The Dungeon had reformed for the third Phase of Adventuring, which was due to start soon. But for much of the Dungeon, it had been less a reformation and more an unpausing, with many locations and people exactly (or almost exactly) as they had been at the end of the second Phase. Among these was the Honorary Guild of Goldminers' pit where Bumptious the Dwarf had worked - and where his body was found. Once his death had been reported, Merlin proposed to use his magic to reveal the identity of the murderer; but HOGG refused to allow it, either because they distrusted the aging wizard's abilities, or feared he wouldn't be impartial, or both. But when Merlin suggested an independent investigation of the crime by skilled detectives from another realm entirely, the Guild agreed. So it was that Mac, Horatio and Grissom found themselves a long way from New York, Miami and Las Vegas, processing the crime scene. In the absence of 21st century field kits, they were relying on ink and parchment sketching for observations, on cloths and knapsacks for evidence collection, and on the hope that under such circumstances, their best would be good enough. Having gathered all they could, they travelled back to Knightmare Castle using RETURN spells furnished by Treguard, the only magic that HOGG's lengthy crime scene regulations would allow to be cast in the vicinity.

Merlin greeted them upon their return. "The body will be made available for a postmortem in due course. And a laboratory has been prepared for you elsewhere in the castle. Though you may find it a trifle quaint!"

"We have several pieces of evidence," commented Grissom. "I don't suppose you could summon any of our lab techs?" He resisted an urge to add, "Even Hodges."

"If we bring any more of you," replied Treguard, "There will be insufficient magic to allow adventurers to come across when dungeoneering resumes. Four is our limit."

"Four?"

"Oh yes!" Merlin had quite forgotten to tell them. "Questing is done in fours. Your fourth comrade arrived while you were at the crime scene. As we speak, he is interviewing the man who found the body."

A grey, wispy-legged spider crept across the table between the Apprentice and CSI Michael Keppler. Bakc in his new home of Las Vegas, he was but weeks away from death at the hands of Frank McCarty, the crooked cop who had both saved and damned him; but here and now in the realm of Knightmare, he was alive, well, and holding a healthy suspicion of the scruffy yet unruffled man sitting opposite.

"I already told the Guild what happened. You should've got one of them talking crows. I'll only be repeating meself."

"Then it shouldn't be too hard for you, should it?" countered Keppler, with a slight smile.

"Id been off sick. Dungeon Pox. Went on for ages. Then I got better. I went back to the mine to see if I still had a job in the new Phase. I was expecting the Dwarf to put me through one of his trubunals. Instead he was dead. So I went off to report it."

"'The Dwarf'? That's not very respectful, is it?" remarked the cleaner-shaven of the two.

"That's what I called him. He never told me his name, and I never told him mine." Before Keppler could speak, the Apprentice continued. "Not that he looked like a dwarf, being tall an' all. No, Ididn't much like him, but that don'... that doesn't mean I'd kill him. I mean, you don't like me, but would you kill me?"

"It depends how much paperwork there'd be," shrugged Keppler. He put his hands palms down on the table. Perhaps he was enjoying this too much. He had new colleagues to meet, who would surely be better company."

"Anything else you want to ask... Sir?"

"At the moment, no. You can go. But be aware that if you're lying to us, we will find out, and the banter at our next meeting won't be quite so light." Keppler often hoped that suspects were lying, as it made it all the more satisfying when the forensic work, though lonely, told him the truth. He took a last look as the Apprentice, scruffy but unruffled, walked out the room. It was too early to brand him a potential murderer; but Keppler knew when someone was casting their shadow on the inside, when a man had something to hide.