Wednesday, 18 May 1994
Gwen's hand stopped in mid-air, and she held her breath when she heard the angry voices behind the office door.
"…is really beyond me. Apart from arresting Mayfield, and releasing him afterwards you haven't done anything – productive…"
"Mr Crow, I am certainly not answerable to you. You cannot know what we do or don't do. Apart from that, it's you who won't tell me what tasks Mayfield and Dusks were entrusted with."
Muff the Tragic Wagon, lived by the street
And rolled along the boulevard, through rain
and snow and sleet.
That was obviously the singing wormwood in the far corner.
"Well, I can't because I don't know, and if I knew I wouldn't be allowed to tell you," the first voice snarled.
"See?" Jon sighed. "It's really difficult investigating anything in this Department. What – er –outstanding progress do you expect?"
Little Tommy Pumpkin loved that wagon Muff,
And rolled him home and filled him up,
With toys and other stuff.
Small pearls of sweat started to form on Gwen's forehead. She took a deep breath and decided to enter the room.
"Hi there again," she greeted them vaguely, looking at neither of the two to avoid their eyes. Then she opened the vial with the green liquid Bob had given her some minutes earlier, and removed the lid of their tank to pour it in in order to stabilise the preservation solution.
Suplinius Crow was still scowling, and didn't say a word. He joined Gwen near the tank, where the victim's brain was swimming in the liquid. Gwen bought some time by cleaning her glasses.
Together they would travel along the avenue
Tommy hanging out his leg would scuff his Sunday shoe.
Taxi cabs and buses would honk as they went past,
Tragic wagons never seem to need to stop for gas.
Gwen stared at the brain for a long while.
"What?" said Crow, frowning at her.
She looked at him. "You've just got to know our Extracting method, Mr Crow. You've seen how well it worked on the conserved brain Miss Gregorius gave you."
He nodded slowly and silently.
"It usually works excellently," Gwen continued. "But I think there must be some problem with using it on a brain that has been preserved at… at a later point in time than usual." She cleared her throat. "I'd like to do some research into this, because I'm afraid we won't make any progress if we continue like this. I'd like to know what the difference is between memories in a well-preserved brain, and those of a brain like … like the one at hand."
"Seems sensible enough to me," Crow conceded.
"But," Gwen said, "I'll need a similar brain to do the research. In order to spare this one, do you see? I'll ask Vivi, I mean Miss Gregorius, for help."
He nodded, gathered some files, which had been lying on one of the desks, and left the room in a whirl of black robes. He never told her where he went, but he seemed to approve of her idea, and thus considered their work currently suspended.
Children live forever, but not so children's toys,
Wagons can't forever be a friend to little boys.
And one gray day it happened while Tommy took his nap,
A garbage truck ran over Muff and turned him into scrap.
After he had left, Gwen looked at Jon. "How are you progressing?"
The Auror slammed the book shut he was holding in his hand. Then he opened it again and showed it to her. He looked strained.
"Do you see? Well, you can't see anything, can you? It's blank. Everything in this office is empty, or encrypted, or heavily secured by spells or … anything. Mrs Beresford will have my hide."
He pointed at the stacks of records and books lying on the desk he was using in the victim's office.
Gwen smiled. Our records in the Brain Room are the same. Only visible to those who know the correct spells to read them.
"And Mr Mayfield is silent as a grave – I mean, oh, I'm sorry."
Gwen nodded.
"Apart from these objects," he pointed to some items compiled on a small table at the wall, such as a goblet, a vase, some mugs, gemstones, quills, parchment, candles, and a Mars sculpture, "we haven't found anything that would help us clear up this case, or at least tell us what Archibald Dusk was dealing with."
"There aren't even any private things," Gwen remarked, eyeing the rather prosaic office, where only the greyish-green singing wormwood in its pot in the far corner stood out. At the moment he was singing placidly:
Muff the Tragic Wagon, lived by the street and rolled along the boulevard, through rain and snow and sleet.
Little Tommy Pumpkin loved that wagon Muff,
And rolled him home and filled him up, with toys and other stuff.
Little Tommy Pumpkin said just off the cuff,
There will never be another tragic wagon Muff
Muff the Tragic Wagon, lived by the street
And rolled along the boulevard, through rain and snow and sleet.
Little Tommy Pumpkin loved that wagon Muff,
And rolled him home and filled him up, with toys and other stuff.
"Yep, I've noticed this at well. No photographs, nothing. Is that customary in your Department?"
"I don't think so, Isabelle, for example, has a photograph of her two children on her desk. Yet Ademarus' office is rather …er … impersonal, too. But, then, he has no children. I wonder why there is no photo of Archibald's wife, Eleanor."
Suddenly the door opened and Mrs Beresford's bushy brown hair appeared, a cigarillo behind her ear.
"Could you please come with me, Jonathan," she asked in her deep voice.
"I'm coming," Jonathan replied, gathering his wand, cloak and bag. "I have to leave," he whispered to Gwen, "urgent interrogation."
~ooOOooOOooOOooOOoo~
Saturday, 21 May 1994
Gwen hastily flicked the cigarette butt away, and re-entered her cottage. It had been a nice day, but in the evening a cool and strong breeze had sprung up, making her shiver. She passed the hallway, where she hung up her cloak, and went into her warm and cosy sitting room, where Isabelle was sipping her tea on the sofa in the corner, while Honoria was sitting cross-legged on one of Gwen's sheep skins on the floor in front of the fireplace, shuffling the Tarot cards. Napoleon was prowling around her, purring, and looking as if he wanted to scramble onto her lap, which she didn't allow as she was a bit allergic to cats.
Gwen went to the fireplace to put on another log. The lights were dim. Their plates with the leftovers of a delicious dinner of Cornish pasties and a salad were still on the table.
"Are you still drawing one card in the morning?" Honoria asked interestedly. Tonight she was wearing flowing robes in mossy green and dark blue.
Gwen nodded. "Yes, my Card for the Day. But I am too lazy to keep records. I try to find out what the card is about during the day, but so much has happened recently, I often forget my cards."
They looked at each other for a moment in silence. Everyone knew what she was talking about.
"What was this morning's card?" Isabelle interrupted the silence, picking a speck from her pale-grey robes.
"It was… Eight of Wands."
"Oh. I know this one well. Energy and excitement." Honoria searched through the stack to find the card. "Here it is."
Isabelle put her cup on the table, got up and joined Honoria on another sheep skin. The latter held the card in order for her to see it. It showed preeminently eight diagonal wooden rods in the air, with a tiny lake and some mountains in the far background.
"And what do you make of it?"
"Hem, it looks quite dynamic to me. But I can't say that I've felt this way today," Gwen said ruefully. Isabelle laughed.
"Mais – you've put a lot of logs on our fire tonight, perhaps it's just this. Doesn't 'Wand' symbolise the element Fire?"
All three giggled. It felt good to enjoy a carefree evening with some friends.
Gwen took her wand and levitated the plates, went with them to the kitchen and put them into the sink. Wookey had left after she'd served their dinner, and would come to clean tomorrow.
When she returned to the sitting room, Honoria was saying: "No, it's not new, I've just combined the aquamarines with the lapis lazuli, looks lovely, doesn't it?" Isabelle was admiring her collar.
"Do any of you want another drink?" Gwen asked.
"I'm fine with the tea, merci," said Isabelle.
"Hon?"
"I still have some water. It's delicious," replied Honoria.
"Now what," Isabelle looked at them with big round eyes. "Are we going to read the cards together?" She pointed at the stack in front of Honoria.
"Yes, of course. So what's the question tonight? You know it should begin with What, When, How, or Why. No 'yes or no' questions."
Gwen took a floor cushion and joined them in front of the merrily crackling fire.
They all sat thinking for a moment.
Suddenly Isabelle said: "Well, what I really want to know is, of course, … you know… can't we try to ask …?"
"What?"
"Alors, le crime… I mean, perhaps we can find out…"
"Well," Honoria said slowly. "We can try. Thinking about it – I've never asked a 'Who' question. I don't know whether it works."
"Let's have a try," said Gwen, trying to hide her excitement.
"Who murdered Archibald Dusk?"
The words, though not spoken very loudly, seemed to ring through the dimly lit room. Only the crackling of the fire could be heard.
They kept silent, concentrating on the question asked, shuffling the cards one after another.
When they were done with it, Honoria cut the deck into three piles, and let them pick a pile each. Everyone drew a card out of their pile, each one in her own manner: Isabelle fanned them before her, let her hand hover above them, taking her time to chose one. Gwen simply drew one out of the pile, Honoria spread them on the floor, got up and chose one after looking at them for a little while.
Finally Honoria laid the three cards out on the floor, face down, on the beautiful red silk cloth lying in their midst.
"This one is the past, or the root, or the cause," Honoria whispered, pointing at the card on the left side, "this one is … the person in question", she pointed at the card in the centre, "and this one is the future, or a tendency, or the outcome." Now she was pointing at the card on the right side.
She turned up the left card.
"Four of Pentacles."
The card showed a crowned man sitting on a chair, in front of a town, tiny in the background. He had one pentacle over his crown, was clasping another with his arms, two pentacles were lying under his feet.
"What do you see?" Honoria asked softly. "Answer without thinking."
"I see a … a king on a throne. Ruling the world," Isabelle whispered. "He looks at me with piercing eyes."
Gwen blinked: "I see a big town in the distance. And I see a man holding on to his coins." She hated having not to think. And she knew that she wasn't a good observer. "But sitting there with one coin over his head looks a bit ridiculous to me."
"I have known this card as a symbol for the desire of control, for possessiveness and even jealousy." Honoria added. "But what strikes me today is his youth. I've never noticed that before. Let's go on."
She turned up the card in the centre. They all held their breaths.
"Ace of Cups," Honoria whispered nearly inaudibly.
A hand, emerging from a cloud, held a single chalice. Water poured from it in five streams, down into a lake below. Water-lilies were swimming on the lake. Above the chalice a white dove with its beak pointing downwards hovered over a cross-symbol inscribed in a circle.
"I see Peace," Isabelle breathed, "because of the dove, of course. The card lets me think of the christian Communion. Par la barbe de Merlin!"
"The Aces represent the respective element of their suit in its purest form," Honoria said, "which is, in our case, Water. Meaning emotions, feelings, intuition." She held up her hands. "I am at a loss of words."
"I see a 'W' etched into a golden goblet." Gwen said suddenly. "Do we know anyone whose name begins with a 'W'?"
They stared at her. "It wouldn't be that simple, would it?"
"There's Bob, his surname's Warnock," Honoria said finally.
Her colleagues protested, Honoria shrugged: "You wanted a name."
"Firmin Warrington." Isabelle suggested.
"All right, he's not very popular, but thinking he is a murderer…"
"Well, this is only a brainstorming activity."
"And why would anyone from the Brain Room kill Archie?"
"That's true. So, do you think it's someone of the Death Chamber staff?"
"I don't know."
"Anyone there whose name starts with a W?"
"Can't think of anyone. There is Alex Campbell, Ivo Gilmour, Mercia Borthwick, Suplinius Crow, Timothy Oakden, Jacobus Mayfield, Manisha Cullen, Evelyn Anderson, …"
"Those last two are just temporarily there."
"And why on earth would anyone from the Death Chamber kill Archie?"
"But then, why would anyone at all kill him?"
"That's true."
They relapsed into silence.
"I am still wondering what he and Mayfield were investigating in the Death Chamber," Gwen pointed out. "Perhaps that'd be a clue to the mystery." She pressed her teeth together. She shouldn't have blabbed so much.
"Oh, but I know!"
"What!" Gwen and Isabelle looked at Honoria, horrified.