On the top of the harpsichord was a framed portrait； a hololith of Aen Froigre； smiling。
I picked it up and studied it。
'The last portrait of him；' she said。 'Taken at the fete。 My last connection with him。'
'Where did he die？'
'The Folly；' said Lady Froigre。 'He died in the Folly。'
THE WOODS WERE damp and dark。 Boughs creaked in the late afternoon wind and odd birdsong thrilled from the shadows。
The Folly was a stone drum capped by a slate needle。 Inside； it was bare and terribly musty。 Sand doves fluttered up in the roof spaces。
Cobwebs glazed the bare windows。
'This is where I found him；' said a voice from behind me。
I turned。 Rinton Froigre stooped in under the doorframe。 He was a well…made boy of twenty…five； with his mother's lush red hair。 His
eyes had a curious； hooded aspect。
'Rinton。'
'Sir；' he bowed slightly。
'Was he dead when you found him？'
'No； inquisitor。 He was laughing and talking。 He liked to come up here。 He loved the Folly。 I came up to thank him for the fete that he
had thrown in my honour。 We were talking together when suddenly he went into convulsions。 Just minutes later； before I could
summon help； he was dead。'
I didn't know Rinton Froigre well； though his service record was very respectable； and I knew his father had been proud of him。 Aen
had never mentioned any animosity from his son； but in any noble house there is always the spectre of succession to consider。 Rinton
had been alone with his father at the time of death。 He was a seasoned soldier； undoubtedly no stranger to the act of killing。
I kept an open mind … literally。 Even without any invasive mental probing； it is possible for a psionic of my ability to sense surface
thoughts。 There was no flavour of deceit about Rinton's person； though I could feel carefully contained loss； and the tingle of
trepidation。 Small wonder； I considered。 Uncommon are the citizens of the Imperium who do not register anxiety at being quizzed by
an inquisitor of the Holy Ordos。
There was no point pressing him now。 Rinton's story might easily be put to the test with an auto…seance； during which psychometric
techniques would simply reveal the truth of his father's last moments to me。
Rinton walked me back to the Hall； and left me to my ponderings in Aen's study。 It was as he had left it； I was told。
The room was half…panelled and lined for the most part with glazed shelves of neatly bound books and data…slates。 Discreet glowglobes
hovered around the edges of the room at head…height； set to a low luminosity； and a selection of scroll…backed couches and
over…stuffed chairs were arranged in front of the high…throated ceramic fireplace with its wood…burning fusion stove。
The desk； under the diamond…paned west windows； was a wide crescent of polished duralloy floated a metre off the carpet by passive
suspensor pods。 The desk was clean and bare。
I sat at it； depressing slightly the hydraulics of the writing chair … I was half a head taller than Aen Froigre。 I studied the mirrorsmooth；
slightly raked surface of the desk。 There was no sign of any control panel； but a gentle wave of my hand across it woke up
heat…sensitive touch…plates engraved into the duralloy's finish。 I touched a few； but they needed Aen's touch … probably a combination
of palmprint and genekey … to unlock them。
That； or inquisition…grade software。 I unpinned my Inquisitorial rosette； which I had been wearing on the sternum of a my black
leather coat； and slid open the signal port。 Holding it low over the desk； I force fed the touch…plates with several magenta…level
security override programs。 It gave up the fight almost at once； opening systems without even the need for passwords。
Built into the stylish desk … an item of furniture that had clearly cost Aen a lot of money … was a fairly powerful cogitator； a vox…pict
uplink； a message archive； two filing archives； and a master control for the simple； limited electronic systems built into the Hall。
Separate pages of each file and message could be displayed as a facsimile on the blotter plate and a touch of a finger turned them or
put them away。 Aen had destroyed all paper records。
I played with it for some time； but the most interesting thing I found was a log of invoices for services provided at the fete； and a list
of the invitations。 I copied both into my own data…slate。
Alizebeth and Gabon arrived while I was busy with that。 Alizebeth had been interviewing the household staff； and Gabon had been
out； walking the grounds。
'There were over nine hundred guests here； sir；' he said； 'and maybe another five hundred players； musicians； entertainers and carnival
folk。'
'Where from？'
'Menizerre； mostly；' he replied。 'Local entertainers； a few troubadours and some street tumblers from the biweekly textile market。 The
biggest individual groups were Kalikin's Company； an acclaimed troupe of travelling actors； and Sunsable's Touring Fair； who
provided the games and rides and diversions。'
I nodded。 Gabon was as thorough as usual。 A short； spare man in his one fifties with cropped black hair and a bushy moustache； he
had been with the Dorsay Arbites for about seventy years before retiring into private service。 He wore a simple； refined dark blue suit
that had been ingeniously tailored to hide the fact that he was wearing a handgun in a shoulder rig。
'What about you？' I asked Alizebeth。 She sat down on one of the couches。
'Nothing scintillating。 The staff seem genuinely shocked and upset at the death。 They all react with outrage at the idea your friend
might have had any enemies。'
'It seems quite clear to me that he did have some；' I said。
Alizebeth reached into the folds of her gown and fished out a small； hard object。 She tossed it across onto the desk top and it landed
with a tap。
There it extended four； multi…jointed limbs and scurried across onto my palm。
I turned the wriggling poison…snooper over and pressed the recessed stud on its belly。 A little ball of hololithic energy coalesced above
its head…mounted projector and I read it as slowly scrolled around on its own axis。
'Traces of Iho； obscura and several other class II and III narcotics in the garden area and the staff quarters。 Penshel seed traces found in
the stable block。 More lho； as well as listeria and e。 coli in small amounts in the kitchen section… hmmm…'
Alizebeth shrugged。 'The usual mix of recreational drugs one might expect； none in large quantities； and the kitchens's as hygienic as
anywhere。 You'd probably get the same sort of readings from Spaeton House。'
'Probably。 Penshel seeds； they're quite unusual。'
'A very mild stimulant；' said Gabon。 'I didn't know anyone still used that stuff。 Time was； it was the drug of choice in the artists'
quarter of Dorsay； back when I was on the force。 The seeds are dried； rolled and smoked in pipes。 A little bohemian； an old man's
smoke。'
'Most of the outdoor traces can be put down to the visiting entertainers；' I mused； 'plus a little off…duty pleasure from the staff or looseliving
guests。 What about the stable block？ Are any of Froigre's ostlers penshel smokers？'
Alizebeth shook her head。 'They'd cleared large parts of the stable area to provide spaces for the fair stall…holders。'
I put the snooper down on the desk and it wriggled back and forth for a few moments until it got enough purchase to right itself。 'So
nothing untoward； in fact。 And certainly no significant toxins。'
'None at all；' said Alizebeth。
Damn。 Given the description of Aen's death； I had been quite sure poison was the key； perhaps some assassin's sophisticated toxin that
had not shown up on the initial medicae report。 But Alizebeth's snooper was high…grade and thorough。
'What do we do now？' she asked。
I passed her my data…slate。 'Send the contents of this to Aemos by direct vox…link。 See what he can come up with。'
Uber Aemos was my ancient and trusted savant。 If anyone could see a pattern or make a connection； it was him。
EVENING FELL。 I went outside； alone。 I felt annoyed and frustrated。 In fact； I felt thwarted。 I'd come there as a favour to my old friend's
widow； offering my services； and in most respects I perial inquisitor； and this was most likely just a job
for the local arbites。 I had expected to have the entire matter sewn up in a few hours； to settle things swiftly in a quick； unofficial
investigation； and leave with the thanks of the family for sparing them a long； drawn…out inquest。
But the clues just weren't there。 There was no motive； no obvious antagonist； no aggressor； but still it seemed likely that Aen Froigre
had been killed。 I looked at the medicae report again； hoping to find something that would establish natural causes。
Nothing。 Something； someone； had taken my friend's life； but I couldn't tell what or who or why。
The evening skies were dark； stained a deep violet and smeared with chasing milky clouds。 An early moon shone； passing behind the
running trails of cloud every minute or so。 A wind was gathering； and the stands of trees beside the lawn were beginning to sway and
swish。 The leaves made a cold sound； like rain。
I walked over to my flyer； popped the cargo trunk and took out Barbarisater。 I slowly freed it from its silk bindings and drew the long；
gleaming blade from its machined scabbard。 Barbarisater had been an heirloom sword； a psychically…attuned weapon from the forges
of distant Carthae and slaved to the minds of the generations of warrior women who had wielded it。 Enhancing its strength with
pentagrammic wards； I had used the long sabre in my battle against the heretic Quixos； during which struggle it had been broken
below the tip。 Master swordsmiths had remade the blade from the broken main portion； creating a shorter； straighter blade by rounding
off and edging the break and reducing the hilt。 A good deal smaller than its old self； now more a single…handed rapier than a hand…anda…
half sabre； it was still a potent weapon。
Naked； in my hand； it hummed and whined as my mind ran mrough it and made it resonate。 The incised wards glowed and sobbed out
faint wisps of smoke。 I walked out over the grass under the seething trees； holding the blade out before me like a dowsing rod；
sweeping the scene； letting the blade…tip slide along the invisible angles of space。 Twice； o