The Poems of Madam Albithurst: A Crime Scene

I suppose, as it was the first thing that caught my eye when I entered the room, I must first describe the splatter of blood that covered the bone white flower petals of the potted plant as it rested on the sideboard.

It rather put me in mind of a particular pattern I had seen before: that of a curiously spotted animal that caught my eye over the edge of a Golden Howdah during one of my many jaunts. I do so adore my jaunts, as there are truly few times that one can truly be surprised anymore, except when one finds oneself surrounded by all manner of beings in a cramped ship carrying one between one place and an entirely other.

But oh! How impolite of me. Perhaps you have never ridden a Golden Howdah? I have been recently been made aware that I am of a particular station among the Myriad Worlds, (Imagine! Me!) a station which allows for a certain flexibility of capital that others do not have. I will not apologize for my good fortune, as it was the result of a great number of confluencing events outside of my control, though since my learning of this inequality, I have donated a substantial sum to those seeing to redress the imbalance.

So perhaps you have ridden the Golden Howdahs. It is indeed a shame if you have not. Nowhere else among the Myriad Worlds these days can you find a place so full of the diverse and intricate designs of the universe. Merchants wandering up and down the isles, selling everything from black and brown sticks of dried leaf, to silver and glowing magics that cause no end of commotion. I have had the most charming conversations with species I have never seen again on the Golden Howdahs. I have learned more than I have ever learned from dreary lecture halls or informative novellas. I have experienced things that I find my self quite unable to describe, to my everlasting shame and regret.

But I remember each and every ride I have ever taken, for each one is a story in and of itself. Perhaps some day I will write a poem about each one, a collection of my travels writ in finest verse. But alas, that is not the poem I am writing now. No, now I am telling you about a particular animal. Peculiar, in fact, not only because of its size, shape, and manner, but because it also attracted the eye of the gentleman sitting next to me, and he took the opportunity to educate me as to the beast’s taxonomy.

“It’s a gowoundit,” he said, with a smooth voice of honey and brine. His bristled mandibles clattered and clopped with self-satisfaction. “They sail between the worlds on wings of effervescent string. See there? That shimmer, ah! How exquisite, the way the light slides off their backs. Such a unique pattern, as well. I daresay, the gowoundits I’ve seen are usually striped.”

Now let no being say I am not a polite conversationalist, and while I certainly found his eagerness to portray some level of education beyond mine own boorish, to say the least, the gentleman had provided me with a great deal of entertainment and satisfaction to this point, so I said: “Seen many, have you? I have spent many years sailing the Velvet, and I have never seen but this one.”

“Very rare,” the gentleman waggled his eyebrows and his mustache in tandem, creating a marvelously amusing effect. “Very rare, the gowoundit. Stay away from the Howdahs, they do. Usually, that is.” At this point in the conversation, the gentleman spared a moment to rub his forearm over his eyes before continuing. Perhaps, I thought, to give him a moment to collect his thoughts. “Yes, very rare, the gowoundit. Seeing one is considered quite lucky.”

Now I daresay that I have heard of a great many things that are considered lucky, and so I was filled with the familiar desire to learn more. I said: “And this one with spots, instead of stripes. How interesting. Do you suppose it is a different species?”

“Could be, could be,” the gentleman answered, after once more rubbing his eyes with his forelimb. And that was the end of it, as I could tell he was uncomfortable speaking any more out of his depth than he already had. I did not blame him, nor do I still, because stretching beyond ones own experience or education is, I daresay, the easiest way to find one’s self in a large amount of otherwise avoidable trouble.

So instead, I turned back to the beast as it floated past our seats. I leaned my elbow on the railing, and rested my chin on my glove to allow for a more relaxed observation, as the shimmering pale form sailed along, its sapphire eyes glinting in the distant starlight.

It was this that the blood-splatter put me in mind of, for the blood had long since dried, and the dark brown contrasted in a similar manner to the pale white of the flower petals. As I approached the side-board, however, the effect was lost, as the splatter became larger in my vision, and the gowoundit had remained at quite a distance from our vessel.

I was filled with the desire, as I approached, to touch the petals; to slip my lace glove from my hand and brush the gentle curves of the potted flora, to grasp but a moment of sensation that I had never felt before: a blood-splattered flower. How delightfully Gothic!

But alas, I knew that Sir Venriki de’Laisey would be quite irritated if I were to disturb anything, and while I have, in my life, found endless amusement causing his nose to bristle like the back of a frightened pig, I had not seen the lad in ages, and did not wish for our first meeting in years to be tainted with even the slightest amount of impropriety.

So it was with great effort and shame that I restrained myself, kept my hands close and clasped at my front. How odd, the mixture of satisfaction and regret. I had not controlled myself in such a manner ever since joining the Guild, and I daresay I found myself out of practice.

Do you not find that, in times of great inner conflict, when you feel you must do something you think is at once both right and not right to do, that you invent excuses both bizarre and profound? I did so, quite verbosely, as I walked through the room, clenching my fists to keep from brushing the walls and feeling the upholstery. Never before had I considered that closing myself off to any avenue of sensation might be considered polite, much less proper.

But this was, it must be said, the first time in my life I had been allowed access to a crime-scene so early in the investigation. Of course I had read about them. Many are my fellow guilds-folk who have wormed their way into any number of investigations and macabre dealings; so much so that many of their poems read like mysteries. A shame, no?

But now it was my turn, and I daresay I had no idea at the time why dear de’Laisey had asked for me to visit him in such unpleasant surroundings. It had to do something with his business, of course. As Captain in the Anointed Bulwark, such an act of violence was undoubtedly ‘in his wheelhouse,’ as he was so fond of saying.

I am ashamed to say, as I waited patiently and painfully, not touching anything in that brightly lit room, I succumbed to a flight of curious fancy. I presumed that de’Laisey had been greatly disappointed in how long it had been since last we had shared a meal together, and so had taken it upon himself to rectify this tragedy in a timely manner. He had called me to his place of business, no doubt, so as to invite me to tea, or a late lunch even, once he had finished with his sordid little crime, if crime it was.

I was not put out in the slightest, of course. As I have already said, I had never been to a crime-scene before.

At long last, the door opened once more, and the charming youthful face of Captain Sir Venriki de’Laisey strode into the room. Older, perhaps, since I had last seen him, though with those of the Captain’s ilk it is always so difficult to tell, even for those of the Guild.

“Venriki!” I smiled wide upon seeing his furrowed brow, so delighted was I to see him again. I swept across the room, my dress billowing in as pleasing a manner as I was able to affect. I extended my hand, as was proper and right, only to watch as the man gripped it once, for no longer than a gnats cough. Not a degree of a bow broke his spine, nor a flicker of pursing across his lips to kiss the back of my hand. He didn’t even look me in the eye, the beast!

“Madam Albithurst,” he said, dropping his arm to his side, his palm striking his long leather coat with a clap. “Thank you for coming.”

“But of course, dear Venriki,” I put on my most charming smile. “And please, call me Marabella. You have long since earned the right.”

“Would you care to take a seat?” the man gestured to a pair of thickly stuffed chairs situated on the far wall, turned slightly inward around a tiny side-table, the perfect place for a charming couple to share a cup of tea and talk about marvelous things. It was difficult indeed to avoid thinking of the quiet and intimate moments to be had around such a table, as minor gossips from the local attendants would be shared over cucumber sandwiches, or events of the day discussed as one might note the ambient temperature or recent quality of the newly sprouted buds in the garden. I would have been quite enamored by his suggestion, had I not been so concerned with his dismissive demeanor. Not even an apology!

But it costs nothing to be polite, so I moved to the chair on the left and sat down. He followed me, and after finally finding a position that did not discomfort him, he cleared his throat twice, and rubbed his chin.

Now I knew that this was a signal, unconscious though it may have been, that my dear de’Laisey was quite disturbed about something that he thought was very important indeed. When we had first met, he had no qualms in divulging these worries to his dear friend, and I always was able to soothe his furrowed brow, or at least explain to him in exquisite and delicious detail exactly how his concerns were paltry indeed.

So quite naturally, I thought this was his intent in inviting me to his place-of-work, and so I lay my hands in my lap and asked, quite politely, for him to tell me what was troubling him.

This must have shocked him, for he coughed in surprise. He did not reply at first, but instead coughed again, and then a third time. After clearing his throat once more, his gaze finally met mine.

Oh! Such things I saw in his eyes! A poem in themselves the pain and sorrow I saw, the embarrassment and the fear. Such verse I could craft for you, to give you an inkling of that moment!

But for shame at even suggesting it. This was a private moment, twixt me and him. A lady never tells such intimacies, even Guild-members in good standing, such as myself.

“Madam Albithurst,” he said at last, averting his gaze and clenching and un-clenching his hands like a baker with something to prove. “Did you know this man?”

I will admit, to my everlasting shame, that I did not understand his question at first. No, it took me a moment of thought before I realized that he had not, in fact, brought me to his place-of-work as a convenience for himself, nor as a readily available option, but rather because he thought I could help him in his duties.

I was, of course, flattered at his show of faith in both my civic-mindedness and sharp intellect, and so I turned my focus at last to the body on the ground.

It lay at the other end of the room, far from where we were sitting. What I had taken as a spot for a relational rendezvous was doubtlessly, in Sir de’Laisey’s mind, the location least likely to hold some significant clue that someone untrained in investigation might disturb or mislay.

Of course, while I had no such training, I was not one for careless or casual behavior, and was quite certain I would have made no clumsy or layperson’s error. Nevertheless, I did not begrudge de’Laisey’s reservations. Indeed, it may not have even been his choice to make, so I magnanimously let the insult slide off my back as a duck might allow water to do similar.

The head of the unfortunate was facing in the other direction, so I had no simple method for discerning any familiarity I might have had. Instead, I studied the poor thing’s clothing.

It was clean, if stained with blood, and ornately ornamented with what was likely silver, perhaps brass. I could see, even from so far away, as my eyesight had, through years of careful practice, become quite effective, that the ornamentation on the hems and lining of the unfortunate’s coat was ornate ivy dotted with open flowers. It was a lovely design, and one that put me in mind of a particular rose-garden I had the honor to experience not three years hence.

His hair was black, but I knew as well as anyone that hair becomes very dark indeed when covered with dried blood.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” I said at last. “I have never had the pleasure of visiting this particular hamlet before, nor this lovely domicile, so I can presume I have not.”

“Madam Albithurst,” poor de’Laisey leaned forward, his bristling nose twisting in consternation, “I must beg you to think carefully. This is a very important question I am asking you, and I must have a considered answer. Do you know this man?”

I am not ashamed to admit that I was quite flustered by the poor man’s insistence, and so turned my attention once more to the unfortunate who lay at the far end of the otherwise quite charming room.

“If I ever met him,” I said at last, “it was not here. If I ever knew him, I do not remember where we were introduced. Would you think me terribly impolite if I asked you his name?”

Oh, I might have done no better than strike my poor de’Laisey, so aghast did he look! I might have insulted his dress or snapped his arm between my teeth. Poor de’Laisey, he opened and closed his mouth many times before at last he managed to stammer out: “Not at this time, Madam Albithurst.”

Now, the penny dropped. Oh, foolish me, I had not understood until that moment what was happening, what had brought me to this otherwise perfectly charming room. I had not grasped the extent to which my poor dear de’Laisey had been driven mad by our time apart.

He had not invited me to help him, he had invited me for questioning!

If I might be permitted a moment for self-aggrandizement, I have been a lady for the better part of my life. Even before I joined the Guild, my full title was the Gallant Lady Marabella Winterblee Delphinium Warde uf Howelett Euphrasia an Albithurst, and all that such names and titles imply. I have managed to keep my composure through any number of seemingly impossible situations, including a particularly difficult rain of sharpened quill pens, and while I had never — never — been accused of anything worse than a propensity towards unfastidiousness, I too am well known for my ability to remain calm in the face of the most calamitous insults.

I did not slap my poor de’Laisey, nor did I demand an apology for even suggesting that someone like myself would dream of committing anything as vile as murder. I did not, both because my de’Laisey was only doing his job, and because I had, in fact, killed a man once before and wrote a well-known poem about it. But indeed, he should have known that after I had done something once, as a member of the Guild, it would have been incredibly bad form to do it again.

So, after I collected myself, I stood from the chair and approached the unfortunate at the other end of the room.

The blood had spread quite far. The spray was like a fountain, covering from the wall to the side-board, where the white flower petals sat quietly, splattered with dried brown. The rug, twirling about with reds, blues, and greens, was quite ruined.

With a deft pull, I freed my hand from my lace glove, and draped its delicate form over my right shoulder. From the inner folds of my dress, I produced one of my leather gloves, and re-covered my hand with its warm embrace. With great discomfort, and no small amount of skill, I pushed my billowing dress aside to kneel at the unfortunate’s side, and pull him by the chin so I could see his face.

It was quite unpleasant. I held his gaze for some time, to make sure I felt the whole of it; every facet, every shade, every whiff and every trace.

“I’m afraid,” I said, after further examination of the body at this more familiar distance, “I do not recognize this man’s face, nor clothing, nor home. As you no doubt remember, Captain de’Laisey, I travel quite a bit, and meet many people for mere moments at a time. While my memory is quite sufficient for my purposes, it is also entirely possible, dare I say likely, that if I ever met this man before in my life, I will have no memory of it.”

I had thought, silly me, that this would be a kind of comfort for the man, but he neither smiled nor sighed in relief. Instead, my poor captain reached into the pocket of his long coat, and produced a long and thin needle, the top of which was adorned with the curling shape of a dried prawn.

From the other end of the room, I was shocked to see it. I knew, even without drawing nearer, that the prawn would be clutching in its withered legs a small letter A.

“You must forgive me, madam,” Captain de’Laisey said, with at least the proper breeding to be embarrassed, “but your dress that night was so remarkably striking, so gripping of the mind, that I find myself even twenty years later, recognizing this hat-pin. One of five, I believe.

“Seven, in fact,” I corrected the man, more out of a need for time to collect my own thoughts than any need for accuracy. “The word was framed with two tiny stars. I have not worn them since, as when I returned home I could only find the six.”

Poor de’Laisey, he looked so troubled. I knew then, the dear man didn’t suspect me at all, not really. How could he, when we had spent so much time together, such friends we were! No, but he had a job to do, and so had to suspect me, no matter how much he knew it was absurd to do so.

“I don’t suppose,” I asked, after a moment’s quiet, “that I could have my hat-pin back?”

“Our investigation is still ongoing,” he said, setting the pin down on the table.

“Surely my found hat-pin couldn’t possibly be involved with any official investigation, could it?” I asked with my sweetest voice. Oh, there was a time long ago when a flutter of my lashes was all that was required to get a bevvy of young men to fall all over themselves in an attempt to placate my desires. Alas, I found myself woefully out of practice, and so my dear Captain was not enthralled.

“This pin was found in the deceased’s hand,” Sir de’Laisey said. “It could have been plucked from the murderer’s head.”

I’m afraid I was quite incensed at the idea: “Now my dear Venriki, that is quite enough of that. I just told you I lost that pin over twenty years ago, and while I am quite grateful that you found it, I must object to your suspicion that I had anything to do with its finding.”

“Then how did it get into the Duke’s hands?” came his quick reply, followed quicker still by a wince and a bite of his thumb.

“Duke?” I asked, most astonished. “This is a Duke? How can he be? I have never met a Duke who lived in a house as humble as this, in a hamlet as quiet as this, in a sphere as quaint as this. Are you certain he’s a Duke?”

“Quite certain,” my poor Captain sighed.

“A local Duke, perhaps?” I asked with some measure of certainty. Local villages often adopted airs, giving folks undue honors in an attempt to play at pomposity. I myself have met kings of local ponds, queens of the festival judging-table, and monarchs of all stripes with kingdoms that barely extend beyond their own farmland.

My Captain was silent, however, staring at me with a look that suggested but a hint of uncertainty.

“Oh come now, my dear captain,” I adopted the most cajoling voice I could muster through my excited curiosity, “I freely admit that it was my missing hat-pin, and you have obviously brought me here to assist in your investigation. How can I possibly help explain how my missing hat-pin ended up in the poor man’s hand without knowing who he is?”

After tapping the table with his finger in a most irritated manner, my Captain sighed once more and shook his head, trapped between his pride and his need. “This,” he admitted with gesturing palm, “was the Duke of Ten Vials.”

I am not ashamed to say I was shocked. Astounded. Flabbergasted, even, at the revelation that the body I now stood over, caked in dried blood, was once the most heralded and famed Duke of Ten Vials. I had long wanted to meet the man, perhaps to even observe but a single one of his charges, but as noted as he was and as often he was whispered about, few were those who had ever seen the man, much less exchanged a bandy of words with him.

I must also admit, with slightly more shame, that I was proud that it should have been my hat-pin found clutched in his stiff hand, and not that of, say, Dame Harpsburr an Yuthopro, the cloying blot.

“Amazing,” I said in reply at last, “For all that he is talked about, I never heard anyone imply the Duke of Ten Vials would live in such a humble house. I daresay, I counted no more than twenty rooms as I was brought here.”

“Twenty-six total,” my dear Captain nodded. “It is certainly a downgrade from his usual accommodations.”

“Is it really?” I asked. “But of course, you know where he lived, don’t you?”

“Well,” Sir de’Laisey coughed again, brushing his head with his hand. “That is to say, it must be a downgrade, mustn’t it? I mean everyone knows the Duke of Ten Vials must live in a palace, mustn’t he?”

“My poor Venriki,” I said with a wistful smile, “still ever the dreamer. I have no idea where he lived, and unless you know for sure, he might very well have lived here his whole life.” And here my eyes lit with a wondrous idea. “Why, the Encinidine might in fact be in this very house!”

“We thought of that,” my Captain raised his hands to beg my restraint. “My troops searched this house from top to bottom, and there’s nothing. No sign of it anywhere here.”

“Well, perhaps you missed something,” I prompted, unwilling to let go of such an entrancing possibility so soon. “After all, no one really knows what the Encinidine looks like at the moment, do they? You might have walked right past a part of it without even knowing.”

“Madam Albithurst,” said the firm-jawed quirest, “I did not bring you here to stick your nose in where it does not belong. I brought you here to answer some important questions about your movements this past week, and how your hat-pin ended up in the hands of a murdered Duke.”

Now of course I didn’t know those answers, and I thought it was a particularly poor showing for the dear Captain to ask me to do his job for him, but I was not about to curdle the cream of our relationship by being obstinate. Instead, I sat myself down again across from the dear man, and folded my hands on my lap.

“My dear Captain de’Laisey,” I began, with a tone specifically chosen to tell the poor man exactly what I thought he needed to know, “Twenty years ago, I was at a rather splendid ball, dancing with any number of interesting and arresting characters from across the Myriad Worlds. I saw my first Ogre that evening, and had a fascinating discussion with a zombie from the Outer Ring. I played chess with a quantum computer across six different dimensions, and rather over-fed myself on exotic fruits and leaves from seven separate spheres. When I finally made my way back to the Guildhouse to return the handbag I had borrowed from my dear friend who was stuck in that night because of a particularly virulent head-cold, I was dismayed to see that one of my hat-pins was missing. I thought that was the end of it, and I would never see it again. I gave it no more thought, and now you tell me that it was found in the hands of a dead Duke. I must say, I am at as much of a loss as you are, and I will not countenance such a horrific suggestion as you seem to be making.”

Poor de’Laisey, he grew quite pale at hearing me speak. It is a little game of ours, I daresay. He brushed his lips with his fingers and crossed his arms in a huff. Quite adorable, I thought, a sure sign of his indignation at having his toy taken away from him.

But take it away I had, and so now he had nothing more to say to me, save to bring me into his investigation like a good little Captain. I daresay I was quite excited. I had never been involved in any judicial investigation before, and was already taking note of the particular details that surrounded me.

“Stop that,” he said. “I see what you are doing and you can stop that right now. This is a crime scene, not a subject for your poetry.”

This hurt me quite terribly to think he would take such an important thing from me, so I quite tactfully failed to hear him. “Has anyone else been attacked recently?” I asked, my mind beginning to work most aggressively. “If the Duke of Ten Vials has been killed, there may be others in danger. The Countess de Rampant, for instance? The Archduke of the Forested Towers? Keeper of the Black Flame? King Lovelack the Burlesque? Perhaps even the Great Imuverant itself has been placed in some vile villain’s plans for destruction!”

“Madam Albithurst, you are letting your imagination run away with you,” my dear Captain warned. “Please, refrain from putting yourself into such a state.”

Such a thing to say! As if the possibility of traveling across the Velvet to finally meet such pillars of the Myriad Worlds, or perhaps even to only observe their fresh corpus, why, it was intoxicating!

Which was, of course, why the dear man tried to calm me. It is, indeed, my one vice: a propensity to leap before I look, to act before I think, particularly in the occasions where a new sensation or experience is ripe for the plucking, ready for the savoring.

“Have you found the Encinidine, then?” I asked instead.

“That’s none of your business, Madam,” he said far to quickly to be polite. “Now I must ask you to leave before you contaminate the crime-scene any further.”

“You brought me here,” I reminded him quite crisply, “and if you did not want me to contaminate anything, you should have made certain your intermeddlers had finished with their work before I arrived. So you haven’t found all of the Encinidine? Is there a part missing?”

The poor Captain said nothing, but I could see from the flush on his pale cheeks the truth of it.

“How much is missing?” I asked. “You know that if he suspected anything, he might have sent a few to people he trusted. You haven’t lost all of it, have you?”

With a sharp snap of his teeth, dear de’Laisey answered; “I assure you, madam, the Torquates are performing their duties with admirable skill and dedication. The Encinidine will be well looked after until a new Duke or Duchess is invested. You need not concern or worry yourself any longer about…anything. The Sergeant will show you out. Have a good day, madam.”

“The Torquates?” I gasped as he ushered me towards the room door. “My goodness, is it as bad as all that then?”

“Not at all, not at all,” he muttered into his mustache as he pushed me along. “Everything is fine, madam, everything is fine. Please remain where I can contact you as I may need to continue this discussion at a later date. Good-day. Good-day. Good-day.”