Ten Little Wizards: A Lord Darcy Novel by Michael Kurland, Randall Garrett

unnecessary. As Lord Peter has pointed out, the White Chateau does not connect with the Arthur Castle directly, and His Majesty has no call to go to the White Chateau. We are placing increased guards about, but mainly to report anything of a suspicious nature that occurs.
    “Now the third, Great Cristobel, is the most recent—which still makes it over four hundred years old—and is more like what I think of as a castle. Several great halls, a grainery, troop quarters downstairs, servants’ quarters upstairs, and with only six entrances to the whole place. Easily guarded, easy to check who goes in and out, and also quite pointless. But we shall do it, nonetheless. Even Between the Walls shall have both roving and stationary guard points.
    “The internal guardposts have been set up so that a roving guard will pass each stationary post at least every quarter hour of the night. Very mundane, very ordinary, but it’s what gets the job done.” Coronel Lord Waybusch took his gold shakers back, and the map rolled closed with a snap. He stuffed it back into his boot. “I don’t say it’s perfect,” he said. “I’ll be damned glad of suggestions or criticisms.”
    “We should eliminate burglary and reduce petty theft to the vanishing point,” Marquis Sherrinford said, “but I don’t know how much good this will do in protecting His Majesty.”
    “Nor do I,” Coronel Lord Waybusch agreed. “When you have a better idea, let me know. There will be close to six thousand people here for the next few weeks; an unmatched forest for our lone tree to hide in. Particularly since we cannot, as yet, call it by name. Give me something more to go on, and I swear to you that I will find someplace to go.”
    “Now I return to where we began,” Marquis Sherrinford said. “Perhaps the unfortunate death of Master Sorcerer Raimun DePlessis is somehow related to the threat to our sovereign. At any rate, we must keep that possibility in mind.”
    “I assure you we are, my lord marquis,” Lord Darcy said.
    “Just what do we know about the murder so far?” Duke Richard asked. “Aside from the fact that the murderer is a rhymester?”
    “Master Sean,” Lord Darcy said, “if you would be good enough to give His Highness a forensic report, I’ll add what I can to it when you’re done.”
    Master Sean O Lochlainn pushed himself out of his chair at the left end of the table and stood, his hands holding the lapels of his blue-and-gold sorcerer’s robe, facing the others. “Your Highness, Your Lordships,” he said, “I won’t bother you with the technical data unless you want it—the various spells I used, and such. All standard, I can assure you.
    “Master Sorcerer Raimun DePlessis died between eleven-thirty and noon today. He was killed by a penetrating blow to the heart from a narrow-bladed weapon, which was not found. At the time of his death there was one other person in the room with him, whom we must assume was the murderer. He almost certainly knew his assailant, and despite the fact that the room was locked from the inside, with both doors and windows either barred from the inside or unopenable, neither black magic nor white was used to accomplish the crime. There was a pool of blood on the floor by the body, which was shown by similarity tests to be Master Raimun’s own blood. Unfortunate, but as Lord Darcy said, it would have been too much to hope that the murderer, while stabbing Master Raimun, would accidentally cut himself.”
    “Have you any explanation for the locked doors, Master Sean?” Marquis Sherrinford asked.
    “I have not, my lord,” Master Sean told him. “Except that it was not done by magic. And, that being so, it is in Lord Darcy’s province to solve that problem, not mine.”
    “Is there anything else, Master Sean?” Duke Richard asked.
    “There was one other thing of note, Your Highness, but I cannot honestly say that I know what it means.”
    “Yes?”
    Master Sean paused to pick his