At the Green Café, their conversation had been interrupted by a large influx of patrons to the noon time meal. They had been a mix of locals and vacationers turned away from the Cormorant because of lack of room. So Renaud, Haidée, and Davenport had turned their attention to their own meals and turned their own talk to more inconsequential things—like the weather and life on the island.
By the time they had finished, the rain had let up a bit. There was a brief break in the clouds allowing for a bit of weak sunlight to shine through, but not enough to dry out the land. Davenport had suggested that they talk in the library at the observatory where there was less chance of interruption by strangers. The walk back was brisk and quiet. Haidée noted that when they passed the church and the cemetery, the place looked completely abandoned. If she tried hard enough, she could see the new tombstone for D’Aubigne.
Once they were at the observatory, Davenport made his way to the kitchen to inform Madame Boulanger that some hot tea and coffee was to be served at the library. When that small errand was done, they proceeded to the room. The rest of the astronomers were absent—she guessed that they had either all gone back to their research or had gone to the Cormorant to forget the morning’s morbid festivities.
As Renaud lit the fireplace in the library, Haidée made herself comfortable in one of the chairs nearby. She unwrapped her shawl and laid it on the back of her chair. The marten chattered a protest before it scurried off to take a temporary nap on a cushioned footstool. Davenport sat at his customary post behind his desk and seemed to contemplate the ceiling as Renaud stoked the fire until it was blazing hungrily in large leafs of gold and red. He took another chair and dragged it close enough so that he was sitting across from both Davenport and Haidée. Once seated, he stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles.
“Who had cause to dislike both Monsieur Legard and Monsieur D’Aubigne?” Haidée asked.
The observatory librarian finally drew his gaze from the ceiling to the two visitors to the island. “Legard and D’Aubigne both kept to their own research. From what I know, all of the astronomers kept out of each others way unless something or someone threatened them collectively.”
“And whatever is killing them is targeting them collectively,” surmised Renaud. “Perhaps a more accurate question would be, who hates all the astronomers?”
Davenport shrugged. “The men who have lived at the observatory have always kept aloof from the rest of the island populace. The astronomers consider themselves scientists and intellectuals—far above the ordinary man, if you know what I mean. They don’t often patronize the village shops or even the tavern inn at the Cormorant. They don’t often socialize with the locals. They don’t go to church.” A cynical smile stretched the librarian’s mouth. “They say they are atheists.”
“And what of the locals?” she inquired. “How do they feel about the astronomers?”
“The villagers themselves don’t interact much with me or Paul Ninon, the other astronomer who lives with in the village. They are mostly indifferent, truth be told. They could care less if the astronomers only order their supplies from the mainland. As long as they don’t bother the locals or try to run their lives, they are content to just let them be. Of course, that doesn’t mean that they don’t get annoyed once in a while, but I don’t believe that that’s sufficient justification for any of the locals to kill.”
“From what I’ve gathered of the other astronomers,” Renaud said, “I don’t think they harbor any particular ill will for their other colleagues. Everard strikes me as a lot like that of other men in his position—more concerned about his ties to other people of importance and how much work he can get out of his subordinates. Roland is a doddering old man. I doubt he has the strength to take on anyone younger, especially men in their prime and health like Legard and D’Aubigne. Garnier has a superiority complex, but I don’t think he’d stoop so low as to murder his colleagues.”
There was a knock at the door. Davenport called out for whoever it was to come in. Colette soon arrived with a tray containing two pots of blue porcelain with matching cups and placed the tray on the librarian’s desk. She asked if they needed the tea and coffee to be poured, but Davenport waved her away saying that he would handle it.
When the door clicked shut, the observatory librarian asked them what they wanted. Renaud took the coffee and Haidée took the tea, although she wished for her tonic.
With his own cup of coffee in hand, Davenport sipped meditatively and seemed to gaze beyond his guests. “Your impressions of the others sound correct, Renaud,” he said. “And if they are not the ones killing their colleagues, then who is?”
“What about the servants?” asked Haidée.
Davenport frowned. “What about them?”
She set her cup down on a small table between her and Renaud. “You can’t forget the servants. What if one of them is nursing a grudge? What if they feel as if the astronomers are mistreating them?”
“I could see that,” Renaud replied. “That Madame Boulanger seems to have a temper on her. She was chasing Mademoiselle Avenall around in the kitchen with a knife on a previous morning.”
She sent him a repressive glare. “She was not chasing me. She was about to gut my poor marten.”
He ignored her expression. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, she picked up a knife without second thought when she got angry. It stands to reason that if she got angry enough at the astronomers, she could as well have killed them. Maybe with her cooking.”
Davenport was stroking his chin. “You know, that has merit. She could have poisoned Legard and D’Aubigne, hence the appearance that the two men did not suffer any trauma.”
Haidée shook her head. “Somehow, that doesn’t sound quite right to me. You know, it could be one of the other servants as well. We don’t know their whereabouts when the men died. They could claim that they were cleaning out some rooms in the observatory or running some other errand and no one could prove or disprove it.”
“We could try searching for poison in the kitchen,” Davenport suggested. He suddenly looked down at his coffee and then put it back on his desk. “You know, if that’s a possibility, Madame Boulanger could have poisoned us.”
She almost laughed at his abrupt paranoia. “Monsieur Davenport, I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you. No, I don’t think it is poison although most people would immediately jump to that conclusion. I don’t think Legard and D’Aubigne were murdered by poison. There are the ink markings to consider. Even though we don’t know what those markings were, their very presence suggests that something much more complicated is going on than a mere poisoning.”
Renaud still held his coffee cup. He was looking over its rim to her. “You think that some sort of spell was being worked. Necromancy.”
At the word, Haidée shivered. “That’s what I suspect. But we don’t have any proof.”
The observatory librarian was wide eyed. “Death magic? Who on this island would want to work such dangerous powers? Wasn’t that outlawed by those schools of sorcery on the mainland?”
Renaud smiled grimly. “People can outlaw as many things as they want, but that doesn’t prevent people from practicing them.”