Part 12 (2/2)

'You are to check it every hour on the hour. When you sleep, a.s.sign someone you trust with your life to do it.' For five weeks now Fabon had spent his every waking moment concerned with nothing else.

He looked around, staring at the familiar artefacts. The Chalice of Blood, which every king or queen drank from on their accession day. The Crown of Sherak, Peladon's first king who had tamed the sacred beast Aggedor and appointed him Royal Protector. Most importantly, the Lance of Aggedor. A long, serrated and ceremonial spear with which, according to legend, Sherak drew blood from both Aggedor and himself, mixing it together and therefore a.s.suring the protection every Pel held dear.

Fabon was still admiring it when five inches of tempered steel slid through his back, up into his ribcage and severed his aorta. Silently Fabon fell on to his face, subconsciously grateful that the blade had not gone through to his front, thus ensuring that none of his blood stained the relic room floor.

His murderer reached up and grasped the Lance of Aggedor.

It was never again replaced.

Keri and holocameraman Jav were the first to find Fabon's corpse the following morning. They had arrived at around six o'clock in the morning, local time.

Neal Corry had suggested that some stock shots of the relic room would make for interesting visual wallpaper. He also muttered that they could always cut to it to cover edits if the restatement ceremony got a bit too longwinded. Ever vigilant about dropping ratings, Corry knew that although pageants and feudalism were viewer grabbers, too much of such things were a bit of a switch-off. Quick cuts and s.n.a.t.c.hes of glitz and glamour would keep the punters watching; dreary speeches and incense-waving would put them to sleep. And Corry out of a job.

Jav had moaned, as usual, about starting so early. 'Don't see Corry up and about, d'you?' Keri shook her head. 'Rank has its privileges, Jav,' was her only reply.

Oddly enough, Corry was on the scene of the murder within moments, looking spruce and tidy; like a peac.o.c.k on heat, Jav muttered. The fussy little man was mincing about, telling Jav where to point the camera, how long to stay panning up the body and generally annoying Jav to his limits.

Keri stood to one side, a false smile on her lips every time Corry nodded excitedly at her. She'd been covering death and destruction most of her professional life. One more dead body was neither here nor there. She couldn't help feeling, though, that Corry was letting enthusiasm overtake taste. One stabbed corpse hardly const.i.tuted a slot of prime-time news.

I know what you're thinking, Keri my little fuzzbox,' crooned Corry as he sauntered towards her. 'But think about it. Primitive backwater planet, still half uncivilized. Important local pageant, lots of Federation bigwigs and BANG!' He clapped his hands together loudly, causing Jav and the three Pel guards to briefly look toward him. Unperturbed, Corry waved his hands around. A murder! Who will be next? The Martian high lord? The king?

The beautiful holovid reporter?' He put his chubby hands either side of Keri's snout and stroked her jaws. 'Now, that would be a real tragedy!' As Corry went back to annoying the h.e.l.l out of Jav, Keri wiped her jaws with her paws. Whatever his faults, Corry was on the whole a bearable human.

He was clean, tidy and although excitable, never disturbed and rarely angry. She even found his obvious and frequently unsuccessful attempts to charm younger male humans rather amusing. However, going by his scent and the amount of sweat that had rubbed on to her jaws, Keri decided that the outwardly jovial Neal Corry that had just spoken to her was in fact a deeply troubled, almost frightened man. Now, that was newsworthy.

Savaar strode into the relic room an hour later with Sskeet, as always, one pace behind. The Martian high lord had instructed the room to be emptied of all personnel so that he could conduct his detective work. He knew Corry's reputation well enough to know that the ridiculous human would have taken great pains to disturb nothing. However much of a nuisance he and his holovid people were on Peladon, Corry and the Pakha Ker'a'nol didn't get their reputations by making silly mistakes.

Savaar was furious to see the Doctor sitting cross-legged on the floor, beside the crudely chalked outline where Fabon had fallen.

The Doctor's back was to the door but he heard Savaar's sharp intake of breath and smiled to himself.

'Good morning, my Lord,' he said without getting up or turning around.

I gave explicit instructions that this room was to be empty. I imagine you have a very good excuse for this blatant disregard for my ruling?'

The Doctor used his feet to lever himself upright, turned and walked towards Savaar. He stopped, his face about level with the Martian's neck.

Slowly he looked up and grinned. I'm awfully sorry if I'm in your way, High Lord. I wasn't aware that you had been formally put in charge of this . . .

investigation.'

In situations like this, Doctor, the highest-ranking official always take charge.'

Oh, indeed,' the Doctor turned away and walked back to the outline. 'My mistake. I a.s.sumed that King Tarrol outranked you. Obviously Federation egotism is as over inflated as ever.' He dug his hand into the pocket of his white linen jacket and extracted a piece of blue chalk. He dropped to the floor again and started looking under a trophy cabinet. A quiet, controlled hiss from the doorway made him look up again. 'Please, don't let me stop you doing your investigation, my Lord.' The Doctor smiled disarmingly and returned to his burrowing under the cabinet.

'Doctor,' came Savaar's exasperated response, f you are trying to annoy me, be gratified. You are succeeding admirably.'

The Doctor popped up again, but all trace of humour or cheerfulness had gone from his face. Instead he fixed Savaar with a penetrating stare that dared him to say anything else.

'Rest a.s.sured, Lord Savaar, I neither intend to annoy you nor really care if I do. I too am here to do a job. Something is very wrong on Peladon. I sensed it when we arrived yesterday. I sensed it during our meal last night.

I sensed it during your little chat-ette with Lianna outside my room last night. Above all, 1 sense it in this room where an innocent old man was rather expertly murdered. Mystery is my business, my Lord. If you don't like it, contact your Federation masters and have me removed. Meanwhile, I suggest you learn to put up with me as I realize I have to put up with you!'

Unaccustomed to making long speeches, the Doctor, now slightly ruddy-faced, tugged at his jacket lapels, ran a hand through his hair and clutched his umbrella to his chest.

Normally Savaar would have found the sight of a scruffy little human in shabby clothes, armed only with a red handled umbrella rather pathetic; amusing at best. Confronted with the anger in the Doctor's voice and something totally alien and rather unpalatable in his brown eyes (or were they in fact black?), the Martian merely nodded at him. Rather quieter than he intended, Savaar raised his clamped hands in an open gesture. I suggest, Doctor, that a pooling of our resources may be in order. To determine as swiftly and concisely as possible the exact threat that this murder poses to both the Federation representatives and, of course, to His Majesty the King.'

If Martian exo-helmets allowed expression to show through, Sskeet's face would have been a picture of astonishment and incredulity at his commander's words. However, masked as it was, the only difference the Doctor noted was that Sskeet's right arm, with its deadly sonic armament built into the wrist, drooped noticeably at Savaar's words. In an instant, the Doctor's demeanour changed and he tossed his umbrella into a corner. As he slipped off his jacket and draped it over an ornate chair, he grinned at the two Martians. 'Well, let's get started, then. I'll carry on at floor level, the two of you are better suited to window-level duty, I think.'

As Bernice wandered into the Federation Representatives' dining area she was unsurprised to see Damakort already stuffing himself with a Peladon version of bacon and eggs. A steaming jug of caffeine subst.i.tute sat beside his plate. He looked up at her and grinned. A trickle of egg yolk escaped from the corner of his mouth and with unaccustomed embarra.s.sment he wiped it away with a napkin. He pointed to the seat opposite him with his fork.

'Morning Professor,' he said, trying to speak as politely as possible with a mouthful of food. 'Heard about the murder?' Bernice nodded quietly and sat. He pushed the caffeine jug towards her. She took a pewter mug from a metallic mug-tree and poured herself some.

A couple of sips later and she felt more alive.

Kort finished his food with a final flourish of his knife and fork. He sat back in his chair and swallowed. I've been to a few planets where breakfast is unheard of. Glad Peladon isn't one of them. Shall I order you something?'

'No!' Benny said a little too sharply. I mean, no thank you. I didn't get much sleep last night, I don't think I could face food.'

'Ah, too much booze, eh?' said a gentle voice from the door. Bernice turned and smiled as Nic Reece walked over. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

'You really know how to put it away, Professor.'

Bernice shook her head. 'G.o.d, I'm not hung over. I've been drinking for too many years for that. No, I was just thinking too much and too long last night.'

'What about? Anything I can do to help?'

'Just things. Private things really. But nothing that seems important this morning.'

Isn't that always the way?' Reece helped himself to a mug and some caffeine. He looked over at Kort who held a hand up. Bernice accepted a top-up. 'You spend hours thinking something through. Worrying or planning. Then you eventually get two hours sleep and when you wake up, it all looks totally different.'

Bernice drained her mug. I guess you're right.'

'We aim to please. Nic Reece: dreams explored, advice offered, art treasures priced and Pel high priestesses annoyed. A good trade if you can manage it.'

Bernice laughed for what, she suddenly realized, seemed the first time in days.

Kort noisily slurped the dregs of his drink, and the other two looked over.

'Sorry,' he lied.

'So, tell me, Professor, what brings you to fair Peladon? I hardly imagine royal events are your forte.' Reece finished his drink and poured himself another.

Bernice looked at him. She'd met a lot of people in her rather hectic life.

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