Haidée looked back at the two story building on the main street of the village facing the Cormorant. Renaud stood beside her, tucking the brim of his hat down so that it shielded part of his face.
The sky was overcast. It drizzled.
The marten hid from the weather in her coat pocket.
“Galliard knows,” she said.
“Judging from what happened to him, he knows too much,” Renaud remarked.
The previous day, after Renaud and Everard had simultaneously come up with the conclusion that the magistrate was behind what was happening, they had rushed back to the village to confront him with the conclusions. Haidée had followed, not liking the fact that two ill-equipped men were going out to face a necromancer. Renaud could only wield secondhand spells. Everard, although head astronomer, was an academic and an old man. Galliard, on the other hand, was in his prime. And who knew what sort of tricks he had learned during his time at the Sorbonne.
But when they had barged into his first floor office in the building across from the Cormorant, they found the magistrate sprawled face up on his desk. A bit of blood trickled from his mouth. Their fellow vacationer and political upstart, Maurice Ducos was an inert lump on the floor nearby. Fortunately, the two men were still alive although both were unconscious.
Help came from the Cormorant. The innkeeper, although surly, had some of his men haul Galliard’s body to the second floor of that building where he was put to bed. Ducos was sent back to the inn where his friends could take care of them.
And while all of this scuffle went on, Haidée noticed something very significant. The murderer’s warning sign was carved on the desk.
The next day, Haidée and Renaud accompanied Everard to Galliard’s abode. Both Galliard and Ducos were still unconscious. With this evidence, she began to suspect that some sort of sleeping spell was placed on the two men—to prevent them from saying anything about who attacked them. She was sure that if she had access to their bodies, she could examine them for marks. But with Everard and others hovering over them, she did not think she would have any chance.
They had left Everard at Galliard’s house. The head astronomer had volunteered to look over the magistrate. Perhaps he was feeling guilt for suspecting the man who had looked up to him as an astronomy mentor.
Slowly, Haidée and Renaud made their way down the main street. The village was empty, deserted.
“What I don’t understand is why he would spare Galliard and Ducos. Wouldn’t it be more of a hassle to leave them unconscious? They could awake at any moment and tell everyone who the murderer is,” said Renaud.
“Yes, that is a point,” she replied. “But I think there is one particular reason that you’re missing. All the previous victims were astronomers. They had some ability. Since Ducos was spared as well as Galliard, I think it is safe to say that both men do not have the ability. A necromancer needs power. If the victim is powerless, the victim is useless.”
“But still, he could have still killed them to keep them silent.”
“Using necromancy to kill has some drain on your own resources. It wouldn’t be worthwhile to use a spell to kill unless you were gaining more power back. Of course, the culprit could have just killed them the usual way—but I think leaving Ducos and Galliard alive speaks volumes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Our murderer despises messes. Poison would be too difficult. But the other ways, such as pistol or blade would be far more bloody. Have you noticed that other than the inked symbols, the victims’ bodies were unmarred? Even with the body we found in that secret room—it was perfectly preserved even with the severed foot.”
“All right. So the murderer is fastidiously clean. But that doesn’t really narrow it down to anybody. What about that list that you made with Davenport?”
“This doesn’t shorten that list either,” she replied. “And really, I’m not sure if it’s any useful or not. Davenport doesn’t know everyone’s secrets. I don’t see how he can since he lives alone with his cat. Or really, he could be lying.”
“You think Davenport could be behind all of this?”
“I think so,” she replied. “He was at the observatory when the note was delivered after all. He could have arrived earlier while I was eating breakfast or looking for you and slipped it under my door. He has the motive, even though on the surface he doesn’t betray any of his grievances. As you say, people can hide their natures with a pleasant mask.”
“I heard him tell you to visit him today.”
“Yes. Perhaps it’s a ruse,” she murmured.
“I’m coming with you then.”
She slanted him a look. “I’m not sure how much of a help you might be if he’s in a fighting mood. After all, both Ducos and Galliard were overcome. Those two men are not lightweights.”
“No, but they don’t know how to wield certain powers either,” he replied. “Even if I only have the marks you gave me, that’s more than nothing.”
They arrived at the end of the village’s main street. Davenport’s house was a small cottage at the end, surrounded by a dead garden and a somewhat crooked wooden fence. The windows to his house were dark.
“Do you think he’s in?” Haidée asked, frowning.
“I…” Renaud paused and cocked his head to the side. Haidée looked at him in question when she heard it, a faint rustling in the direction behind the house. “I’ll go check that out,” he said grimly.
“It’s probably just Davenport’s cat,” she said. “He lets his pet go wherever it pleases.”
“Maybe so,” Renaud replied. “Stay right here.”
She sighed as he disappeared around the house. This was ridiculous. She didn’t want to stand around waiting. She walked closer to the house and peered in the window. She didn’t see anything so she knocked.
The door creaked open.
She pushed it further and poked her head into the darkened room. “Hello?” she called out. She reached out with her senses and stepped through the threshold.
A plaintive mewl drew her eye to the floor of the front room. Davenport’s white cat was crouched beside a body, nudging the man’s hand with its nose in desperation. Without another thought, she rushed towards the body.
“Monsieur Davenport!”
He was lying face down, the back of his coat slashed neatly to reveal a bit of his skin. A glimpse told her that the killer had marked him as well.
“Davenport!”
She took hold of his shoulder to shake him, clinging to the hope that he was still alive, but a cold burning sensation met her fingertips and she yelped, stumbling back. Those marks on the observatory librarian’s corpse were still very fresh. Traces of their power still lingered on the body.
Haidée stared at Davenport and edged back. Her mind raced. She stood. “Jacot,” she whispered. “I have to get to Jacot.”
She whirled around and rammed into a dark cloaked body. A deep chuckle made her skin turn ice cold.
“Ah, Mademoiselle, I'm afraid your lover is indisposed at the moment. I hope you appreciated my handiwork.”
“God.” She struggled, but her feet felt frozen.
He laughed again and drew out a pen dripping with ink. “God won’t help you now.” She felt the cold tip of the pen on her nose and her world went dark.
The killer swept Haidée’s limp body into his arms and carried her out the door. He did not notice a small fur ball drop out of her coat pocket.