Alyn did go to the lesson that afternoon, but first there were four more interviews with the other scribes who worked for Lord Cassian and with the Court mage. The scribes were, to a man, thin, unprepossessing, and cowed. They hadn't liked Jaquan, although it took some questioning to get each to admit it. They acted as though an admission of dislike was a confession to the murder, but Miervaldis was gentle and patient with them. Alyn, remembering Lord Cassian's attitude and manners, couldn't blame them for being nervous. The Court mage was an entirely different matter; a tall, burly man with an arrogant manner, he answered Miervaldis' questions with a barely concealed look of condescending disdain. He seemed to be trying to make the questions, and by extension Miervaldis, sound stupid. Alyn disliked him intensely. He didn't even have anything useful to say; Evan Hughes had asked him to check, but there was no trace of magery in the study.

"Just a common brutal crime," the mage said loftily, as though it would be more important or more tragic if it had been carried out by magic. Miervaldis nodded, the same bland expression on his face that had been there since the start of the interview, not showing anything he might be feeling.

When the mage had finally gone, Miervaldis came back into the room and sat down. He glanced at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece.

"We've got an hour before your afternoon lessons start," he said. "I think lunch is in order," and he rang the bell. Another maid appeared, took his request, bobbed and disappeared down the corridor. Lunch was brought up by Bensen, who was quite clearly curious about Alyn's lord; he peered unabashedly through the door as she took the tray from him.

"Have you found who it is yet?"

"Of course not," Alyn scoffed. "We've hardly started." His eyes were dancing with interest. She turned round, manoeuvering the tray with some difficulty, then looked back over her shoulder. "Thanks for bringing lunch." He didn't take the hint, hanging around by the door and looking around the guest rooms which, she thought, he must have seen before. She put the tray down on the table, returned to the door and closed it gently, trying not to make it look like she was shutting him out.

The tray bore cold meat, smoked salmon, fruit, bread, cheese and more olives, as well as a pale, clear wine. Miervaldis helped himself to the food, then nodded at Alyn to do so. They ate in silence, which he broke towards the end of the meal.

"You've heard what I have, pretty much. What do you think?"

"I think... I think there are too many possibilities to say right now. I mean, the door was locked, but all the housekeeping maids had a key. The scribes had keys. Lord Cassian could have done it, which means any of his family might have too..." she broke off, wondering where his family were. She hadn't seen them in his chambers.

"His family," said Miervaldis drily, "are not kept at Court. He has a wife and daughter in his country estate, but he prefers to spend most of his time here."

"I bet his family prefer it too!" Alyn winced, and put a hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant it to come out so rudely, but Miervaldis just chuckled quietly.

"Right," he said. "There are plenty of potential murderers as it stands." Alyn wished he hadn't said it like that. "So," he went on, "what about a motive?"

There was a pause. Alyn considered the question, but she already knew she had no idea. Why kill a scribe? What could he do? Miervaldis had put his plate down and stood up; now he moved to the window and gazed out thoughtfully.

"What was he doing when he was killed?"

"He was writing," said Alyn, who was beginning to realise that her lord's habit of talking to her was another form of talking to himself, of working through possibilities in his mind.

"We know that, because he had ink blotches on his hands and the other scribes said he kept his hands clean when not working. Yes. But there was no pen. Nor was there any sign of a document he was actually working on. Only some blank papers." Alyn hadn't noticed that at the time. Miervaldis frowned to himself. "Of course, it could have been hidden in the mess. We haven't had a look through those papers. Perhaps that would be a good idea. Alyn!"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Your next job is to go through the papers Jaquan was working on, all the ones on his desk. I want to know what they are, what he might have been copying."

"Yes, my lord," Alyn said, not especially thrilled at the prospect. He smiled at her.

"You can start after your lessons," he said. "You've got twenty minutes before they start, so hopefully you can get there in time." Alyn stared at him in horror; suddenly, the idea of reading through Jaquan's pile of legal documents seemed much more attractive. "In the Upper Chamber by the Garden of Seven Streams," he prompted her, with a grin.