'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.
