16th Day of Sunsebb, 565 CY
The Castle Chauv, Furyondy
"Release!"
Aslan let fly.
Thwunk! Thwunk! Thwunk!
All three arrows struck the circular target that had been set up approximately two hundred and fifty feet from the three remaining participants.
The paladin squinted, frowning. The target was far enough away that it was hard enough to see how close to the center his arrow had landed having to stare into the late afternoon sun to do so. He silently cursed whoever had decided to arrange the archery contest so that the participants were all facing west. True, everyone was equally handicapped, but that didn't mean it had to be more uncomfortable than it already was.
Aslan wiped his forehead with his arm and waited while one of Sir Kenneth Chauv's squires, a lad of perhaps twelve, ran over to the target and examined its newest additions. The boy then turned to the covered seating area of raised platforms and chairs that served as the nobles' observatory.
The youth held up four fingers while pointing to Aslan, four fingers while pointing to the elf on Aslan's right, and one finger while pointing to the man on the paladin's left. He then ran back to the stands.
It was only with the greatest difficulty that Sir Rellim, archery champion of Viscount Luther Derwent of The March, stopped himself from flinging his composite bow onto the packed earth, but the knight seemed to remember where he was at the last moment. He instead gave a deep bow to the assembled noblemen and noblewomen, two somewhat more perfunctory bows to Aslan and the elf, and then strode off to polite applause.
Lady Chauv's herald was now announcing the current score, but Aslan didn't need to concentrate on that. He knew where he stood.
Both he and the female elf standing about ten feet from him had scored four bullseyes. At four points each, that netted each of them sixteen points. Sir Rellim had scored two center shots as well but his third had landed in the middle ring of the target for two points and his last on the outermost ring for one. At eleven now, he had no chance of winning even if Aslan and the elf completely missed the target on their fifth and final arrows, which was a probability somewhere between impossible and never.
Sir Rellim hadn't technically been required to leave before the contest was over, but had apparently decided, like those eliminated before him, not to risk embarrassing his lord any further.
Judging by the scowl on the Viscount's face as his eyes followed his knight off the field,
the paladin felt Rellim had made the right call.
Aslan, keenly aware that one shot could and probably would make all the difference, looked over at the elf, who smiled and winked at him as if she hadn't a care in the world.
"Alone at last," she said.
Aslan was, as everyone around him could attest to (some more so than others), a complete and utter neophyte in the romantic arts, but even he knew when he was being flirted with. The paladin knew with just as much certainty that this elf; Lady Caelara, champion of Countess Kyaren Rhavelle of The Gold County, if he remembered her introduction correctly, had not the slightest genuine interest in him but was simply trying to unnerve him. She had done so with all of the other four champions starting right from the beginning of the archery contest and judging by the results, was very good at it.
The fact that the champion of Duke Bennal Tyneman of The Reach had been a female halfling had apparently made no difference to Lady Caelara. The poor hobbit had been so flustered, her cheeks turning red as apples, that even Aslan, situated a good forty feet from the halfling, had seen her hands shake as she fitted the arrow to her shortbow. She'd been the first one eliminated.
Aslan looked again at the nobles' seating area. In the center of the highest stand, surrounded by his family and various officials and courtiers, sat Baron Xanthan Chartrain of Willip; member of the Noble Council of Furyondy, sponsor of the Year's End Festival and, as he never lost an opportunity to remind them, the man who had deeded Aslan and his friends the piece of land on which the Brass Dragon Inn and their cabins now stood.
Near him sat Lady Chauv. The Baroness' hands were gripping the armrests of her chair so tightly that even from here, Aslan could see how pale her hands looked. Her Ladyship had an official-looking smile on her face, but Aslan knew she was counting on him, as her designated archery champion, to win this contest and its corresponding prize in gold, for her.
Some distance off, in the commoners' section, Aslan caught a glimpse of Caroline Bigfellow. The young woman smiled and gave the paladin a quick wave, but he knew she was just as worried as he was- and that this contest was by far the least of their problems.
Not for the first, or tenth, or twenty-fifth time, Aslan wondered how he and his party managed to find themselves in situations like this. Perhaps, the paladin mused, their numerous adversaries didn't wind up choosing the path of evil because of character flaws, or bad upbringing, or the influences of evil deities.
Sometimes, he had to admit, being evil just looked so much simpler…
"Greetings, freemen and freewomen of Willip."
Sir Kenneth Chauv's salutation to the party, delivered as they all stood outside the Brass Dragon one day after Tojo's declaration of liberation, certainly sounded better than it looked. The knight's smile was so tight-lipped as to be almost invisible and died well short of his eyes. His entourage of squires, pages, cooks, porters and so forth, looked nothing short of bedraggled.
The group wasted no time in having drinks brought out for the knight and his followers. Their grateful expressions as they drank helped to ratchet down the tension level somewhat.
Sir Chauv addressed himself to Elrohir, after a bow to Caroline that raised Argo's eyebrow..
"Good sir," he began. "I bear an urgent request from my mother the Baroness, Lady Chauv. The Year's End Festival begins three days' time from today and as you may know, it falls this year within the Barony of Willip. Each year, the officiating member of the Noble Council chooses one member of the Knightly Conclave within his or her domain to host this festival. This year, the Chauvs have been so honored."
The party waited expectantly.
"Tragically," Sir Chauv continued, his eyes now downcast, "Sir Silverton, a great knight of our realm and our designated archery champion for the Festival, was slain a week ago."
Caroline's breath caught in her throat, and her expression of horror was obvious to everyone. She hadn't spent a lot of time in Silverton's company during her previous stay at the castle Chauv, but the knight of Saint Cuthbert with his great white handlebar mustache had been personable and friendly towards her.
"Slain?" Argo asked. The big ranger's auburn eyes narrowed. "How?"
It seemed like Sir Chauv hesitated an unusually long time before replying.
"Among his other responsibilities," the knight said, "Sir Silverton was Chief Warden and Huntsman for the woods which lay north of our castle. Whilst leading a hunting party, he was attacked by what his party has described as a snake the size of a dragon."
Now it was the entirety of Elrohir's party that, for a moment, seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.
Cygnus was first to recover.
"This snake," the tall wizard asked, his voice sharp. "Did it appear suddenly and then disappear?"
Sir Chauv nodded without comment.
Cygnus glanced over at Zantac, whose grim expression mirrored his own.
"Summoned," the Willip wizard concluded.
"Any other description of this snake, apart from its size?" asked Aslan.
Kenneth Chauv's voice dropped lower than Caroline had ever heard it before. The young knight's customary arrogance, already greatly diminished, now seemed to have evaporated completely.
"An iridescent green in color, but it had glowing red eyes and an otherworldly mien that set even the bravest amongst the party to trembling."
"Fiendish," Aslan muttered.
"Was it a constrictor?" Elrohir inquired. "Did it squeeze Sir Silverton to death?"
Chauv shook his head. "No. A viper of some kind. The bite itself seemed a minor wound given Silverton's armor, but as one might expect from such a monster, its fangs were envenomed…"
His voice trailed off. Caroline Bigfellow recognized the face of someone who has just lost a dear friend.
"I grieve for your loss, Sir Chauv," Elrohir said. "How may we be of assistance?"
"His Ladyship has requested that one of your membership, determined amongst yourselves, would deign to substitute for Sir Silverton in the Festival's archery contest. Silverton's skill with the bow and arrow far exceeded anyone else in our domain. The Baroness is certain that one of you, with your many exploits and adventures, would be more than up to the task of replacing him and to be honest," he hesitated, "we are in desperate need of the prize money, what with the loss this year of- my father."
The knight turned away under the premise of giving an order to his squire, but no one missed his hand momentarily covering his eyes.
Caroline Bigfellow, who had not felt any empathy for Kenneth Chauv during her entire five-day stay at his castle earlier this year, now walked over to the knight and laid her hand on his shoulder. She hoped she could say with her eyes what would not come from her lips.
Sir Chauv, his eyes shining, nodded and gave Caroline a momentary grin.
"Good sir knight," Argo Bigfellow Junior now spoke with the official voice that he could use, but rarely did, "a moment if you please."
Everyone recognized the big ranger's signal for a private conference.
"Am I alone in thinking this is a much, much worse situation than our young nobleman here is telling us, or are we all on the same piece of parchment here?"
Some of the group nodded, but others looked curiously at the ranger.
"In what way, Argo?" Nesco asked, speaking up for the first time now.
"A knight of the realm has been slain, and the murder remains unsolved," Argo explained. "Yet we've not heard one word from Sir Chauv here about any possible suspects or for that matter, whatever steps are being taken to bring his murderer to justice. All we have is a request for one of us to replace the victim in an archery contest. If this was any fishier, Aslan here would be growing gills," Bigfellow finished by jerking his thumb towards the paladin and giving him his pained smile.
Aslan didn't favor the ranger with a smile, pained or otherwise. "I don't think we have to look very far for suspects," he said, his expression one of utmost solemnity.
Cygnus nodded. "The Emerald Serpent."
Elrohir also nodded in confirmation. "We were told the Chauvs would be a likely target. It's a given that they're responsible for the disappearance of Baron Chauv, and now it seems they've set their sights on Her Ladyship."
Nesco frowned.
"But why kill Sir Silverton?" she asked. "Surely Lady Chauv or her son would be more logical targets. Why expose themselves to investigation and possible discovery by killing someone not related to their true quarry?"
"Quite so, Lady Cynewine," Argo nodded in agreement. "As I said, we're missing critical information here, and that always invites danger."
"There's also the matter of the Chams clothing," Elrohir added. "Both Alias and Baron Chartrain are convinced the Serpent would use them in any plot they may have hatched against the Chauvs, and yet we've had no sightings of them."
"So, you're saying we should refuse him?" Zantac asked, with a slight nod towards the knight.
Argo smiled at him.
"Zantac," he said, a genuine smile on the ranger's face now, "surely you've been with us long enough to know that when the dragon, or serpent in this case, opens its jaws wide, we always stroll right in with a song on our lips and hope in our hearts?"
The Willip wizard grimaced, putting his own hand over his chest. "I'm only getting palpitations."
The others all looked over at Yanigasawa Tojo, who had been, as usual, standing apart.
The samurai, contrary to Caroline's wild expectations, had informed them that even though he did indeed consider his quest to his daimyo now fulfilled, he still had to return home to Nippon to inform his new daimyo of this fact. Until then, he was still required to wear his dastana. Tojo had not mentioned any new timetable for this, so the party had said nothing, assuming that the samurai would make his departure from them known at the proper time.
For now though, he simply looked at his friends with a raised eyebrow.
"We go," he said simply.
Sir Kenneth Chauv spoke up first as they party approached him.
"I must also mention," the knight said, "that no matter whom you select as our champion, Her Ladyship requests that the entirety of your party accompany us back to our realm. The Festival begins with a number of ceremonies, and I understand you are to be honored at one of them."
"Well," Elrohir spoke out of the side of his mouth to his fellow ranger, "that saves us the trouble of having to ask if we could all come."
"Convenient," Argo agreed.
"Yeah," Zantac groused. "Get all of your intended targets in a nice tight group. Who's wearing that damn ring of fire resistance these days?"
The herald had not yet signaled for Aslan and Lady Caelara to draw and notch their final arrow. There seemed to be some sort of discussion going on between Baron Chartrain and Lady Chauv, but Aslan was much too far away to overhear.
All the paladin could do was wait.
Studiously avoiding Lady Caelara's gaze (without looking, he knew she was still smiling at him), Aslan tried to run over all the conversations of the past week in his mind and see if there was some hidden order or meaning that he had not yet managed to divine.
In the stands, Caroline Bigfellow was doing the exact same thing.
Despite trying to give Aslan encouragement, the young woman couldn't seem to stop trembling, or pacing, or even biting her fingernails, a habit she thought she'd broken
ten years ago.
While she hadn't withheld any actual information from Aslan, there were thoughts and fears in her head that she hadn't given voice to, simply because they wouldn't coalesce into anything Caroline felt she could speak aloud with engendering questions that she had no hope of answering.
Not being a paladin, Caroline Bigfellow was not immune to fear.
And as of today, she felt like she was drowning in it.
Despite the unsettling circumstances that had resulted in their returning to Chauv Castle, there was one bright spot to this for Caroline, although she revealed this to no one, thinking it a selfish desire on her part.
Lady Bigfellow was looking forward to resuming the friendship between her and the Baroness that had unexpectedly arisen during her stay this past Goodmonth. An instant synergy seemed to have sprung up between the two women. Caroline assuaged her guilt by reminding herself that she would be able to utilize their friendship to ask Lady Chauv questions that no one else would feel comfortable asking. She'd even decided she'd allow herself to be stuffed back into that abominable corset for more courtly lessons in dress and etiquette, if that was what the Baroness desired.
Unfortunately, those plans, and Caroline's hopes, had died upon their arrival as surely as if a longsword had been driven clear through them.
The Lady Chauv's greeting to the party was pleasant and absolutely professional; the standard greeting of any noble to a commoner who has rendered them a service as demanded by feudalism.
There was no special acknowledgement, by either word or expression, that she and Caroline had ever shared any personal experiences or conversations.
In fact, it seemed to Caroline that Lady Chauv didn't remember her at all.
The Year's End Festival, held at a fairground erected at the bottom of the hill upon which Chauv Castle stood, had opened with much pomp and circumstance; enough to glaze Caroline's eyes over several times. Each of the five attending nobles of the seven-member Noble Council had made a speech as to what had transpired in their respective domains this past year (their accounts omitting, Caroline was sure, any misfortunes or unpleasantries that would be sure to diminish their reputations). While his Majesty King Belvor IV had been unable to attend, he had sent Sir Hallian, the royal knight whose appearance at the Brass Dragon had initiated their first foray against the Slave Lords, as his official representative. Hallian's speech was mercifully shorter than those of his peers, though filled with no less propaganda.
Caroline and her friends were to be the very first group to be awarded honors for feats of valor and bravery performed for the kingdom this past year. Sir Hallian and Baron Chartrain had spoken with them beforehand, explaining that each of them were to receive three different medals.
The first was the Valor's Blood-drop. This was a small, burnished and carved piece of gold in which was fitted a small, red oval-shaped gemstone of some type (Nesco guessed it to be garnet) about one inch in length. This was a fairly common medal (the party had seen it on many Furyondan soldiers and knights) which was awarded to anyone who had suffered "a grievous wound, not healed by magic or prayer of any kind" while in service to the Crown.
The second was the Red Knight of Merit, an elaborately woven red ribbon which was being given from the Royal Court itself in recognition of the party's various missions against the Slave Lords, which had eventually ended with the latter's destruction.
And finally, the Barony of Willip was awarding their band the Blue Knight of Distinction, an identical ribbon save for color, for their success against the Outlaw brigands and their evil leaders (particularly Nodyath), that had plagued the Barony before being defeated once and for all a month ago.
At this last, the party had objected.
"Laertes!" Nesco was the first to erupt. "He was with us during that battle and took equal part!" she exclaimed. "He deserves this ribbon as much as we!"
"But he is not with you," observed Sir Hallian, frowning.
"I can teleport home in an instant and bring him back," said Aslan. "No trouble at all."
All the others nodded their assent. Baron Chartrain had a quick aside with one of his courtiers.
"We knew not of this Laertes," he said upon his return. He then made a dismissive gesture. "He will be awarded his ribbon at a later time."
"With us or not at all," Argo Bigfellow Junior said through gritted teeth.
"Impossible," the Baron said curtly. "We have no extra medals with us."
"Then give him mine," said Elrohir with a quiet but fierce determination.
Tears welled up in Caroline's eyes. This unanimous defense of someone she was coming to think as one of their own was one of the many reasons she loved these people so much. Even Aslan, she thought with a bitter smile.
There was a short pause and then Baron Chartrain stepped up so that he was face-to-face with Elrohir. A man in his fifties with a gray mustache and goatee, Xanthan had not seen much action in the field in a number of years, but his body still held most of the muscle he had acquired in his life as a warrior.
"What has been given, Elrohir of Willip," he said to the ranger, his voice now as quiet but no less forceful, "can also be taken away."
Caroline gulped. She knew the Baron wasn't talking about the medals.
Elrohir took a quick look around at his friends, saw the common assent there that he had expected and then turned his gaze back to Baron Chartrain.
"Do as you think best, my Lord."
The uncomfortable silence that followed was broken by Sir Hallian.
"Do you truly speak for this Laertes?" he asked them. "Perhaps he is more selfless than you think him to be." The knight then turned to the paladin. "Bring him here with your Talent, Aslan, and let us converse."
"But do so quickly," Baron Chartrain added, his irritation evident.
The subsequent scene was less pleasant than Caroline had hoped it would be. Neither Sir Hallian nor the Baron had hidden their expressions upon first seeing Laertes. Caroline had mentally castigated them for that before reminding herself that she'd yet to see a half-orc anywhere within the Barony of Chauv. Perhaps, she thought, it was surprise rather than prejudice.
But she had her doubts.
For his part, Laertes was adamant. The teenaged half-orc wanted the party to go ahead and receive their medals. He had shrugged indifferently upon hearing the Baron's offer of a private ceremony at a future date.
"Private," Laertes said, unable to hide his bitter smile or, it seemed, his true feelings. "Thath a good idea, my Lord. Why thubject a whole crowd into having to thare at a half-orc?"
Sir Hallian's blue eyes flashed with anger.
"Do not impugn the people of this land!" he nearly shouted. "His Royal Majesty brooks no unfounded prejudices against your kind!"
The half-orc had not flinched. "And doth that mean they don't exith here, Thir Hallian?"
The knight, unable to respond, fell silent, glancing over at Baron Chartrain.
Laertes turned to Aslan.
"Ith okay, Athlan. I'll be all right. You can take me home now."
The paladin hesitated.
"I can't right now, Laertes. I wouldn't have enough Talent left to come back here. I can take you home tomorrow."
Laertes nodded sullenly.
"I shall speak with Lady Chauv and assure that you shall have full hospitality while you are here, young Laertes- the same as your friends and allies." Baron Chartrain, now relieved that his ceremony was going on as planned, apparently felt he could appear magnanimous.
The young half-orc now also affected a polite, if not totally honest, demeaner.
"Thank you, my Lord. I'll go now and watch the theremony," he said, moving off.
But his parting words, designed as they undoubtedly were at a final dig at the two aristocrats, nonetheless tore a hole in Caroline's heart as surely as they did in those of her loved ones.
"From the thadowth, of courth."
"Ready!'
Whatever issue it was having evidently been resolved, the herald had cried out again. Both Aslan and Lady Caelara drew an arrow from their quivers and notched it.
"Draw!"
Both individuals drew back on their bows and set their sights on the distant target. The quickest possible glance from Aslan at the elf netted him another wink.
"Release!"
Thwunk! Thwunk!
The actual medal ceremony had been surprisingly brief and not nearly so unpleasant as Caroline had feared. The young woman could not deny the thrill of having a crowd of nobles and commoners alike standing up and applauding them.
So often, it seemed, did their good deeds go unnoticed.
Immediately afterwards, however, the party was corralled off to one side. Sir Hallian told them that King Belvor had commissioned a painting of their group be made and hung in the Royal Palace itself.
Everyone groaned, but no one so loudly as Nesco Cynewine. She knew from personal experience that posing for a portrait was a tedious affair, but there was no option to refuse.
And again, Laertes had been excluded. Technically this was proper, Hallian had explained, as this portrait was to include only those who had brought down the infamous Slave Lords at the behest of the king. This last clause also excluded Wainold and his followers as well as Sir Menn, Sitdale and Unru (even if any of them had been present here at the Festival), as the latter had only participated at the behest of the party.
"Guess you're not allowed to contract out deeds of valor and bravery these days," Argo said with a wry smile to his wife, who laughed despite herself.
Caroline had seen Nesco brighten when the painter introduced himself. He was, Lady Cynewine explained, King Belvor's personal artist, and had painted the official Cynewine family portrait that hung in her Chendl home. Caroline of course had not seen it, never having been to the Cynewine estate, but the others assured her that at least their images would not be maligned in oils.
It took the better part of the day; at least six hours, but considering there were eight people in this painting, the artist really couldn't be faulted. While they all wore their armor and carried their weapons, none of them had to hold their weapons in hand. Nesco told anyone who listened how tiresome that quickly became.
They couldn't see the canvas as he painted of course, but the artist seemed to be going back and forth, as opposed to painting one person at a time and then moving on. Caroline soon discovered he did this so that they- with the lone exception of the person currently being painted- could talk and breathe normally, and that also helped a little.
Towards the end, a shove on the back of her shoulder made Caroline stumble slightly and turn around, a puzzled expression on her face.
Nesco Cynewine, sporting a wide but guilty smile, addressed her.
"Pardon, Caroline. I just couldn't resist."
For a moment, the ranger seemed lost in reverie.
"An inside joke," she finally explained, somewhat unsatisfactorily, then actually giggled as the painter scowled and loudly cleared his throat.
The finished painting was magnificent, they all had to agree.
Then, another surprise. Another canvas was placed upon the giant easel that had been set up for their portrait. The artist took what looked for all the world like a large paintbrush made completely of wood, tapped the portrait with it and then touched it to the blank canvas.
Instantly, a duplicate of their portrait appeared on it.
"Impressive," muttered Cygnus and Zantac simultaneously.
"A creation of Dramaynen, the Master Elementalist of Earth," the painter explained, gesturing at the easel with the wooden paintbrush the two wizards now recognized as a wand.
Even more impressive had been when the party had been presented later on with their own personal copy of the group portrait. It had been mounted in an immense wooden frame, nearly five by ten feet. It wasn't life-sized, but it was close.
Elrohir shrugged and looked over at the paladin. "I guess you can take it to the Brass Dragon with you tomorrow when you bring Laertes back, Aslan."
"No need," the painter had announced.
With a flourish, he produced the paint-wand, tapped it to the frame and said "Grissend."
The portrait instantly shrunk down to a one-by-two inch size.
Finally, the party was free to do as it pleased.
They had decided during the two-day journey northward that Aslan would volunteer as Lady Chauv's archery champion. It was a toss-up as to whether he or Elrohir was actually the superior bowman, but they guessed either one could do the job. This did mean however, that between practicing for the tournament and any teleporting he might be doing, the paladin's time for conducting any investigations would be limited.
Yanigasawa Tojo, for numerous obvious reasons was ill-suited for asking questions amongst the gaijin, as he called them. The samurai contented himself with walking around, examining everything closely.
Cygnus and Zantac decided to explore the magical aspect of Sir Silverton's ambush and assassination. Although the Chauv family had not been able to afford a court mage for years, the duo spoke with Dyland and Father Britton, the chief clerics in the Barony of Chauv for Heironeous and Saint Cuthbert, respectively.
While the two priests could add little in the way of magical knowledge, other to confirm that summoning such a creature could be done through either divine or arcane power, and that any person capable of such a prayer or spell would have to be powerful indeed; on a par with the Slave Lords' Mordrammo or Ajakstu at the least, as the two wizards reckoned- they did mention a curious incident.
Two incidents, actually.
On the same Godsday, three days before Sir Silverton was killed (the 27th of Ready'reat by their calculations), both he and Sir Kenneth Chauv had gone to see their respective priests; Father Britton and Dyland, for a private confession after public chapel services. Neither had mentioned the other, but both mentioned their concerns.
Concerns about Lady Chauv.
Both men were concerned about Her Ladyship. She was nervous, depressed, often appearing confused, spending inordinate amounts of time alone in her room. This behavior had been going on for at least three weeks and showed no signs of abating.
Both clerics had mentioned the recent loss of her husband the Baron, but both knights had seemed skeptical of that as an explanation. Lord Chauv had disappeared seven months ago, and while his widow had certainly grieved at the time, she seemed to have recovered as much as was possible in an acceptable timeframe. These recent bouts of confusion and depression seemed to have come on like a thunderclap.
Both priests had asked their parishioners if they wanted them to speak with Lady Chauv about their concerns. Sir Chauv had explicitly told Dyland not to, but Sir Silverton had given Father Britton leave to do so if he wished. The Cuthbertine cleric had indeed sat down with the Baroness, who had said she was worried about the state of her realm, with the poor harvest and rising taxes. She was also worried that a subpar performance from her champions at the Year's End Festival would reflect poorly on Baron Chartrain, who was the immediate lord to whom she had sworn fealty.
Father Britton had relayed this information to Sir Silverton. He told Cygnus and Zantac that he did not think the knight accepted what Her Ladyship had said to him as truth, but he had simply nodded and thanked the priest for his time.
Upon hearing this, Argo had gone to speak with the members of the late Silverton's entourage; specifically, his squires. Sir Silverton had had only one at the time of his death, a boy named Colton who was now training under Sir Kenneth Chauv.
The youth was not able to add much to this, other than to affirm that Silverton had been deeply concerned about Her Ladyship; to the point of implying that some "fell force," as he had put it, might be responsible for Lady Chauv's current malaise.
"Aslan," Argo had said to the paladin as soon as he had found him after this conversation, "use your helm on Lady Chauv."
The paladin had stared incredulously at the ranger.
"On what grounds?" he had demanded. "Her being under the weather? Beside the fact of it being a blatant invasion of privacy on no solid grounds whatsoever, do you have any idea what would happen to us if my incursion was discovered? Have you forgotten all of our conversations with Laertes on matters such as these?"
"Could you at least detect her for evil, then?" Argo had asked in exasperation.
The paladin however, had merely fixed the ranger with a hard glare.
"Right now, Argo, I'm more inclined to do that on you than her."
Bigfellow had opened his mouth to argue, decided that Aslan was in full paladin mode, and decided to drop the matter. He turned and left without another word.
"Cygnus," Argo said. "Detect Lady Chauv for magic. Concentrate specifically on enchantments. A charm of some kind."
As Bigfellow guessed, the information that had completely failed to sway Aslan was more than enough to convince the perpetually suspicious wizard to act.
It had taken the mage a day or so to find the opportunity, but eventually he was able to covertly scan the Baroness from a distance as she entered the castle that evening.
"Sorry, Argo," Cygnus reported later. "There was nothing."
Bigfellow had drummed his fingers on the railing he had been standing by and looked thoughtful but had merely nodded and said nothing.
Elrohir sat down directly with Kenneth Chauv.
"I don't know what else I can tell you, Elrohir," the knight said, frustration evident in his voice. "Certainly, the troubles befalling our realm are sufficient to drive any lord to despair, let alone a lady-"
Elrohir raised an eyebrow at that but let it pass.
"But my suspicions will not let me rest at night," the knight continued, rising from the chair in his quarters and pacing about the room.
He seemed to be struggling to find the right words. Elrohir could relate.
"Besides her general condition," the ranger pressed, "has your mother said or done anything in particular within the last three weeks to raise your concern?"
Sir Chauv stopped pacing. The knight's face was deep in thought.
"Not as you suggest," he eventually said. "But there have been episodes of what our house physician calls fugue."
Elrohir tilted his head at the knight.
"There have been times when my mother has forgotten things she once knew," Kenneth said, his voice now low.
The knight glanced at the open door to his quarters, walked over to it and closed it before looking back at Elrohir.
"People she has known, events that have transpired," he elaborated. "Not major ones; nothing of great consequence, but that is still out of character for her." He sighed. "Sometimes I worry that she has contracted brain fever as Michelle did, but the physician says her health is good."
Elrohir abruptly raised a hand.
"Wait a minute," the ranger said sharply. "Go back a minute. Who is Michelle?"
Sir Chauv stared at Elrohir, clearly thinking the ranger was going off on a tangent.
"Our new governess," he said, as if this was self-evident.
Elrohir was waiting for more.
When it was not forthcoming, the ranger slowly stood up. His dark blue eyes bore into those of the knight.
"Your new governess," Elrohir repeated. "What happened to your old one?"
"Lady Gallilea?" Kenneth asked, still unsure what Elrohir was getting at. "She passed on."
"When?"
Sir Chauv blinked at him.
"Almost three months ago."
"Was she ill?"
"No," replied the knight, "but she was quite elderly. These things do happen, Elrohir," he added, a note of irritation creeping into his voice now that the ranger completely ignored.
"Where did this Michelle come from?" Elrohir asked.
"She's not a mysterious stranger from outside, as you seem to be thinking," Sir Chauv responded. "Michelle has been with us for years. She was one of my mother's ladies-in-waiting, so that sort of promotion is nothing unusual; at least in Furyondy."
Now it was Elrohir's turn to slowly pace about the room.
The knight eyed him curiously.
"She is originally from the Earldom of Farlyow, if you need to know," he said, his tone implying that he was indulging the ranger.
Elrohir didn't seem to consider that important. He stopped and again shot Kenneth a hard look.
"You said this Michelle had contracted brain fever. When was this?"
The knight considered.
"Late Goodmonth I think, but I am not certain," he said, then added, "Lady Bigfellow was here at the time," seemingly as an afterthought.
Elrohir stopped breathing for a full five seconds.
"What?"
"Caroline. She was staying with us at the time. Sir Dorbin had brought her here. Surely you remember-"
"This brain fever!" Elrohir barked, causing Sir Chauv to start. "Did it cause Michelle to have these same episodes of fugue that your mother has experienced?"
The knight now looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"I believe so, Elrohir, but I cannot confirm this to you first-hand; only snatches from what I heard from her fellow ladies-in-waiting, and they are still young enough that their accounts cannot be accepted without question."
"You said she recovered," the ranger cut across Kenneth. "How long did that take?"
"I cannot say," Sir Chauv admitted. "Certainly, she seems fine to me now."
He paused, and when he looked again at Elrohir, his expression now held a new emotion: embarrassment.
"In confidence I tell you this, Elrohir," the knight said softly, "Michelle formerly had her eye on me. This I know, although I did not return her affections. This is hardly unusual; the greatest prize any lady-in-waiting could ever hope to snag would be the son of the Lady that they serve."
He fell silent, but the ranger saw the thread and picked it up.
"But not since her fever?"
Sir Kenneth's expression at last regained a touch of the arrogance that Caroline had told Elrohir always seemed to reside there.
"No," he said, "and I can assure you, Elrohir- that does not happen with young women and me."
The squire checked the target again.
Four fingers for Lady Caelara-
-and two for Aslan.
Damn it, the paladin thought as applause erupted for the winner. He gave the elf, whose smile was now all satisfaction and no flirtation, a bow and exited the field.
He did not dare look at Lady Chauv. While it was true that this contest was a minor affair compared to whatever was truly going on here, he knew the Baroness had been counting on him,and there was no prize for second place. The archery competition had been the last contest of the Festival and of the others, only Sir Chauv had won one for his mother, triumphing at the joust earlier this day, which at least had the largest prize of any of the contests.
The paladin was suddenly very uneasy about the fact that only he, Elrohir, Argo and Caroline of their group remained here in the Barony of Chauv.
It was Cygnus who first brought up the subject.
"Thorin is still at the Brass Dragon, and I'm getting nervous; I don't mind telling you," the tall wizard had announced to the group at large several days earlier. "There's no one else there except Laertes; not enough protection."
"Protection from what, Cygnus?" Argo had asked, clasping his hands in front of him at the desk he had been sitting at.
The Aardian wizard sighed. "Nothing I know of for certain, I grant you; but it keeps crossing my mind that we may have had this whole affair backwards. Perhaps the Emerald Serpent, if they are indeed the ones behind this, intended all along to draw us here; away from the Brass Dragon so that they may strike us at home."
He turned to stare directly at Caroline Bigfellow.
"They've done it before, through proxies."
Caroline bit her lip and glanced at her husband.
"He's right, my love."
"I'd also like to state," continued the tall mage, "that we came here primarily to investigate the murder of Sir Silverton. We've ascertained that doesn't seem to be a high priority for Lady Chauv for whatever reason, but it's admittedly a hard crime to solve. Those clerics Zantac and I spoke with said they're using whatever divinations are available to them, but that's not anything we can assist them with. Now I know we're concerned about Lady Chauv's safety and rightly so, but this Festival is actually the least likely time for anyone to try anything; not while she's surrounded by powerful nobles and their followers from all over Furyondy."
Aslan said nothing, but looked over at Elrohir, who sighed.
"I can't fault you, Cygnus," he said at length. "Asgard knows you've certainly spent enough time already away from your son."
The ranger looked around at his friends.
"Who else wants to go back? I promise it will not be held against you. Part of me is wondering what any of us are doing here, anyway."
Tojo took a step forward.
"Ritter for me to do here, Errohir-sama," the samurai stated. "I wirr return to Brass Dragon to herp safeguard Thorin-sama, but onry," and here he turned to Aslan, "if you promise to come back for me if batter seems rikery."
Aslan smiled.
"Don't worry, Tojo. You have my word. I always hate going into battle without you by my side, anyway."
The samurai favored the paladin with a smile; something that, while still a rare expression for him, seemed to be a bit more common these past few days.
"Anyone else?" Elrohir asked.
Zantac shrugged. "I think I've exhausted my usefulness here," he said. "Besides, Thorin always says he's desperate to learn magic, and neither his father nor his elven friends seem up to the task. Maybe a real mage can help him along."
Cygnus rolled his eyes very noticeably at that but said nothing.
Nesco spoke up, but the ranger's voice was carefully neutral.
"I'm of either mind," she stated. "I'm happy to stay here if you'd like, but I have to admit what Cygnus has said concerns me."
Her speech had been directed at Elrohir, but it was Aslan who responded.
"You can go as well, Lady Cynewine, but I'll be returning for you as well if it seems necessary," he finished, before looking over at Tojo and then back at Nesco with a wry expression.
"After Tojo, of course."
Everyone laughed, and even the samurai again gave them a smile.
I could get used to that smile, Caroline thought happily to herself, before noticing that her husband was now looking at her.
"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head. "I'm staying. There's a conversation I absolutely have to have, and it may take some time to set it up."
"Aslan!"
The paladin looked to his right and behind him. Caroline Bigfellow had called out to him and was now on a path to intercept him as he exited the archery field, heading towards the castle.
"Yes, Caroline?" he asked as she drew abreast.
The young woman drew a deep breath before answering.
"That conversation I mentioned a few days ago, Aslan? Well, tomorrow is the last day of the Festival, and I don't think I'll be able to do it then. It's got to be tonight."
"Who is this conversation going to be with?" Aslan queried, his brows drawing together.
In response, Caroline pointed back towards the main stand, where the assorted nobility and their families and servants were now milling around eating and drinking, although some of them were also leaving the fairground.
Aslan followed the young woman's finger until he saw who she was pointing at, and then spun around to face her directly.
"Lady Chauv?" he asked in an incredulous tone. "Caroline, that would not be a wise-"
"No," Lady Bigfellow interrupted him, still pointing. "Not her."
Aslan looked again, and saw the two teenaged girls following Lady Chauv, as they had every day he'd been here.
Then he noticed Argo Bigfellow Junior approaching the Baroness.
"I sent Argo to delay her," he heard her say, as he watched the two servants continue on towards the castle as Lady Chauv began speaking with the ranger.
"I also sent Elrohir to keep Sir Chauv busy. I don't suspect Kenneth of any wrongdoing, but I think he'd interfere out of ignorance if he knew what I was planning."
Aslan looked again at Caroline Bigfellow and was surprised and concerned to see the nervousness in her.
"I need to do this alone, Aslan," she said quietly, her voice trembling. "But please," she hesitated, "stay close."
He laid a hand on her shoulder- and remembered that terrible time so many months ago between them.
And even as he recalled the downpour of that night, a rumble of thunder sounded overhead. Clouds had increased fast in the last hour or so as the sun had slipped below the horizon, and the scent of fast-approaching rain was in the air.
"I promise, Caroline," Aslan said.
The two girls looked up in alarm as Caroline Bigfellow barged into their room.
Lady Bigfellow knew exactly where this room was- she'd spent several nights sleeping here last time. She also knew the exact daily schedule of the ladies-in-waiting; she'd even spent many hours assuring herself it hadn't varied from her previous stay, and it hadn't.
Caroline knew she had about ten minutes at most here; possibly more if her husband was able to delay Lady Chauv, but she couldn't count on that.
She desperately wished she could have the mental link from Aslan's helm, but the paladin had placed it on Cygnus before the mage left, and she couldn't begrudge half the team needing to keep tabs on the other half.
She tossed two wheatshaffs at them, just as she'd done all those months ago.
"I need to talk to you two," Caroline said without preamble, "and it may well be a matter of life or death."
The fearon the two teenagers' faces was undisguised, but Lady Bigfellow pushed on. The girls had, perhaps on instinct, pocketed the gold she'd given them (again, just like last time), so Caroline thought she might be able to get through to them, one way or the other.
"I want to run a timeline by you," she said, sitting down on Jolene's bed.
The elder of the two ladies-in-waiting, still about two years younger than Caroline if she remembered, stared at her openmouthed without speaking.
Caroline began.
"Flocktime of this year. Your Lord, Baron Chauv, disappeared and has not been seen since. The Baron of Willip declared him dead sometime later, correct?"
The younger of the two, Aleena, shot a terrified glance at her fellow servant and friend, who still stared at Caroline, who could feel the maelstrom of feelings that must be going on in the head of this young woman who had just barely exited childhood.
Jolene licked her lips. She still seemed unable to speak, but she nodded.
"Good." Caroline smiled encouragingly at her. "Then, late Goodmonth. I was here at the time. That was when your friend Michelle first fell ill, wasn't it?"
Jolene shot a terrified glance at the door that Caroline had closed after entering and then looked back at Lady Bigfellow.
"Yes."
The voice had been so tiny and soft that Caroline had barely heard it.
Fifteen year-old Aleena looked as if she desperately wanted to take back her one-word reply. The teenager grabbed a pillow and stuffed the corner of it into her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes.
Caroline watched as Jolene put her hand on the younger girl's shoulder. Slowly, the two of them sat down on Aleena's bed, facing Lady Bigfellow.
"Thank you. You're both doing wonderful," she said, trying to keep then encouragement in her voice, and the very real fear of what she might be heading towards out of it.
"Now," Caroline continued, taking the plunge, "did Michelle fall ill after trying on that fancy dress she received?"
Both girls gasped.
"How- how did you know about that?" Jolene eventually managed to ask.
Caroline gave them her best impression of her husband's pained smile.
"You girls are a lot louder than you think you are. Even if I hadn't still been up when you came in that first night, you'd have woken me."
It took almost two minutes for the next reply.
Two minutes Caroline wasn't sure she had.
"Yes," Jolene eventually said. "It was."
"We thought the dress might have been cursed," Aleena said, trying hard to keep from crying, "but Father Britton said it wasn't. We were so scared. Michelle- she seemed so confused, as if she didn't really know who we were. She got better eventually, but…"
She trailed off.
"Hasn't been the same since, has she?" Caroline asked softly.
Both girls shook their heads.
"We all used to be such friends, but…" Aleena broke down crying as Jolene hugged her. The older girl was on the edge of tears herself.
"How did Lady Chauv react?" Caroline asked.
"Well," gulped Jolene. "Her Ladyship was very frightened about Michelle, just like we were."
"What about the dress?" asked Lady Bigfellow. "I heard Michelle say the Baroness would be furious if she found her lady-in-waiting wearing such a noble garment."
Aleena nodded in confirmation. "Oh, yes. Once Michelle got better, Lady Chauv yelled at her about it. You could hear it halfway across the castle. She took it away, of course."
"It was odd," Jolene's face now assumed a thoughtful mien for the first time, "but once she got better, Michelle didn't seem to care about the dress at all."
Not odd at all, Caroline thought with a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach. She had to press on, however, so she let that go.
"We move on," she announced. "Three months ago. Harvester. Your governess dies in her sleep, but Lady Chauv didn't replace her. Am I right?"
Jolene shrugged. "There wasn't a need. It was just me and Aleena then, and we didn't really need her anymore. I heard her Ladyship tried to obtain another girl to, I guess, replace Michelle, but she couldn't find anyone."
"Some people were saying our Barony was cursed," Aleena said, again so quietly that Caroline barely heard her. "We heard rumors."
"Then," said Caroline said, keenly aware of the passage of time, "three weeks ago, Lady Chauv fell ill, just as Michelle had."
A rumble of thunder interrupted her, making the teenagers cry out.
"It's all right," Caroline assured them. "There's just a storm outside, that's all. We're safe in here."
Jolene seemed to be keeping one ear open now for further rumbles but nodded again.
"And when Her Ladyship recovers, she appoints Michelle as your new governess, even though the castle still doesn't need one. Am I right?"
The teenagers nodded again.
"I wondered about that," Jolene mused. "Governesses get paid; we don't. I know the Barony is hard for coin, so we couldn't figure it out."
"I told Jolene that the Baroness was still concerned about Michelle and her illness," put in Aleena. "Then, when she got sick herself, Lady Chauv must have known first-hand what having brain fever is like, so she promoted Michelle out of compassion."
"That seems logical," Caroline said sympathetically, "but it's not the case."
"What is the case, then?" Jolene abruptly burst out; a pleading look in her eyes. "Please, Lady Bigfellow. Please tell us what's going on!"
Another rumble of thunder, this one louder, shook the castle. Even though this room had no windows, the faint sound of a downpour could be heard.
Caroline said nothing as the girls hugged each other again, new tears threatening.
"I want both of you girls to think hard on this question now. In the past three weeks; ever since Lady Chauv fell ill, have either of you ever seen her wearing any new outfits of her own? A dress or gown you'd never seen before?"
The teenagers looked at each and then back at Caroline.
"No," Aleena said. "In our current state, Her Ladyship would never spend gold on something like that, and there are no suitors for her hand we're aware of that might have sent such a gift."
Caroline nodded in acknowledgement, then fell silent.
She'd been about to mention Sir Silverton, but there was no need for it now. It was unlikely these two teenagers knew any more about that then what Cygnus and Zantac had already been able to uncover.
Sir Silverton, she realized, had probably guessed what she had.
Caroline knew she had already learned all she could here.
In fact, she realized now as she slowly stood up, she'd known this months ago.
She simply hadn't been smart enough to put the pieces together. They still weren't all in place, but the partial picture they made was terrifying.
She prayed she wasn't too late.
"Please, Lady Bigfellow." Jolene put her hands together in supplication. "Please tell us what's going on!'
"I can't just yet," Caroline said, then added hastily at the panicked look in the young servants' eyes, "but I will soon. For now, tell no one of this conversation."
"Don't worry," Aleena piped up in a voice half-crying, half-laughing. "We won't."
Lady Bigfellow went to the door and opened it, turning around to face the two teenagers, still staring at her in utter fright.
Despite herself, a grim smile came over Caroline's face.
"That remark you made all those months ago, Jolene," she told the older girl. "About the sender of that dress turning out to look like a troglodyte."
She gulped.
"You may have been closer to the truth than you ever knew."
Aslan, having just donned his plate mail (he'd removed it for the contest), saw Caroline running towards him as he stood in the entrance hall of the castle.
He'd expected that, but what he had not expected was the tears running down the young woman's face.
And when Caroline grabbed him by the shoulders, the similarities to that night of troubles- complete with pouring rain- seemed so eerie that he had to restrain himself from physically removing her hands from him.
But her words were all too different now.
"Oh, Aslan!" she cried. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"
"About what?" the paladin finally managed, completely befuddled.
"The clothing!" Caroline managed in a choked voice. "The Chams clothing! You and the others had warned Talass and me about them back at the Brass Dragon, but when I actually saw one of them later, I didn't realize it!"
She dissolved into sobs.
Aslan pulled her into a hug and held her close.
"It's okay, Caroline," he whispered into her ear while stroking her hair. "I remember now that we never actually described to you and Talass what the noblemen's set of clothing looked like. That would have helped you. I'd seen them myself, but…"
The paladin shook his head in self-recrimination.
"This is my fault, Caroline. Not yours."
With as great an effort as Aslan had ever witnessed, Caroline Bigfellow pulled herself together.
"Aslan," she said in as steady a voice as she could manage, which wasn't very.
"Michelle- Lady Chauv's governess- isn't Michelle anymore."
Aslan allowed himself to be pulled along by the hand. The paladin was hard-pressed to keep from stumbling as Caroline raced through the castle, running down passages and climbing stairs as they ascended ever nearer the topmost floor.
Another rumble of thunder sounded, but it was fainter. The sound of rain pattering against the stone walls was fading as well. Apparently, the brief thunderstorm was moving on.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"You need to search Lady Chauv's room," Caroline responded.
Aslan stopped in his tracks, bringing the young woman to a halt as well.
"Caroline," he said sternly. "I'm not at all comfortable with that. You need to give me a good enough reason to break Her Ladyship's hospitality like that- not to mention the law itself."
"Aslan," she said, clasping his hand tighter now and taking another deep breath, "Michelle has been replaced by someone whom I'm sure is a member of the Emerald Serpent."
Aslan nodded warily.
"I agree; that seems likely, but that doesn't explain why I have to-"
"I think Lady Chauv is aware of it."
There was a long pause. Aslan stared at Lady Bigfellow.
"Tell me why you suspect that."
To the paladin's surprise, Caroline responded to his question with one of her own.
"Do you think there might have been another set of Chams clothing we didn't know about? Not the nobleman's set you saw, but another set for a noblewoman?"
Aslan considered.
"Anything is possible, Caroline," he responded, with a weak attempt at a smile, "but by definition we can't know anything about things we don't know anything about." He narrowed his eyes. "I know this last set escaped our notice, but Chams himself told us they were rare items, and hard to make." He shook his head. "Unless you have concrete evidence to the contrary, Caroline, I'd have to say no."
"Then," the young woman said, "Lady Chauv has been charmed, or tricked, or coerced into working with the Serpent."
"Cygnus checked her for magic. Found nothing." Aslan's voice now carried the unmistakable tone of reproach. "Told me your husband talked him into it. Should have known; that's pure Argo for you, but still-"
"Please, Aslan!" Caroline shouted suddenly, causing the paladin to start and glance around the thankfully-deserted corridor they were standing in.
Caroline Bigfellow now had both hands out and grasped in prayer towards him, just as a terrified girl had done so a few minutes prior with her.
"Please do this for me, Aslan," Caroline said, tears leaking out of her eyes now. "I know I don't have all the pieces together yet, but I know you can find them."
Aslan narrowed his eyes. "If burglary is needed, why couldn't you do it, Caroline? Why haven't you already?"
But Caroline shook her head.
"Your Talent, Aslan! That's what's needed here! Lady Chauv is a very smart woman; I'm sure she wouldn't leave anything incriminating just lying around, but you…"
She gestured at him. Aslan sighed but said nothing.
Caroline Bigfellow swayed on her feet slightly. It seemed to Aslan that she was trying to stop herself from passing out from either sheer exhaustion or despair.
Another uncomfortable parallel to that night he could never forget.
He made a move to steady her, but she held up a hand.
"Please, Aslan," she said, looking at him with as weary an expression as he had ever seen there. "Please."
Aslan was keenly aware that while it was not in his nature to act on hunches as it was so easily with others like Argo or Elrohir, had the paladin done so earlier in the year when disparate and seemingly unconnected clues had been piling up in front of him, things might be different now.
Better.
"All right, Caroline," he said. "Show me the way."
A final flight of steps took them to a short hallway, ten feet wide and about eight feet in height. An oil lamp on a wall hook, burning low, provided illumination. It went straight for about thirty feet and split off into a "Y," narrowing to a five-foot width and going ten feet on in either direction before ending in closed doors.
Caroline pointed to the left passageway. "That one."
Aslan frowned and glanced towards the right. "Who lives there?"
Lady Bigfellow's mouth tightened. "The governess."
Aslan looked as if he was about to say something, then stopped himself.
Searching Michelle's quarters was not as important. They already knew she was an imposter. What they were looking for was proof that Lady Chauv was aware of that fact, and that was more likely to be found in Her Ladyship's room.
Besides, there was no time to search two rooms. Caroline had told him that the Baroness was on her way up here, to prepare herself and possibly change for the evening meal.
With his dithering, Aslan may not have even left himself time to search one room.
Aslan cursed himself silently, moved to Lady Chauv's door and grasped the handle.
Locked, but he had expected that.
He look over at Caroline, who was still standing in the intersection.
"Give me a warning if anyone comes."
She nodded. Aslan turned back towards the door and took one last deep breath.
Darkness. Total. Absolute.
The paladin hadn't expected to teleport into this. He reached around for his backpack to extract a torch before remembering he hadn't had time to attach it. He'd barely had enough time get his armor back on before Caroline had appeared.
Slowly, Aslan made his way towards where he guessed the window would be. He found it, unclasped the shutters and opened them.
Darkness came quickly in Sunsebb after the sun set, but enough light still filtered in that Aslan could see his surroundings, if only dimly.
This was actually a suite; two bedrooms with a connecting door, which lay ajar. Aslan went into the other room and opened the shutters there, as well.
This room had clearly been designed for Baron Chauv. The other, the one he had first arrived in, was for his wife.
Lord Chauv's room, as the paladin had expected, seemed dusty and unused. Several piles of feminine clothes and personal effects were scattered about, indicating that Her Ladyship was apparently starting to claim some of her late husband's personal space for her own.
Aslan went through the drawers of the bureau and the writing desk, saw nothing of interest and moved back to Lady Chauv's room.
The bed sat on a handsome frame and included a mattress made of cotton batting. The sheets were of fine cotton, and the blankets wool.
Lady Chauv's wardrobe certainly contained enough dresses of quality that almost any one of them could have been Chams clothing, but it just didn't feel right to the paladin. All of the dresses and gowns looked old; certainly nothing newer than three months.
There was no sign of the clothing that matched the set he'd seen that day back in Hidden Jewel., but again that meant nothing. If Caroline's suspicions had any grain of truth to them at all, the Baroness would have disposed of it by now.
A high-backed, upholstered bench sat in front of a dressing table upon which sat a large mirror, perhaps three feet high by two feet wide, in a rotating frame. The paladin idly moved it back and forth. That was a fairly expansive item; glass was not cheap to manufacture in large sizes.
A leather glove box sat on the dressing table, but it was locked.
Aslan sighed and took one last look around. There'd been nothing physical here, just as he'd expected. He supposed he could use his Talent as Caroline had suggested; he'd be thoughtless if he didn't, but he wondered what he would tell Lady Bigfellow if it didn't reveal-
Aslan blinked and moved his gaze back towards the window.
A large, double-bladed battleaxe sat beside it.
Aslan did not move. The paladin squinted, trying to see more.
The weapon stood upon its shaft. Dwarves often used axes like these, but this one had a longer shaft. It was quite clearly designed for a human.
The axe's presence here was nothing unusual. The late Baron Chauv, like any nobleman with actual fighting skills, would have accumulated quite a few weapons in his lifetime, and it was entirely reasonable that one or more of them might still be here.
But why, the paladin was forced to ask himself as he walked over to the axe, is it in Her Ladyship's side of the suite?
Then Aslan saw the blood on the blade.
Dried. Long-dried, but that gave no comfort to his suddenly-beating heart.
No nobleman- or noblewoman- would ever take such poor care of such a weapon.
Aslan glanced back at the door. He'd heard not a sound. He had a few more moments, at least.
With hands trembling more than he thought they were capable of, Aslan reached out and took the battleaxe into his hands.
He let his Talent of object reading flow. The room vanished around him.
And when Aslan the paladin was able to comprehend the image of what he was seeing, he screamed louder than he had ever screamed in his entire life.
Caroline Bigfellow heard not even the faintest trace of Aslan's scream, but she did hear the sound of someone coming up the stairs, and then saw the door open.
Lady Chauv, looking tired, stepped into the hallway.
Caroline closed her eyes in frustration , but only for a moment. She'd hoped against hope that Argo would still be with her, but she knew her husband had probably already been stalling Her Ladyship well past the point of arousing suspicion and didn't dare overplay his hand.
The Baroness saw Caroline and stopped dead.
The expression on the noblewoman's face was not hostile, but there was not a trace of friendliness to it, either.
Caroline took a few steps towards her, not wanting Lady Chauv to think she had been spying outside her quarters.
"Greetings, Lady Bigfellow," she said, her voice cool but polite, as it had been this entire week. "What brings you up here?"
The slight emphasis on the last word was enough to set Caroline's heart pounding, if that were possible, even worse than it had been.
She took a few steps closer, trying to affect an air of casualness.
"I wanted to speak with you in private, My Ladyship, but you were not here." She gulped. "Has it not been your custom to return here to freshen up after the Festival so you can prepare for the evening meal?"
The slightest of smiles graced Lady Chauv's face.
"Indeed it is. You seem to know my routine very well, Lady Bigfellow."
Caroline again felt like she was going to faint, but this time from sheer terror. She fought it back while nodding back at the noblewoman as they came face-to-face with each other.
Lady Chauv had clearly been caught in the brief downpour. She was still soaking wet but seemed to be paying no attention to that fact.
Caroline Bigfellow, on the other hand, was absolutely- and unexpectedly- entranced by it.
The Baroness was a brunette, but now Caroline could see blonde roots showing in her scalp, as if the rain had washed away some of the color.
There was certainly nothing unusual about that. Lots of woman, especially those of means, dyed their hair. Cygnus had told her that Talat had done so. It was just that Lady Chauv, or at least the Lady Chauv that Caroline had known, had always struck her as a humble woman, not interested in such primping and fussing; and certainly not now, without a husband who might otherwise have demanded it.
That made the makeup equally unsettling.
The Baroness had worn little makeup during Caroline's previous visit, but now sported some kind of foundation over her face and what little of her hands that could be seen underneath the voluminous-sleeved gowns that she always favored.
It made her skin seem smoother, but also whiter.
Caroline was suddenly aware that she had not said anything in over ten seconds.
"I," she couldn't stop herself from stuttering, "I wanted to express my regrets."
Lady Chauv raised an eyebrow- much thinner than how Caroline had remembered them- as she began to slide past Lady Bigfellow and continue on towards the intersection.
Caroline didn't want her to do this but could think of no way of stopping her without giving away everything.
She gave a fake cough, as loudly as possible, desperately hoping that Aslan would hear it.
"You should take care of that, Lady Bigfellow," said Her Ladyship, her voice growing in coldness and starting to drain of courtesy. "Where do your regrets stem from?"
'From- from today, of course. I wanted to apologize that our handpicked champion Aslan failed you in the archery contest. I know you were counting on that gold."
The Baroness gave a perfunctory nod. A weariness that Caroline sensed was real and not feigned seemed to settle over the noblewoman.
"Most kind," she said. "Thank you, and now if you will excuse me…"
She turned away from Caroline and began to walk down the corridor.
Caroline had been about to call out "Wait!" in a voice loud enough to surely alert Aslan even though she had absolutely no idea what she was going to follow it up with-
-but the word died in her throat.
The Baroness of Chauv, consumed with fatigue as she was, had let her arms drop to her side. The sleeves on these gowns were unbelievably heavy. Caroline knew this first-hand. She'd worn one herself during her etiquette lessons earlier in the year.
But now she noticed the mud stains on the very end of both sleeves.
The rain; the downpour. It had undoubtedly turned much of the packed earth on which the fairground had been constructed to mud.
And now Caroline Bigfellow was listening to Lady Chauv in her head. Not the one standing in front of her, but the one she had befriended months ago…
"Lady Bigfellow, a nobleman or woman can always be identified by their bearing, even if they were clad in rags," the Baroness explained. "All your movements must seem effortless to any onlooker. Otherwise, you are but an imposter playing dress-up."
Lady Chauv had just reached the intersection when Caroline cleared her throat.
The noblewoman turned around. A slight scowl appeared on her features now.
"Yes, Lady Bigfellow?"
It was an inexplicable part of Caroline Bigfellow's soul that when she followed her heart, her fears vanished. Just as she had pumped her eyebrows at a disbelieving paladin long ago, she knew what to do now.
No matter how foolhardy anyone else might have called it.
Squaring her shoulders and putting as much official-sounding gravitas into her voice as possible, she smiled and bowed to the woman in front of her.
"I remember the lessons you gave me well, your Ladyship," Caroline announced. "I have always told my friends that, despite the many tragedies in her life, the Baroness of Chauv, member of the Knightly Conclave of Furyondy, is a shining example of what a noblewoman should be."
"Why, thank you, Lady Bigfellow."
The smile had returned to Lady Chauv's face but now completely evaporated from that of Caroline Bigfellow.
"Too bad you're not her."
There was a very long silence.
Now neither women was smiling.
"I beg your pardon?" her Ladyship asked, but there was no confusion or puzzlement in her voice.
Caroline was still decided whether to attempt to continue this, draw her sword or just bolt for the stairs when she heard a door open behind the Baroness.
Caroline closed her eyes in relief.
Aslan! Thank the gods!
But when she opened her eyes again, Lady Bigfellow saw that Her Ladyship was not looking towards the door of her room.
She was looking down the other way.
Michelle stepped into the intersection.
The new governess of the castle Chauv was wearing a pink and white gown. Her brown hair, down to her shoulders the last Lady Bigfellow had seen it, was now plaited in the same fashion that Caroline's had been during her lessons with the Baroness; the real Baroness.
Neither Caroline nor any of her party had seen the governess during the entire Festival- an anomaly that Caroline was now kicking herself for not paying more attention to. Given what seemed to be the truth however, it made perfect sense.
Michelle's feet were bare, but her appearance was not otherwise remarkable for a noble retainer.
Except possibly for the rapier attached to the weapon belt slung around the woman's waist.
That really clashes, Caroline couldn't stop herself from thinking.
"Is there a problem, my Lady?" Michelle asked, looking first at Caroline and then her mistress.
And now the smile returned to Lady Chauv's face. As wide as Caroline had ever seen.
"Indeed," she replied, turning to face her servant.
"Lady Bigfellow here appears to have discovered our dark secret."
Without looking at Caroline, the Baroness waved a languid arm in her direction.
"Kill her."