 Cedar Locke and the Missing Brooch by kadface
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Cedar stepped into the bedroom. A well-lit space, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a pair of glass doors that led out onto a balcony with white railings beyond, overlooking an expanse of green. It was sparsely, but elegantly, furnished in wooden pieces of a dark brown. The walls were a sandy colour, leaning to stone. Against one wall, there was an enormous four-poster bed with curtains flung back to reveal a mattress supporting a billowing display and variety of cushions and pillows. “Who has a key to this room?” “Just Lord and Lady Ashbury, sir” replied Barnsley. Cedar nodded. This matched the assurances of Lady Ashbury last night, but worth double-checking. He approached the dressing table, whose size would dwarf his own desk. Experimentally, he pulled on the topmost drawer where Lady Ashbury had mentioned some pearls were kept. It was locked. “Is this where the brooch was last seen?” he said, tapping the top of the table. “I believe so, sir. You would have to check with Lady Ashbury.” Cedar rubbed his chin. It felt rough. Ignoring his reflection in the dressing table mirror, he moved over to the balcony doors, which were flanked on either side by a pair of heavy curtains tied securely back. He tugged at the handle, but the doors did not open. Noticing a key sat in the door itself, he turned it. It was slightly stiff in the socket. He attempted to open the doors again, which this time responded eagerly. The clear wind brushed against him, carrying no scent of the city, but rather the earthy smell of rain-soaked soil. He breathed it in deeply. He ran an eye over the railings, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Stepping onto the balcony itself, he leaned over the parapet and saw only bushes and flowers below. The distance was too great to make any detailed observations. He returned to the room, shutting and locking the balcony door behind him. “This door was open when you arrived?” he asked Barnsley. “That’s right, sir.” Cedar paused in thought for a moment before continuing. “I think we’ve seen enough for now. I would like to speak with the people you saw that night.” “Of course, sir. Fortunately, Professor Brooke is still a guest at the house, as he and Lord Ashbury are arranging an archaeological expedition to old Sakhmet. He is staying in the yellow room, which is in the guest wing on the other side of the stairs. Meadows will most likely be in the garden or greenhouses somewhere. I believe that Mikey is tidying up the ballroom.” “I’ll start with the professor,” said Cedar. “Very good, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my duties”. Barnsley bowed her head slightly and left the room. “I’ll head off to the kitchens now, sir”, said Ms. Graychart, “Just to check that no one has been able to use the backstairs. Do you have any early theories, sir?” Cedar looked around the room circumspectly, resisting the urge to rub his chin again. “Not yet,” he admitted. “I didn’t see any marks on any door to the balcony or hallway, so it seems unlikely that there was a lockpick on the loose. Of course, there is the discrepancy between Lady Ashbury claiming she locked the doors and Barnsley seeing them open. But no tracks out on the balcony, so I am provisionally ruling that out as a route of entry. The hallway door is solid; it must have been specially built with security in mind. It seems the only possible way in was through the locked door and only with a key. Most puzzling.” “A key for which Lord and Lady Ashbury have the only copies, if I remember rightly.” “So they believe.” With that, the two moved through to the hallway. Ms. Graychart headed down the stairs, slipping past a sentinel, Barnsley, standing upright and resolute at the foot. Cedar made his own way down the hall towards the guest wing. As he went, he passed an open door. Pausing briefly, he leant through, tapping the door once with his knuckle. The room was lined with bookshelves. They were crammed to bursting with leather-bound volumes, interspersed with mysterious scientific instruments, brass in colour, and dusty artefacts of an undoubtedly dubious origin. The wooden floor was a golden brown, scuffed with chair marks and worn down by pacing shoes. Strewn across a large oak table, papers, pens, mugs and maps led to a figure standing at its head –- poring over a chart with fraying edges and stained blotches. He was elderly, dressed in a moss-coloured jacket over a woollen jumper. He wore glasses and a puzzled look. “Professor Brooke?” asked Cedar. The bejumpered man glanced up, peering over the top of his glasses. “That would be me,” he said, “Do we know each other?” “Cedar Locke. I was hoping to have a word about the brooch.” Cedar saw Professor Brooke’s face cloud with bewilderment, before clearing slightly. “Ah, yes, of course,” he said, “Daniel did mention his wife was intending to get someone in to help out. I would be more than happy to do what I can.” “What do you know about it?” “About the brooch? An interesting question. It is a most intriguing object. It takes the form of a scarab, you know. A remarkably well preserved specimen, from the first, or perhaps second, Coltzanic era. Scarabs have been a popular design for aeons in the Lost Desert, used for jewellery, gifts, sculptures - even weapons! They were once believed to carry protective properties, warding off misfortune and ensuring safe passage through the treacherous dunes. The old stories are full of tales of travellers staggering their way home out of the desert sand, clutching a scarab in the trusted hope of their powers of wayfinding. Why, even during …” Cedar felt his eyes starting to glaze over as the professor continued. “… of course, its monetary value is almost negligible. But its historical or even sociological value cannot be understated.” There was a pause. “Did you say negligible monetary value?” asked Cedar. “Most certainly,” replied Professor Brooke. His expression was genial, but firm. “As I say, it is in remarkably good condition - but scarab brooches of the era are readily available on the open market. I am sure you could go to the Sakhmet today and find a good number for purchase if you were so inclined. The significance of Lady Ashbury's piece lies not in its monetary worth, but in its provenance and the stories it carries.” “Who else knows this?” Professor Brooke raised a finger to his chin, “I believe I have discussed it over with Daniel, and I assume he shared this with Lady Ashbury. There has been no reason to mention it to anyone else. There is almost no probability that the Ashburys would look to sell it.” “Were you aware that it was absent after the Winter Ball?” “I only learned about it from Daniel this morning. He mentioned it in passing. A shame, truly. Lady Ashbury was quite fond of it.” “Where were you doing the event?” Professor Brooke frowned slightly. Cedar thought it was not an expression of anger, but more of someone trying to remember some detail they considered relatively unimportant. “Let me see,” Professor Brooke said slowly, “I had arrived in the early afternoon, and managed to freshen up just as things were getting underway. I bumped into Lady Ashbury at the top of the stairs and accompanied her down to the ballroom. I remained there for most of the evening. Daniel, that is Lord Ashbury, was keen to show me his coin collection. He has recently acquired a Maraquan Draik that he wanted my opinion on. We took a brief sojourn to this very room.” At this, Professor Brooke gestured to a tall cabinet at one side of the room, which carried a series of thin drawers stacked on top of one another. “I will happily confess that I was quite taken with his selection. We marvelled at the coins for some time. Why, it was only when the gardener interrupted us that we remembered to return downstairs. I then spent the remainder of the night in discussion with Lady Thornslow. Her family has an estate in Altador that overlooks an interesting quarry of rocks. Perfectly flat. Quite remarkable, really. Now, the real question is whether the quarry is perfectly flat or the rocks. Lady Thornslow and I took contrary positions. ” “You saw Meadows?” interrupted Cedar, as kindly as he could. Professor Brooke blinked. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I am unfamiliar with that term. Did you mean mussels? I am afraid that Lord Ashbury does not collect seashells per se…” “I meant the gardener,” said Cedar, waving his hand in a gesture of apology.
“Oh yes. She came to replace the candlesticks. It was good timing, too, as we had worn them down to stubs. We used it as a reminder to return to the ball. We hadn’t quite realised how quickly time had escaped us. I was so fascinated by those coins! Lord Ashbury was quite happy to leave her to it.” “I see. Did you notice anything strange or out of place?” “Not at all,” frowned the professor, “all seemed quite ordinary. Except the coins, of course. Now they were extraordinary.” “Thank you, Professor,” Cedar said, “I’ll let you get back to your work.” “Of course, Mr. Locke. Do let me know if you require anything further,” the professor replied, returning to his charts. As Cedar moved back to the hallway, he nearly stumbled over an elderly fellow. He was a foot shorter than Cedar, but solidly built. He wore a tweed jacket with navy trousers and a button-up shirt partly covered with a waistcoat. His white hair was swept to one side, uncovering a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. “My apologies,” said the figure, “I didn’t see you there”. Cedar stepped aside to let him pass. The elder adjusted his glasses and peered up at Cedar. “You must be the investigator, Mr. Locke, if I am not mistaken?” “That’s right, and you are?” “Ah! My name is Lord Ashbury or Lord Oscuro, Daniel Clement Ashbury to be precise,” the man replied. His voice was reassuring. Warm, “I was just on my way to meet up with Professor Brooke. He and I are arranging a trip out to the sands of the old Sakhmetian capital. It is a most exciting prospect. He is by far the preeminent expert on the architecture of the pre-Coltzanic age.” “He is certainly enthusiastic”, said Cedar, unable to help himself. Lord Ashbury chortled. “That sounds like Bartholemew alright. May I ask how the investigation is going?” There was a look of concern that further creased his lined face. “It’s still in the early stages,” replied Cedar, “I wouldn’t want to prejudice anything at the moment. However, I do have a question. Professor Brooke mentioned that you both came upstairs. Were you with him the entire time?” “I believe I was…” Lord Ashbury trailed off, “Although thinking about it, I did nip to my private study to retrieve a particularly bright specimen. A streaked maractite coin, very rare in that condition. I can’t have been more than a few minutes.” “I see.” “I doubt that Professor Brooke even knew I had popped out. He was in exactly the same position upon my return.” Lord Ashbury shrugged slightly, “But as you asked, I thought it best to mention it”. “Did you see anyone else upstairs?” “Only Meadows on her usual rounds. We returned to the ballroom after that.” Cedar nodded. This matched with Professor Brooke’s recollections. “Thank you,” he said, “That will do for now.” Lord Ashbury inclined his head in turn and went into the library. Cedar heard him warmly greet Professor Brooke, in the manner of an old and beloved friend… or a long-lost sister. Cedar shook his head resolutely. Time to focus on the task at hand. It was at that moment that he saw Ms. Graychart at the top of the stairs. He gestured with one hand for her to wait, before approaching her and speaking in a low tone. “Any problems in the kitchen?” “None.” she replied, failing to mask her disappointment, “All three members of staff swear that they were in the kitchen together that night, and that no-one made use of the back stairs or the dumbwaiter. They were quite adamant on that point. Apparently, the souffles failed to rise to the desired extent, and they had to start afresh, meaning they were in the kitchen the entire night –- not even the opportunity to step out for a break. They appeared quite harried.” Cedar let out a small hum of thought. “Okay,” he said, “Appreciate the effort. Let’s go find Meadows next. She was seen by both Lord Ashbury and Professor Brooke, but I want to know what she saw.” The two of them headed down the sweeping stairs, and Cedar felt an echo of self-consciousness for the first time in a while, as a long-forgotten memory rose unbidden. A memory of dancing feet, twirling hands, laughter and a lonely boy. He shook it away, and the thought flickered away to the window and out into the world beyond. At the bottom of the stairs, he and Ms Graychat followed the directions from the stately Barnsley, busy tidying a long runner rug, towards the rear of the property and out to the gardens and the fresh air outside. To be continued…
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