Scholar's Plot (15 page)

Benton was staring at me in some alarm. “I never said there was. What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.” I gave True’s back a scratch. “A disagreement I once had with Fisk.”

“The one that’s got you two circling each other like fighting tomcats? What was that about, anyway? Kathy didn’t know.”

A few minutes ago, I’d have said I didn’t know either, not really. Now…

“’Tis complicated,” I said. “So you gave whatever bits of knowledge you found to Professor Stint, and he created a potion from it?”

“Potions,” said Benton. “He’s tried about eight variations so far, and he and Professor Dayless argue like fury every time he wants to make changes. She’s the one who keeps all the rabbits’ records, so I can see her point.”

“’Tis these rabbits you dose with the potions, I take it.” As I was trying to dose this stubborn rooster. “How can you tell if a rabbit has Gifts at all?”

“That part was Professor Dayless’ contribution to the project. Most scholars agree that all animals have the Gift of sensing magic.”

“How else could they avoid it, in the wild?”

“Yes, well, it was Professor Dayless who figured out that if human sensing Gifts varied, mayhap animals’ do too. She hired Lat Quicken — he’s a gamekeeper, who usually works for one of the university’s trustees. But the trustee’s at court now and Lat’s daughter had broken her leg, so badly it needed magica medicine to mend it. You know how expensive that is. Dayless was kind enough to hire him to trap thirty wild rabbits for her. Then she bought a pot of magica lettuce — and she paid more for that than she paid Lat for the rabbits. But when she put magica lettuce into the run with other rabbit food, some of the rabbits stayed farther from it and were more unwilling to approach, even when she put something they liked near it. Eventually she worked out a ranked scale of sensitivity to magic, and gave all the rabbits a score on that scale. She’d had Lat trap over a hundred for her by that… He’s drinking.”

I’d been so distracted, less by Benton’s narrative than my own tangled thoughts, that I’d forgotten to watch the rooster. He was now dipping his beak into the saucer and lifting his head to let the water trickle down, 
in that curious way chickens drink. The chase must have made him thirsty after all, because he drank quite a 
lot, for a chicken.

“How soon would this drug take effect?”

Benton’s voice was hushed, as if the rooster might overhear. And absurd as it was, my voice was lower when I replied.

“Soon, I think. Though ’tis probably weaker, brewed twice.” Or it might not work on chickens, or might not be drugged at all.

The rooster resumed pacing, our eyes locked upon him. And nothing happened. And more nothing happened.

“Rabbits,” I said, settling back. “The point of all this was to see if the rabbits who’d been dosed started staying farther away from the magica?”

“Exactly. ’Twas really boring watching them graze, and then writing down the nearest they’d approached, and averaging their distance and so on. Professor Dayless took reams of notes, Quicken handled the rabbits, and I’d assist either of them. It didn’t even get—”

“Wait!” I sat up abruptly. “Did he just stumble?”

Between the slats of the crate and the shadows they cast ’twas difficult to be sure, but it looked to me as if the rooster’s straight path had wavered.

“I can’t tell.”

I couldn’t tell either. “What was it you were you saying?”

“Oh, just that it didn’t get any more interesting when results started to show.”

That wrenched my gaze from the rooster.

“Results? You mean one of your rabbits who’d gone close to the magica began to keep away?”

“Nothing so dramatic.” Benton was still watching our experiment. “It just means that with some of them — the ones taking the potion based on that old granny rhyme, in fact — the average distance they kept away from the magica lettuce seemed to be increasing. But you could only tell if you were looking at the numbers over time, or at that graph Professor Dayless— There he goes!”

The rooster had definitely staggered that time, and even as he recovered, his strong gait looked less sure.

’Twas a quick acting a drug, as I’d supposed. A few minutes later, the bird was stumbling about the crate like a sailor on his first night ashore. In fact, he finally sat down in one corner, though his long neck kept weaving drunkenly.

“You wouldn’t have to chase him around now,” Benton commented.

“I think ’tis why the killer used this drug,” I said. “So he’d not have to chase his victim down, or fight him.”

Anyone planning to attack the rooster would have an easy time of it, and chickens could be savage. I suppose we could have returned then, but I was curious as to the drug’s full effect — which might help a mediciner figure out what it was — so Benton, True, and I watched the rooster fall asleep, and then wake up and resume his pacing. When he seemed sufficiently alert I returned him to his pen, and bought a clean bottle with a cork stopper from the farmwife.

I told her the results of our experiment, warning her that traces of the drug might linger in the rooster’s flesh, and she shrugged.

“He’d probably be a tough ’un, anyway.”

Mayhap we’d won the bird a natural death, instead of the axe for which he’d been slated. Man eats meat, as do hawks, wolves, and all manner of other creatures, but treating them as kindly as we can is the sign of a good man, according to the philosophers. There is also some fear that the gods might punish those who badly mistreat creatures, even those that have no magic.

But no god looks after man, so when man’s conscience fails, as it has been known to, there’s nothing to stop one from murdering another except his fellow men. ’Twas no random burglar responsible for Master Hotchkiss’ death. Someone had drugged his tea, so they could slay him with no danger to themselves, and tomorrow I had to report it, to both our comrades and the guard.

Even if ’twould make it look as if Fisk was right.

I had thought Benton was supposed to watch the jeweler. But when we returned from our tour of the print shops it was to find squirrels in the attic — literally — and the landlady banging on the jeweler’s locked door demanding that he “take that contraption down and stop bringing flea-ridden vermin into my house!”

It took Kathy twenty minutes of tact — and an unknown amount of money — to soothe the woman’s outrage.

While she was doing that, I went into the jeweler’s room and persuaded him to take down the rather ingenious squirrel ladder he’d built from the attic window to a nearby tree. I tried to convince him it was rude to invite the squirrels in when he had no cages built to welcome them. I also took the ladder away with me … but he’d built this one in half a day, so it wouldn’t take him long to build another.

Michael and Benton returned late that evening, Michael looking depressed that his hunch about the tea had been right. Which meant
I
was right that Hotchkiss’ murder was premeditated, and probably involved in Benton’s troubles, too.

But by the time we finished discussing the proper care of madmen it was late enough for Michael to claim he was ready for bed, taking away my chance to crow about it. Benton stayed up and told Kathy and me all about the rooster, and that Michael had bottled up the remains of the tea they’d brewed, as well as the much-used grounds, to turn over to the guard.

It wasn’t till breakfast, which I fetched from the tavern back to Benton’s rooms, that I had a chance to object to this.

“If you give the guard that tea, we’ll have to admit we searched Hotchkiss’ house. And took things.”

“We’ll have to tell Captain Chaldon about that, sooner or later,” Michael pointed out. “You have to give him that forged pass, too. And tell him the results of your investigation … such as they are.”

That kind of dig was unusual for Michael. Was our contest getting on his nerves? Or was it the fact that I was winning?

“All the more reason to wait till we can also tell him who the killer is. And we now know that the killer had, or has, access to his own printing press. There can’t be many of them, even in a university town. All we have to do is find that press, find that type face with the long descenders, and we’ll have our man.”

“Just as you said … the day before yesterday,” Michael murmured.

“It’s still true. Since then we’ve also learned that the killer drugged Hotchkiss, so—”

“
We’ve
learned?”

“—so we can be certain it was deliberate murder, not burglary.”

“Would not a burglar want to drug his victim?” Kathy asked. “To make sure he slept though the robbery?”

“Oh, if you could do it, a burglar would be delighted to slip his targets a sleeping draught,” I said. “The problem is that you have to break into the house to put the drug in the household’s tea, or whatever, and then break in again for the theft. The extra break-in increases your chance of getting caught more than the drug lessens it.”

“Unless,” said Kathy, “whoever drugged him also dined with him — or at least had tea.”

“There was only one cup in the study,” I pointed out. “So he was probably drinking tea alone. Whoever-it-was could have put whatever-it-was into his tea canister any time since the last time he brewed it. Though he must have known Hotchkiss well enough to be pretty sure he’d brew a pot after dinner.”

“Or she,” Kathy said. “Isn’t poison supposed to be a woman’s weapon?”

“Or a coward’s,” said Michael.

“Or a smart person’s,” I said. “If I was going to bash someone over the head, I’d certainly prefer to have them groggy. Or better yet, unconscious.”

“Then since
Benton and I
proved ’tis murder,” Michael said, “the more reason to hand our evidence over to the guard.”

The stress on those words wasn’t too hard, but Benton suppressed a grin and Kathy reached hastily for 
a biscuit. She’d come to breakfast in her dressing gown, with her brown hair rumpled, and she looked almost as young as the hobbledehoy schoolgirl I’d first met. 
She didn’t seem to mind that Trouble was leaning against her leg and shedding all over her, either.

“All right,” I said. “You’re the one who proved it. But it’s still evidence that I was right, that Hotchkiss’ death is the source of the trouble. Are you willing to concede—”

The way Michael’s shoulders stiffened, it was probably just as well that a knock on the door interrupted me.

Benton’s brows rose, confirming this wasn’t a common event, but he went to answer it.

A man in the blue and silver of the Liege Guard stood on the threshold, and the silver bars on his shoulder announced a sergeant. A man in my profession makes a point of knowing guard uniforms, and their ranks, too.

“Master Benton Sevenson? Good. And these gentlemen would be Master Fisk and Master Michael Sevenson?”

It could sound threatening when a guardsman said things like that, but this man’s eyes lit with enthusiasm when they fell on Michael. Once again, I congratulated myself on having made sure that, even though I’d sent for them, Michael was the one who’d dealt with the Liege Guard when they arrived in Tallowsport.

The dog, never fussy, pranced over to the stranger for a pat, and the man demolished his dignity even more by obliging.

“We are.” The resignation in Michael’s voice wouldn’t have been audible to someone who didn’t know him well.

I did know him well, and I wasn’t sure I’d had enough time to convince him to keep what we’d learned to ourselves. I picked up a biscuit, split it, and began spreading butter, trying to think how I could shut him up if he started to confess, without looking too suspicious.

Nothing occurred to me.

“Captain Chaldon sent me,” the guardsman went on, “to ask Master Benton Sevenson if he, and the rest of you, have an alibi for last night.”

The biscuit crumbled in my fingers, leaving butter behind. “Last night? Has something
else
happened at the university?”

For once, we hadn’t even been there.

“Well, night before last that madman they were keeping went and vanished,” the guard said. “A friend of yours, wasn’t he Master Fisk?”

“Not really. But he was taken with the rest of Roseman’s men, and since no god looks after man … well, I felt it was my duty to make sure he was being well-treated. And he was.”

I despised myself for playing the Rose Conspiracy card … but that was better than having the guard take it in his head to search the house. Or even talk to the landlady.

It had its effect too — the guard’s voice was notably more polite as he went on.

“Aye, and since it looks like he went and broke himself out with magic… We’re looking for him in the town, and the scholar’s guard is searching the campus, too.”

“I’m glad you told us,” I said. “We’ll keep an eye out for him. But you asked about our alibis for
last
night?”

“Last night someone broke into the old tower, and burned up all of Professors Dayless’ and Stint’s notes about that project of theirs,” the sergeant said. “Both the formulas they’d created, and the records of the…” Incredulity crept into his voice, but he went on 
gamely. “…of the rabbits’ progress. The professors are very upset about it.”

“Of course they are.” Benton looked pretty disturbed himself. “If the rabbit records are gone they’ll have to start over from scratch! Six months’ work. Who could have done such a thing?”

“And how?” I’d tried to break into that tower myself. I might have succeeded, if Professor Dayless hadn’t been working late, but it wasn’t an easy crib to crack. “I’d think their guard would have noticed a fire. Or did they take him out?”

“No,” said the sergeant. “It looks like the intruder climbed over the courtyard wall, then entered the tower through the side door — either had a key, or picked the lock. That door was unlocked when Master Quicken went to feed the rabbits in the morning. He was 
the one who raised the alarm because he’d locked it 
the night before — with their pet madman vanishing they were all a bit twitchy, so he was certain. It was Professor Stint who found the ashes — they were burned in the hearth, in his lab … lab-o-ra-tory, and he hadn’t had a fire there for months. There were a few bits of paper left in the ash, so once he looked close he knew what they were. And his formulas, and Professor Dayless’ records, are missing of course.”

“Horrible,” said Benton. “Why would anyone do that?”

“Because they want to sabotage the project,” I said. “Which is why suspicion falls on Master Benton. Right, Sergeant?”

It was also why Michael’s expression had lit with excitement — because if someone was trying to destroy the project, that pushed the investigation back toward his theory. I had to admit that something strange was going on there. And Benton was more closely connected to the project than he was to Hotchkiss.

Curse it.

“Sergeant, I don’t think my brother knows how to pick a lock.” Kathy was keeping her eye on the target. “I’m not sure he’d be able to climb a ten foot wall, either.”

“Hey,” said Benton. “I may have put on a few pounds, but I can … ah, I mean, if I ever wanted to…”

There was no way that sentence could end well for him, and the sergeant’s lips twitched.

“That question was raised, sir. Where were you last night?”

“Here,” said Benton. “Asleep in bed.”

“That’s the problem with crimes committed at night,” I said. “Almost no one has an alibi. But he doesn’t have a key, not anymore. And do you really think he knows how to pick a lock?”

“No sir, most don’t. But he did have a key before, and he might have had a copy made.”

“I might have,” Benton said. “But I didn’t. Why should I? I had no idea I was about to be fired till I was called to the headman’s office. And I turned over all my keys to Peebles that afternoon.”

“So Headman Portner said,” the guard admitted. “But there’s more than one way through a lock, and after your last encounter, well, Captain Chaldon did some checking. Given Master Fisk’s criminal past…”

“No,” said Michael firmly. “’Tis I who am unredeemed. Any debt Fisk owed, to man or the law, has been paid in full.”

How very like him. But I didn’t need any sacrifices. Noble Sir.

“A few points.” I kept my voice mild. “First, Benton’s wasn’t the only key to that tower. Where does the university clerk keep her keys? Does she lock her office when she goes for lunch, or runs an errand? I thought not. Second, it was Hotchkiss who got Professor Sevenson fired, for reasons that had nothing to do with the project. He has no motive to hurt Professors Stint and Dayless, or their work.”

Benton obliged me by looking indignant and distressed and innocent … probably because he was indignant, distressed, and innocent. And even Michael had figured out this was the wrong time to talk about our nighttime adventures on campus — he kept his mouth shut.

“But with so much money at stake in these projects, there’s certainly motive for outsiders to sabotage them,” I went on. “Have you checked with other universities that are working on the same puzzle, to see if they’ve had similar problems? Or checked to see if someone suddenly has more money than he should?”

I actually gave this about a thirty percent chance, but it could keep them busy for days, maybe weeks if schools far from Crown City had taken up the Heir’s challenge.

“That’s another thing the captain thought of,” the sergeant said. “And he’s sent to other universities to find out. But with Master Hotchkiss’ murder, and Professor Sevenson being connected to both Hotchkiss and the project, you can see how it looks.”

Benton appeared even more disturbed by this, but it wasn’t him the captain suspected. Not really.

“Professor Sevenson has an alibi for the murder,” I reminded everyone. “As for the project, he has no reason to disrupt it. In fact, if they succeed using the ancient formulas he supplied, he’ll be due a considerable share of the reward. Sabotaging that project is the last thing he’d do.”

Benton’s jaw dropped, making it clear that this sensible thought had never crossed his mind. At least being that transparent probably weighed in his favor.

“Captain thought of that, too,” the sergeant admitted. “But he said we needed to ask.”

A squirrel scampered along the window sill. Not unheard of on the second story of a building with a tree nearby … but not common, either. The guard’s brow rose.