Redmond and Hudds

[Contains writer's note]

‘It doesn’t take a detective of any grand stature to guess that your state this morning is a result of a little contretemps with Miss Snow last night,’ Redmond said to Hudds as they walked along the corridor, the younger man keeping having to adjust his gait to fit in with the demands of the massive log against his now constrictive trousers. As he walked along, he was nearly limping as the thick shaft lodged against the side of his leg, almost like a splint.

‘She’s, ah… a very resourceful woman,’ said Hudds.

‘Exactly the quality for which I gave her this assignation.’

‘Last night, sir, when we arrived,’ Hudds queried, ‘a courtier mentioned something about Riolta being brought here as bait.’

‘Indeed…’

‘It was laughed off. But it’s not too far from the truth of the matter, is it, sir?’

‘You’re sharp, Hudds. It isn’t strictly true, no, but nor is it a million miles away. You see, the beast is two people.’

‘Accomplices?’

‘No. One person, but with two personalities. People have different sides to them, Hudds. Things they keep hidden. The whole court here is really an extension of that. People have airs and graces. There are customs and ways of doing things which conflict with their true feelings, their true motivations. They dissemble. They hide things. Have you read any history? The history of Tharros?’

‘Not really, sir.’

It so happened that the pair of them were passing through a richly decorated chamber hung with a number of tapestries and paintings. Redmond pointed at one.

‘That’s Boris the Monumentally Incompetent. He once hung thirty-two peasant farmers from sundown to sunup on a popular festival around three hundred years ago, all to collect on a silly bet he had with his sister. And that is Leo the tenth, who murdered the entire team of seamstresses that made his bride’s wedding dress too short, according to him. They’re all beasts, Hudds. It’s when they turn against their own kind that we’re brought in to sort out the mess.’

‘I see.’

‘The nobles live by ****, Hudds, but they like to think they have it locked up. The beast exemplifies this schizophrenia. By day the beast operates in a fully human capacity. It probably argues about the correct way to hold a spoon, like the rest of these titled idiots. But by night… by night they’re hunting down ladies and tearing them apart. Now, mark you, we’ve examined the bodies. None of these women have been ****, or sexually violated. My guess is it isn’t because they didn’t want to. In cases of these kind, the killings occur instead of the sex-act, rather than as well as it, if you see what I mean.’

‘You mean when it comes to the moment, they can’t perform?’

‘Exactly so. And the rage that occurs as a result of this is sublimated in other ways. Killing, dismemberment, and so on. So we have a repressed individual, most likely troubled by the promiscuity of these young ladies, constantly battling these feelings during the day. And then they spill over, and at night they become a different person altogether when they take hold.’

‘Is the beast a werewolf?’

‘The moon isn’t right, in case you haven’t noticed. But your thinking may be along the right lines. It might even be a species of something we haven’t seen yet, the inherited corruption of some ailing, syphilitic inbred family line…’

‘So where does Riolta fit into this?’

‘Riolta is the whole package. She’s two sides at the same time, the public and the private. She defines herself by promiscuity. She’s unafraid of what people think of her. She’s totally liberated. She’s a sexual carnival who cuts right through courtly decorum and silly social protocols. You saw her display yesterday? Walking around the court?’

Hudds mumbled something.

‘And today her behaviour will be even more spectacular. Even more lewd and devastating. And this will cause ripples in the water. It’s a risk, yes. But it’s my gamble that having her here will bring our man to the surface. He’ll not be able to resist her. And when the mask slips…’

‘Aren’t we putting her in danger?’

‘My guess, Hudds, is that Riolta is the most dangerous thing in the castle at this time, beast included. But you’d know that, wouldn’t you, having spent the night with her…?

Redmond was only teasing Hudds, who was spluttering, unable to come up with a reply. He stopped at what looked like a mailbox in the centre of the room, opened it up, and started reading a slip of paper.

‘What’s this sir?’

‘I’ve had a dispatch box installed. I’ve instructed a round robin to be sent around every wing in the morning for anyone to write an account of anything unusual that happened during the night.’

‘And?’

‘Two things. The Countess Emmanuella reports strange scratching sounds outside her suite at around one in the morning. And the Von Tutchenwald suite reports the disappearance of a serving maid.’