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.
He got up and stepped back, viewing the body. He exhaled.
Right.
He began to search the floor around the corpse, widening his field of operations until he was back out in the hall. He found nothing, not even a drop of blood.
He went back inside and stood over the body, thinking.
Footsteps sounded out in the hallway. Thaxton looked over his shoulder.
A man in quasi-Renaissance dress went walking by. As he did he glanced into the alcove. He did a double take and halted.
"You there," he said. "What's going on?"
Thaxton turned his head to look down at the body.
"I asked you a question," the man said as he came into the alcove. His gaze locked on the body. "Ye gods!"
Thaxton stepped aside.
After kneeling over the corpse for a moment, the man stood up and faced Thaxton. He was tall and black-bearded, like the dead man. He looked somewhat younger. His eyes were fiercely blue.
"What do you know of this?" he demanded.
"Not very much, I'm afraid."
"When did this happen?"
"My golf partner and I found him not five minutes ago," Thaxton said, "right where he is."
The man regarded Thaxton suspiciously for a moment, then turned around to view the body again, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "What happened?"
"I'm afraid I don't know that either. May I ask…?"
The man gave Thaxton a sharp look. "Yes?"
"Might I ask who this gentleman is?"
"The viscount Oren, of course!"
Thaxton nodded.
The man turned his head again and said quietly, "My brother."
"You have my condolences," Thaxton said.
"Thank you," Oren's brother answered dryly. "Did anyone see him take ill?"
"I'm afraid I wasn't at the garden party."
"Weren't you serving?" The man looked Thaxton up and down. "Oh. You're one of them. I should have known by the ridiculous costume."
Thaxton glanced down at his knickerbockers and saddle shoes, then coolly scanned the man's attire ― a rehash of the viscount's but heavier on the embroidery.
"I rather think that's a case of pots calling kettles, don't you?"
The content of the remark sailed over the man's head, but not the implication. "How dare you! I'll have none of your impertinence, do you hear? And you will address me as _my lord.'"
Thaxton coughed quietly into his hand. "Don't you want to examine the body?"
"Eh?"
"There may be clues." Thaxton added, "My lord."
He understood. "Oh, yes. Yes. The body." He began a motion to stoop, but halted. "Run and fetch someone. Tyrene."
"He is being summoned, my lord."
"Ah. Good." He knelt, then looked up. "What is your name?"
"Thaxton, my lord. And whom do I have the honor of addressing?"
"Arl. Lord Arl."
Thaxton watched Arl fumble with the corpse's clothing. "Might I suggest we turn the body to one side?"
Thaxton helped him, lifting the body toward himself. When Arl's eyes found the hole in the gown, they went round and wild.
"Merciful gods!"
He shot to his feet. "He's been murdered. My brother's been murdered!"
"So it would seem, my lord," Thaxton said. "Frightfully sorry."
Arl looked helpless, confused. "It can't be. It simply can't be."
Running footsteps came from the hallway. Breathless, Tyrene ― Captain of the Guard ― burst into the alcove, followed by two Guardsmen. He immediately went to his knees and examined the wound.
"Gods," he said in a whisper.
Presently, Tyrene stood and faced Thaxton. "Did you see anybody in the hall just before you found the body?"
"Not a soul," Thaxton said.
Arl was still standing over the corpse, unmoving.
"My lord, did you see anybody?"
Arl wrenched his gaze from his brother's body. "No. I ― no."
"Was the viscount at Her Highness's fête?"
"Yes," Arl said. "It can't be more than a quarter-hour since I saw him there."
"Did you see him leave, my lord?"
"No. No, I did not. I grew bored and left early. I was passing in the hall when I saw this man, here. And my brother… lying there. Dead."
"My sincerest commiseration is yours, my lord, in this your hour of grief."
Arl nodded absently.
Dalton puffed into the alcove, halted, bent over and put his hands on his knees for a moment and breathed deeply. Then he straightened and leaned toward Thaxton. "Just a little winded," he whispered.