Castle Dreams

high a station as yourself.”

“I see. What sort of evidence would you need?”

“The usual, my lord. First and foremost, clear forensic proof that death was caused by occult means.”

“Very hard to get.”

“Indeed, indeed.”

“What else?”

“Well, again, the usual sorts of things. Depositions of eyewitnesses.”

“Again, difficult in magical cases.”

“Evidence of the means by which the murder was committed.”

“Tough.”

“A motive —”

“Means, motive, and opportunity, the whole bit.”

“Precisely, my lord. Solid forensic proof would be enough to start things off.”

“Well, I’ll see if that can’t be done, somehow,” Trent said. “Should be some way, though I don’t know much about these things. I’ll talk to Dr. Mirabilis. Our forensic pathologist.”

“Would he be able to detect another hand in the spell and file a deposition to that effect?”

“Possibly.” Trent reached for his glass. “Damn it, I don’t know. He’s good at medical magic and not much else.”

“Ah,” the Chamberlain said regretfully. “Then …”

“I’m up shit creek without a kayak.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing. Is there any way … What if I speak to the Lord Prosecutor himself? If I could convince him —”

“I am afraid that his lordship is away on state business. He won’t be back for several weeks.”

“Well, that’s no good. My brother will be in his grave. It will be hell persuading my people to exhume the body.”

The Chamberlain sighed. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing to be done.”

“Perhaps the Prosecutor can be reached by messenger?”

“Yes, but it would be several days getting word back, and I’m afraid it would be difficult for his lordship to initiate a major criminal investigation at such a great remove.”

“Nevertheless, I must give it a try. Would you have your secretary draft a message for me? I’ll dictate.”

The Chamberlain seemed hesitant. “Why, of course.”

“Where is the Prosecutor, by the way?”

“With the Emperor.”

Trent’s shoulders sagged. “No doubt he’s preoccupied.”

“Oh, very much so, my lord. He’s assisting in an investigation of high crimes and misdemeanors among His Imperial Majesty’s own ministers. His time will be at a premium. I said that it would take a few days for him to respond. I should have added that a few weeks might be the more likely interval.”

“Great.”

“Eh? Oh. Yes, unfortunate. And, of course …”

Trent’s blue eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

“Well, you know, magicians.”

“What about magicians?”

The Chamberlain shrugged. “No one likes to meddle in these things. This city is full of magicians. They practically have their own government. The Magicians’ Guild is powerful. Most of time they dispose of these matters among themselves, and no one gainsays them the right to do it.”

“So,” Trent said. “I must deal with them.”

“So it would seem. Have you any connections here?”

“None. I haven’t been here in … well, it’s been quite a while.”

“I would recommend visiting the local chapter of the Guild.”

Trent was silent as he stared out the window. “I am very sorry, my lord, that I have nothing else to offer. Would you … would you care for more sherry?”

Trent’s answer was slow to come. “Hm? Oh. No, no thank you. I shall be leaving. Chamberlain.”

Trent rose and gathered up his cape.

The Chamberlain rose with him. He was a small man, eager to please, fearful of giving offense, politic in the extreme, and totally bland.

“Thank you so much. Chamberlain.”

“It is nothing, my lord. What will you do?”

“I will stay in Malnovia, for the moment, if the Elector will permit.”

“I shall see that you are granted every amenity.”

“My thanks.”

“But what else will you do, my lord?”

“I shall try to find my brother’s murderer.”

The Chamberlain’s expression was pained. “But are you quite sure he was murdered?”

“Very sure.”

“But, my lord, isn’t it sometimes better not to meddle where there is no hope of success? You are a stranger here. The chances you will uncover anything — please forgive — are quite remote. Why must you —?”

“I must,” Trent said. “I must find out who killed Incarnadine — or else …”

“Yes?”

“They’ll blame it on me.”

Trent walked out of the high, resplendent chamber, his footsteps echoing hollowly.

Nineteen Castle — Chapel

The chapel’s architecture was not truly Gothic, though it evoked the style. The castle’s architecture was sui generis,[21] unique; but it did have second cousins, and one of them was Earth medieval.

Linda stared up at the ribbed vaulting of the roof, a roof that looked twenty stories high. “Chapel” was a misnomer. “Cathedral” was more like it, clerestory windows and all.

But this was not a Christian church. Linda had only a vague idea of the religion of the castle’s world, knowing only that it was polytheistic and complex. But there weren’t any statues here. No nine-armed gods, no scared bulls, none of the trappings of paganism, or what she thought of as paganism. Instead, the pillars, buttresses, and walls were covered with all manner of cryptic signs and symbols graven into stone.

Up front, there where the altar should have been but wasn’t. Incarnadine lay in state, his body draped in robes, his face serene. The simple coffin was of dark wood, borne on a bier of polished gold. The cathedral was hung with black shrouds. No flowers.

He doesn’t look dead, she had thought when first viewing the body.He can’t be dead. He looks exactly as he did in life. Slyly handsome, prominent chin, thick dark hair, fair complexion, thin nose. Robust, full of life.

She realized that she was in love with him.

He can’t be dead. He can’t be.

She had cried a lot over the last two days. She had to face reality. He was gone, forever. He had lived 300 years and more, and now he lived no longer. As strong as his magic was, it could not ward off the hex that afflicts all living things: the curse that says,You must die.

The scent of incense drifted to her. The place smelled like a church. Soft music was playing, emanating from an unseen speaker, she presumed. It sounded like strings, but she couldn’t identify the kind of music it was, much