"It will be quicker just to cross the courtyard, now that several paths have been shoveled out," Tashiin advised. He took the Prelate directly across, towards what appeared to be the chapel at the far north end of the monastery. To the left and right of it, adjoining the dormitories, were long, low structures with the typical pitched roofs.

"That building there contains the library and the indoor training halls," Tashiin indicated the one adjoining the female dormitory. "Across from it are the kitchens, storerooms, and the infirmary." Tashiin turned to the left, across the snow-dusted cobbles and led the way to that door. Arjan wondered if it might have made more sense to locate the infirmary nearer to the training halls, where he suspected most injuries resulted in the usual course of monastic life.

They went inside and headed towards the chapel, passing several bustling lay workers in the corridors. Finally, they went through an open door marked with a blue sun, the traditional Dezolian sign of healing roughly equivalent to the Palmans' red cross. Several beds lay in a row in the front room, but they were all unoccupied.

"Sister Malis," Tashiin called. A hand pushed open a heavy brocade curtain at the rear of the infirmary and a woman emerged, accompanied by a rush of cool air.

"Yes, Brother Tashiin?" The nun's eyes then fell upon Arjan, and her expression brightened. "Oh, Your Grace. I'm so glad that you accepted Brother Tashiin's request. The Abbot was a holy man, deeply respected by all of us, and his murder is an offense to us all."

"It is murder, then? I mean, your inspection of the body has shown this?"

She glanced down at her feet. Malis was young and pretty, fitting well with the popular image of the nurse or doctor as a gentle, sympathetic maiden, though no doubt she was as well-trained in the fighting arts as any of the other monastics.

"No, not conclusively. But what else could it be?"

"That is what I hope to learn," Arjan said gently. "Could you show us what you've found?"

Malis nodded, then held the curtain aside. It led to a short hall heated by two braziers with another heavy curtain at the far end. Despite the burning coals the air was still quite cool, and when Malis opened the curtain at the far end it became obvious why. The infirmary's morgue was kept cold by venting the frozen outside air.

The corpse of Abbot Kozil lay on its face on a flat metal table, naked for its post-mortem examination. In the cold room, bitterly exposed to their eyes, the body of the old man was an object lesson in the ephemerality of human life. Arjan was reminded forcefully that rank, honors, and wealth were in the end meaningless, for all came to the same end beneath the eye of Heaven. It was what one did in his or her life that ultimately mattered. By all accounts, including his own brief encounter, Kozil had been a good and wise man, who had filled his role as abbot well.

Yet, somewhere in his life was an action that had led him to a sudden, violent death. Had there been something wrong, something hidden? Or was the evil solely in the mind and intent of the killer?

Or, he corrected himself, was it indeed murder? There was no proof–yet–though no one else believed Kozil had fallen accidentally.

"I'm an infirmarian and healer," Malis explained, "not a trained pathologist, so I haven't made an internal examination. Still, it appears that the cause of death was a broken neck, the spinal cord having been severed."

"That would not be unusual in a fall, though?"

Malis shook her head.

"No, Your Grace. Injuries from falls can vary widely from person to person depending on circumstances. His Reverence landed in soft snow, which absorbed some of the impact, but he was also an old and frail man. There is one thing, though, that makes me curious."

She beckoned, and they followed her to the body. Malis pointed to the back of the Abbot's neck, where a mottled patch of darker green than the rest of his skin was visible.

"This bruise indicates a blow. It could be coincidence, but it is precisely where the neck was broken."

Arjan pressed his fingertips together.

"That does not sound particularly coincidental."

"It's also the only bruise on the body. A corpse doesn't bruise, so if His Reverence struck hard enough to break his neck, shouldn't there be other bruising?"

Arjan tried to think of his various discussions with Dr. Senj, the elderly doctor who was the coroner in Vassha. He'd given private advice as well as official testimony on many occasions, and the Prelate seemed to recall that Malis was correct.

"I agree. This is exceedingly suspicious. It looks very much as if Abbot Kozil was struck from behind by some assailant, who then hurled the body from the tower to make us believe a fall was the cause of death. He or she did not consider the snow, which minimized the damage to the body and so made the true cause of death more obvious."

"But why?" protested Malis. "Abbot Kozil was a holy man, a good man. Who could want to hurt him?"

"I don't know. Can you think of any dispute here in the monastery that may have led to this?"

"No, of course not!"

"There are mundane disagreements, of course," Tashiin put in, "of the kind that inevitably come about when a number of people live in close quarters, but we are all dedicated to our lives here. His Reverence did not need to decide a serious matter in over eight months, when it became necessary to dismiss a brother for stealing from his fellows, but that person is long gone from here."

Arjan nodded. Ambition, of course, was another possible motive, but while Brother Tashiin was acting as Prior he did not actually possess the rank and the Church hierarchy would never "leapfrog" him to Abbot. They would instead bring some worthy Prior from another monastery. Tashiin's chances of becoming Abbot at Azaana Monastery were better if he worked diligently, received a promotion upon the elderly Maavik's death or retirement, and eventually took over. His earlier conversations with Arjan indicated a sufficient grasp of his status and the workings of the Church hierarchy to understand this.

There were other reasons, too, to doubt Tashiin's guilt, but they could wait until later, when he could confirm them properly.

"Very well, but please do try to think if there might be anything else, even if it should seem small and insignificant at first."

"Yes, Your Grace," Malis said.

"I would like to see the late Abbot's rooms and the observatory tower now, Brother Tashiin."

"Very well."

The steward escorted Arjan back through the monastery halls. This time, he was getting a better idea of the routes and felt he could have made his way on his own, though he was glad of the escort. At the top of the stairs they were met by two grim-faced young monks.

"I instructed these guards to keep watch here, Your Grace," Tashiin explained, "in case the killer tried to return for some reason."

"It was murder, then, Brother Tashiin?" one guard spoke up. "I knew it couldn't be an accident!"

"Has anyone else come this way?" Arjan asked. Both monks shook their heads.

"No, Your Grace."

"Very well; I'll take a look. Brother Tashiin, if you would go and prepare the vicarage papers now?"

"Yes, Your Grace; I'm sorry I didn't get to it earlier."

"No, your assistance has been very valuable."

"Thank you. Your Grace...do you believe there is any hope of catching the Abbot's murderer?" The pleading note in his voice reminded Arjan of a child who had lost a parent, but the Prelate did not find it strange. Even his short meetings with Kozil had been enough to convey an impression of the man's strong personality. He could readily see how the monks and nuns of Azaana could be so deeply moved by Kozil's death.

"With the grace of Heaven, it may, but we must proceed with caution. There is nothing to be gained by hasty statements," he said as much to himself as to Tashiin.

The older man bowed his head in response. "Of course, Your Grace. I pray for your success." He then turned and went down the steps while Arjan went into the Abbot's room.

Being alone in Kozil's chambers only served to emphasize how ascetic they were in decor. Like a monk's cell, all their personality had come from the character of their resident, and without him alive there was nothing left. The room felt chilly; the coals in the brazier had been allowed to burn out. The bare stone floor held no footprints, bloodstains, or signs of a struggle. It was a simple truth that it was impossible to have a disturbance where there was nothing to disturb.

Arjan pushed aside the door curtain and went into the bedroom. Here there was a bit more to see, but not much. The Abbot's bed was a simple monk's pallet with no concession to his rank. A holy symbol, a golden flame, was mounted on the wall, and there was a writing-desk with an adjoining bookcase. Arjan glanced at the titles; some were works of history, others of religious philosophy, and a number seemed to concern the mystical astrology which the Abbot had spoken of during their visit. There were also a set of bound records which Kozil seemed to have prepared himself from his stellar observations. Clearly he'd taken his work seriously, but there was nothing there to suggest a motive.

Arjan examined the room's two windows; they were tall and narrow. Tashiin had been right that no one could accidentally fall through one, though Arjan judged he'd overstated their narrowness. An agile person of normal adult build could squeeze themselves through. The real obstacles to an accident were the fact that the windows were three feet off the floor, and the wall a full foot thick. The Prelate tried to look down to see if either window was above the place the body had fallen, but to no avail; he'd have had to twist his shoulders sideways and contort out to do that. The point was largely moot, though, since he'd had a good look from below.

He went back to the outer room and pushed aside the hanging scroll-painting Kozil had said concealed the staircase to the roof. Arjan had remembered rightly; the painting concealed an alcove with a narrow flight of steps. The door at the top was not locked and smoothly opened inwards. The roof was covered by a fresh layer of new-fallen snow, and the complete lack of footprints eliminated the last vestiges of hope that the Abbot's death was only an unfortunate accident.

Under more pleasant circumstances, he'd have liked to see the telescope itself, which he assumed was in the domelike hut in the center of the roof. There was a distinct separation between the small round building's foundation and its upper portion, most likely so it could rotate and allow the telescope different vantage points. Snow covered everything now, but Arjan assumed there was some kind of trapdoor in the dome through which the telescope lens would emerge.

There was no point, though, in indulging his own curiosity when there was a duty to attend to. He shut the door and descended the stairs. He had just begun to reexamine the Abbot's sitting-room with a more careful eye when the guards admitted Colce.

"Hey, boss, I've done what you asked. The nightwatch didn't admit anyone else after us, didn't see or hear anything, and the snow stopped at around three-thirty in the morning. They also claim they can't imagine why anyone would want to kill the Abbot. If you ask me, I believe them, but then I kinda liked the old guy, for all I'd actually met him for all of five minutes."

"The people I've spoken to say much the same thing."

"Of course, there's a lot of people here, and who knows what one of them might think. In a monastery full of trained fighting monks, nearly anyone could have tossed one old man off the roof."

"Actually, that isn't what happened, Colce."

"Huh?"

"We know that he fell after the storm ended, but the snow on the roof hasn't been disturbed. He was never on the roof."

"Then how did he get on the ground? Don't tell me this is another one of those cases full of spooks?"

"I don't believe so," the Prelate said. He rubbed his forefinger over a spot on the floor. "My suspicion is that Abbot Kozil was struck down here, and then his killer forced the body out through the bedroom windows in an attempt to make it look like a fall."

"Maybe, boss, but wouldn't the killer have at least gone upstairs and made some tracks in the snow?"

"You're overthinking matters, Colce. This wasn't a carefully planned-out crime; that's why there are mistakes, including one very obvious one."

Colce blinked.

"Obvious to you, maybe."

Arjan straightened up and inspected his fingertip. Soot and flakes of ash were clinging to it. He went to the brazier and inspected the rim closely, where he found a dented spot.

"Do you see this, Colce?"

His assistant came over and took a look.

"You think someone hit him with this, boss?"

Arjan nodded.

"It would have spilled coals and ash, of course. The murderer cleaned up, probably before forcing the body out the window, but some ash was left behind. We should check the Abbot's clothing for ash stains; that would be important corroborating evidence."

Colce nodded, following the evidence.

"I also think this goes to explain one of your concerns," Arjan continued. "This was not a premeditated crime. The murderer did not bring a weapon, but simply grabbed up a heavy object and struck in a sudden fit of anger or panic. The killer then tried to lay a false trail, but it was done in the urgency of the moment and so made mistakes that a prepared plan would have accounted for."

"Nice of the killer to help catch himself."

"Human actions always leave traces, Colce, whether in the sense of criminal evidence or not. We just have to see them by the Light of Truth to understand.

"And have you understood, boss?"

Arjan nodded.

"I think so. I can see only one theory that explains all the known facts and circumstances."

"But no spooks, right?"

"No, only an ordinary person who strayed from the Way of Heaven."

Colce hooked his thumbs into his belt.

"I hope he comes quietly. I'm pretty good with my hands, but these monastics train until they can split stone."