He almost bumped into Lord Arl, who was crossing from the right, looking at the ground.
"Pardon, my lord," Thaxton said.
Arl nodded and moved on. Thaxton watched him. A young man of about eighteen, dressed in a costume matching Arl's, came up to the lord and spoke. He looked like a younger version of Arl, without the beard, and when Arl put his arm around him, Thaxton assumed him to be the nobleman's son.
Thaxton took a few paces forward and stopped.
He saw something on the ground and bent over to look.
He swallowed the mushroom. "Hello."
There on the grass was a knife with plain wooden hilt and a narrow blade. A stiletto. The blade was encrusted with blood.
"Hello, hel-lo." He straightened and looked toward Tyrene, who was still talking with Dorcas. He waved and caught Tyrene's eye. He and Dalton came walking over.
"What is it?"
Thaxton pointed.
Tyrene stooped and examined it. "Ye gods and tiny pink salamanders."
"It's a wonder no one saw it before," Dalton said.
"And I wonder why," Thaxton mused.
Tyrene fished out a kerchief and picked the thing up by the blade.
"I think we have our murder weapon," Dalton said.
"Unless someone was paring their nails and slipped," Thaxton suggested.
"That proves it," Tyrene declared. "The murder was done here."
"No," Thaxton objected. "That only makes it likely that the murderer was here at some point to drop the weapon."
"But why would he drop it here?"
"Could have been inadvertent. But I'm just playing demon's advocate, don't you know. I'd say there was a good chance the murder was done in the garden, however unlikely it seems."
"It does seem unlikely," Dalton said. "If it was done anywhere here, it was a mighty stealthy job."
"I'll grant you that, but I still stand by my statement."
"What are you basing it on?"
"The murderer would hardly come back to the party with the murder weapon and drop it."
"Nobody left the party," Tyrene said, "except Lord Arl, and that was later."
"No one was observed to leave the party," Thaxton corrected. "But I don't think anyone did."
"Well, this thing gets sent to Dr. Mirabilis straightaway. We'll know soon enough if it was the murder weapon."
"I was wondering…" Thaxton said.
"Yes?"
"Just what have you got in the way of… well, modern police methods in the castle?"
"Do the terms nanotechnology or DNA pattern identification mean anything to you?"
"Good Lord! That modern?"
"Well, yes. Dr. Mirabilis keeps quite up-to-date."
"He keeps in close contact with Earth developments?"
"Earth? Oh, I doubt it. Earth is hardly the most advanced aspect in the field of forensic medicine. Or anything else, for that matter."
Chastised, Thaxton murmured, "I see."
"Not only can we positively identify the victim by the blood sample, but we can identify the murderer if he left any dead skin cells on the handle."
Dalton and Thaxton exchanged bemused looks.
Thaxton decided not to ask about fingerprints.
"Tell me, why not use magic to identify the murderer?"
"Castle law," Tyrene informed him. "No magic is to be employed in the investigation of a major crime or introduced as evidence in a trial resulting from such an investigation."
"Really. That seems most enlightened."
"His Majesty is a most enlightened man."
"Oh, yes," Thaxton said. "Yes."
Tyrene summoned a Guardsman, gave him the knife wrapped in the kerchief, instructed him, and sent him off.
"Well, this is another hue of steed entirely," Tyrene announced. "I'll have to send word contradicting my last word. I shouldn't have spoken so soon. Damn their eyes."
Dalton said, "Whose?"
"My men. They were told to search this area thoroughly. And there it was, right under their drippy noses. There'll be many a black mark awarded, I'll warrant. And some promotions denied."
"It was under all our noses," Thaxton said. "I swear I walked past that spot, and I didn't see it."
"No one did," Dalton added. He insinuated one saddle shoe into the grass. "Grass is a little high. Maybe it got tramped down."
"Likely so," Tyrene said.
"Or it was dropped there just a short while ago."
Thaxton frowned. "Isn't that the chair where the viscount was sitting just before he left?"
Tyrene walked over to it. "And Lady Rilma sat next to him, here. And you found the knife in this spot, directly behind the viscount's chair."
"So," Thaxton asked, "would the murderer come back and deliberately or accidentally drop the murder weapon at the very spot where his victim had been sitting?"
Tyrene said, "Then you're saying the murder was committed here, where the viscount supped with Lady Rilma?"
"Yes, that's more or less what I'm saying. And the knife was dropped immediately."
"Why was it dropped?"
"Don't know that," Thaxton admitted.
Tyrene reached a finger up to scratch his shoulder underneath his leather cuirass. "Damn me. But Lady Rilma ―?"
"Must have been looking the other way."
Dalton said, "But with all these people around?"
Thaxton sighed. "No, it doesn't make sense, does it? But murder often isn't well thought out."
"Oh?" Dalton said, with interest.
"Hardly ever. Ninety-nine percent of murders are done on the spur of the moment. Impulsive acts. Your locked-room mystery is a creation of fiction writers with overblown imaginations."
"Really."
"We'd better have a talk with Lady Rilma again," Tyrene decided. "As much pain as it causes."
Lady Rilma was sitting in a canvas chair beneath a stately weeping willow, which was appropriate, because she was still wetting a white embroidered handkerchief. Three ladies attended her.
Tyrene approached. "My lady, I realize ―"
Lady Rilma burst into full cry again.
Tyrene regarded the sky for a moment. Then he said, "If I might have a further word with you, milady?"
Sniffling, she nodded.
"Is there something, anything, you can tell us about what happened shortly before your husband left?"
Lady Rilma was wore a red wimple and little makeup. Her nose was long and her teeth were small and somehow feral-looking. She looked to Thaxton like a nun in a colored habit.
"I told you," Rilma said. "We were dining, quite pleasantly ―"
"Alone?"
"Yes, as I told you."
"Were you talking?"
"Yes. I can't remember exactly what about, but we were indeed talking, yes."
"Did he mention that he was afraid of something, that he feared something would happen?"
"No."
"Did he mention that he had had words with someone, some argument?"
"No."
"Did he…?" Tyrene scratched his head. "My lady, did he ever at any time express to you the fear that someone might make an attempt on his life?"
"No." Lady Rilma was offered a fresh hanky and took it. She blew her nose loudly into it.
"Now, what exactly happened just prior to the time your husband left?"
"Why, nothing, I told you. He just got up and left."
"Did he say something?"
"Yes. He said, _I must leave.'"
"Were those his exact words?"
Lady Rilma shrugged. "I don't remember his exact words. He said, _I'm going' or _I must be going now,' or something to that effect."
"Could you tell me anything else that might be helpful. How did he look?"
"Look?"
"Did he look frightened or upset?"
"No." Lady Rilma honked into the hanky again, then thought. "He did look… well, I don't quite know how to describe it. He did look a little… strange."
"Strange? In what way, milady?"
Lady Rilma inclined her head to one side, then the other. "In a strange way. How else can it be put? He had a strange look on his face."