A lead on the killer

You lean in close and whisper in Mshindi's ear. "I want you to laugh, as though I had just said something very amusing," you tell him. "I do not wish to spoil the mood of this gathering."

Mshindi immediately laughs out loud, so convincingly that it is not too hard for you to chuckle along with him. Navarre, who is always stoic when on duty, cracks a smile as if he had been unable to hold it back. The result is as you wished; the tension in the courtyard breaks, and people go back to their drinks and conversations. You and your guards approach Melisande, who is in conversation with Sir Reginald of Cottingham, and she turns her attention to you. "Melisande, I'm afraid that as hard as I've tried not to be King for the morning, Mshindi here has seen fit to drag me back onto the throne," you say. "Do you have a place where I might speak with my guardsmen in private?"

"My counting-room is at your disposal, Sire," Melisande says, reaching between her large breasts and producing a brass key (Sir Reginald blushes red with clear embarassment).

"Many thanks, my lady; this will not take long. Sir Reginald, pray excuse me." The three of you head up the steps into the Inn, down the short hallway behind the counter where Melisande greets her guests, and you unlock the heavy oak door which leads into the secure room where she keeps her coin and her books. Obviously, Melisande had not been fooled by your false jocularity; this is perhaps the most secure room in the entire town which is not in the castle itself, and you are confident that you will not be overheard here so long as you keep your voices low.

"Report, Mshindi," you say, settling into Melisande's chair.

"Sire," Mshindi says, "I have spent most of the moring inquiring discreetly about what Abdul Hai El-Anwar did last night; we need not be so discreet any longer, as news of his **** broke nearly an hour ago. Fortunately, I was able to get what I believe to be good information before the rumors took flight."

"Go on."

"Abdul certainly enjoyed himself at the feast last night," Mshindi says. "He was observed in the company of many women, often one on each shoulder and a third carrying his drink; his cup hardly ever ran dry. This in and of itself seems odd to me, as I am told that to drink beer and wine is against his people's beliefs."

"It seems that Abdul saw fit to ignore the commandments of his God last night."

"Be that as it may, Sire, it is said that while he seemed in high spirits, his behavior was odd in other ways. It was as if he wanted to indulge in every pleasure he could, but took little time to enjoy any of it. On more than one occasion, he took a woman or two into the trees or a nearby alley, but always emerged again after... well, not enough time had passed, if you understand me Sire."

"I believe I do."

"Strangest of all was what occurred just after the midnight bell. At the sound of its ringing, Abdul disappeared from the feast; he left so quickly and quietly that hardly anyone saw him leave. I was fortunate enough, however, to happen upon a yound milkmaid who says that she did see him - but luck only saw me through so far in this case, as she was obviously sick from too much drink the night before, and I cannot imagine her mind was entirely clear when she claims to have seen him."

"Be that as it may, what did she say?" you ask.

"She says that he stepped quite close to where she was resting up against a tree in the woods on the other side of the Stonemason's bridge," Mshindi says. "When I asked how she knew it was him, she said that he appeared as he did during the duel, with his shirt off and his sword out, except that he also wore a black cloak that reached only to his waist."

"That is strange," Navarre says, musing.

"But it makes sense," you realize, just as Mshindi is about to speak again. "What she saw was his hair, free of the turban he had been wearing. She likely had never seen a man with hair so long, and to her eyes it appeared as a cloak."

"That is what I thought must be true as well, Sire," Mshindi says. "And, it tells us that she did indeed see him; she would not have invented such a strange detail. Unfortunately, it is nearly all she was able to tell me, except for one more thing: that he approached a figure on the far side of the bridge, someone short who seemed to be wearing a hood. At that moment, a wolf howled in the woods, and she became frightened and hid herself. When she dared to look up again, both Abdul and the other were gone."

"Could she recall anything else about the other she saw?" you ask.

"Nothing, except that he was rather short."

"'He?'" you ask.

"The word she used, Sire... although as I think upon it, there is nothing in what she described which would say whether it was a man or a woman."

"How tall was the milkmaid, Mshindi?" Navarre asks.

"She did not stand up, but I would guess that the top of her head would come only to my chin."

Navarre nods. "Then, if she were to describe someone as short, she likely means a shorter person than herself," Navarre says.

"Which means that it could not have been Lady Trina!" you blurt out.

Navarre looks at you strangely. "Sire? Is Lady Trina still considered a suspect in this crime?" he asks.

"No, of course not," you reply. "Still, it is good to have verification that whoever last saw Abdul alive, it could not have been Trina. She is slightly taller than Mshindi here, and so the milkmaid would not have described her as short."

"I fear the word of a drunken maiden who saw a hooded silhouette in the dark will not be evidence enough of Lady Trina's innocence to those who question it," Navarre says, shaking his head. "I concur with Mshindi that we may consider this information to be true, but it will not hold much weight should the matter be brought to court."

"Did you learn of anything else, Mshindi?" you ask.

"Not from the milkmaid, no. But with the Sultan's backing, I questioned the men in his camp who may have seen Abdul," he says. "Unfortunately, it seems that none actually saw him return. This is not so strange, as the camp is large, and any guardsmen on duty would be looking after the Sultan's own tent. If Abdul came into the camp quietly, it is entirely possible that no one else would have seen him."

"And we know he must have returned," Navarre says. "He was killed there, that was certain from even a brief look at his remains." Navarre's lip twitches at this in what was probably a look of disgust that he immediately quashed. You don't blame him; the sight of man whose skull has been crushed is likely not one which allows one's breakfast to sit well. "The man who did it was likely not a short man. The club which was left at the scene was longer than my leg from the ground to my belt, and a short man would surely have chosen a shorter weapon."

"We are left with more questions than answers," you say, rubbing your forehead. "Why did Abdul behave as he did at the feast? Why did he leave precisely at the midnight bell? It seems as though he intentionally went to meet someone, but who could this someone have been? If the short one was not the murderer, than who was he - or she - and what of the one who did carry out the deed? Why was it done in his tent, where the murderer might easily have been caught, instead of out in the woods where they had no reason to think there would be witnesses? None of this makes any sense!"

"My investigation has only begun, Sire," Mshindi says.

"There is one conclusion we can draw already, Sire," Navarre says. "And it is disturbing, but it also gives us some hope. There is only one reason I can think of why the **** would have been done in Abdul's tent. The killer clearly wanted him to be found there, leaving no doubt as to the cause of ****. I would conclude that he very much intended this deed to send a message to someone. The plan has not yet been carried out to its full conclusion... and troubling as that may be, it means the murderer is still here in Elyssia, and we may yet bring him to justice."