The Eisenhorn TrilogyXenos(科幻战争)-第58章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


On　the　top　of　the　harpsichord　was　a　framed　portrait；　a　hololith　of　Aen　Froigre；　smiling。
I　picked　it　up　and　studied　it。
'The　last　portrait　of　him；'　she　said。　'Taken　at　the　fete。　My　last　connection　with　him。'
'Where　did　he　die？'
'The　Folly；'　said　Lady　Froigre。　'He　died　in　the　Folly。'
THE　WOODS　WERE　damp　and　dark。　Boughs　creaked　in　the　late　afternoon　wind　and　odd　birdsong　thrilled　from　the　shadows。
The　Folly　was　a　stone　drum　capped　by　a　slate　needle。　Inside；　it　was　bare　and　terribly　musty。　Sand　doves　fluttered　up　in　the　roof　spaces。
Cobwebs　glazed　the　bare　windows。
'This　is　where　I　found　him；'　said　a　voice　from　behind　me。
I　turned。　Rinton　Froigre　stooped　in　under　the　doorframe。　He　was　a　well…made　boy　of　twenty…five；　with　his　mother's　lush　red　hair。　His
eyes　had　a　curious；　hooded　aspect。
'Rinton。'
'Sir；'　he　bowed　slightly。
'Was　he　dead　when　you　found　him？'
'No；　inquisitor。　He　was　laughing　and　talking。　He　liked　to　come　up　here。　He　loved　the　Folly。　I　came　up　to　thank　him　for　the　fete　that　he
had　thrown　in　my　honour。　We　were　talking　together　when　suddenly　he　went　into　convulsions。　Just　minutes　later；　before　I　could
summon　help；　he　was　dead。'
I　didn't　know　Rinton　Froigre　well；　though　his　service　record　was　very　respectable；　and　I　knew　his　father　had　been　proud　of　him。　Aen
had　never　mentioned　any　animosity　from　his　son；　but　in　any　noble　house　there　is　always　the　spectre　of　succession　to　consider。　Rinton
had　been　alone　with　his　father　at　the　time　of　death。　He　was　a　seasoned　soldier；　undoubtedly　no　stranger　to　the　act　of　killing。
I　kept　an　open　mind　…　literally。　Even　without　any　invasive　mental　probing；　it　is　possible　for　a　psionic　of　my　ability　to　sense　surface
thoughts。　There　was　no　flavour　of　deceit　about　Rinton's　person；　though　I　could　feel　carefully　contained　loss；　and　the　tingle　of
trepidation。　Small　wonder；　I　considered。　Uncommon　are　the　citizens　of　the　Imperium　who　do　not　register　anxiety　at　being　quizzed　by
an　inquisitor　of　the　Holy　Ordos。
There　was　no　point　pressing　him　now。　Rinton's　story　might　easily　be　put　to　the　test　with　an　auto…seance；　during　which　psychometric
techniques　would　simply　reveal　the　truth　of　his　father's　last　moments　to　me。
Rinton　walked　me　back　to　the　Hall；　and　left　me　to　my　ponderings　in　Aen's　study。　It　was　as　he　had　left　it；　I　was　told。
The　room　was　half…panelled　and　lined　for　the　most　part　with　glazed　shelves　of　neatly　bound　books　and　data…slates。　Discreet　glowglobes
hovered　around　the　edges　of　the　room　at　head…height；　set　to　a　low　luminosity；　and　a　selection　of　scroll…backed　couches　and
over…stuffed　chairs　were　arranged　in　front　of　the　high…throated　ceramic　fireplace　with　its　wood…burning　fusion　stove。
The　desk；　under　the　diamond…paned　west　windows；　was　a　wide　crescent　of　polished　duralloy　floated　a　metre　off　the　carpet　by　passive
suspensor　pods。　The　desk　was　clean　and　bare。
I　sat　at　it；　depressing　slightly　the　hydraulics　of　the　writing　chair　…　I　was　half　a　head　taller　than　Aen　Froigre。　I　studied　the　mirrorsmooth；
slightly　raked　surface　of　the　desk。　There　was　no　sign　of　any　control　panel；　but　a　gentle　wave　of　my　hand　across　it　woke　up
heat…sensitive　touch…plates　engraved　into　the　duralloy's　finish。　I　touched　a　few；　but　they　needed　Aen's　touch　…　probably　a　combination
of　palmprint　and　genekey　…　to　unlock　them。
That；　or　inquisition…grade　software。　I　unpinned　my　Inquisitorial　rosette；　which　I　had　been　wearing　on　the　sternum　of　a　my　black
leather　coat；　and　slid　open　the　signal　port。　Holding　it　low　over　the　desk；　I　force　fed　the　touch…plates　with　several　magenta…level
security　override　programs。　It　gave　up　the　fight　almost　at　once；　opening　systems　without　even　the　need　for　passwords。

Built　into　the　stylish　desk　…　an　item　of　furniture　that　had　clearly　cost　Aen　a　lot　of　money　…　was　a　fairly　powerful　cogitator；　a　vox…pict
uplink；　a　message　archive；　two　filing　archives；　and　a　master　control　for　the　simple；　limited　electronic　systems　built　into　the　Hall。
Separate　pages　of　each　file　and　message　could　be　displayed　as　a　facsimile　on　the　blotter　plate　and　a　touch　of　a　finger　turned　them　or
put　them　away。　Aen　had　destroyed　all　paper　records。
I　played　with　it　for　some　time；　but　the　most　interesting　thing　I　found　was　a　log　of　invoices　for　services　provided　at　the　fete；　and　a　list
of　the　invitations。　I　copied　both　into　my　own　data…slate。
Alizebeth　and　Gabon　arrived　while　I　was　busy　with　that。　Alizebeth　had　been　interviewing　the　household　staff；　and　Gabon　had　been
out；　walking　the　grounds。
'There　were　over　nine　hundred　guests　here；　sir；'　he　said；　'and　maybe　another　five　hundred　players；　musicians；　entertainers　and　carnival
folk。'
'Where　from？'
'Menizerre；　mostly；'　he　replied。　'Local　entertainers；　a　few　troubadours　and　some　street　tumblers　from　the　biweekly　textile　market。　The
biggest　individual　groups　were　Kalikin's　Company；　an　acclaimed　troupe　of　travelling　actors；　and　Sunsable's　Touring　Fair；　who
provided　the　games　and　rides　and　diversions。'
I　nodded。　Gabon　was　as　thorough　as　usual。　A　short；　spare　man　in　his　one　fifties　with　cropped　black　hair　and　a　bushy　moustache；　he
had　been　with　the　Dorsay　Arbites　for　about　seventy　years　before　retiring　into　private　service。　He　wore　a　simple；　refined　dark　blue　suit
that　had　been　ingeniously　tailored　to　hide　the　fact　that　he　was　wearing　a　handgun　in　a　shoulder　rig。
'What　about　you？'　I　asked　Alizebeth。　She　sat　down　on　one　of　the　couches。
'Nothing　scintillating。　The　staff　seem　genuinely　shocked　and　upset　at　the　death。　They　all　react　with　outrage　at　the　idea　your　friend
might　have　had　any　enemies。'
'It　seems　quite　clear　to　me　that　he　did　have　some；'　I　said。
Alizebeth　reached　into　the　folds　of　her　gown　and　fished　out　a　small；　hard　object。　She　tossed　it　across　onto　the　desk　top　and　it　landed
with　a　tap。
There　it　extended　four；　multi…jointed　limbs　and　scurried　across　onto　my　palm。
I　turned　the　wriggling　poison…snooper　over　and　pressed　the　recessed　stud　on　its　belly。　A　little　ball　of　hololithic　energy　coalesced　above
its　head…mounted　projector　and　I　read　it　as　slowly　scrolled　around　on　its　own　axis。
'Traces　of　Iho；　obscura　and　several　other　class　II　and　III　narcotics　in　the　garden　area　and　the　staff　quarters。　Penshel　seed　traces　found　in
the　stable　block。　More　lho；　as　well　as　listeria　and　e。　coli　in　small　amounts　in　the　kitchen　section…　hmmm…'
Alizebeth　shrugged。　'The　usual　mix　of　recreational　drugs　one　might　expect；　none　in　large　quantities；　and　the　kitchens's　as　hygienic　as
anywhere。　You'd　probably　get　the　same　sort　of　readings　from　Spaeton　House。'
'Probably。　Penshel　seeds；　they're　quite　unusual。'
'A　very　mild　stimulant；'　said　Gabon。　'I　didn't　know　anyone　still　used　that　stuff。　Time　was；　it　was　the　drug　of　choice　in　the　artists'
quarter　of　Dorsay；　back　when　I　was　on　the　force。　The　seeds　are　dried；　rolled　and　smoked　in　pipes。　A　little　bohemian；　an　old　man's
smoke。'
'Most　of　the　outdoor　traces　can　be　put　down　to　the　visiting　entertainers；'　I　mused；　'plus　a　little　off…duty　pleasure　from　the　staff　or　looseliving
guests。　What　about　the　stable　block？　Are　any　of　Froigre's　ostlers　penshel　smokers？'
Alizebeth　shook　her　head。　'They'd　cleared　large　parts　of　the　stable　area　to　provide　spaces　for　the　fair　stall…holders。'
I　put　the　snooper　down　on　the　desk　and　it　wriggled　back　and　forth　for　a　few　moments　until　it　got　enough　purchase　to　right　itself。　'So
nothing　untoward；　in　fact。　And　certainly　no　significant　toxins。'
'None　at　all；'　said　Alizebeth。
Damn。　Given　the　description　of　Aen's　death；　I　had　been　quite　sure　poison　was　the　key；　perhaps　some　assassin's　sophisticated　toxin　that
had　not　shown　up　on　the　initial　medicae　report。　But　Alizebeth's　snooper　was　high…grade　and　thorough。
'What　do　we　do　now？'　she　asked。
I　passed　her　my　data…slate。　'Send　the　contents　of　this　to　Aemos　by　direct　vox…link。　See　what　he　can　come　up　with。'
Uber　Aemos　was　my　ancient　and　trusted　savant。　If　anyone　could　see　a　pattern　or　make　a　connection；　it　was　him。
EVENING　FELL。　I　went　outside；　alone。　I　felt　annoyed　and　frustrated。　In　fact；　I　felt　thwarted。　I'd　come　there　as　a　favour　to　my　old　friend's
widow；　offering　my　services；　and　in　most　respects　I　perial　inquisitor；　and　this　was　most　likely　just　a　job
for　the　local　arbites。　I　had　expected　to　have　the　entire　matter　sewn　up　in　a　few　hours；　to　settle　things　swiftly　in　a　quick；　unofficial
investigation；　and　leave　with　the　thanks　of　the　family　for　sparing　them　a　long；　drawn…out　inquest。
But　the　clues　just　weren't　there。　There　was　no　motive；　no　obvious　antagonist；　no　aggressor；　but　still　it　seemed　likely　that　Aen　Froigre
had　been　killed。　I　looked　at　the　medicae　report　again；　hoping　to　find　something　that　would　establish　natural　causes。
Nothing。　Something；　someone；　had　taken　my　friend's　life；　but　I　couldn't　tell　what　or　who　or　why。
The　evening　skies　were　dark；　stained　a　deep　violet　and　smeared　with　chasing　milky　clouds。　An　early　moon　shone；　passing　behind　the
running　trails　of　cloud　every　minute　or　so。　A　wind　was　gathering；　and　the　stands　of　trees　beside　the　lawn　were　beginning　to　sway　and
swish。　The　leaves　made　a　cold　sound；　like　rain。
I　walked　over　to　my　flyer；　popped　the　cargo　trunk　and　took　out　Barbarisater。　I　slowly　freed　it　from　its　silk　bindings　and　drew　the　long；
gleaming　blade　from　its　machined　scabbard。　Barbarisater　had　been　an　heirloom　sword；　a　psychically…attuned　weapon　from　the　forges
of　distant　Carthae　and　slaved　to　the　minds　of　the　generations　of　warrior　women　who　had　wielded　it。　Enhancing　its　strength　with
pentagrammic　wards；　I　had　used　the　long　sabre　in　my　battle　against　the　heretic　Quixos；　during　which　struggle　it　had　been　broken

below　the　tip。　Master　swordsmiths　had　remade　the　blade　from　the　broken　main　portion；　creating　a　shorter；　straighter　blade　by　rounding
off　and　edging　the　break　and　reducing　the　hilt。　A　good　deal　smaller　than　its　old　self；　now　more　a　single…handed　rapier　than　a　hand…anda…
half　sabre；　it　was　still　a　potent　weapon。
Naked；　in　my　hand；　it　hummed　and　whined　as　my　mind　ran　mrough　it　and　made　it　resonate。　The　incised　wards　glowed　and　sobbed　out
faint　wisps　of　smoke。　I　walked　out　over　the　grass　under　the　seething　trees；　holding　the　blade　out　before　me　like　a　dowsing　rod；
sweeping　the　scene；　letting　the　blade…tip　slide　along　the　invisible　angles　of　space。　Twice；　o