Chapter 13: Murder at The Vicarage

II

I bounced nervously on the balls of my feet. Part of me wanted desperately to barge past the guard and make my way into the town, his words finally registered, and I chose to follow the man. It wasn’t that I cared much for this town's criminal matters but he had indicated that this murder had happened at the vicarage and I needed holy water.

The guard led me through the town towards the centre, I must have appeared nervous to him as he repeatedly asked if I was alright. After the third time , with great effort, I stilled my mind and steadied my illusionary breath. The spell I cast should last thirteen hours or so, I had time. Then again it had been kludged together on a man who was already being used as a spell component… Best not to dwell on the matter.

We walked through the bustling heart of Market Basing and kept going past the church of light in the centre. Soon, we found ourselves in what I would best describe as a wealthy residential area. The houses were grand but far back from the road and the large areas of land each possessed were ringed by high hedges - it would appear that these people respected their privacy.

The gate guard showed me to a large iron gate depicting light shining down from the heavens onto some prophet or other.

“The inspector is waiting for you inside,” the man explained, opening the gate and gesturing inside.

I nodded to the guard, there was no need to be rude, then I entered the estate. I followed the gravel path with harried steps as it wound through a range of floral displays and before long found myself in front of a two story thatch-roofed house. Tiny glass panels made up the windows, indicating the owner's wealth. Looking past the house I could make out an expansive garden, at the end of which was a shed as substantial as one of the poorer houses. Shaking my head, I approached.

The two men outside, dressed in identical black gambasons, looked relieved when they saw me and ushered me in without a word.

There were more such men inside, turning over the continents of the house, with but a word they pointed in the direction of a door. I entered, only to find a rather startled looking man and woman held in embrace, closing it I turned to the next, that may have been the intended destination. Opening it I found a dark room, clearly some sort of study. There was a bookshelf on one wall and a desk in the centre. The desk was occupied by a clearly dead man. He was bald on the top, indicating his advanced years, he wore fine clothes that demonstrated his wealth. An arrow through his heart and the shocked look on his face proved the earlier conclusion.

“Ahh, Mr. Pool, you're finally here.” A tall man with short, dark hair, a black jacket with silver buttons that matched the style of those outside, and cold grey eyes said, proffering a hand.

I shook it out of habit before asking, “Is this the Vicar?” disappointment and frustration tingeing my tone.

The officer looked at me strangely before speaking, “I knew you were not the most pious man but I’m surprised that you wouldn’t even recognize that this is not, in fact, the Vicar. He is being held in the sitting room with the other occupants of the vicarage until such time as this mess is resolved.”

In other words I won’t be able to get the Vicar to bless some water until this case is solved. I let out a breath of annoyance. Fine, solving a murder can’t be too different from determining the cause of an unexpected magical explosion. And if worse comes to worse I could always point the finger at someone, the law enforcement seemed to trust whoever this Mr Pools was.

“Right,” I began, removing the fingers from my temples, “Tell me what you have so far.” The other man perked up at the instruction.

“This is, was, Lucius Sanguis, the local magister and church warden. He was a prominent supporter of the church’s new Paladin but otherwise apolitical. Truth be told he was thought of as a grumpy old man by most, plenty of people disliked him, perhaps enough to kill? Anyhow, he was here today to meet with the Vicar to discuss missing funds from the church’s donations.” The officer provided.

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“So the Vicar was the last to see him alive?” I asked, wandering around the room and stopping at the desk, my eyes drawn to the parchment by an instinct not my own.

“No,” he replied.

“No?” I asked, looking up.

“The Vicar arrived after the murder and was the one to report it to us,” the officer confirmed.

“Thank you David, I think I will need to interview the residents,” I said, finding my footing with this investigation business.

“Of course sir, I’ll prepare the sitting room and have the residents brought to you.”

I simply nodded as the message on the desk rolled around in my head.

Dear Inclement, I’m afraid I can’t wait any longer… The half finished message was scrawled as if in haste. When David left I examined the room in greater detail, checking all the usual hiding spots.

There were plans for the vicar’s sermons, neatly written ledgers in a tiny tidy script, and a large flower pot that contained some kind of droopy plant.

The scene seemed to whirl around my head, much as complicated magical theory questions often did; completely blocking the annoying sense of unread notifications that the System gave me.

Before long, David opened the door and told me that the room was ready. leaving the crime scene, we walked along a hallway and into a comfortably appointed room. The decor had a cosy, homely feel which belied the furniture's value. It was exactly the sort of understated fittings both me and myself preferred.

Three wingback chairs were arrayed about a stout table the height of my shins. Seated in one, the rather distraught looking Vicar; the two opposite, empty. The aroma of Basing tea filled my nostrils as I sat, I lifted the cup from the table before stopping.

Although I had the appearance of a flesh-and-blood man, I was still just bones. Pouring liquid straight onto the cushions may not break the illusion, powerful as it was, but it would certainly raise some eyebrows.

Putting the cup down I looked at Vicar Inclement.

“Where were you at the time of the murder?” I asked in a neutral tone.

The Vicar gulped down his tea before answering.

“Well I had left, I got word that farmer Bill was on his deathbed,” he began in a shaky voice, “of course I wanted to get there as quickly as possible, so I went to the stables… I had forgotten that Betty, my mare you see, was at the farrier’s. Anyway I rushed from town, on foot, to Bill’s farm. When I got there, I found it most peculiar that Bill’s son, Bob, was out working the fields. I approached him asking after his father’s condition. He simply pointed over his shoulder to the man in question, working behind him. Laughs were had allround, and, at that moment, I was most grateful to the holy Light.”

I held up a hand to stall the man.

“Who told you that the farmer was dying?” I asked, curiously.

“Emm, well I’m not sure,” he replied.

“You’re not sure?” I prompted.

“Word came via runner, it was one of the young boys who carries messages,” the Vicar responded.

“Do you know who the boy was?” I pressed.

“Yes it was Mary's son I think, the youngest,” he offered, after some thought.

“David,” I said, addressing the man sat beside me, “could you get one of your men to fetch the lad.”

“Certainly sir,” he said, standing and walking to the door. The man spoke in a quiet tone with the officer standing guard outside, before returning.

“And might I ask, do you have your horse shoed regularly?” I questioned.

“Well, yes. Once every two months,” he replied.

“On the same day?” I inquired further.

“Indeed,” he responded, puzzled.

“Thank you Vicar. Sorry for my interruption, please continue.” I prompted, as I reached into my illusionary jacket to retrieve my illusionary notebook, into which I wrote with my illusionary pen.

“Where was I… ah yes. With relief I returned, a skip in my step. However something seemed off as soon as I spied the vicarage, there was a chill in the air. When I entered the entryway, I found Mr. Cain, sitting on a bench and looking rather nervous. I asked my maid and he said Mr. Cain had come to see Mr. Sanguis,” the Vicar went on.

Just then a knock at the door interrupted his retelling. Annoyed, David stood and opened it. Outside, escorted by a guard, was Penter Cain, a man I knew to be a local veteran and artist. I had also seen him earlier, entwined Mrs. Sanguis in the closet.

“I have something to confess,” the pale, shaking man announced before David or I could ask. Wiping his sweaty forehead he continued:

“I killed Lucius Sanguis!”