Chapter Fifteen
The four of us regrouped in the Ipsissimus’s study. ‘It was wise to keep this matter to ourselves,’ the Order Head said to Winter. ‘We will have to allow the witches to return to the library or it will raise suspicion. Let’s make sure that the Cypher room is sealed off from everyone.’
‘Agreed,’ Winter said. ‘Until we know who is responsible for the disappearance of Volume 9, we have to assume everyone is a suspect.’
The Ipsissimus rubbed his chin. ‘Indeed. This is worrying. Most worrying.’
‘Why would those kind of spells exist?’ I asked. ‘And why would they be written down where anyone can access them?’
‘We don’t generally believe that our witches have the desire to rule the world, Ms Wilde,’ he answered. ‘And witches who have access to any of the Manuscripts are carefully monitored. We can’t go around destroying ancient artefacts because we don’t like what they contain. One cannot unknow what is already known. Once the atom was split, it could not be undone.’
‘Nobody goes around teaching nuclear physics to children though, do they? It’s bullshit. The Cyphers could have been locked away in a sealed room. People would forget about them.’
‘We live in the free world, Ms Wilde. We are not in the business of concealing knowledge. Besides, that volume contains information that is still used today.’
‘Such as?’
‘The less powerful spells include details on subjects such as how to gain the attention of a room,’ Maidmont interjected. ‘They can imbue the caster with confidence. There are also a few spells for dealing with bullish familiars who are unwilling to do as they’re ordered.’
I imagined how Brutus would react if I tried to put a spell like that on him. There would be feline carnage and my corpse would be left undetected in my flat for months.
The Ipsissimus drew back his shoulders and stared at Maidmont. ‘Have you read it?’ he enquired icily.
‘Oh no,’ the librarian denied, suddenly alarmed. ‘I wouldn’t. I’m simply well versed in the catalogue. Besides, my skills aren’t high enough for the spells to have any effect.’
Winter sighed. ‘And therein lies the rub.’ I looked at him questioningly. ‘Only high Level witches can absorb the magic and cast the spells from the more complicated Cypher pages,’ he explained. ‘If a less able witch tries them, they’re liable to destroy themselves in the process.’
‘And,’ the Ipsissimus added, ‘just in case you think that we give anyone access to the Manuscripts and the opportunity to abuse their power, all Order witches are only allowed to view the Manuscripts for short periods of time. It would take days to fully understand and utilise the higher Level magic.’
‘Which is why,’ I pointed out, ‘they were probably stolen in the first place. So the thief could study them at leisure and implement the spells without fear of being stopped before they finished.’
Everyone fell silent as we absorbed this. Frankly, it was all becoming a little too worrisome for me. ‘Ipsissimus,’ I began, ‘do you happen to have any ossombe root?’
Winter stiffened. The Ipsissimus frowned. ‘It’s not an ingredient I’m familiar with,’ he admitted. ‘Why? Will it stop our would-be megalomaniac?’
‘No,’ I said cheerfully. ‘But it’ll enable me to get as far away from here as possible.’
If anything, he was now even more confused.
‘That’s enough, Ms Wilde,’ Winter barked.
So we were back to Ms Wilde again? Before I could say anything, the Ipsissimus regained control. ‘I hope, Adeptus Winter,’ he said, ‘that you have a plan for tracking down this witch, whoever he or she may be.’
‘Assuming there’s only one,’ Winter growled. ‘I have a few ideas.’
‘You have carte blanche but time is of the essence. It’s imperative that you find them before they can absorb all of the magic they are after. If that happens, we will be helpless.’
I met Winter’s eyes. It was obvious where to begin; we both knew that Diall was mixed up in this somehow. We could probably have him under lock and key in the next hour – if eager Mr Smythe hadn’t already brought him in. It was possible – just – that this entire catastrophe could be solved by teatime.
There was a knock on the door. ‘I said I wasn’t to be disturbed!’ the Ipsissimus roared. I jumped. Had he partaken of a little of Volume 9’s magic himself?
A woman put her head round the door. ‘I apologise, Ipsissimus,’ she said. She didn’t look in the slightest bit sorry. I already liked her. ‘But there’s a witch here to see Adeptus Exemptus Winter. A Practicus Smythe. He says it’s an emergency and he won’t take no for an answer.’
Winter’s face shuttered. The Ipsissimus frowned and gestured to the woman to let him in. A moment later, a bespectacled witch shuffled in. He was wearing a red robe and looked as skinny and pale as most Order witches. There was also a distinct aura of panic about him. I examined him more closely. There were a few odd stains around the cuffs of his robe. It was difficult to tell for sure given the robe’s colour but I had a horrible feeling I knew what they were.
Smythe bowed several times then shuffled his feet and twitched. ‘I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have bothered you if it weren’t important. I was told to bring in Adeptus Diall for questioning.’ He was doing everything he could to distance himself from responsibility. It was a tactic I knew well.
‘And?’
He licked his lips. ‘Maybe I should talk to Adeptus Winter on his own?’
‘Is that a question?’ the Ipsissimus snapped. ‘Because the answer is no. Tell us what the problem is.’
Smythe took a shaky breath. ‘Well, I went to Adeptus Exemptus Diall’s home as instructed. Not just me, there were three of us from the Arcane office.’
Dread snaked its way down my spine.
‘And?’
Smythe seemed to shrink into himself. ‘He’s dead. Diall, I mean. It looks like he’s been stabbed.’
***
During most of the journey to Diall’s home, Winter was silent. His face was a grim mask and the stiff way he held himself showed his tension. Truthfully, I felt same way. Maybe Diall had died whilst trying to master the more dangerous Cypher spells but I somehow doubted the Manuscripts rose up and shoved a knife into his heart.
‘How are you doing?’ Winter asked, as we pulled into a wide, leafy driveway leading up to Diall’s house.
My fingers plucked at my sleeve. ‘I’m drying off,’ I said. ‘So that’s something.’
‘I meant are you going to be able to cope with what’s about to happen?’
I knew he was referring to seeing Diall’s corpse. I might watch a lot of crime shows on television but real dead bodies would be far more gruesome and chilling than their fictional counterparts. Clever make-up on a breathing actor was one thing; a very dead witch was something else entirely.
‘What’s the alternative?’ I asked softly. ‘You have to go and check Diall’s body. The binding means that I have to investigate with you. I’ll have to cope.’
‘If it’s going to be too much, I can get a verbal report from one of the other Arcane Branch members. We can proceed without viewing the body.’
Winter really was concerned about me. Given how seriously he took his job and how vital this investigation was, I was touched. ‘I’ll manage.’ I ran my tongue around my mouth. I could probably do with a stiff whisky first, though. ‘How many dead bodies have you had to deal with?’
‘Too many. A while back I worked with the police on Arcane secondment. There’s a lot of misery in this world, Ivy. Why do you think I do what I do?’
This wasn’t the time for blithe remarks so I simply nodded and looked out of the window. Diall’s place was nice.
We got out of the car and walked up to the couple standing at the entrance – one policeman and one witch. This was murder; there was no chance that the Order could avoid involving the coppers, but I had a feeling that the red robes were going to take the lead.
The witch bobbed her head at Winter and murmured his name to the policeman. It was clear from the curious flicker in her eyes that she recognised me. She knew enough to keep her mouth shut. This wasn’t the time for gossip or pointless questions.
My foot was barely over the threshold when I smelled it. If I thought I knew what death smelled like, I’d been sorely mistaken. Diall probably hadn’t been dead for long and still the reek was overpowering. The sewer had been a rose garden compared to the sour, faeces-ridden stench that now confronted me.
There were Arcane Branch witches all over the place. They acknowledged Winter and ignored me. That was fine. We weren’t even in the same room as Diall’s corpse yet and already I felt like throwing up. Holding a conversation with anyone, even just saying my name, seemed like a step too far.
I breathed in through my mouth. I could do this; I didn’t want Winter to think I was a complete wuss – even if I was.
We were directed into the kitchen. It was a cook’s delight, with a marble-topped island, copper pans hanging from the ceiling in a neat row and a view out towards the sunny garden. It would have been a beautiful room if it weren’t for the dead body lying askew on the tiled floor. Winter walked over to him and knelt down. I told myself not to start heaving and edged over to join him, although I remained standing and wrapped my arms round my body.
There was no doubt what had killed Diall: the large kitchen knife protruding from his chest was a dead giveaway. There was an incredible amount of blood splattered over the pristine kitchen cabinets as well as pooling underneath the body. Diall’s hands lay by his side; he was not clutching the knife as I might have expected. His head lay to the side but I could still see the scream on his face. And his eyes were wide open.
I gulped and took a step back. Focus on Winter, I told myself. He’s the expert here.
I watched as he examined Diall. He didn’t touch the body but his eyes roved over every aspect of it. He paused as he looked at the mortal wound and studied the knife from all angles. He also took his time over Diall’s face until I wondered whether he was willing the corpse to open its mouth and start speaking.
‘I don’t suppose you know necromancy?’ a plain-clothes police officer enquired, half-jokingly.
Half the witches in the room sighed. I guess they got asked that a lot. Yes, necromancy was theoretically possible but no one in living memory had been able to master it. It was well known that even just attempting necromancy could consume a person, body and soul if you didn’t get it right. Ironically, I was fairly certain that the ability was described at length in the Cypher Manuscripts. Not in the missing Volume 9, though.
Winter merely grunted. He stood up and circled the body a few times, making sure he didn’t tread on any vital piece of evidence. When he was done, he beckoned the police officer. ‘The murder weapon,’ he said. ‘Is it from here?’
The officer nodded. ‘As far as we can tell. There’s a missing knife from the block on the counter.’
So we could assume that this wasn’t a premeditated murder; it had been the result of circumstance – unless the killer knew Diall’s kitchen well and had planned to use one of Diall’s own knives against him.
‘Was he married?’ My voice was weak and thready, barely audible to anyone but Winter. I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘Adeptus Diall,’ I said. ‘Was he married? Did he have a partner?’ Most murders were committed by someone the victim was already close to. Considering the circumstances, it was unlikely that a jealous spouse had done this to him but it was worth asking.
The police officer shook his head. ‘Divorced. We checked on his ex-wife. She’s been living in Spain for the past three years. We’re sending the local police round to her villa but we think we can rule her out.’ He glanced at me. ‘She’s not one of yours.’ Probably not a witch then. That was unusual but not necessarily suspect.
‘Have we uncovered anything?’ Winter asked, addressing the other witches.
The nearest one shook his head. ‘Unsurprisingly Adeptus Exemptus Diall had strong wards in place. No spell we can use will work here.’
Typical. Bloody Order witches and their desire for security. It seemed to bite them all back in the end.
‘There are no fingerprints except for those of Mr Diall and his housekeeper,’ the policeman said.
‘Adeptus Exemptus Diall,’ Winter growled.
I rolled my eyes. Even now, he remained a stickler for Order protocol. While the policeman bristled, I jumped in to fill the gap. ‘Has anyone found any, um, papers?’
One of the witches said, ‘There’s the Daily Express.’
‘Uh, no, I mean magical papers.’ I ignored Winter’s frown. If Diall had taken the missing Cypher Manuscripts either they were here or his murderer had left with them.
The witch pursed her lips. ‘Nothing beyond what you’d expect. A few interesting treatise on the workings of Myomancy but nothing unusual.’ Her eyes grew sharp. ‘Why?’
Winter coughed. ‘On the way here Ms Wilde was wondering whether a layman might have broken in to steal some magical artefacts or books.’
‘We can’t say for sure whether anything is missing but nobody appears to have rifled through his possessions. There are no obvious gaps on his shelves.’ She paused. ‘We did find this, however.’ She held out a piece of paper in her gloved hands.
I glanced down, confused. It just looked like random numbers to me.
‘It’s the…’
‘Coordinates for the library,’ Winter finished. He pointed towards the last few numbers. ‘And here, minus three at the end.’ He pressed his lips together.
‘That could mean three levels down,’ the witch interjected helpfully. She flipped the paper over and I realised it was a picture of the sceptre. I drew in a sharp breath. As usual, Winter didn’t react but he had to be thinking the same as me.
‘And herbs?’ Winter asked. ‘Any sign of what magic he might have been working on?’
She shrugged. ‘Some brimstone and foxglove. There are some more jars in his office but we’ve not had a chance to look at them properly yet.’
Diall’s corpse took that opportunity to let out what I can only describe as a massive belch. I yelped and jumped, banging into Winter’s hard body. He reached out an arm to steady me. ‘That’s quite normal,’ he assured me.
Normal? Ickity ick ick. ‘I’ll have a look through his office and see what’s there,’ I said hastily.
A faint smile settled on his lips. ‘Good idea.’ He turned back to the others and started asking more questions.
I darted out of the kitchen, pausing only to ask a red robe where the office was. My shirt felt tight and uncomfortable and I was sure that Diall’s heating was turned all the way up. On the plus side, I’d kept the contents of my stomach where they belonged so things could have been worse.
Diall’s office was like a cupboard. It was crammed full of books and papers and, although there was a desk, the place was cramped and dingy. I sat down on his chair and contemplated where my life had gone wrong. This time last week I was driving happily around the streets of Oxford dropping off old ladies and businessmen. I sighed. Being a key part of a murder investigation was not what I’d dreamed of.
I ran my eyes along the shelves but nothing caught my attention. There was no flashing neon sign pointing towards the stolen Volume 9. I leant back and fiddled with the drawers. The first one contained a set of quills and a stained inkwell. The second was filled with small glass jars of dried herbs. Interested from a purely professional standpoint, I rifled through them. Some looked more than slightly past their sell by date. Helpfully, Diall had labelled each one – and they were in alphabetical order. Musk. Myrtle. Nettle. Oak blossom. Ossombe root. Parsley.
I froze and went back for a second look. Ossombe root. I lifted up the jar and stared at it. The jar contained three or four ounces of dried brown stuff. I unscrewed the lid and took a quick whiff. Well, it was certainly pungent.
It didn’t seem relevant to the investigation that Diall had this particular herb in his possession and he certainly didn’t need it any more. I placed the jar on the top of the desk and looked at it. It wouldn’t be missed. I weighed up my options then, without thinking about it any further, shoved it in my pocket. It would be good to be free from the Order – and it would certainly be good to be free from Winter and his tiresome work ethic.
Right?