Alyn stared from the chamberlain to her lord and back again. Otakar looked miserable and pressured; his hands twisted together under Miervaldis' scrutiny, and he looked anywhere but at his guests. Miervaldis looked calm, with just a hint of a frown. Alyn kept very still, not wanting to draw attention to herself. A murder? And a lord was accused?

After a short silence, the chamberlain carried on haltingly. "I - he, he was found this morning. Early this morning, by the maid. He was in his room..."

"Who was?"

"The scribe. Jaquan. I, he was Lord Cassian's scribe, you see, and he was in Lord Cassian's rooms, and no-one else could have been there..."

"I see," said Miervaldis, looking thoughtful.

"Thank you for coming, my lord!" said the chamberlain in a rush. "I didn't know what to do, but the Sun Court were very quick to respond.."

"Well, of course," said Miervaldis drily. "They couldn't possibly allow a lord to be accused of murder, now, could they?" He stood up. "I know it's late, but I would like to see the victim, please. Has he been moved?"

"N - no, my lord. Well... he's been moved a bit, but he's still mostly where he was found." The chamberlain had gone pasty pale, Alyn noticed. She got up to stand unobtrusively behind her lord. He glanced at her once, and nodded slightly.

The chamberlain led them from the room and through another bewildering maze of corridors, stairs, doors and halls. The opulence of Fifth Star Court never diminished, no matter how small and unimportant the location. Alyn, gazing around her as they walked, felt a bit overwhelmed by it all. She saw few other people, but it was quite late by now. One had to be a page, darting away on an errand somewhere, and there were several servants carrying various things, but the halls seemed very quiet. The chamberlain walked quickly, unevenly, and Miervaldis' legs were long; she had to keep scurrying after them to keep up. If she didn't, she thought, she would be lost for ever in this luxurious maze.

Eventually they climbed a short staircase and came to a hall with several doors leading from it.

"These are Lord Cassian's rooms," said the chamberlain, a bit out of breath. "On the left is his personal suite, on the right are the receiving rooms. Straight ahead are the servants' rooms, including the study where the scribe was..."

"Who found the scribe?"

"The maid, my lord. This morning."

Miervaldis nodded, and the chamberlain produced a key and unlocked the middle door, then stood aside to allow him to enter. Alyn followed close on his heels, and the chamberlain brought up the rear, locking the door behind them. There was a short corridor which opened up after a few paces to a large, square room with several desks. There was no doubt which was Lord Cassian's; it stood on a raised dais, and was adorned with gold leaf. It also looked quite unused. In contrast, the other desks were undecorated but covered with piles of paper and books, old quills and stumps of pencil. The desk furthest from the door was messier than the rest; its papers weren't piled but scattered, with several on the floor. Alyn didn't see those, however; she was looking at the man slumped on the chair with his head on the desk. There was something horribly wrong with his head; she looked away, not wanting to see any more.

Miervaldis had also paused, but he was looking around alertly, surveying the room. Alyn made herself do the same, taking in the door to the left, away from the desk and its encumbent, and the tall windows, all closed. The chamberlain fidgeted behind them, making small shushing noises with his feet in the heavy carpet. Eventually, Miervaldis moved towards the corpse and she followed him, unwillingly curious and not wanting to be derelict in her duty.

Jaquan the scribe's most obvious feature was a large, very visible dent in the back of his head. Alyn found her eyes drawn to it even as she tried not to look, and her gorge rose. It looked like he had been clubbed down from behind with something hard. Blood was matted in his hair, and his face, turned towards the desk, was slack and empty. A sheaf of crumpled papers lay partly under his cheek. He had had a weaselly face, and death did him no favours. Alyn looked away at the floor, which like the desk was covered with papers, but made no move to pick them up. Miervaldis bent close over the corpse but did not touch it, muttering quietly to himself. The chamberlain was still fidgeting.

Eventually, her lord stood up and turned round.

"Might I have some gloves, please," he said, and his voice was a surprise in the silence surrounding the dead man. "And a bowl of hot water and soap." The chamberlain started, nodded, and hurried off, looking like he was all too glad to be out of that room. The key clicked in the door behind him, and Alyn tried not to think about how that meant she was locked in a room with a corpse. Miervaldis looked down at her.

"That got rid of him, at least," he said cheerfully. "What can you see?"

Alyn gaped at him. Surely he could see too? But he was waiting for her, so she gathered her wits and responded.

"There's a dead man on a desk, my lord," she said, feeling a bit stupid. "And there are papers all over the desk and the floor."

"What of the papers?"

"They're just loose bits of paper," Alyn felt confused. "Stuff he was working on. The other desks have paper all over."

Miervaldis shrugged, nodded, and bent down to pick up one of the papers, which lay crumpled in the middle of a scattered sheaf. He smoothed it out on the desk, frowned, then looked at the corpse again.

"What do you think happened here?"

"Um, he was working on something, then someone came in and, um, hit him?"

"He was working on something?"

"Well, there's the papers crumpled under his cheek." She pointed. "And his hand has ink spots on it." Jaquan had fallen with his right hand out on the desk, and the black smudges were clearly visible. Lord Miervaldis nodded, his expression approving.

"Good," he said. "So what's missing?"

Alyn frowned at the desk, not seeing the dead man any more. He had been working on the papers he had fallen on. He must have been writing, because his hand had ink spots on it. But the well-used ink stone's deep cavity was dry, and the water jar beside it was capped. And...

"There's no pen," she said. "Nothing to write with."

"Exactly," said her lord. "What else is missing?"

She looked around, but couldn't see anything obvious.

"Somebody bludgeoned this man," Miervaldis said, and his voice had a harsh edge to it. "And yet, there is nothing that could have been used to do it. So whoever it was took their weapon with them."