Ten Little Wizards: A Lord Darcy Novel by Michael Kurland, Randall Garrett

replied. “They simply predict the weather, they don’t cause it.”
    “That is so,” Lord Darcy agreed. “But six or eight months ago, shortly after His Highness—the King’s Uncle Edouard, Prince of Gaul—passed on, when the Privy Council picked the date for the coronation of Duke Gwiliam, a senior official weather wizard predicted that the weather at this time would be suitable. I remember distinctly reading it in the Court Gazette at the time. ‘Suitable’ was the very expression. Heads will roll.”
    “Weather prediction is not an exact branch of magic,” Master Sean said, defending his unknown colleague. “The equations are very difficult. And the further into the future a weather wizard tries to see, the murkier his answers become.”
    “Heads will roll,” Lord Darcy reiterated, taking a large gulp of hot caffe. “The Privy Council are not a forgiving group.” He buttered another roll.
    An hour and fifteen minutes later the local to Le Havre finally pulled in and Lord Darcy and Master Sean boarded. The journey to Tournadotte, normally a trip of under three hours, took just over five hours. For the last hour the scenery outside resembled a vast lake, out of which were thrust small islands that had been hills, trees, farmhouses, and occasional bewildered cows and sheep. The water didn’t seem to be much over a foot deep, but it covered most of the ground in this essentially flat valley.
    The Tournadotte station was larger than Lord Darcy had remembered. The train, wheezing and spitting smoke, entered a large, glass-covered shed where six tracks came together before exiting in various directions. It was, Lord Darcy knew, the main nexus where the trains from the south intersected with the direct Paris line.
    Prefect of Police Henri Vert himself, in a rather disheveled uniform, was waiting for them on the platform, at the head of three armsmen. “It’s good to see you again, Lord Darcy, Master Sean,” he said, enthusiastically shaking hands with each of them. “Good to see you. Glad I could be here to meet you. Almost didn’t hear you were coming. The Castle just got through to my office an hour ago. Said they were trying all night. The teleson is very unreliable in this weather.”
    “It’s a real pleasure to see you again, Prefect Henri,” Lord Darcy said. “You’re looking very fit.”
    “For one of my years, you mean, my lord?” Prefect Henri asked, twisting the ends of his mustache with a practiced gesture of thumb and forefinger. “Well, there’s none of us getting any younger. Although I must say that you don’t look any different than when we worked together twenty years ago. A bit more distinguished, perhaps. And you, Master Sean, you’re getting positively younger. It must be the influence of all that good magic you surround yourself with. I’ve heard it said that the practice of magic keeps one from growing old.”
    Master Sean laughed. “I think that means that it takes magical art to keep one from looking like he or she is growing old. But time catches up with all of us, with or without the Talent.”
    “We can’t stay in Tournadotte long, unfortunately, Prefect Henri,” Lord Darcy said. “Perhaps overnight at most. So the sooner we get to work on these murders, the sooner we can find time to sit down and talk.”
    “Ah,” Prefect Henri said, “it was the murders that brought you, and the murders that you are anxious to arrive at. Well, I shall not detain you. I, also, am anxious.” He waved his arm to one of the uniformed armsmen behind him and pointed to the luggage. “Jean, take our guests’ bags into the boat. We shall be off.”
    “Boat?” Lord Darcy asked.
    “It is the only way to get around,” Prefect Henri said gaily. “A flat-bottomed scow that is used for hauling pigs across the Eure in dryer times. Now we have requisitioned it, and for the past three days it’s been used for hauling armsmen about the town.” He led the procession into the station