Филип Этанс - The Death Ray

“You don’t have to call me that.”

“Don’t I?” she asked. “What shall I call you, Lord Constable?”

Regdar sighed and turned away. Naull felt suddenly very petty and just as suddenly cold and unsafe.

“Could the food have been poisoned?” she asked, in an effort to rescue them both.

Regdar seemed as relieved as she was to move on to the business at hand.

“Perhaps,” he replied. He gestured to the table and stepped back.

Naull brought to mind the simple cantrip she’d prepared that morning on Regdar’s request. It required no material components or focuses, so all she did was murmur the proper incantation and move the fingers of her right hand just so.

She let her gaze fall over the table. When her eyelids started to twitch, she knew the magic was active, but nothing about the cold food and warm wine looked different. If anything in the general vicinity of the tabletop had been poisoned, she would have seen it glow a subtle purple. There was no such glow.

“No,” she said to Regdar. “Nothing’s poisoned. At least, not the food or wine.”

Regdar nodded and looked around the room.

“There’s only one way in or out,” he said, “besides the windows anyway.”

“None of the other guests saw or heard anything?” Naull asked.

“Nothing of value,” Regdar said. “Some reported sounds of a ruckus, of heavy footsteps in the hall.”

“So someone heavy came in the front door and…did what?” Naull asked.

Regdar shrugged.

“Aren’t there guards in here?” she asked. “I’ve seen guards.”

Moving in and out of the Thrush and the Jay over the past several days, Naull had even commented to Regdar on the professional, experienced mien of the inn’s uniformed guards. She’d even surreptitiously cast a spell that showed her the auras of their enchanted weapons and armor. No expense had been spared.

“The guards are kept outside,” Regdar said, “and in the common areas on the ground floor. Apparently, the guests’ privacy takes precedence here. There are no guards roaming the halls.”

Naull sighed and said, “No loose lips to wag about midnight indiscretions, youthful or otherwise. Unfortunately, no loose lips to wag about murderers either.”

“I guess so,” Regdar replied. “The entrances are so well guarded, though, the question isn’t so much how did our man get into this room but rather, how did he get into the Thrush and the Jay in the first place?”

“I prepared a spell that might answer that question,” Naull said. “It would be easy enough to discern if there’s some secret way in or out of this room, but it would take a while to cover the rest of the inn.”

Regdar nodded and said, “Go ahead.”

Naull called the spell to mind. This one was just a bit more difficult than the last, requiring a very peculiar cadence to the incantation and an overly precise dip of the left ring finger. She performed the spell adequately, though, and was reassured by a smaller, nettling feeling in her eyes. She scanned the room, concentrating on the uncomfortable sensation.

Regdar was smart enough not to disturb her, even after she’d made a full circuit of the room without giving her report. She concentrated more deeply and was rewarded by a growing pull on her senses that made her turn her head to the left, and tilt down. She felt like something was gently but firmly pulling her face to the floor, through it, down, deeper. When she closed her eyes, the pull was broken.

Naull shook her head to clear the spell from her consciousness. She needed a few seconds to focus again on Regdar, who was approaching with a hand extended and a worried look on his face.

“I’m all right, Your Lordship,” she said, stepping away from him.

Regdar pressed his lips together and sighed.

“There’s a secret door,” she said, breaking the uncomfortable moment she was happy enough to have instigated. “Not in this room, but somewhere at least a couple floors down—likely the basement or the wine cellar.”

Regdar nodded and said, “Handy spell.”

Naull shrugged and replied, “I have my moments.”

“What else have you got up your sleeve?” he asked.

Naull looked around and her eyes settled on a cloak that was draped over one of the chairs at the table. It was a fine cloak.

“Was anything stolen?” she asked.

Regdar shook his head, then stopped to think about it.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Naull crossed to the chair and touched the cloak. It was made of very expensive silk and quite masterfully tailored. She patted the length of it and felt something not only swing against the chair behind it, but she also felt lumps in one of the cloak’s pockets.

“Something in there?” Regdar asked.

Naull slipped the cloak off the back of the chair, and said, “I guess so.”

Under the cloak, hung on the back of the chair, was a thin leather belt on which was suspended a stunning jeweled rapier and a long dagger of matching design. Even Naull recognized them as a significant pair of weapons, likely a family heirloom.

Regdar stood next to her and pulled the weapons belt from the chair. He examined the rapier closely with a soldier’s eye for both form and function, then drew the dagger. The blade was so highly polished that it sent up a flash of reflected candlelight that made both Naull and Regdar blink.

“It’s a safe bet these belonged to the victim,” Regdar said. “That’s an aristocrat’s weapon if I ever saw one.”

Regdar slid the dagger back into its sheath and returned the belt to the chair.

Naull turned her attention to the cloak, fishing around in the pocket instead of looking at Regdar. Her hand closed on something made of cool metal and she drew out a long, thin vial of brushed electrum, stoppered and sealed with wax. There was something else in the same pocket, and Naull reached in again, still holding the vial. She wrapped her finger around a length of soft cord and pulled out a small, suede pouch.

She set the vial and the pouch carefully on the table. The telltale sound of coins rattled in the pouch. Naull hung the cloak on another chair as Regdar examined the contents of the purse.

“Gold,” he said, “and platinum.”

Regdar dropped the pouch on the table and stepped back, examining the newfound riches with a creased forehead.

“If you were going to murder someone,” he asked, “would you leave this kind of loot behind?”

“I’ll bet you double or nothing for that pouch of coins that at least some of this stuff is magical, too,” Naull said.

“Can you find out for sure?”

Naull nodded, and brought a third spell to mind. Regdar took a few steps away from the table.

“It’s all right,” she said. “It’s not a fireball.”

Regdar smiled sheepishly and gestured for her to continue.

Naull cast the spell—again, not the most complicated casting. She was rewarded immediately with the presence of magical auras sprinkled about the room.

She narrowed her gaze, kept her breathing even, and concentrated.

“The vial,” she said in a distracted monotone, “the rapier, the dagger, and the cloak.”

She took a deep breath and narrowed her focus again, keeping calm, waiting, and it all started becoming more clear.

“Something in the vial,” she whispered, “not the vial itself. It’s an enchantment, I think…a potion…”

Her voice trailed off, then she looked up, scanning the rest of the room. Regdar’s magical accoutrements glowed in her vision, as did her own—and there was something on the door.

She didn’t risk stepping closer, just let her mind concentrate on the door. It was a weak aura typical of old signs.

She closed her eyes, let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and let the spell fade.