Darkness was falling, and the first stars sprinkled the inky black sky. A soft clattering in the kitchen announced that Wookey was doing the dishes. Dinner had been delicious.
Gwen shut the window of her sitting room, extinguished her cigarette and took a record from the stack lying beside the gramophone. She put it on the turntable and placed the needle in the groove. Then she turned the handle, knowing by now what the correct speed was.
She laid down on her back on a sheep skin in front of the warm and pleasant chimney fire, took off her glasses and joined her hands in her neck. With closed eyes she listened to Mozart's piano concert # 23. The crackling of the fire mixed with the crackling of the old record. Nap snuggled beside her head, sighing contentedly.
Gwen tried to think of nothing else but the music. Nevertheless memories crept up in her mind, like Norma, smiling at her when she was listening to classical music (Norma had preferred the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, and The Doors), Crow, in the Death Chamber office, sneering at her, Jon looking at her helplessly, Archibald lying on the floor near the Arch…
A sudden knock at the front door waked her. She put on her glasses and sprang to her feet, while Nap squeaked indignantly and took flight. The sitting room was silent, the concert was over, and Wookey was neither seen or heard. She must have left. I must had fallen asleep! Gwen thought, still a bit bleary.
There was a second, somewhat louder knocking, and Gwen padded to the door. "Who's there?" she asked.
"It's me, Miss Carthew," she heard her elderly neighbour reply. "I saw the light in your sitting room and I've brought you a jar of violet jelly."
Gwen hurried to open the door and let her in.
"Oh, I'm so sorry I've woken you up," Miss Carthew noticed at once. Gwen tried to smooth down her tousled brown curls.
"No problem, Miss Carthew; I, too, wanted a word."
Miss Carthew followed her into the sitting room.
"Thank you so much, Miss Carthew, I love self-made jelly and marmalade," Gwen said, "but do sit down, please. I'll put on the kettle for some tea. Would you like some music?"
"With pleasure," Miss Carthew said.
"What would you like to hear?" she asked, putting a log on the fire.
"I'm fine with the concert you were listening to before," the old lady chuckled.
Gwen put on the tone arm again, and turned the handle of the gramophone.
When she returned from the kitchen with the steaming teapot, Miss Carthew was leaning back on the sofa, eyes shut, moving her wispy hands in an elegant fashion, like a conductor.
Gwen poured them a cup of rooibos tea, and put the pot on a warmer.
After exchanging the usual politenesses Gwen came to the point rather briskly.
"Miss Carthew, do you know how to recognise a horcrux?"
The old lady cast her an apprehensive glance. "Now, my dear, you're asking some very intriguing questions. Why in Merlin's name are you interested in such dark magic?"
"Well, I think I've finally found out what the victim and his colleague were working on." Gwen sipped her tea. "I've also learnt who found the victim."
"Wise move to try to find out what he was working on," Miss Carthew nodded approvingly, a smile wrinkling her eyes and mouth so that her face seemed to glitter in the light of the crackling fire. "So you think he was working on horcruxes – in the Department of Mysteries? Who says so? And would that be permitted?" She took up her tea cup.
Gwen pondered: "Honoria told us." She told Miss Carthew what Honoria had recounted last Saturday evening.
"Isn't that the Trance and Prophecy witch who also works in the Brain Room? I've seen her in your house, haven't I?"
Gwen nodded.
"Isn't she that tree-hugger witch?"
"She loves being outside, and she is very open-minded," Gwen defended her colleague. "But she is also very intelligent."
"I didn't mean that deprecatingly, I just want to make sure who she is. Now I know. How long has she been working for the Ministry?"
"For a rather long time, I think." Gwen took off her glasses, absentmindedly, and wiped them on her pale pink robe. "Five or six years. Why do you ask?" You sound a bit like Mrs Beresford, she thought.
"I am just trying to get an idea of the people in your Department. Someone must be the murderer, or an accomplice of the murderer."
Gwen tried to take that in. "Yes, you may be right. There might be a murderer among us. Merlin's beard, I still find it incredible. But Honoria…"
"I just want to determine how reliable her statement is."
"She may seem a bit … exotic and she has a mind of her own, but she's got a lot of common sense. Regarding whether this kind of work would be allowed – I'm not sure. Our Department has always been granted a lot of concessions, but …"
"Do you think Agatha Hill knew of this?"
"I don't know. But I don't want to ask her either. At least not now. Perhaps later."
The fire crackled merrily, Gwen poured them a second cup of tea and offered some Cornish fairings.
"As to your question how to identify a horcrux," Miss Carthew continued, "I must disappoint you, I've never studied or worked on this field of magic. I only know that a horcrux is an object in which a dark wizard or witch conceals part of his or her soul, after having split the same by – murder."
Gwen nodded, munching a biscuit. That was all she knew about those terrible magical instruments, too.
"You wanted to tell me who found the body."
"Timothy Oakden. He works in the Death Chamber. On ghosts. Blond, good-natured, hearty chap. Married. Two children." Sounds like a police record, Gwen thought.
Miss Carthew nodded, but seemed engrossed in thought.
"Ah, and he reported the murder at a quarter past eight."
Miss Carthew looked up: "And at what time was the murder committed?"
"I don't know."
"Perhaps you can ask your ex school-mate?" Miss Carthew cocked her head. Gwen grinned.
"Now listen, Gwendolyn. We need more information. More information about the murder, and more information about the victim," Miss Carthew stated very decidedly.
Gwen's grin deepened, in spite of the effort this request might involve: "What do you suggest?"
"Who is the person who knows the victim best? His widow, I suppose."
"Or his ex-wife. But it'll be easier for me to deal with his widow."
"You should try both. Yet without attracting attention. You must be careful."
"Well, the widow has, in fact, tried to get in contact with me before. I haven't spoken to her since the funeral," she said ruefully. "I'll try to get in touch with her again."
She had a plan, but first of all, she needed her new spell to work.
~ooOOooOOooOOooOOoo~
Friday, 27 May 1994
"I need your help." Gwen heard herself say to Suplinius Crow, who was sitting in front of her behind his desk. She asked herself for the umpteenth time why in Merlin's name she had to work with him of all people.
"Have you proceeded with your research on the auxiliary brain?" Crow asked silkily, without looking up from the big volume he was studying.
"I am actually finished. And I think I've got the solution. But I'd rather you helped me upholding the spell when I work with the victim's brain."
If Crow was surprised, he didn't let it show. "Do you need my help immediately?" he asked in a bored tone of voice.
Gwen felt a burning anger slowly rising inside her. She took a deep breath, grabbed the amethysts on her breast, and said loudly: "Immediately."
When he got up swiftly, she had an inkling of what her today's tarot card, Nine of Wands, meant. It showed a figure leaning upon a staff with an expectant look, as if awaiting an enemy. The figure was standing in front of eight other staves, erect, in orderly disposition, like a palisade. She knew that one of the meanings of this card was 'Perseverance'.
~ooOOoo~
Some minutes later, they both held their wands onto the deceased's brain while Gwen searched and probed. In the course of their special investigation Gwen's movements had become even more precise and accurate than usual. Finally she found something and performed a complicated movement, mumbling a spell. Seconds trickled by like long dark hours. She pressed her lips together.
A pearly-white gossamer strand was hovering on the tip of her wand. She focussed as much as was possible, and felt that Crow was doing the same. Slowly, carefully they extracted the memory and Crow preserved it with the help of the usual spell in a vial containing the necessary violet-coloured liquid. Then, after adding some drops of the special pale pink liquid, which was needed when dealing with memories from a conserved brain, Gwen put the memory into the pensieve she had obtained from the Brain Room.
Gwen beamed proudly, and even Crow nodded appreciatively.
"We did it!" she said, pleased. "Let's look at it in the pensieve."
~ooOOoo~
They were both standing beside the basin and plunged into it. Gwen saw Crow's slim black-clad figure landing at her side. They were standing in a Ministry corridor. I know this place, Gwen thought, then slapped herself on the forehead, which made no sound inside the pensieve. It was the Fourth Floor corridor. Archibald Dusk was talking to a heavily-built wizard with a black moustache, whom she only knew from sight and hearsay.
"I know," Dusk was just saying to Macnair, knitting his fingers nervously. "But what is it to you to wait some more days?"
He was obviously pleading.
"What it is to me?" Macnair's small eyes bored mercilessly into Dusk's. "I'm not a darned goblin."
Dusk was looking a picture of misery. "I'm doing the best I can."
"You'd better, " Macnair growled menacingly. "Tomorrow. Same time as today. And that's my last word."
The scene blurred.
Gwen and Crow went up again and got out of the pensieve.
"That was Walden Macnair," Gwen announced. "What dealings did Dusk have with him?"
"How come you know Macnair?" asked Crow surprised, nearly impressed.
"I don't know him, just his name," replied Gwen defensively. "Do you know more about him?" she asked, putting some emphasis on the personal pronoun.
The greyish-green wormwood started singing the song One fine day.
"I know he works for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, that's all," Crow answered softly, but Gwen had the impression he was withholding something from her.
"Well then, what are you going to do now, Miss Bale? Trying to extract some more memories?"
"I don't think that would be recommendable. The Extracting frequency should be raised gradually. I think I'll prepare an interim report for Mrs Hill, and Mrs Beresford."
And I'm trying to ask Eleanor what this conversation means, Gwen thought.
During the week she had joined Eleanor in the Cenaculum, as well as beckoned her to sit with Isabelle and her whenever the opportunity arose. Eleanor had seemed glad about it, since – as a relative newcomer in the Department of Mysteries – she had not yet been able to make a lot of friends in the Planet Room. Isabelle had seemed surprised, but didn't mention it, trusting that Gwen would explain in due time.
~ooOOooOOooOOooOOoo~