Behind one of them sat my lord the Marquis de London.

The Marquis could only be described as immense. He was absolutely corpulent, but his massive face had a remarkable sharpness of expression, and his eyes had a thoughtful, introspective look. And in spite of a weight that was better than twenty stone, there was an air of firmness about him that gave him an almost regal air.

“Good evening, my lord,” he said without rising, but extending a broad, fat hand that reminded one of the flipper of a seal.

“My Lord Marquis,” said Lord Darcy, gripping the hand and releasing it.

Then, before the Marquis could say anything more, Lord Darcy put one hand firmly on the desk, palm down, leaned over to look down at de London, and said: “And now, how much of this is flummery?”

“You mock me,” said the Marquis heavily. “Sit down, if you please; I don’t like to have to crane my neck to look up at you.”

Lord Darcy took the red leather chair without taking his eyes off the Marquis.

“None of it is flummery,” the Marquis said. “I admit I do not have the full roster of facts, but I feel I have enough to justify my actions. Would you care to hear Lord Bontriomphe’s report?”

“I would,” Lord Darcy said. He turned and looked at the second desk, behind which Lord Bontriomphe had seated himself. He was a fairly tall, rather good-looking, square-jawed man who was always well dressed and carried about him an air of competence.

“You may report, Bontriomphe,” said the Marquis.

“Everything?”

“Everything. The conversation verbatim.”

Lord Bontriomphe leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. Lord Darcy prepared himself to listen closely. Bontriomphe had two things which made him of tremendous value to the Marquis of London: a flair for narrative and an eidetic memory.

Bontriomphe opened his eyes and looked at Darcy.

“At my lord’s orders,” he said, “I went to the Sorcerers and Healers Convention to look at the herb displays. He was especially interested in the specimens of Polish devilwort, which he -

The Marquis snorted. “Pah! That has nothing to do with the murder.”

“I haven’t said it did. Where was I? Oh, yes. Which he hasn’t been able to grow from the seed, only from cuttings. He wanted to find out how the seed-grown plants had been cultivated.

“I went in to the Royal Steward a little after nine. The place was packed with sorcerers of every size and description and enough clergy to fill a church from altar to narthex. I had to convince a couple of guards at the door that I wasn’t just some tourist who wanted to gawk at the celebrities, but I made it to the herb displays at about ten after. I took a good long look at the Polish devilwort — it seemed to be thriving well — and then took a survey of the rest of the stuff. I took some notes on a few other rarities, but that wouldn’t interest you, so I’ll omit the details.

“Then I wandered around and looked at the rest of the displays, just to see if there was anything interesting. I didn’t meet anyone I knew, which made me just as happy, since I hadn’t gone there for chitchat. That is, I didn’t meet any acquaintance until nine twenty. That was when Commander Lord Ashley tapped me on the shoulder.

“I turned around, and there he was, in full dress Naval uniform, looking as uncomfortable as a Navy officer at a magicians’ convention.

“ ‘Bontriomphe,’ he said, ‘how good to see you again.’

“ ‘Good to see you,’ I said, ‘and how is the Imperial Navy? Have you become a Specialist in Sorcery?’

“That was a deliberate joke. Tony does have a touch of the Talent; he has what they call ‘an intermittent and diffuse precognitive ability’ that has helped him out of tight spots several times, and which, incidentally, is useful to him at the gaming tables. But in general he doesn’t know any more about magic than an ostrich knows about icebergs.

“He laughed a little. ‘Not yet and not ever,’ he said. ‘I’m here on Naval business. I’m looking for a friend of yours, but I don’t know what he looks like.’

“ ‘Who are you looking for?’ I asked.

“ ‘Master Sean O Lochlainn. I checked at the desk and got his room number, but he isn’t in.’

“ ‘If he’s around,’ I said, ‘I haven’t seen him. But then I haven’t been looking for him.’

“I stood there and looked around, but I couldn’t spot him any place in that crowd. But I did happen to spot another face I knew.

“ ‘If anybody knows where Master Sean is,’ I said, ‘it will be Grand Master Sir Lyon Grey. Come along.’

“Sir Lyon was standing over near one of the doors talking to a man who was wearing the habit of one of the Flemish orders. The monk took his leave just as Lord Ashley and I approached Sir Lyon.

“ ‘Good morning, Sir Lyon,’ I said. ‘I think you’ve met Commander Ashley.’

“ ‘Good morning, Lord Bontriomphe,’ the old sorcerer said. ‘Yes, Commander Ashley and I have met. In what way may I be of assistance?’

“ ‘I have a message for Master Sean O Lochlainn, Sir Lyon,’ said Ashley. ‘Have you any idea where he is?’

“The Grand Master started to answer, but whatever he was going to say was lost. A scrawny little Master Sorcerer with a nose like a spike and rather bugged-out blue eyes suddenly popped from the door nearby, his hands fluttering about like a couple of drunken moths who had mistaken his head for a candle flame. He took a fast look around, saw Sir Lyon, and made a beeline for us, still flapping his hands.

“ ‘Grand Master! Grand Master! I must speak to you immediately!’ he said in a low, excited voice.

“ ‘Compose yourself, Master Netly,’ the Grand Master said. ‘What is it?’

“Master Netly noticed Lord Ashley and me and said: ‘It’s… uh… confidential, Grand Master.’

“The Grand Master bent a little and cocked his head to one side while Master Netly, who is a good foot shorter than Sir Lyon, stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. I couldn’t catch a word of what he said, but I saw Sir Lyon’s eyes open wider as the skinny little sorcerer spoke. Then his eyes shifted and he looked straight at me.

“When he straightened up, he was still looking at me. And believe me when Grand Master Sir Lyon Gandolphus Grey fixes you with those eyes of his, you have an urge to search your conscience to see what particularly odious sins you have committed lately. Fortunately, my soul was reasonably pure.

“ ‘Will both of you gentlemen come with me, please?’ he asked, shifting his gaze to Lord Ashley. ‘Something of importance has come up. If you will be so good as to follow me…’

“He turned and went out the door, and Ashley and I followed. As soon as we got out of the exhibition hall and into the corridor, I asked: ‘What seems to be the trouble, Sir Lyon?’

“ ‘I am not certain yet. But apparently something has happened to Master Sir James Zwinge. We are fortunate that you, as an officer of the King’s justice, are on hand.’

“Then Lord Ashley said: ‘Your pardon, Sir Lyon, but the delivery of this message to Master Sean is most important.’

“ ‘I am aware of that,’ the old boy said rather testily. ‘Master Sean is already at the scene. That is why I asked you to come along.’

“ ‘I see. I beg your pardon, Sir Lyon.’

“We followed him up the stairs and down the upper corridor without saying anything more. Netly pattered along with us, his hands still flitting about.

“There were three men and a woman standing in the hall outside the room that the management had assigned to Zwinge. Two of the men were wearing the light-blue dress clothing of sorcerers, and so was the woman. The third man was wearing ordinary merchant-class business clothes.

“One of the sorcerers was Master Sean. The second was a tall young man wearing the white slashes of a Journeyman, a Mechicain, by the look of him. The sorceress was one of the most beautiful honey blondes I have ever had the good fortune to meet in a hotel corridor, with a full-breasted, wide-shouldered, wide-hipped, narrow-waisted body and dark-blue eyes. She was only a couple of inches shorter than I am, and she—”

“Pfui—” For the second time, the Marquis of London interrupted the report of Lord Bontriomphe. “While you may enjoy dwelling upon the beauties of women, there is no need to do it, much less to overdo it. Darcy has already met Mary, Dowager Duchess of Cumberland. Continue.”

“Sorry,” Lord Bontriomphe said blandly. “The third man turned out to be Goodman Lewis Bolmer, the manager of the Royal Steward Arms. He’s about an inch taller than Master Sean and looks as though he had lost about fifty pounds too fast. His face and jowls sag and give him a sort of floppy look, as if he were made up of hounds’ ears. He looked both worried and frightened.

“I asked what had happened as soon as I had identified myself.

“Master Sean said: ‘I had an appointment with Sir James at nine thirty, I knocked on the door and no one answered. I knocked again. Then I heard a scream and a sound as of a heavy body falling. Since then, there’s been nothing. The door is locked, and we can’t get in.’

“I looked at Goodman Lewis. ‘Have you the key?’

“ ‘Yes, your lordship,’ he said, nodding and jiggling his jowls. ‘I brought it as soon as Master Netly told me what had happened. But it won’t turn the bolt. It’s stuck. Spell on it, I daresay.’

“ ‘It’s a personalized lock spell,’ Master Sean said. ‘I’d say that only Sir James’ key will open it. But I’m afraid he may be badly injured. We’ll have to get that door down.’

“If you’ve ever been in the Royal Steward, you know how thick those doors are. Very old fashioned oak work — the building dates back to the Seventeenth Century.

“ ‘Can you take the spell off, Sean?’ I asked.

“ ‘Sure and I can,’ he said. ‘But it would take time. Half an hour if I’m lucky and get the psychic pattern right away. Two or three hours if I’m not lucky. That’s not just an ordinary commercial spell; that’s a personal job put on there by Master Sir James himself.’

“I knelt down and took a peek through the keyhole. I couldn’t see anything but the far wall of the room. The keyhole is big enough, but the door is so thick that it’s like looking through a tunnel. Those doors are two inches thick.

“I stood up again and turned to Goodman Lewis. ‘Go get an ax. We’ll have to chop through.’

“He looked as if he were about to object, but he just said, ‘Yes, your lordship. Right away,’ and hurried away.

“While he was gone, I asked some questions. ‘What happened right after you heard the scream, Sean?’

“ ‘Nothing for a few seconds,’ he said. ‘Then my colleagues, here, came out of their rooms.’

“ ‘Which rooms?’

“ ‘Netly Dale has the room to the left of Sir James’ room, and Lord John Quetzal has the room to the right, if I am not mistaken.’

“Netly clasped his hands together to keep from fluttering them and nodded. ‘That’s right. Absolutely correct.’

“Lord John Quetzal just nodded his head in agreement.

“ ‘Lord John Quetzal,’ I said. The name had struck a bell. ‘You are the fourth son of His Gracious Highness, De Mechicoe, I think?’

“He bowed. ‘The same, my lord.’

“Then I turned to the blond vision. I didn’t know who she was at the time, but she was wearing the De Cumberland arms in full on her right breast instead of just the crest on her shoulder, so I deduced—”

Lord Bontriomphe stopped his narrative again as he heard a snort from de London. “Yes, my lord?”

“It is not necessary to inform us of your deductions of the obvious,” said the Marquis with heavy sarcasm. “Darcy wants facts, not the rather puerile thought processes by which you may have arrived at them.”

“I sit corrected, my lord,” said Lord Bontriomphe. “At any rate, I correctly identified the lady.

“ ‘Where is your room, Your Grace?’ I asked.

“ ‘Just across the hall,’ she said, pointing.

“The hallways in the Royal Steward are eight feet wide, and her room was directly opposite Zwinge’s.

“ ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Now…’ I looked at the others… ‘Why did you all come out of your rooms? What alarmed you?’

“They all said the same thing. The scream. None of them had heard Sean knocking; the doors are too thick for that to be noticed. I know; I tried it myself later. You can hear a knock on another door only if you listen carefully. That scream must have been a hell of a loud one. The only person to hear the body drop to the floor at that time was Sean. None of the others had opened their doors yet. I couldn’t establish which one of the other three came out first; none of them noticed. There was evidently too much confusion at the time.

“When the manager, Goodman Lewis, came back with the ax, I glanced at my watch. It was twenty-three minutes of ten. Approximately seven minutes had passed since Sean had knocked on the door.

“I used the ax myself. Everyone else stood back, well away from the door. I cut a good-sized area out of the center without damaging either the frame or the lock. I kept everyone else out and squeezed through the hole I’d cut.

“It was an ordinary room, twelve by fifteen, with a bathroom. Across the room were two windows, both shuttered and bolted, but the shutters had been adjusted to let in the daylight. The glass panes were closed and unbroken.

“The body of our Chief Forensic Sorcerer was almost exactly in the middle of the room, more than six feet from the door. He was lying on his left side, in a pool of fresh blood, and there was so much blood on his jacket that it was hard for me to see at first what had happened. Then I saw that there was a rip in his jacket, high up on the left side of his chest, above the heart. I opened his jacket for a look. There was a vertical stab wound in the chest at that point.

“A couple of feet away, lying in the pool of blood, near the edge, was a knife. It was a heavy-handled one, with a black onyx hilt and a solid silver blade. I’ve seen knives like that before, Lord Darcy, and so have you. A sorcerer’s knife, used in certain spells for symbolically cutting psychic linkages or something of the sort. But they can cut physically as well as psychically.

“About halfway between the body and the door was a key, the same kind of heavy brass key that the manager had tried to open the door with. I marked the spot with one of my own keys and then tried the key on the door. It worked; it turned the bolt, but no other key would. It was Sir James’ key, all right.

“I searched the body. Nothing much there — his own key ring; two golden sovereigns, three silver sovereigns, and some odd change; a notebook full of magical symbols and equations which I don’t understand; an ordinary small pocketknife; a cardfolder which contained his certificate as a Master Sorcerer, his license to practice magic — signed by the Bishop of London — his official identification as Chief Forensic Sorcerer, a card identifying him as a Fellow of the Royal Thaumaturgical Society, and a few personal cards. You can look at it all, Darcy; My Lord Marquis has it in an envelope in the wall safe.

“He had three other suits, all hanging neatly in the closet, with nothing in the pockets. There were some papers on the desk, all filled with thaumaturgical symbolism, and more like them in the wastebasket. I left them where they were. The only other thing in the room was his symbol-decorated carpetbag — the kind every sorcerer carries. I didn’t try to open it or move it; it is not wise to meddle with the belongings of magicians, not even dead ones.

“The point is that there was nobody in that room but the dead man. I searched it carefully. There was no place to hide. I looked under the bed and in the closet and in the bathroom.

“Furthermore, nobody could have left by that door. It had been locked by the only key that would lock it, and that key was inside the room. Besides, there were four people in that corridor within seconds after Sir James screamed, and three of them were watching that door from that time until I cut it open.

“The windows were bolted shut from the inside. The glass and the laths in the shutters were solid. The windows look out on a small patio which is a part of the dining area. There were twelve people out there — all sorcerers — who were eating breakfast. None of them saw anything, although their attention was directed to the windows by the scream. Besides, the wall is sheer — a thirty-foot drop without ledges, hand-holds, or toeholds. No exit that way.

“There is no evidence that anyone went into that room or came out of it.

“By the time I had searched the room, the Chief Master-at-Arms and two of his men had arrived. You’ve met Chief Hennely Grayme — big, husky chap with a square face? Yes. Well, I told him to take over, to get a preservation spell cast over the body, and to touch nothing.

“Then I went back out in the hall and herded everybody out of there and into one of the empty rooms down the hall. The manager gave me the key and I told him to go on about his business.

“Commander Lord Ashley was a little impatient. He had already delivered his message to Master Sean and had to report back to the Lord Admiral’s office, so I told him to go ahead. Sir Lyon, Master Sean, Master Netly, Journeyman Lord John Quetzal, and the Dowager Duchess of Cumberland all looked shocked at what they’d seen through the door, and none of them seemed to have much to say.

“ ‘Sir Lyon,’ I said, ‘that room was locked and sealed. Sir James was stabbed at a time when there was no one else in the room. What do you make of it?’

“He stroked his beard for a moment, then said: ‘I understand your question. Yes, on first glance I should say that he was killed by Black Magic. But that is merely a supposition based upon the physical facts. I do not suppose you can detect it yourself, but this hotel is not at present equipped with just the ordinary commercial spells for privacy, to prevent unwarranted use of the clairvoyant Talent. Before the Convention started a special group of six sorcerers went through the entire building reinforcing those spells and adding others. They do not affect precognition, since there is no way to cast a spell into the future, but they prevent anyone from using his clairvoyant Talent to see into another’s room, and they make it very difficult to understand or detect what is going on in someone else’s mind. Before I can state flatly that Sir James was killed by Black Magic I should want further investigation into the facts.’

“ ‘There will be,’ I told him. ‘Next question, then: Who had reason to kill him? Had anyone quarreled with him?’

“So help me, Lord Darcy, every eye in the room turned to Master Sean. Except Master Sean’s, of course.

“Naturally, I asked him what the quarrel was about.

“ ‘It wasn’t a quarrel,’ he said firmly. ‘Both Sir James and I were angry, but not at each other.’

“ ‘Who were you angry with, then?’

“ ‘Not with anyone. We had both been working on a new thaumaturgical effect, and had discovered almost identical spells to produce that effect. It has happened before in the history of magic. We may have been growling and snapping at each other, but we weren’t angry at anything but the coincidence.’

“ ‘How did the… er… discussion come about? I asked him.

“ ‘Chance conversation in the committee room. We fell to talking and the subject came up. We compared notes, and… well, there it was. What we were really arguing about was who was to present his paper first. So we called Sir Lyon over to decide the problem.’

“I looked at Sir Lyon. He nodded. ‘That’s correct. I decided that it would be best for them to pool their findings and present the paper jointly, under both their names, with a full explanation that the work had been done by both independently.’

“ ‘Tell me, Sir Lyon,’ I said, ‘this paper — or these papers — wouldn’t be just a lot of thaumaturgical equations, would they?’

“ ‘Oh, no. They would have a full exposition of the effect. There would be equations, of course, but the text would be in Anglo-French. Naturally, there would be a lot of technical words, professional jargon, if you will, but—’

“ ‘Where is Sir James’ paper, then? I asked. ‘It isn’t in his room.’

“ ‘I have it,’ said Sean. ‘It was agreed between Sir James and myself that I should do a first collation between the two papers, and then we’d talk the thing over this morning at nine-thirty and do a second draft of our collaboration.’

“ ‘When was the last time you saw Sir James?’ I asked.

“ ‘Last evening at about ten, it was,’ Sean explained. ‘I went with him to his room, so he could give me his manuscript. So far as I know, that’s the last anyone saw of him. He was going to do a little further work he had in mind, and he didn’t want to be disturbed until half past nine.’

“ ‘Would he have been using a knife for that work?’

“ ‘Knife?’ he said, looking puzzled.

“ ‘You know. One of those big, black-handled silver knives.’

“Oh. You mean a contact cutter. I wouldn’t think so; he said he wanted to do some paper work, is all. Not any actual experimentation. Still, I suppose it’s possible.’

“I said, ‘Master Sean, do you mind if I take a look at Sir James’ manuscript?’

“I guess that must have fired his Irish temper up. ‘I don’t see what that has to do with this business,’ he said peevishly. ‘I’ve been working on this thing for three years. It was bad enough that Sir James was doing the same thing, but I’m not going to let out this information until I’m ready to present it myself!’

“Then Grand Master Sir Lyon spoke. ‘I cannot insist that you show those papers to the Chief Investigator, Master Sean; I cannot ask you to reveal the process. But I feel that the subject may possibly have a bearing on the case.’

“Master Sean opened his mouth and then closed it again. After a second or so, he said: ‘Well, that’s already on the Program anyway. My paper was to have been called “A Method of Performing Surgery Upon Inaccessible Organs.” Sir James called his “The Surgical Incision of Internal Organs Without Breaching the Abdominal Wall.” ’

“That was when Master Netly squeaked, ‘You mean a method of controlling a blade within an enclosed space? Astounding!’ Then he backed away from Sean a couple of steps. ‘That’s what he meant when he screamed!’

“That was the first I’d heard that Master Sir James had actually screamed words. The words were — and they all agreed on it -

“ ‘Master Sean! Help!’ ”

The Marquis of London had been sitting during the entire narration with his eyes closed, but he was not asleep. “Satisfactory,” he said. Then he opened his eyes, looking at Lord Darcy. “Now,” he rumbled, “you understand why I felt constrained to order the arrest of Master Sean O Lochlainn on suspicion of murder.”