Guilty As Magic
by Michael P Calligaro
Surian viewed the stairs leading down with some trepidation. The pungent odor of unclean bodies living too close for comfort rose up from the depths of the boarding house like a wraith fleeing a desiccated corpse. Somewhere down there a baby's cry was cut short, probably by a mother trying to avoid the attention of the palace guards traipsing about. "This is a place for neither babies nor the palace guard," Surian muttered as he descended the stairs. As he usually did while nervous or frustrated, he drew his dagger and started idly twirling it around in his fingers.
A long hallway stretched out before him with only two gas lamps, their eves set to provide minimum light, adorning the walls to light the way. A brighter light in the adjoining hall cast distorted shadows on the terminating wall. Surian walked swiftly toward that hall but took in every detail along the way. He automatically counted doorways as he went; he doubted he could keep himself from doing so. He also couldn't help but notice the tiny distance, a little over two strides, between the doors. If ever faced with the prospect of living in a place like this, Surian decided he would find a way to survive outside the safety of the city walls. It would be better to sleep out in the rain or be constantly threatened by vagabonds than stay here.
He turned the corner and found two of the palace guards standing outside a shattered door. One of them, a burly ape obviously sent along to keep the locals in line, held a bright lantern while the other, a smaller blond-haired man in spectacles, wrote in a notebook. Occasionally a door would open a crack and someone would peer out, only to shut it again in haste before the guards could look in that direction. Surian passed three closed doors before reaching the lantern holder. The stench of death became overpowering.
The lantern bearing guard spoke in a gruff voice that would scare a peasant but only annoy real people. "Who're you?"
In one motion, Surian spun his dagger around in his palm and sheathed it at his waist. With a bow and a flourish, he responded, "Surian F. Hemlock, at your service. The palace sent for a private investigator and I am he."
The guard nodded, "They told us you'd be coming. We haven't touched the place."
Surian crouched low and stared into the room. A sticky red blood, like the cheap mead they served in Finegan's Tavern across the street, coated the floor and had seeped out into the hall. In the center of the tiny room lay a body crumpled on the floor. The body was of stocky build with bulky shoulders and thick biceps. Both of its hands clasped the hilt of a heavy looking, double edged broadsword. It appeared the sword had done little to defend the poor soul, however, as his head rested a good two feet from the rest of his body.
"Someone lost a sword fight. The fact that they could duel in so cramped a quarters is interesting, but beyond that, why did the palace hire me to investigate this?"
The guard with the notebook finished a sentence and looked over to Surian. He slid his graphite stick under his left thumb, clamping it to the pages, and extended his right hand. "Hello Inspector Hemlock, I'm Fenster, the new chief of palace security. I asked for you."
So this was the man putting food on Surian's plate. That afforded him courtesy at least. He shook the hand firmly and nodded. "Pleased to meet you. I assume you want me to find the murderer, but why? Since when does the palace take notice of the deaths of common peasants?"
"Well, yes, we would like for you to find the murderer. But believe me, Inspector, we wouldn't waste your talents, nor your fee, I might add, on a simple killing of a peasant. We've called you in because we are baffled as to how this could have happened. You see, we had to chop down the door with an ax. It had been bolted from the inside. And, as you can readily see, there are no other doors or windows in this little room. We don't see how the killer could have gotten out after beheading our friend there."
In that case, this actually was something interesting. Surian looked over the room more carefully but saw that he had missed little on his first glance. Other than the body, the room only contained an old cot and a small, bare table. "Did anyone see anything?"
"We questioned the residents but none saw anything out of the ordinary. The victim's an unknown. Our friend the landlord, who never asks questions when people show up with silver, said he arrived yesterday and paid for a month's rent. The residents complained to the landlord when they saw blood seeping under the door but he didn't summon us until the place started to smell. I don't see any possessions of note other than the sword."
Surian inspected the door. They had destroyed the bolt when they chopped the door open. "Can I get a look at one of these that's still intact?"
Fenster nodded to the larger guard who immediately pounded on the door across the hall. "Open up by order of the king!"
A skittish waif of a woman dressed in torn, dirty rags timidly unlatched the door and jumped back in alarm when he pulled it open. She still clutched the crossbolt in her hands. Surian stepped into her room and closed the door behind him. "Don't worry, dear, you'll have no trouble from us. I just need to see how your door locks. Would you give me the bolt?" He held his hand out.
She inched forward, handed him the thick piece of wood, and quickly stepped back. The locking mechanism was quite simple. Two iron hooks had been set into the door and the wooden beam, which was longer than the door was wide, slid into them. Since the door opened outward, this fixed it quite securely. The board fit snugly in the hooks, and the door gave very little play. Surian noticed that the door became thinner by the outer handle. He unlatched it, smiled to the occupant, and went back into the hallway. The door closed hastily behind him.
"I assume you tried to pull it open and the handle came off?"
"Yes, that is how it was designed. The handle is not as well secured as the crossbolt."
"So you took to it with an ax." He inspected the destroyed door and the wood fragments on the floor. Knowing what it was supposed to look like, he was able to reconstruct it in his head. He could see that this latch had been identical to the other. And he could not find any wires or other foreign objects someone might have used to drop the bolt down into place. It had fit too snugly for that anyway. "Well, we certainly have a mystery here."
Fenster agreed. "Yes, we do. That is why I called upon you. I'm smart enough to know when these things are beyond me and it's time to call in the experts."
Surian liked this man. Maybe not all the palace guards were morons. "Do you have any suspects?"
Fenster frowned. "One, but we don't have much on him. Since we don't understand how this could possibly have happened, we're assuming the murderer used magic. So we locked up the city wizard, Miestron the Magnificent."
"Well, that sounds like slim chance, but it's worth looking into. I assume Miestron is in the palace jail?"
Fenster nodded. "I'll take you to him."
Surian looked over the room one more time, as carefully as possible, locking every detail in his mind. "Is there anything else I should know?"
"Well, there is something else, but I don't know how much it will help."
"In a case like this, all information helps."
"The victim must have bent over before the murderer beheaded him. If they had been dueling you'd expect the cut to go from right to left or vice versa, but this one doesn't. It goes from back to front, though it starts slightly to the left."
Surian, of course, had seen this immediately. Still, it pleased him to hear the new head of palace security was at least moderately perceptive. "Strange. Do you suppose he let his attacker kill him voluntarily?"
"I don't know. But I am sure he didn't bolt the door afterward."
Surian smiled. Yes, he definitely liked this chief investigator.* * *
The suspect wizard sat quietly in his cell. It was one of the nicer, more comfortable cells in the palace, a concession Fenster made for not having much to lock him up on. Where most of the cells had a cot and a floor consisting of dirt and straw over stone, this one contained a full bed and a thick, woven carpet. The relative comfort would soon be a fading memory for Miestron, however, if Surian could show that he had in fact committed the crime. Though finding a motive would be almost as hard as figuring out how he did it. From the wizard's fine, yet gaudy, silk robe, to his clean fingernails, to his perfect posture, he exuded an air of one who never lowered himself to dealing with people who lived in seedy places like the boarding house. Besides, he was an older man, probably approaching half a century if his long white beard was any indication. Surian scratched at his own meticulously trimmed beard. He was almost thirty and still had no gray hairs.
He nodded to the jail guard, who unlatched the heavy iron door and pulled it open for him. The wizard did not move other than to look up at his new guest. Surian stepped into the cell, and the door groaned closed behind him. "Miestron the Magnificent?"
The wizard stood in a stately manner, as if he were the king, and strode over to Surian with hand outstretched. "Yes, you are right sir." He clasped Surian's hand with a firm handshake that somehow seemed stronger than his long, supple fingers should have managed. Without letting go of the hand, he looked Surian in the eye. "And you must be the world renowned Surian F. Hemlock. I'm honored to meet you."
Surian extracted his hand. "We have never met before. How did you know who I am? Did you read my mind?"
The wizard chuckled pleasantly. "Hardly. If I could do that I'd be a far more successful man than I am."
Surian noted the silk cloak again and wondered if more wealth would have improved the wizard's taste.
Miestron continued. "No, in a world of dimwits and uneducated masses, I like to keep track of my brothers--the intelligent minority. So I've been watching you for a time. Why, your recovery of the King's scepter last summer was brilliant!" His eyes seemed to sparkle as he said this.
Uncomfortable, Surian looked away. "I only half completed that job. I found the thief, but not his employer. The poor wretch was so afraid of the man who paid him to steal the jewels that he managed to keep his mouth shut through twenty-four hours with the king's best torturer. He took the mystery's real solution to his grave."
A look of surprise came over Miestron's face. Did the surprise push aside another emotion? Surian cursed himself for letting his self-recriminations cloud his current investigation and make him look away for too long. With obvious shock in his voice, the wizard asked, "Surely you don't blame yourself for this? What you describe is a failing of the king's best torturer, not you! I heard the king was very pleased with your work."
Surian nodded, "Yes, he was, but he only cared about getting his jewels back and seeing the thief punished. He didn't understand the long side of it. But enough of that. We have a new mystery to solve."
"Yes, we do. And I must say I am heartened that you will be handling it. As nice as this cell is, I would prefer to be at home."
"Do you understand why you're here?"
A look of distaste covering his face, Miestron sat back down on his cot. "The simpletons don't understand something, so they figure it must be magic. After all, everything they don't understand is magic, right?" When Surian didn't reply he continued. "So a crime they don't understand is committed, and they lock up the only person who could have done it--a wizard."
"I take it you disagree with Inspector Fenster's analysis?"
He grinned. "If I could get out of a locked room, do you think I would still be here?"
"Only if you had a reason to stay."
The wizard leaned forward. "Clever, investigator. You're hoping I'll accidentally tell you such a reason. No, your line of thought is incorrect. While you posses superior deductive and questioning skills, I'm afraid your knowledge of magic is lacking. You see, I couldn't get out of here any more than I could fly. Magic doesn't exist."
Surian prided himself on always maintaining control of a situation by anticipating every event and being ready for it. But this last statement, coming from a man who made a lucrative living selling magic services, caught him by surprise. Absently, he drew his dagger and started twiddling it around. "How's that?"
The wizard glanced briefly at the dagger then continued as if were not there. "I said before that simple people attribute everything they don't understand to magic. I know this to be true as it is this fact which provides me a comfortable living. I am not really a wizard; I'm merely better educated than the masses." Surian fixed him with an unbelieving stare, and he continued hastily. "Let me give you an example. I sell a 'magical' ward to keep the god of thunder from smiting your house. Yes, I wave my hands dramatically and spout forth nonsense words as I install the ward, but that's all just showmanship. In the end, lightning wants to get to the ground. It prefers to go through metal over wood, so if you give it a metal path to the ground, it will take that and leave your wooden house alone. You can have a ward just as good as any I could 'magically' install by just putting an iron bar on the highest point of your roof and running a thick metal wire to a metal stake in the ground."
"Then calling yourself a wizard is dishonest!"
Miestron shook his head. "The 'spells' I sell do exactly what I say they do. They just work by different means than the people think. I went to the academy to learn my 'magic.' I paid for my knowledge. Why shouldn't I get something back?"
Reluctantly, Surian saw his point. He himself rarely gave away the skills he used to solve mysteries. But, if the wizard was telling the truth on this, it did leave little reason to keep him locked up. Was that enough of an excuse to give away his secret? Possibly, but Surian would never have let him stay incarcerated if he wasn't convinced he had done it. If the wizard really had been keeping track of him, he would have known that. So why tell about the magic? Something didn't seem right here.
"Then, in your educated experience, how do you think the crime was committed?"
Miestron shook his head. "I haven't a clue."
With a sigh, Surian nodded and sheathed his dagger. "That makes two of us. Well, no matter. We can let the murderer tell us how he did it. We just need to find him. The bigger question than 'how' is 'why.' Any idea why someone would do this?"
"All I know, sir, is that when this happened I was pulled from my warm bed and thrown into prison."
"So you think the murder was a plot to frame you. Who would do that?" The wizard shrugged. "An unsatisfied customer, maybe?"
Miestron sat bolt upright. "Never! My customers are more than satisfied with my work. I am a very good wizard."
"Who then?"
He shook his head. "I wish I could be of more help, as I truly would like to get out of here."
"Well, I'll see what I can dig up."
He nodded sadly. "I'm sure you will do your best."* * *
Surian found Fenster in the guardhouse upstairs. He was chatting with another guard, someone Surian recognized but whose name he'd never bothered to learn. He cleared his throat. "Fenster, are there any other wizards in town?"
The palace investigator shook his head. "I don't know of any. That's why I only brought in Miestron."
"What about that new guy?" the other guard asked.
Fenster's face fell. "Oh, no. What new guy?"
"He just moved in a month or two ago. I see his sign on the walk home."
Turning in haste to Surian, the chief palace inspector asked, "Did I arrest the wrong man?"
Surian shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I do need to talk with this new wizard, though. Want to come along?"
"Yes. I appreciate the chance to see how you work."
They got directions to the new wizard's shop and headed off together. When they left the palace's opulent riches for the dirty streets and dilapidated buildings that made up the rest of the city, Fenster asked, "Did you learn anything from Miestron?"
"I didn't get much."
"So, still no idea on how the murder was committed?"
Surian shook his head. If this palace inspector was going to last, he needed to learn a thing or two about investigating. Though he had only known him for a short time, Surian decided he'd like to see this one last. "The 'how' isn't nearly as important as the 'why.' When you figure out the motive, it's much easier to find the criminal. From there it's usually fairly simple to determine how he did it."
"But how can you figure out the motive when you don't know who committed the crime?"
"You always start with the easiest part and work your way up. There are only three possible motives, so that's the easiest place to start."
The palace guard looked confused. "Only three?"
"Love, revenge, and money."
Before Fenster could respond, a dirty, unkempt man leapt into their path and grimaced. Surian gently pushed Fenster off to the side and smiled. "Grenic! I've been expecting you."
Grenic spoke in the same high pitched, whiny voice his brother used to have, "You'll pay." He drew his sword.
"Now, now Grenic. Your brother got what was coming to him. You can't rape the palace concubines and expect to live to tell about it." He drew his dagger and reversed it so that the blade ran along his forearm.
"He would have if it hadn't been for you and that lousy guard!" He attacked with an overhead, downward slice.
Grenic, like his brother, lacked as much in dexterous capabilities as he did in mental ones. Surian easily stepped aside with his hand up. He caught the sword on his blade, and it slid down harmlessly. Surian ran his dagger up the sword and lashed out at his attacker's wrist as it went by. Grenic dropped the sword and grabbed his wrist in a futile attempt to stop the blood flow.
"Now, Grenic, you have a difficult choice. You can stay here trying to wreak your revenge upon me, or you can try to get to a healer and have that taken care of. If you stay, you'll certainly bleed to death. If you can run faster than your dawdling brother could, you might just make it to a healer in time. Of course, the closest one, the only one you've got a prayer of reaching, stays in the palace. I'm sure they'd love to take care of you there."
The thug grimaced and took off, heading away from the palace. Surian laughed and sheathed his dagger. Fenster stared wide-eyed after the thug. "Shouldn't we do something? You've probably killed him!"
Surian shook his head and patted the inspector on the back. "No, I did him a favor. Death by blood loss is a pretty nice way to go, compared to what the palace torturer would have done to him."
"They would have tortured him for attacking you?"
Laughing, Surian shook his head. "No. They don't like me that much at the palace. That was the guy who killed your predecessor."
Shaken, Fenster walked on in silence. Soon, they arrived at the wizard's shop. The modest sign read, "Jameson's Magic Shop. Affordable rates. Satisfaction guaranteed."
"This one's a bit less assuming than Miestron the Magnificent," Fenster noticed.
"That he is," Surian agreed. "When we get inside, let me do the talking, okay?"
"This is your investigation. I will not get in your way."
A simple bell jingled when they opened the door. The shop consisted of a small room with wall to wall shelves. The shelves held a motleyed assortment of strange artifacts, from ancient tomes to jars of colorful powder to bits and scraps of metal. The wizard must have converted this shop from a merchant's place, for there was still a counter in the center. The counter, however, had been converted into a spell table, and a complicated apparatus of tubes and glass containers full of liquids covered it. A short man in a simple brown cotton wizard's cloak stepped forward from behind the apparatus. Judging from his dark brown hair and the bounce in his step, he seemed very young for a wizard. "Hello fine sirs! What can I do for you?"
"Mr. Jameson?" The wizard nodded. "I'm Surian Hemlock, and this is Inspector Fenster, the chief of security for the palace. We'd like to ask you a few questions about a recent murder."
His eyes went wide and he asked in a voice a trifle shrill, "A murder? Here?"
"No, in a low-rent boarding house over on Tenth and Sycamore."
The wizard relaxed. "Sorry, I'm new in town and didn't want to hear I'd chosen a bad neighborhood for my shop. How can I help?"
"Well, the murder happened under strange circumstances. A man was beheaded in a locked room with no windows or other escape routes."
The wizard mental processes were as sharp as a cobra's fang. He immediately said, "I see, and you think the murderer might have used magic to accomplish this feat." He shook his head. "Magic doesn't work that way. I was top of my class in the academy and spent another four years doing post graduate studies. I know of no possible way to move through a locked door other than by opening it."
Surian nodded. "The other wizard said something similar."
Jameson's face lit up. "You've talked with Miestron then? I've been so busy getting my shop set up I haven't had a chance to pay him a visit yet. He must think I'm very rude. Of course, he really should have come and welcomed me to town when he heard I had arrived."
This surprised Surian. "You know him?"
"Of course! We went to the academy together. He left right after graduation, but I stayed on for further study. He wanted to set up his practice and I hear he's done pretty well."
"That does appear to be the case. How well did you know Miestron at the academy?"
"Well, everyone knew everyone. Not many can afford tuition, so it's a small place. We all lived in the same dormitory together. Miestron was a character. Even before we started, he knew this trick for convincing women to come back to his room with him. Everyone wanted him to teach it to them, but he refused."
"What kind of trick?"
Jameson smiled devilishly. "Well, Miestron isn't the youngest or best looking guy around, but women who we saw going to his room were . . . let's just say they wouldn't normally do that."
This sparked a faded memory in Surian's mind. "Are you saying he brought them back against their will?"
"Something like that. It was more that he convinced them that it was their will to go with him."
Surian marked this for more thought and continued his questioning. "I see. How about if I suggest something? This isn't an accusation, just a suggestion. Miestron is in the palace jail right now. What if you both are lying about what is possible with magic for some reason? What if you murdered the man to frame Miestron and get his business?"
Jameson's face fell. "Why would I do that? This is a big city with only two wizards. Besides, I finished first in my class while he only finished third. I've also had four more years training than he has. I'm a better wizard by far and could probably take over his business on skill alone. I have no need to frame him."
He finished that with a heavy implication, one Surian had no trouble catching. "I see. Thank you for your time. Please do not leave town until we complete our investigation. We may need to ask you further questions."
"I will be happy to help in any way I can."
The door jingled again on the way out.
"Well, that was less than helpful," Fenster complained.
Surian tapped his chin and stared off into the blue sky. "Don't be so sure. Like I said, in a case like this all information is important. I'll meet you back in the palace later. I need to check a few things."* * *
Surian unlocked the last of three deadbolts and slid into his meager apartment. As was always the case, stacks of papers covered every horizontal inch of the place. Fortunately what he was looking for wouldn't be amongst that disorganized mess. He dug deep into a closet and pulled out a thick envelope bristling with faded yellow papers. He thumbed through them, trying not to dwell on any of the fond memories these scraps brought back. He had a mystery to solve; it wouldn't do to sit here all day reminiscing. In the middle of the stack he found what he was looking for. He took a deep breath and unfolded the poster. Its paint had faded long ago, turning what had once been bright and colorful into a drab, lifeless picture. He also remembered the picture being of higher quality, but it had been a long time since he'd last looked at it. None of this mattered as he could still make out the information he needed.
He sat back and thought about the poster before him. Then a smile crept across his face. This might prove even more useful than he'd first thought. But first he'd have to look into a few things.* * *
"Well, Miestron, it looks like you won't be in this cell for very much longer."
The wizard perked up. "What have you learned?"
Fenster also stared at Surian expectantly. Surian decided to keep them both in the dark for the time being.
"We spoke with an old friend of yours. A wizard named Jameson. He says you two went to the academy together."
Miestron's face fell like a body thrown from the palace tower. "That little son of rich parents is no friend of mine. His father paid for his admission to the academy. I had to work half my life to save enough to get in." Then he became thoughtful. "Wait, he always was so competitive, do you suppose he killed the peasant to frame me?"
"So he could take over your business?"
"Yes!"
Surian let him sit there like a fattened pig expecting food when it's really slaughter time. Then he shook his head. "No. According to Jameson, he graduated with higher honors than you. In fact, he graduated first in his class."
His face angry, Miestron waved this aside. "I had to work while in school. The rich boy had more time to study."
"And he stayed on for four more years after graduation, learning advanced subjects."
"I couldn't afford that. I had to come here and start my business. That little weasel has had everything given to him while I've had to work hard to get where I am."
Surian nodded appreciatively. "That's admirable. However, regardless of how each of you got to where you are, a wizard with better honors and more training has little to fear from his competition. I don't think he'd need to frame you. He'll get your clientele by just performing better 'magic.'"
"No, you don't know him like I do. He's impatient, unwilling to take the long view."
Surian nodded and began pacing. He kept his dagger sheathed. "Let's talk about that long view then, shall we? I'm specifically thinking about last summer, when the king's scepter was stolen. Do you remember that?"
Miestron shrugged. "Of course I do. I mentioned it the last time we talked."
Tapping his chin, Surian smiled, "Yes, you did, didn't you? Well it was good that you did, for I might not have thought about it otherwise. As it turns out, however, there is a heavy parallel between that case and this one."
Fenster's eyes squinting, his face fell into a confused frown. "A parallel? How?"
Surian turned to him. "Well, you're probably unfamiliar with the case, but the thief who I tracked down spent an extended stay with the head torturer. Yet, despite the torturer's extreme skill, he was unable to get the thief to tell us who his employer was. That's an almost inhuman feat. If I hadn't seen it myself, I'd have said it was impossible. But in this case we have another impossible feat, a man who was beheaded from within a locked room. Don't you see the similarity?"
Fenster arched his eyebrows. Miestron said, "That is tenuous at best." Fenster nodded slightly in agreement.
Surian went back to his pacing act. "Yeah, I guess you have to know how the crimes were committed to see the parallel. That's okay, you'll understand soon enough."
Miestron sighed. "I don't mean to rush you here, Mr. Hemlock, but are you taking us somewhere with all this?"
"Yes I am. I've spent the day snooping around the city talking with your neighbors and customers. Do you know what I've discovered?"
"I couldn't begin to guess."
"I've discovered that, in this city at least, wizardry is a rotten business. Outside the palace, few people have much money to pay for your services. After the rates your customers quoted me, I've decided you'd need to install a lighting ward on every one of their houses to afford even half as nice a house as you own. But after inspecting a large number of houses, I'm certain you haven't even done a tenth of them."
"Well, I do provide other services."
"I'm sure you do, however you also have nosy neighbors who pay attention to your house. They say you hardly ever have people coming and going during normal business hours. But one did notice a stocky guy sneak in the back door at night a few times. He said he was concerned for your safety and asked you about it. You told him not to worry."
The slight quiver in his voice showing his uncertainty, Fenster asked, "What are you suggesting?"
Surian noticed that Miestron stayed silent. "Well, Inspector, what do you think of the likelihood of this scenario? Maybe Miestron is living beyond his means and needs some way to supplement his income. Perhaps he's hired or otherwise engaged a few thieves to do his bidding for him. He's an upstanding citizen with what one would think is a good business. Why would anyone suspect him?"
He turned to Miestron. "It'd be a convenient situation. But maybe something happened that unsettled it. If a new wizard moved into town and discovered what a terrible business the craft brings, perhaps he'd start asking questions. Then maybe people would pry into your affairs. So you came up with a plan to discredit him by making it look like he'd framed you for an unrelated murder. And maybe your thief had grown indiscreet and had been noticed too many time by the neighbors. So you conveniently took care of him in the process too. I'll bet the headless guy and the one your neighbor saw are one in the same."
Miestron's frown had grown deeper throughout the speech. "What does the inspector think of the likelihood of that incredible bout of speculation and character defamation? I'd hope the palace would never consider entertaining such a loose set of addled thoughts without any sort of proof."
Looking at Surian, Fenster frowned and shrugged apologetically.
Surian nodded, smiling. "Well, I didn't expect you to confess. Pity, it would have made this easier on all of us. Oh well, no matter. A long time ago, more years than I care to dwell on, I saw a guy who could make people do things they didn't want to. For the most part he limited this to embarrassing them by making them bay like barnyard animals in front of an amused audience." Yes, the wizard certainly looked uncomfortable now, time to turn on the pressure. "He amazed me. I went to every show, trying to learn how he did it."
"What's this have to do with the murder case?" Miestron asked suspiciously, yet a trifle hastily.
"Please, bear with me. After countless shows, I started to note a pattern to his trick. He always appealed first to the victim's self image--that is to say, he flattered them. But, he was always careful to find sincere flattery. He never told an ugly woman she was pretty, he always found something else to say. However, as I think about him the most interesting part was that his eyes used to sparkle as he worked his spell over people." He pulled out the folded poster. "I saw a similar sparkle in your eyes the last time I talked with you. At the time I just felt uncomfortable but didn't know why. Now I remember."
He unfolded the paper. It read "Miestron the Magnificent, the world's best hypnotist."
Incredulously, the wizard asked, "Are you suggesting that I tried to hypnotize you? Preposterous!"
The wizard's acting was getting thin. Surian heard fear in his voice only slightly covered by the mock anger. "Preposterous? You didn't realize I felt I'd failed in the case of the stolen scepter. You thought bringing up that case would be a good form of flattery. This was a mistake, however. You really shouldn't have made me think about that case, for in thinking about it, I recognized the parallel to this one."
He turned to Fenster. "How could a simple peasant keep a secret from a palace torturer? He couldn't without help. But what if a master hypnotist convinced him that he didn't know the answers to the questions? And how could a strong man loose his head in a locked room? Maybe a master hypnotist gave him an unstoppable suggestion to go to a slum, lock himself in a room, swing a sharp, heavy sword around his head a few times and send it against his own neck. If it was going fast enough, he'd take his own head right off. There can't be many hypnotists around who can accomplish either of these feats, so whoever committed one is a major suspect for the other."
Miestron spat, "More and more speculation." He looked to Fenster. "Do you see enough evidence there to hold me on the death of a simple peasant?"
With a wide grin, Surian held up a hand. "Don't answer that yet, Inspector. Yes it is a lot of speculation, however there's enough evidence to suggest wrongdoing on your part. Murder of a poor peasant is not much of a crime in these parts. We wouldn't even have looked into it if it weren't for the interesting nature of the crime. But conspiracy to steal the king's jewels, that's a different story. If what I've just said is true, then you are a prime suspect for the mastermind of the attempted theft. The palace treats mere suspicion of a plot against the king very seriously. It treats it so seriously that it's willing to . . . test the waters as it were, with a bit of torture to make sure the suspects are actually innocent. To that end, the chief palace torturer will be here soon to take you to a much different cell downstairs. If you truly are innocent, I'm sure you'll have no difficulty. But you and I both know you aren't innocent. If you're smart, you'll tell us everything we need to know about both crimes quickly."
Miestron folded his arms across his chest.
"Fine, then we'll leave you to think about it." Fenster banged on the door and the guard opened it. He stepped out of the cell and Surian began to follow. He paused, however, mid-stride across the threshold and looked back at the wizard. "Oh, and by the way, the torturer is absolutely immune to flattery."The End
Copyright Michael P. Calligaro
All Rights Reserved
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