came free.
'He's heavier than he looks,' said Fisher, panting a little as she backed away towards Blackstone's door.
'You should worry,' said Hawk. 'You've got the lighter end, if anything. And he's staring at me.'
Fisher backed into the closed door and kicked it open. She and Hawk then manoeuvred Bowman's body through the doorway and dropped him unceremoniously on the floor next to Blackstone. They waited a moment while they got their breath back, and then looked about them. Hawk took in the uneven trail of blood Bowman's body had left behind on the landing carpet. He winced slightly. Gaunt wasn't going to be pleased.
<em>Tough</em>, thought Hawk. <em>I've got my own problems</em>.
'Doesn't look like anything's been moved,' said Fisher.
'Yeah, but we'd better check anyway,' said Hawk. 'It shouldn't take long.'
They checked the wardrobe and the dressing-table drawers and under the bed, and drew a blank every time. No trace of a murder weapon, or any bloodstained clothing.
'It was worth a try,' said Hawk as he and Fisher stepped out onto the landing again.
'Yeah,' said Fisher, pulling the door to behind her. 'We're not doing very well, though, are we?'
'Not very,' said Hawk. 'But then, this isn't really our normal line of business. Locked-room murder mysteries are usually reserved for the experts. But;'
'Yeah.' said Fisher. '<em>But</em>. We have to cope because we're all there is. Who does the next room belong to?'
'Bowman,' said Hawk.
The room was clean and tidy, and the bed hadn't been slept in. Bowman's sword was still in its scabbard, hanging from the bedpost. Hawk drew the sword, checked the blade was clean, and then tried the balance. He nodded slowly. It was a good blade, long and thin and light.
'Dueling sword,' said Fisher. 'Apparently Bowman had something of a reputation as a duelist.'
'Didn't help him at the end,' said Hawk. 'In fact, come to think of it, why wasn't he wearing his sword? After all, he was trapped in a strange house with a murderer on the loose;'
'Yeah, but you don't wear a sword on a lover's tryst, do you?'
'If that was where he was going.'
'Seems likely. Doesn't it?'
Hawk shrugged. 'I suppose so.' He sheathed Bowman's sword and dropped it onto the bed. He and Fisher moved quickly round the room, checking in all the usual places, and once again ended up with nothing to show for their pains.
'This is a waste of time,' said Fisher. 'We're never going to find anything.'
'Probably not, but we have to check. How would it seem if we missed some important piece of evidence, just because we couldn't be bothered to look for it?'
'Yeah, I know. Where next?'
'Across the hall,' said Hawk. 'Stalker's room.'
Fisher looked at him uncomfortably. 'Are you serious about this, Hawk? I mean, can we really treat <em>Adam Stalker</em> as a suspect? He's a hero, a genuine hero. One of the greatest men this city ever produced. They were making up songs and legends about his exploits when I was still a child.'
'I don't trust songs or legends,' said Hawk. 'We check his room.'
'Why? Just because he wasn't wearing a shirt?'
'Partly. And also because he was one of the last people to arrive on the scene.'
Stalker's room looked lived in. His clothes lay scattered across the floor, as though he'd just dropped them wherever he happened to have taken them off. A broadsword in a battered leather scabbard lay across the foot of the bed. Hawk picked it up, and grunted in surprise at the weight of it. He drew the sword out, with some difficulty, and checked the blade. It was clean. Hawk took a firm grip on the hilt and hefted the sword awkwardly.
'How he swings this, even with both hands, is beyond me,' he said finally.
'It probably helps if you're built like a brick outhouse,' said Fisher.
'Probably.' Hawk slipped the sword back into its scabbard and dropped it onto the bed. He took a long look at the rumpled bed with its thrown-back sheets, and smiled sourly. 'At least someone got some sleep tonight.'
'The joys of an undisturbed conscience,' said Fisher, rummaging through the dressing-table drawers.
'Found anything?' said Hawk.
'No. You?'
'No. I'm beginning to think I wouldn't recognize a clue if it walked up to me and pissed up my leg.'
They checked all the usual places; no murder weapon, no bloodstained clothes.
'Let's try the next room,' said Hawk. 'That's Dorimant's, isn't it?'
'Yeah.'
The room was neat and tidy, and the bed hadn't been slept in. They looked everywhere and found nothing.
'I could do this in my sleep,' said Fisher disgustedly. 'And if I was just a little more tired, I would.'
'Only two more rooms, and we can call it a day,' said Hawk.
'You mean a night.'
'Whatever. The next room is the Hightowers'.'
'Good. Let's make a mess.'
Hawk chuckled. 'You're getting vindictive, you.'
'What do you mean, getting?'
The Hightowers' room was neat and tidy, and the bed had been slept in. Hawk and Fisher turned the place upside down, and didn't find anything. They conscientiously cleared up the mess they'd made, and moved on to the last room, feeling pleasantly virtuous. They felt even better when the usual search turned up a small wooden casket tucked under Visage's pillow. Hawk removed the casket carefully and placed it in the middle of the rumpled bed. It was about a foot square, and four inches deep, made from a dark yellow wood neither of them recognized. The lid was carved with enigmatic runes and glyphs that spilled over the edges and down the sides. Hawk reached out to open it, and Fisher grabbed his arm.
'I wouldn't. If that is a witch's casket, it could be booby-trapped with all kinds of spells.'
Hawk nodded soberly. Fisher drew a dagger from the top of her boot, and cautiously slipped the tip of the blade into the narrow crack between the casket and its lid. She took a deep breath, flipped the lid open, and stepped quickly back. Nothing happened. Hawk and Fisher moved forward to look inside the casket. There were half a dozen bone amulets, two locks of dark hair, each tied with a green ribbon, and a few bundles of what appeared to be dried herbs. Fisher picked up one of the bundles and sniffed at it gingerly. It smelled a little like new-mown hay. Fisher dropped it back into the casket.
'You recognize any of this?' she asked quietly.
Hawk nodded slowly. 'Those amulets are similar to the one Blackstone was wearing. I think we could be on to something here, Isobel. What if these are real protective amulets, and the one Blackstone was wearing was a fake? That way, everyone would think Blackstone was protected against magic, when actually he wasn't.'
'If he could be attacked by magic,' said Fisher patiently, 'why bother to stab him? Besides, we know the amulet was magical. Gaunt detected it, remember?'
'Oh. Yeah. Damn.'
He closed the casket, and put it back under the pillow again. He and Fisher took one last look round the room, and then went back out onto the landing, shutting the door behind them. They stood together a while, thinking.
'Well,' said Hawk, 'that was pretty much a waste of time.'
'I told you that,' said Fisher.
'It just doesn't make sense,' said Hawk doggedly. 'How could someone kill two men in a matter of hours, and then disappear without a trace?'
'Beats me,' said Fisher. 'Maybe there's an old secret passage, or something.'
They looked at each other sharply.
'Now that is an idea,' said Hawk. 'A secret passage would explain a lot of things; I think we'd better have a word with Gaunt.'
