Baker Street Irregulars Page 9

  The police and paramedics finally showed up.

  There was a great deal of confusion to sort out, of course. It was fortunate that Lock had the recording to prove that he had been well across the room when Roylott died. The fact that I had already edited the recording to remove his soft comment to me does not need to be remarked upon. By the time the paramedics had given up on Roylott and the police had finished questioning Lock, Stoner appeared. She was followed in by a police inspector who gave his name as Jones.

  Stoner looked appropriately horrified at seeing the body of her former advisor, which the paramedics were draping respectfully in a sheet. Lock made no move to comfort her. I was unsure if this represented evidence contrary to my theory of his attraction to her, or if it was merely yet another data point indicating Lock’s own disregard for social graces. Previously acquired data suggested that the correct action in circumstances like this was to offer condolences, possibly accompanied by physical contact.

  Instead, he allowed her to initiate the conversation.

  “How awful!” she exclaimed, eyes wide, as she raised one hand to her breast. Lock took no notice; Jones, on the other hand, followed her hand with his eyes. I calculated a very low probability that he was observing in case of concealed weapons.

  “What happened?” Jones asked.

  Lock replayed the recorded incident once more. Stoner’s wince when the adder struck Roylott seemed more genuine than her earlier reaction.

  Her wide eyes returned, however, when we reached the end of the recording. She laid one hand delicately on Lock’s elbow, including the detective in her glance. “Then Roylott really was planning on destroying my data,” she said. “And you prevented him! How can I ever repay you?”

  “I doubt you can,” Lock replied dryly. “Since you were the one who set him up in the first place.”

  Stoner and Detective Jones more than adequately expressed my own shock.

  “It was evident from the very beginning, of course,” Lock continued, “that the erasure of the data must have been an inside job. The server itself is unreachable outside this room, thanks to Roylott’s paranoia. There was no record of him entering the room itself the day of the erasure. There were no traces of a time-delayed program—the crime was committed in person by someone with access to the room. Since it is highly unlikely that Julia sabotaged herself and Roylott was not present to do it, Ms. Stoner is the only possible saboteur.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed. “Why on earth would I do such a thing?”

  “Because ‘reconstructing’ the data that Roylott believed had never existed gave you an easy leg up to finishing your degree,” Lock replied.

  “Then why would I bring you in at all? If you’re right, no one would have ever known if I hadn’t asked you to investigate.”

  “Because you allowed yourself to become arrogant and greedy,” he replied. “You knew that Roylott would allow you to claim the credit for the theoretical work you had reconstructed, but that he would ensure any substantial paper on the applications would have his name on it. You wanted credit for the work you had done for him, and perhaps for the work he had done as well. Everyone knew that his star had been fading; if he disappeared and you published brilliant results a few months later, everyone would believe your claims that it was your own work and not his.

  “So you decided to at least discredit him. If you were lucky, you could provoke an even larger reaction. Your mistake, however, was believing that you could manipulate me. I particularly liked the red herring about the snake, of course.”

  If he had known it was a red herring when he sent me wading through Python code, I was going to reset all his thermostat programming. If he was going to freeze me out, he could freeze too.

  “And I suppose you have some proof of these wild accusations?” she demanded. But even I could see that her facade was beginning to slip.

  “No, but they do.” Smiling slightly, he gestured at the array of chimeras pacing in their cages. “You forgot about the rack of recording devices.”

  He tapped a few commands into the keyboard on the desk, which gave me cover to pull up the images from the chimera I was still holding. It was easier the second time. I found what he was looking for timestamped not long after Stoner had taken Lock’s call.

  In the video, Stoner stood next to Roylott in front of the bank of cages. She fidgeted with a stylus, broadcasting anxiousness.

  “I think someone is trying to steal our research,” she was saying.

  Roylott looked up sharply. “Someone after my research? How do you know?”

  “A man has been following me,” she said. “He had asked me some questions at a bar, but I got uncomfortable and asked him to leave. I keep seeing him around. I’m afraid he might try to break into the lab.”

  His eyes narrowed. “No one could possibly just break in. What did he look like?”

  She showed him a picture of Lock, blurry and clearly taken surreptitiously. “He’s another student, I think.”

  Roylott’s lips thinned. “Rouse. That bitch. It has to be her. Well, I’ve been getting ready for something like this.”

  “What are you going to do, Professor?”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” he said, patting her hand. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  “Oh, Professor,” she breathed. “Just thinking about this all gives me the worst headache. I think I might go home early.”

  He nodded. “That would be best, I think.”

  One hand delicately to her forehead, Stoner made her way out the door.

  Lock clicked off the recording. Jones stared at Stoner as if she were the venomous serpent and took one involuntary step back.

  She stood, frozen.

  Jones turned to Lock as he gestured to the policemen to cuff Stoner. “If you ever decided to give up the school thing, you might make a worthy candidate for the force one day.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I scarcely think so.”

  Jones smiled at what he took to be a compliment and followed the parade of police out the lab door.

  When we were safe at home, I threw my avatar up on the main screen. “So you knew all along?”

  “It was rather obvious, don’t you think?” he said reprovingly. “Surely you noted the changes from my usual behavior?”

  “Well, yes,” I said, my tone as testy as I could make it. “But I scarcely understood the cause.”

  He stared at me for a moment and then gave a disbelieving bark of laughter. “You didn’t think I was taken in by her little femme fatale act, did you?”

  My silence was apparently answer enough, and he barked again.

  “Come now, don’t sulk,” he said, reproving.

  “But if you knew what game she was playing, how did you let Roylott surprise you?” I said.

  “Why would you think I was surprised?” he said, seemingly astonished.

  “That was a disaster!”

  “Having the police called was a necessary step.”

  “Surely you didn’t intend for him to die!”

  “Well, no, of course not,” he said reproachfully. “I expected you to have more control over that snake.”

  I had little to say to that. He settled back into his chair and opened up a new connection.

  “I suppose this at least kept boredom at bay?” I asked.

  “For the moment,” he said, calling up the battlefield. “But now, reality’s charms have again waned and I must find my puzzles elsewhere.”

  For once, I did not let his inattention bother me. He might have his games, but now I had hands of my own. Six of them, in fact.

  Papyrus

  BY

  Sarah Stegall

  It had been a long trip down the Nile, and even the sight of Pharaoh’s palace, with its cool gardens and vast halls, could not lift my weary spirits.

  When the underscribe finally showed me into the Chief Royal Librarian’s office, it was after midday. It was dark and cool inside, with the only
light coming from a row of small windows placed just under the high ceiling. I blinked, letting my sight adjust. I saw a room piled high with stacks of scrolls, rolled and unrolled, spilling out carelessly from baskets. The smell of ink and papyrus permeated the room, along with another, sharper smell. It seemed to be coming from a workbench to my left, where a lean form leaned over a tiny brazier.

  I coughed politely to announce my presence. “I am here to see—”

  The person straightened, and I was surprised to find it was a woman. Surprised, and disappointed. “I beg your pardon,” I said. “I was looking for—”

  She barely glanced at me, keeping an eye on the small pan in front of her. She lifted a hand, gestured to me. “Come here,” she said in a high, imperious voice. “I need your assistance.”

  Was this some servant, brewing ink? It was well beneath the dignity of a First Rank physician such as myself to assist her. I drew myself up, ready to respond, but she made an impatient sound and gestured again.

  “Do not dally! Time is crucial!”

  Her tone was no less imperious than Pharaoh (Life! Health! Prosperity!) would have used, and against my will I stepped closer. “Who are—”

  “Pay close attention,” she said. This close, I could see that she was well past her youth, perhaps thirty-five years of age. She was taller than most women, and her hawk-like nose and piercing gaze reminded me of a Horus relief I had passed on my way in. Now she pointed at the flame. “I require a witness. I will pass this material through the flame, and it will change color. I require you to note the color and possibly attest to it before a magistrate.”

  “Magistrate?” I was startled.

  She paid me no attention. She picked up a small reed, dipped it into water. “I have here two dishes of metal shavings,” she said. “I will roll the stem of this reed in one dish, like so. You can see that it is coated with metal shavings? Good. Now I will pass it through this flame. Observe!”

  She lifted her hand, and I saw gold rings on her fingers, glimpsed gold at her wrists. Her white linen was immaculate, of high quality. This was no servant. As I watched, she passed the reed through the small flame. The reed flared and died.

  The woman set it aside. “I suspected as much, but of course one must check. You noted the color?”

  “But there was no color,” I said, bewildered. “What does that—”

  “And now for the second test,” she continued. She took another reed, dipped it in water, and rolled it in the contents of another shallow dish. “These are shavings from a bracelet alleged to be gold, sent to the Great Royal Wife from a governor seeking favor. Let us observe…”

  This time the flame flared a bright green before it died. “Aha!” She sounded very pleased with herself. “I was right. One moment, please, while I make a note.”

  She turned aside to a papyrus, took up a reed brush and scribbled several lines. I waited, not quite sure who this woman was. She could write, she burned gold belonging to the wife of Pharaoh, and spoke to a First Rank physician as to a servant.

  She straightened. “Would you be so kind as to set down your name?” She held out the brush.

  I approached to take it. “I am not sure what I am signing. What is this all about?”

  “Oh, a little trial for Her Majesty,” the woman said casually. “The question was one of authenticity, you see. There was some doubt that the bracelet was pure gold, and of course it was not. The green flame absolutely proves it.”

  “Green flame?”

  “Only copper burns with that strong green hue,” she said. “The other sample, which is pure gold from my own ring, burned with no special flame, did you see?”

  “And you have shown that, what, it was false?”

  “Well, let us say merely that it was not as pure as was described. I leave any further judgement up to the magistrates. I am only the investigator.”

  “Quite remarkable,” I said, and wrote my name: Raneb, son of Djehuti.

  The woman strode to a large table and flung herself behind it in a chair. “And you? You have something for me? It must be urgent, for you to have come all this way after your donkey was injured.”

  “I…what? How did you know? I only just arrived in Thebes! Did someone bring you news?”

  She shrugged. “Not at all. Your left sandal strap has been clumsily and recently mended, and is of a design wholly unsuitable to long distance walking. The hem of your gown is ripped and dusty. Your insignia and gold jewelry tell me that you are a physician, clearly of high rank. Such a rank would entitle you to a donkey for riding. Since you arrive in this state, I conclude that yours was injured and you continued on without it.”

  I cocked my head. This was fascinating, like watching some fortuneteller in the marketplace. How long could she keep this up? “I concede your point,” I said. “But how could the hem of my garment tell you that the donkey did not die?”

  “Not your hem, your face.”

  “My face?”

  She gestured at my face. “You are as red as a beet,” she said. “Had your animal died, you would have continued with your servant, who would have carried a sunshade. Since you did not, the assumption that you instructed him to remain behind to care for the animal is simple.” Taking up a stick, she struck a small gong on her table once. “But I forget my manners. You have walked far, and in discomfort. Please make yourself comfortable.”

  As I lowered myself into a carved chair, a stout woman of middle years appeared at the door on the right side, pushing the curtain aside.

  “Bring bread and dates for our guest. And a tumbler of wine.”

  The servant bowed and left. The woman kept her eyes on me. “Well, Physician, what can the Chief Royal Librarian do for you?”

  “You?” I blurted, then felt my face warm as I realized my rudeness. “That is, I meant…”

  She waved a hand. “I am Seshet, daughter, granddaughter, niece, and widow of Royal Librarians. Now tell me—” She paused as the servant came in and arranged food on the table between us. “What brings you here in such haste?”

  I drew forth a small scroll from my sleeve and passed it across the table. “I am here at the behest of the mayor of Henen, which is in the district of—”

  Seshet held up her hand again. “I am familiar with the geography of the Black Land,” she said drily. “Your governor himself is in Thebes at present, preparing for the funeral of Pharaoh.”

  We were silent a moment, to show respect for the recently departed King.

  Seshet took up the roll and scrutinized it. I watched closely but, as far as I could tell, her lips did not move as she read. Extraordinary. She then turned the scroll over, held it up to the slanting light and peered closely at it. She brought it to her nose and sniffed it, and, to my astonishment, licked it. Finally, she raised an eyebrow and laid the scroll down. “It seems straightforward enough, Physician. His late Majesty, may his soul live forever, granted a certain amount of land to the Temple of Set in your city, which will pass into their hands immediately upon his departure to the West. This is unremarkable.”

  “Unremarkable! Ours is a city holy to Horus, the enemy of Set! Our temple is one of the most renowned in the Black Land! It is inconceivable that any king, let alone our late Lord, would so insult the patron of our city as to give away half his land!”

  Seshet shrugged. “I do not see how this calls for the services of His Majesty’s Library.” She reached for a beaker of water.

  I clenched my hand upon my knee. “Upon the founding of the city, many generations ago, Pharaoh granted this land to the people in perpetuity, never to be given away. If this scroll is fulfilled, hundreds of people will become slaves of the Temple of Set, and all their taxes will go to the Set priests. It will bankrupt our city. This makes no sense!” I drew a deep breath. “I have come to appeal to the Court of Two Truths, and to challenge this scroll I must have access to the Archives of the Royal Library.”

  She nodded. “You will be seeking the original grant, award
ing the land to the city?”

  “Yes. It is our only proof that no one, not even the late Pharaoh, upon whose soul may Ra shine, can take away our land. Can you locate it? Or perhaps the Vizier—” I stopped as Seshet shook her head.

  “It is not possible,” she said. “The Vizier is wholly concerned with the rites of the dead, and preparing for the Prince’s accession immediately after his father’s tomb is sealed. The Vizier cannot, indeed he will not, allow himself to be concerned with so small a matter.”

  “Small! Well, I can see that, from his point of view, our problems may be small.”

  “In any case, it is unnecessary to appeal to him. Nor do you require access to the Archives.”

  “But we must prove our right to the land!”

  A look of annoyance crossed her face. “Really, Physician, you might have a little faith. I tell you, you do not need access because this scroll is worthless.”

  I gaped. “Worthless? But how—”

  “Several small but telling clues can tell a larger story,” she said dryly. “It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important. But this matter has more serious implications, and I must take some thought.” She stood, a straight figure in white linen. “In the meantime, I dine in the common room in an hour. Please join me after you have refreshed yourself.”

  • • •

  The servant showed me to a small room off of a courtyard, where I washed my hands and face and straightened my clothes. The dining hall for Pharaoh’s staff stood two stories high, allowing the heat of the room to rise while drawing in cooler air from outside via the many doors. Murals of ponds and gardens decorated the walls.