Master Sean chuckled. “Well, if it were up to me to hire him, my lord, I don’t think he’d pass my employment specifications.”

“Neatly put,” Lord Darcy said with a smile. “And by the way, did you examine the knife closely?”

“Sir James’ contact cutter? I did.”

“So did I, when it was on the floor of Sir James’ hotel room yesterday. I should like to call your attention to the peculiar condition of that knife.”

Master Sean frowned. “But… there was nothing peculiar about the condition of that knife.”

“Precisely. That was the peculiar condition.”

While Master Sean thought that over, Lord Darcy said: “Now to another matter.” He sat down and turned over a page of the report. Master Sean settled himself in his chair and put the spoon back on his plate.

“You say here that Sir James died between 9:25 and 9:35, eh?”

“That’s according to the chirurgical and thaumaturgical evidence. Since I meself heard him cry out at precisely half past nine — give or take half a minute — I can say that Sir James died between 9:30 and 9:35.”

“Very well,” Lord Darcy said. “But he was stabbed at approximately five minutes of nine. Now, as I understand it, the psychic patterns show both the time of the stabbing and the time of death.” He flipped over a page of the report. “And the death thrust cut down and into the wall of the pulmonic aorta, but did not actually open that great blood vessel itself. There was a thin integument of the arterial wall still intact. The wound was, however, severe enough to cause him to fall into shock. He was mortally wounded, then, at that time.”

“Well, my lord,” Master Sean said. “It might not have been a mortal wound. It is possible that a good Healer, if he had arrived in time, might have saved Sir James’ life.”

“Because the pulmonic aorta was not actually cut into, eh?”

“That’s right. If that artery had actually been severed at that time, Master Sir James would have been dead before he struck the floor. When that artery is cut open the drop in blood pressure and the loss of blood cause unconsciousness in a fraction of a second. The heart goes into fibrillation and death occurs very shortly thereafter.”

Lord Darcy nodded. “I see. But the wall was not breached. It was cut almost through but not completely. Then, after lying on the floor for half an hour or better, Sir James heard your knock, which brought him out of his shock-induced stupor. He tried to lift himself from the floor, grabbing at his desk, upon which lay, among other things, his key.” He paused and frowned. “Obviously his shout to you was a shout for help, and he wanted to get his key to unlock the door for you.” He tapped a finger on the report. “This exertion caused the final rupture of the aorta wall. His life’s blood gushed forth upon the floor, he dropped the key, and died. Is that your interpretation of it, Master Sean?”

Master Sean nodded. “That’s the way it seems to me, my lord. Both the thaumaturgical and the chirurgical evidence corroborate each other.”

“I agree completely, Master Sean,” Lord Darcy said. He flipped over a few more pages. “No drugs or poisons, then.”

“Not unless somebody used a substance that is unknown to the Official Pharmacopoeia. I performed a test for every one of ’em, and unless God Himself has repealed the Law of Similarity, Master Sir James was neither poisoned nor drugged.”

Lord Darcy flipped over another page. “And the brain and skull were both undamaged… no bruises… no fractures… yes.” He turned to another section of the report. “Now, we come to the thaumaturgical section. According to your tests, all the blood in the room was Master Sir James’?”

“It was, my lord.”

“And what of that curious half-moon stain near the door?”

“It was definitely Sir James’ blood.”

Lord Darcy nodded. “As I suspected,” he said. “Now, according to the thaumaturgical tests, there was no one in the room except Sir James at the time he was stabbed. This corresponds to the information on Georges Barbour that we have from Cherbourg.” He smiled. “Master Sean, I well understand that you can only put scientifically provable facts in a report like this, but do you have any suggestion, any guess, anything that will help me?”

“I shall try, my lord,” said Master Sean slowly. “Well, as I told you yesterday, I should be able to detect the operation of a black sorcerer. As you are aware, the ankh is almost infallible as a detector of evil.” He took a deep breath. “And now that we know the culpability of Master Ewen MacAlister, his operations should be easy to detect.”

Then Master Sean pointed at the sheaf of paper in front of Lord Darcy. “But I will not — I cannot — go back on what I said there.” He took another deep breath. “My lord, I can find no trace of any kind of magic — black or white — associated with the murder of Master Sir James Zwinge. There was no…”

He was interrupted by a rap on the door. “Yes,” Lord Darcy said with a touch of impatience in his voice, “who is it?”

“Father Patrique,” came the voice from the other side of the door.

Lord Darcy’s irritation vanished. “Ah, come in, Reverend Sir.”

The door opened and a tall, rather pale man in Benedictine habit entered the room. “Good morning, my lord; good morning, Master Sean,” he said with a smile. “I see you are well this morning, my lord.”

“In your hands, Reverend Father, how could I be otherwise? Can I be of service to you?”

“I believe you can — and be of service to yourself at the same time, if I may say so.”

“In what way, Father?”

The priest looked gravely thoughtful. “Under ordinary conditions,” he said carefully, “I cannot, as you know, discuss a penitent’s confession with anyone. But in this case I have been specifically requested by the penitent to speak to you.”

“The Damoselle Tia, I presume,” said Lord Darcy.

“Of course. She has told her story twice — once to me, and once to Sir Thomas Leseaux.” He looked at Master Sean, who was solemnly nodding his head up and down. “Ah, you follow me, Master Sorcerer.”

“Oh, certainly, Your Reverence. The classic trilogy. Once to the Church, once to the loved one, and” — he gestured respectfully toward Lord Darcy — “once to the temporal authorities.”

“Exactly,” said the priest. “It will complete the Healing.” He looked back at Lord Darcy, who had already risen from his chair. “I will give you no further details, my lord; it is best that you hear them for yourself. But she is well aware that it was you who saved her life last night, and you must understand that you must not depreciate your part in the matter.”

“I think I understand, Reverend Father. May I ask you a couple of questions before we go in?”

“Certainly. As long as they do not require me to violate my vows, I shall answer them.”

“They have merely to do with the spell that was cast over her last evening. Does she remember anything that happened after Master Ewen cast his black enchantment upon her?”

Father Patrique shook his head. “She does not. She will explain to you.”

“Yes, but what bothers me, Reverend Father, is the speed and ease with which it was done. I was watching. One moment she was coherent, in full possession of her senses, the next she was an automaton, obeying his every word. I was not aware that sorcerers had such power over others.”

“Oh, good Heavens, it can’t be done that quickly,” said Master Sean. “Not at all, my lord! Not even the most powerful of black sorcerers could take over another’s mind just by waving his hand that way.”

“Not even Satan himself can take over a human mind without some preparation, my lord,” said Father Patrique. “Master Ewen must have prepared preliminary spells before that time. He would have had to, for the spell to have been as effective as it was.”

“I seem to recall,” said Lord Darcy, “that at the last Triennial Convention, a footpad made the foolish mistake of attacking a Master Sorcerer on the street during the last night of the Convention. The sorcerer informed the Armsmen shortly thereafter what had happened. He himself was unharmed, but the footpad was paralyzed from the neck down, completely unable to move. It was a brilliant piece of work, I admit; the spell was such that it could not be removed until the criminal made a full and complete confession of his crime — which meant, of course, that the sorcerer need not appear in Court against him. But that spell must have been cast in a matter of seconds.”