In Quest of a Bloody Answer!
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, I think even Barrett Holmes is someone I saw elsewhere, but since he's a detective I don't think he'll mind doing this detecting for me. Apart from him, from unknown origions, all the characters depicted within are copyright of Robert Jorden. (Mis)used without permission.
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Barrett Holmes, Randland's most famous thief-catcher, tamped down the tabac in his pipe and surveyed the small room in which Asmodean had breathed his last breath. Holmes had stood by the door as the men, women and...things...entered, and now they were all assembled. He sucked in his chest and squeezed past the crush of bodies towards the small crate placed in the centre of the floor. Ignoring the complaints, and insensible of the toes he stepped on, he shuffled and shoved his way to the spot. Rand stood on the box; the only open space in the room.
With a push, Holmes toppled Rand into the crowd, but the bodies of the others held him up. He wriggled his way upright and stretched his long legs until his feet touched the floor.
Holmes stood on the box and took a deep breath. "You are probably curious as to why I have asked you all here today."
"Get on with it!" Shouted Mazrim Taim from the back, as he warily eyed Demandred across the room.
Homles ignored him. "In this very room, one of our number was brutally murdered." Homles paused and looked around. Someone yelped as Bela trod on his foot.
Holmes growled under his breath, trying to restore his dramatic flare. "And that murderer most foul stands with us today, in this very room. One of the illustrious personages here present, did most cruelly and fatally kill the one known as the gleeman to the Dragon Reborn, the Forsaken, the Chosen, Asmodean. I have sought long, colated and amassed the evidence, and I can now tell you, without a shadow of doubt, who the vicious perpetrator of this evil deed is." He stopped and puffed on his pipe as he locked eyes on each of the people before him, turning slowly until his gaze fell on...
"Aran'gar!"
The ... female ... jumped as he barked her name, her breasts wobbling almost fit to pop out of her tight dress. Rand and Lews Therin took identical poses, thumbing an ear and humming as they smiled at her.
"It wasn't me." Aran'gar's sultry voice filled the room in liquid honey. She essayed a sashay, only slightly diminished by being crushed between Lanfear and Moiraine, who glared at each other over her shoulders. Slayer did not seem to mind his position behind Aran'gar, though. "I was dead at the time."
"So was I," called Osan'gar, waving his hand above Lanfear's head.
Holmes turned slightly to keep both in sight. "And how," he asked slowly, "can we be sure of that? Do you have witnesses who will step forward today?" He looked around, as if expecting someone to step out of the wall. The crowd buffetted against him, maybe someone had tried and been thrust back by the crush in the small space. "Do you, together or seperately, have any viable proof that you were not resurrected, sent to Caemlyn, brought back after perpetrating the foul deed and then returned to Shayol Ghul to give that masterful performance of newly raised chosen?"
Osan'gar stared into the middle distance in that half-mad way he had perfected as Dashiva, and Aran'gar pouted. Holmes answered his own question.
"Of course you do not. For there is no such proof. You each had motive to kill the one Chosen of the Great Lord of the Dark who had turned his coat, who would have recognised you, and you can not give a full and satifactory accout of your whereabouts and the time of the assassination."
Lanfear smirked at Aran'gar and tried to shuffle away so their hips did not touch.
"Yes! Assassination I say. The assassination of a traitor to the Dark One. What brings us to you, Great Lord."
The room darkened as the Dark One's presence was felt.
"You, above all others, had motive to kill Asmodean. Where were you on the night Asmodean was killed?"
BOUND IN SHAYOL GHUL AT THE MOMENT OF CREATION.
His voice crushed the occupants of the room, drowning out the cries of ecstasy and terror. Only Barratt Holmes remained on his feet.
"Ah but we do not speak of the moment of creation. We speak of the moment of Asmodean's death. Were you alone, or can someone verify your story?" He did not wait for a response but spun on Moridin. "And speaking of death, where were you?"
Moridin leaned back against the wall, saa rushing past his eyes in such a fierce storm it was a wonder he could see at all. He just smiled.
"Yes, we can all ask ourselves where Death was when death took Asmodean. And we can be sure that his killing of the traitor would not be sensed by the chanellers within the palace, for Moridin uses the True Power, and a minor mystery is solved by that simple fact."
Holmes waited, eyebrow raised and pipe in mouth. "Have you nothing to say in your defense?"
"I have fought this battle a thousand times in a thousand Ages, with every turning of the Wheel. I win again."
"Does that sound like an admission to you?" Holmes smiled. "Or is our philosopher taking credit for others' actions, playing both sides of the game? Was it in fact someone who cannot take credit for his actions because Rand al'Thor had already killed him?"
He spun and pointed to Rahvin at his side. The man had not taken his furious eyes from Rand since entering the room.
"Did you, Rahvin, hire Slayer to take out the renegade chosen?"
Rahvin, arms folded across his chest, glanced up at Holmse. "I had bigger concerns than Asmodean. We had a plan." He glared at Sammael. "al'Thor was my--" He stopped before incrimiating himself "He, and Asmodean, were supposed to be in Illian, not Caemlyn. How could I have known he would come to me?"
"Perhaps." Holmes smiled and bit down on his pipe, puffing contentendly. "Which brings us to Slayer himself." He turned to locate the man in the shadow of Shaidar Haran. "Unfortunately, Slayer is nothing more than a hired blade; the weapon that spilled the life blood from its victim. So we will ignore it. It tells of nothing of who killed Asmodean. If it is the slayer it still tells us nothing but the means."
Slayer bristled under Holmes' dismissal and opened his mouth. "That argument also excuses the gholam. A bloody knife does not tell us who wielded it."
The gholam hissed by the door. The only occupant of the room unbothered by the shifting and pushing. It moulded its fluid body into whatever space was available.
Homles turned to face Shaidar Haran, looming over tiny Moiraine. "You too, Hand of the Dark, are incapable of independance in this, doing only your master's bidding and cutting where he says.
"And Lenn, who flew to the moon, was never more than a lame runner at best, but his name was mentioned by someone." Holmes bowed slightly to the time-travelling hero. "Thank you for coming today." He straightened and narrowed his eyes. "Or have you been here before? Did you, in fact, time travel to this room, slay Asmodean, and then whisk his corpse back to the past, giggling maniacally?"
"That is the most idiotic thing I've ever heard." Lenn's mumble was barely heard in the soft surrussus of the crowd, but Holmes had already turned away.
"Of course there is one who claims an alibi, but how solid can that be? Rand al'Thor, you watched as Asmodean played his music in the garden beneath your window. You knew exactly where he was. The throne room where you claim to have been, with Maidens as witnesses, lies just a few corridors from this very spot. Did you make the excuse that you had to visit the little dragon's room and run down here to cut down one of the Forsaken; the serpant at your breast?"
Rand blinked and when his eyes opened they were cold and hard, winter's frost was on his voice. "Why would I kill him? He was teaching me?"
"But have you felt the lack since his death? Is it not true that you had already learned everything he could teach you, and that you disposed of him like a used rag?"
"I did not know he was dead."
"So you say. And so, maybe, you think. But is it not so that the taint on saidin was strong then, and that you have been chanelling long and often? Are you not, in fact, more than slightly mad and it was your other personality that killed him? An action of which your saner half was unaware."
Rand opened his mouth and the male chanellers in the room backed away from him, as much as the space allowed, no doubt reaching for saidin themselves. Holmes deflected Rand's fury by the simple expedient of ignoring him. "Which reminds me. Rand's alter-ego. Lews Therin himself."
Lews Therin giggled and pressed himself against the wall. "Death. I must have death. Kill them, kill them all. We must kill them, don't you see, before they kill us." He turned thoughtful, musing to himself. "We bring death you and I, and the other one, we are destroyers, not builders. Oh Ilyena, my beautiful Ilyena."
"Yes indeed, we do see Lews Therin. Admit that you piggy-back in Rand's mind, a preying mantis hidden in Rand's own insanity, paitently waiting for your chance to strike! Yes, Lews Therin fits the bill perfectly with a reason to want Asmodean, in fact the whole world, to burn. He knew where to find him, and we must all admit that Asmodean would have been very surprised to see Lews Therin come to kill him."
Holmes turned to face Lanfear. "Of course, he also had a reason to be surprised to see you. And too, you promised to kill him. Is it not clear that you bargained with the Eelfinn to let you kill Asmodean and the price was the body of Cyndane that you now wear?"
Lanfear raised her head. "If I had bargained for Asmodean's death, I would have got a better deal that this." She sneered and indicated the buxom figure she sported.
Holmes sneered. "The bargain with Eelfinn brings Moiraine into the picture. The very same questions that can be addressed to Lanfear apply also to you. Or are we perhaps missing the truth? Are you in truth, a Darkfriend, a snake in the grass, in collusion with Lanfear herself with the domination of Rand al'Thor as the prize? We know you are a meddler, a blue ajah with no other purpose. Do you admit that you said you had never sent Verin, after Verin Mathwin had told Rand that you had? Did you lie, Moiraine of the blue ajah? Or should I say black?"
Moirane straightened her back, managing to loom despite being dwarfed by Shaidar Haran behind her. "I supported Rand from the beginning. It was I who found him, who convinced Suian that he had to be allowed to walk free. I swore to obey him. I would have died for Rand. I planned to. It was I who threw Lanfear through the door frame, almost sure I would die. A trap I had taken pains to lay."
"A trap, yes, but for whom? Threw through the doorway, yes. But is it not true that you stopped and laughed with your friend on the other side and sat down for a cup of tea before conspiring to murder Asmodean? Did you not think to secure you alibi with that false letter saying that you understood what Rand was doing? And while we are on the subject, how did you know? Only Rand, Asmodean, and Lanfear knew. And Rand did not tell you, and Asmodean would not."
"But lest we get complacent, let us remember that there is only one Forsaken who has admitted to knowing that Asmodean is dead."
Holmes turned slowly on his box, looking into the eyes of each one of the Forsaken that he had not yet addressed. "Sammael. Moghedien. Mesaana. Graendal. Semihrage. Demandred. All of you had reason to kill Asmodean, but Semirhage, you and Demandred have claimed not to know what happened. The same can be said of Sammael and Mesaana. So are you eliminated? Or are you lying, even to yourselves in some cases? Can it be that one of you killed Asmodean simply for his betrayal and are covering up for darstardly reasons of your own?" He fixed the four named with his eye, and then turned his gaze elswhere. "But you..."
Holmes turned to point. "...Graendal. You freely admit that he is dead when others of your company express doubt! Can that be because you were present when he died? Because you killed him?"
"I was in my home in Arad Domon."
"So you say. But, is it not so that you commited the nefairous deed solely because Asmodean spurned you in the Age of Legends!"
Graendal's eyes popped open and she gaped wordlessly. When her voice emerged it was high and indignant. "He was not nearly pretty enough!"
Across the room, Moghedien smirked. Holmes caught the expression in the corner of his eye and rounded on her. "And you need not allow yourself to grow smug. You had as much reason as any other to kill him. And the modus operendi, the hidden corpse and the secrecy, fits you, skulker in shadows."
"I was..." She paused looking for words that would not humiliate her. "I was in Salidar, watching al'Thor's friends."
"A likely story." Holmes smiled supercilliously. "Were you, as you say, a prisoner," Moghedien flinched as he spat the word, "or were you only pretending? Or did you, in fact, hire Slayer to destroy the man, Asmodean? An act he completed while you were indisposed. A fine alibi."
He nodded and turned his back on her. "But let us not forget those who are known to have been in, or near, Caemlyn at the time the foul act was done." He surveyed faces, pointing as he uttered each name. "Mazrim Taim. Davram Bashere." His voiced lowered to a growl. "Almen Bunt."
"Almen Bunt. Hunter of men. Tool of the Great Lord. Feared of the Chosen. Oh yes, Asmodean had cause to fear you when you, by the pure chance that you have shown since meeting Rand and his friend Mat Cauthon, encountered Asmodean in the cellars of the palace."
"I'm a good queen's man. I deliver wine to the palace. I'm often there. Good wine you see. Good enough for the palace. For the queen herself, the Light illumine her. I'm a good queen's man -- never say I'm not -- and I brought wine to the palace every month, regular and smooth. Right through all the troubles. I stood against those who tried to harm her, but what cause have I to be killing a gleeman even if I ever saw one in the cellars of the palace?"
Homles pounced on his question? "The same reason any of the Chosen had for his death. The same reason your master had. Orders, Hunter of men, to assassinate the renegade Chosen! Clearly you discovered Asmodean in his innocent quest for wine, slew him in cold blood, stuffed his body in one empty cask of wine and his harp in another, loaded them on a wagon and returned whence you came."
"I'm a good queen's man, like I said, but even a blind pig finds acorns sometimes and even a wise man trips over his own feet. You want somebody to blame. Fellows getting killed. Darkfriends everywhere. Wild accusations. Well I'm a good queen's man, but I say let's stop all this truck with murder and guesswork. There's more than enough trouble around for everybody without you go looking for more."
Almen Bunt nodded firmly and looked up at Homles with the calm patience of an old, gnarled farmer who knew his worth and wasn't about to heed any who thought different.
"Helped those boys, I did. Was I after a reward, I'd have made some excuse to go in the Goose and Crown, speak to Holdwin. Told them, I don't like that friend of his not at all. Was I a darkfriend like you accuse, I'd have done something with them if the Dark One wanted them that bad. Not send them into Caemlyn with good advice."
"Perhaps!" interrupted Homles, finally getting a word in edgewise. "Except that you had other orders. Your mission in the city, to forment chaos and smooth the path for Rahvin, was more important even than the boys that every other Darkfriend was hunting. But you were not alone in Caemlyn on the day of Asmodean's death.
"We have established that Asmodean was killed while searching for wine. And who should appear directly after his death but you, Davram Bashere? Holding wineglasses." Holmes narrowed his eyes and glared at the soldier.
"I never saw the man."
"By your words. But is it not true that you did see him? In Saldaea. With your arch enemy Mazrim Taim. A Forsaken, teaching the False Dragon who wreaked havoc throughout your homeland. Did you not see Asmodean again in Caemlyn and, recognising who he was, crushed his skull with the baton of the marshall-general which is really a ter'angreal with the power to burn a body to ash and cover up your heinous crime?
"Or was it, in fact, Mazrim Taim himself." Holmes turned his gimlet gaze on the False dragon. "Asmodean taught you in the blight, trained you and set you up as Dragon Reborn, and then vanished without word, leaving you to your fate. Did you not skulk around Caemlyn, knowing Asmodean's presence would expose you for the Darkfriend you are, waiting for your chance to destroy him in vengeance and prudence so that you could inveigle yourself in Rand al'Thor's confidence?"
On a roll, Holmes did not stop to hear protestations.
"And, of course, could it really be the one person no one would suspect? The one person who could get away with murder. One person in this room whose name I have not mentioned." His voice louder with every word, Holmes flung out his hand and pointed straight at...
"Bela! Did you, or did you not, come here from where Egwene had stabled you in Caihrien, sneak, unseen, through the palace corridors, hunt down and maliciously beat Asmodean to death with the very hooves at the ends of your legs today? And eat him!"
Bella whinnied and nuzzled in Graendal's pocket, looking for a carrot.
Homles quieted and smiled slightly. "After much careful thought, I deduced exactly how, why and by whom our dear Asmodean was slain. And I will reveal to you the culminations of my ruminations."
He paused for awe. The faces in front of him went blank. Whispers greeted his words. "Rumi-what?" Heads shook and shoulders shrugged all around him.
"The fruits of my toil!"
More shugs.
"What I figured out, imbeciles!" The last word a mutter under his breath.
"The murderer in this room, the culprit of this foul deed that has long thwarted all, is..." He cleared his throat. A scuffle to his left distracted him as someone tried to fight a way to the door through the crush. "Bring that person here!"
The crowd eddied around the struggling victim held upright by two of the personages present, who began to drag the protesting figure to Holmes' side. As the three reached him on his box, Homles reached out his hand, grabbed the murder's hair and pulled back the foul cretin's head.
IT IS HERE. I WILL TAKE NO PART. THE CHOSEN ONE MUST DO WHAT MUST BE DONE, IF HE WILL.
...
HERE.
...
"Shit!" said Rand into the silence. "It's Tarmon Gaidon." He clapped his hands briskly. "Everyone to your places people! Move it! Move it! Let's all get where we're supposed to be. The Last Battle is about to commence."
The noise in the room magnified a hundredfold as everyone shouted and grumbled and shoved towards the door all at once. In moments, Barrett Holmes was standing alone on a small crate in an empty room, pouting at the hank of hair in his hand.
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, I think even Barrett Holmes is someone I saw elsewhere, but since he's a detective I don't think he'll mind doing this detecting for me. Apart from him, from unknown origions, all the characters depicted within are copyright of Robert Jorden. (Mis)used without permission.
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Barrett Holmes, Randland's most famous thief-catcher, tamped down the tabac in his pipe and surveyed the small room in which Asmodean had breathed his last breath. Holmes had stood by the door as the men, women and...things...entered, and now they were all assembled. He sucked in his chest and squeezed past the crush of bodies towards the small crate placed in the centre of the floor. Ignoring the complaints, and insensible of the toes he stepped on, he shuffled and shoved his way to the spot. Rand stood on the box; the only open space in the room.
With a push, Holmes toppled Rand into the crowd, but the bodies of the others held him up. He wriggled his way upright and stretched his long legs until his feet touched the floor.
Holmes stood on the box and took a deep breath. "You are probably curious as to why I have asked you all here today."
"Get on with it!" Shouted Mazrim Taim from the back, as he warily eyed Demandred across the room.
Homles ignored him. "In this very room, one of our number was brutally murdered." Homles paused and looked around. Someone yelped as Bela trod on his foot.
Holmes growled under his breath, trying to restore his dramatic flare. "And that murderer most foul stands with us today, in this very room. One of the illustrious personages here present, did most cruelly and fatally kill the one known as the gleeman to the Dragon Reborn, the Forsaken, the Chosen, Asmodean. I have sought long, colated and amassed the evidence, and I can now tell you, without a shadow of doubt, who the vicious perpetrator of this evil deed is." He stopped and puffed on his pipe as he locked eyes on each of the people before him, turning slowly until his gaze fell on...
"Aran'gar!"
The ... female ... jumped as he barked her name, her breasts wobbling almost fit to pop out of her tight dress. Rand and Lews Therin took identical poses, thumbing an ear and humming as they smiled at her.
"It wasn't me." Aran'gar's sultry voice filled the room in liquid honey. She essayed a sashay, only slightly diminished by being crushed between Lanfear and Moiraine, who glared at each other over her shoulders. Slayer did not seem to mind his position behind Aran'gar, though. "I was dead at the time."
"So was I," called Osan'gar, waving his hand above Lanfear's head.
Holmes turned slightly to keep both in sight. "And how," he asked slowly, "can we be sure of that? Do you have witnesses who will step forward today?" He looked around, as if expecting someone to step out of the wall. The crowd buffetted against him, maybe someone had tried and been thrust back by the crush in the small space. "Do you, together or seperately, have any viable proof that you were not resurrected, sent to Caemlyn, brought back after perpetrating the foul deed and then returned to Shayol Ghul to give that masterful performance of newly raised chosen?"
Osan'gar stared into the middle distance in that half-mad way he had perfected as Dashiva, and Aran'gar pouted. Holmes answered his own question.
"Of course you do not. For there is no such proof. You each had motive to kill the one Chosen of the Great Lord of the Dark who had turned his coat, who would have recognised you, and you can not give a full and satifactory accout of your whereabouts and the time of the assassination."
Lanfear smirked at Aran'gar and tried to shuffle away so their hips did not touch.
"Yes! Assassination I say. The assassination of a traitor to the Dark One. What brings us to you, Great Lord."
The room darkened as the Dark One's presence was felt.
"You, above all others, had motive to kill Asmodean. Where were you on the night Asmodean was killed?"
BOUND IN SHAYOL GHUL AT THE MOMENT OF CREATION.
His voice crushed the occupants of the room, drowning out the cries of ecstasy and terror. Only Barratt Holmes remained on his feet.
"Ah but we do not speak of the moment of creation. We speak of the moment of Asmodean's death. Were you alone, or can someone verify your story?" He did not wait for a response but spun on Moridin. "And speaking of death, where were you?"
Moridin leaned back against the wall, saa rushing past his eyes in such a fierce storm it was a wonder he could see at all. He just smiled.
"Yes, we can all ask ourselves where Death was when death took Asmodean. And we can be sure that his killing of the traitor would not be sensed by the chanellers within the palace, for Moridin uses the True Power, and a minor mystery is solved by that simple fact."
Holmes waited, eyebrow raised and pipe in mouth. "Have you nothing to say in your defense?"
"I have fought this battle a thousand times in a thousand Ages, with every turning of the Wheel. I win again."
"Does that sound like an admission to you?" Holmes smiled. "Or is our philosopher taking credit for others' actions, playing both sides of the game? Was it in fact someone who cannot take credit for his actions because Rand al'Thor had already killed him?"
He spun and pointed to Rahvin at his side. The man had not taken his furious eyes from Rand since entering the room.
"Did you, Rahvin, hire Slayer to take out the renegade chosen?"
Rahvin, arms folded across his chest, glanced up at Holmse. "I had bigger concerns than Asmodean. We had a plan." He glared at Sammael. "al'Thor was my--" He stopped before incrimiating himself "He, and Asmodean, were supposed to be in Illian, not Caemlyn. How could I have known he would come to me?"
"Perhaps." Holmes smiled and bit down on his pipe, puffing contentendly. "Which brings us to Slayer himself." He turned to locate the man in the shadow of Shaidar Haran. "Unfortunately, Slayer is nothing more than a hired blade; the weapon that spilled the life blood from its victim. So we will ignore it. It tells of nothing of who killed Asmodean. If it is the slayer it still tells us nothing but the means."
Slayer bristled under Holmes' dismissal and opened his mouth. "That argument also excuses the gholam. A bloody knife does not tell us who wielded it."
The gholam hissed by the door. The only occupant of the room unbothered by the shifting and pushing. It moulded its fluid body into whatever space was available.
Homles turned to face Shaidar Haran, looming over tiny Moiraine. "You too, Hand of the Dark, are incapable of independance in this, doing only your master's bidding and cutting where he says.
"And Lenn, who flew to the moon, was never more than a lame runner at best, but his name was mentioned by someone." Holmes bowed slightly to the time-travelling hero. "Thank you for coming today." He straightened and narrowed his eyes. "Or have you been here before? Did you, in fact, time travel to this room, slay Asmodean, and then whisk his corpse back to the past, giggling maniacally?"
"That is the most idiotic thing I've ever heard." Lenn's mumble was barely heard in the soft surrussus of the crowd, but Holmes had already turned away.
"Of course there is one who claims an alibi, but how solid can that be? Rand al'Thor, you watched as Asmodean played his music in the garden beneath your window. You knew exactly where he was. The throne room where you claim to have been, with Maidens as witnesses, lies just a few corridors from this very spot. Did you make the excuse that you had to visit the little dragon's room and run down here to cut down one of the Forsaken; the serpant at your breast?"
Rand blinked and when his eyes opened they were cold and hard, winter's frost was on his voice. "Why would I kill him? He was teaching me?"
"But have you felt the lack since his death? Is it not true that you had already learned everything he could teach you, and that you disposed of him like a used rag?"
"I did not know he was dead."
"So you say. And so, maybe, you think. But is it not so that the taint on saidin was strong then, and that you have been chanelling long and often? Are you not, in fact, more than slightly mad and it was your other personality that killed him? An action of which your saner half was unaware."
Rand opened his mouth and the male chanellers in the room backed away from him, as much as the space allowed, no doubt reaching for saidin themselves. Holmes deflected Rand's fury by the simple expedient of ignoring him. "Which reminds me. Rand's alter-ego. Lews Therin himself."
Lews Therin giggled and pressed himself against the wall. "Death. I must have death. Kill them, kill them all. We must kill them, don't you see, before they kill us." He turned thoughtful, musing to himself. "We bring death you and I, and the other one, we are destroyers, not builders. Oh Ilyena, my beautiful Ilyena."
"Yes indeed, we do see Lews Therin. Admit that you piggy-back in Rand's mind, a preying mantis hidden in Rand's own insanity, paitently waiting for your chance to strike! Yes, Lews Therin fits the bill perfectly with a reason to want Asmodean, in fact the whole world, to burn. He knew where to find him, and we must all admit that Asmodean would have been very surprised to see Lews Therin come to kill him."
Holmes turned to face Lanfear. "Of course, he also had a reason to be surprised to see you. And too, you promised to kill him. Is it not clear that you bargained with the Eelfinn to let you kill Asmodean and the price was the body of Cyndane that you now wear?"
Lanfear raised her head. "If I had bargained for Asmodean's death, I would have got a better deal that this." She sneered and indicated the buxom figure she sported.
Holmes sneered. "The bargain with Eelfinn brings Moiraine into the picture. The very same questions that can be addressed to Lanfear apply also to you. Or are we perhaps missing the truth? Are you in truth, a Darkfriend, a snake in the grass, in collusion with Lanfear herself with the domination of Rand al'Thor as the prize? We know you are a meddler, a blue ajah with no other purpose. Do you admit that you said you had never sent Verin, after Verin Mathwin had told Rand that you had? Did you lie, Moiraine of the blue ajah? Or should I say black?"
Moirane straightened her back, managing to loom despite being dwarfed by Shaidar Haran behind her. "I supported Rand from the beginning. It was I who found him, who convinced Suian that he had to be allowed to walk free. I swore to obey him. I would have died for Rand. I planned to. It was I who threw Lanfear through the door frame, almost sure I would die. A trap I had taken pains to lay."
"A trap, yes, but for whom? Threw through the doorway, yes. But is it not true that you stopped and laughed with your friend on the other side and sat down for a cup of tea before conspiring to murder Asmodean? Did you not think to secure you alibi with that false letter saying that you understood what Rand was doing? And while we are on the subject, how did you know? Only Rand, Asmodean, and Lanfear knew. And Rand did not tell you, and Asmodean would not."
"But lest we get complacent, let us remember that there is only one Forsaken who has admitted to knowing that Asmodean is dead."
Holmes turned slowly on his box, looking into the eyes of each one of the Forsaken that he had not yet addressed. "Sammael. Moghedien. Mesaana. Graendal. Semihrage. Demandred. All of you had reason to kill Asmodean, but Semirhage, you and Demandred have claimed not to know what happened. The same can be said of Sammael and Mesaana. So are you eliminated? Or are you lying, even to yourselves in some cases? Can it be that one of you killed Asmodean simply for his betrayal and are covering up for darstardly reasons of your own?" He fixed the four named with his eye, and then turned his gaze elswhere. "But you..."
Holmes turned to point. "...Graendal. You freely admit that he is dead when others of your company express doubt! Can that be because you were present when he died? Because you killed him?"
"I was in my home in Arad Domon."
"So you say. But, is it not so that you commited the nefairous deed solely because Asmodean spurned you in the Age of Legends!"
Graendal's eyes popped open and she gaped wordlessly. When her voice emerged it was high and indignant. "He was not nearly pretty enough!"
Across the room, Moghedien smirked. Holmes caught the expression in the corner of his eye and rounded on her. "And you need not allow yourself to grow smug. You had as much reason as any other to kill him. And the modus operendi, the hidden corpse and the secrecy, fits you, skulker in shadows."
"I was..." She paused looking for words that would not humiliate her. "I was in Salidar, watching al'Thor's friends."
"A likely story." Holmes smiled supercilliously. "Were you, as you say, a prisoner," Moghedien flinched as he spat the word, "or were you only pretending? Or did you, in fact, hire Slayer to destroy the man, Asmodean? An act he completed while you were indisposed. A fine alibi."
He nodded and turned his back on her. "But let us not forget those who are known to have been in, or near, Caemlyn at the time the foul act was done." He surveyed faces, pointing as he uttered each name. "Mazrim Taim. Davram Bashere." His voiced lowered to a growl. "Almen Bunt."
"Almen Bunt. Hunter of men. Tool of the Great Lord. Feared of the Chosen. Oh yes, Asmodean had cause to fear you when you, by the pure chance that you have shown since meeting Rand and his friend Mat Cauthon, encountered Asmodean in the cellars of the palace."
"I'm a good queen's man. I deliver wine to the palace. I'm often there. Good wine you see. Good enough for the palace. For the queen herself, the Light illumine her. I'm a good queen's man -- never say I'm not -- and I brought wine to the palace every month, regular and smooth. Right through all the troubles. I stood against those who tried to harm her, but what cause have I to be killing a gleeman even if I ever saw one in the cellars of the palace?"
Homles pounced on his question? "The same reason any of the Chosen had for his death. The same reason your master had. Orders, Hunter of men, to assassinate the renegade Chosen! Clearly you discovered Asmodean in his innocent quest for wine, slew him in cold blood, stuffed his body in one empty cask of wine and his harp in another, loaded them on a wagon and returned whence you came."
"I'm a good queen's man, like I said, but even a blind pig finds acorns sometimes and even a wise man trips over his own feet. You want somebody to blame. Fellows getting killed. Darkfriends everywhere. Wild accusations. Well I'm a good queen's man, but I say let's stop all this truck with murder and guesswork. There's more than enough trouble around for everybody without you go looking for more."
Almen Bunt nodded firmly and looked up at Homles with the calm patience of an old, gnarled farmer who knew his worth and wasn't about to heed any who thought different.
"Helped those boys, I did. Was I after a reward, I'd have made some excuse to go in the Goose and Crown, speak to Holdwin. Told them, I don't like that friend of his not at all. Was I a darkfriend like you accuse, I'd have done something with them if the Dark One wanted them that bad. Not send them into Caemlyn with good advice."
"Perhaps!" interrupted Homles, finally getting a word in edgewise. "Except that you had other orders. Your mission in the city, to forment chaos and smooth the path for Rahvin, was more important even than the boys that every other Darkfriend was hunting. But you were not alone in Caemlyn on the day of Asmodean's death.
"We have established that Asmodean was killed while searching for wine. And who should appear directly after his death but you, Davram Bashere? Holding wineglasses." Holmes narrowed his eyes and glared at the soldier.
"I never saw the man."
"By your words. But is it not true that you did see him? In Saldaea. With your arch enemy Mazrim Taim. A Forsaken, teaching the False Dragon who wreaked havoc throughout your homeland. Did you not see Asmodean again in Caemlyn and, recognising who he was, crushed his skull with the baton of the marshall-general which is really a ter'angreal with the power to burn a body to ash and cover up your heinous crime?
"Or was it, in fact, Mazrim Taim himself." Holmes turned his gimlet gaze on the False dragon. "Asmodean taught you in the blight, trained you and set you up as Dragon Reborn, and then vanished without word, leaving you to your fate. Did you not skulk around Caemlyn, knowing Asmodean's presence would expose you for the Darkfriend you are, waiting for your chance to destroy him in vengeance and prudence so that you could inveigle yourself in Rand al'Thor's confidence?"
On a roll, Holmes did not stop to hear protestations.
"And, of course, could it really be the one person no one would suspect? The one person who could get away with murder. One person in this room whose name I have not mentioned." His voice louder with every word, Holmes flung out his hand and pointed straight at...
"Bela! Did you, or did you not, come here from where Egwene had stabled you in Caihrien, sneak, unseen, through the palace corridors, hunt down and maliciously beat Asmodean to death with the very hooves at the ends of your legs today? And eat him!"
Bella whinnied and nuzzled in Graendal's pocket, looking for a carrot.
Homles quieted and smiled slightly. "After much careful thought, I deduced exactly how, why and by whom our dear Asmodean was slain. And I will reveal to you the culminations of my ruminations."
He paused for awe. The faces in front of him went blank. Whispers greeted his words. "Rumi-what?" Heads shook and shoulders shrugged all around him.
"The fruits of my toil!"
More shugs.
"What I figured out, imbeciles!" The last word a mutter under his breath.
"The murderer in this room, the culprit of this foul deed that has long thwarted all, is..." He cleared his throat. A scuffle to his left distracted him as someone tried to fight a way to the door through the crush. "Bring that person here!"
The crowd eddied around the struggling victim held upright by two of the personages present, who began to drag the protesting figure to Holmes' side. As the three reached him on his box, Homles reached out his hand, grabbed the murder's hair and pulled back the foul cretin's head.
IT IS HERE. I WILL TAKE NO PART. THE CHOSEN ONE MUST DO WHAT MUST BE DONE, IF HE WILL.
...
HERE.
...
"Shit!" said Rand into the silence. "It's Tarmon Gaidon." He clapped his hands briskly. "Everyone to your places people! Move it! Move it! Let's all get where we're supposed to be. The Last Battle is about to commence."
The noise in the room magnified a hundredfold as everyone shouted and grumbled and shoved towards the door all at once. In moments, Barrett Holmes was standing alone on a small crate in an empty room, pouting at the hank of hair in his hand.