Interlude: Numbers and blades - Part 4: The Arrogance Fallacy

Whispers infested the room like rats holding cursed pests between their jaws as the lady walked in. Swift as the wind, she marched, holding her butler’s hand. One step after the other, she opened her eyes at the sight of the bloody floor and body of her father, just like she had left it all; very well, she missed nothing.

She made no gesture of surprise, as she felt no need to do so.

Her lack of any stage performance was compensated for by that of her brother. “You! Child,” he called Theodore, “speak!”
“I… don’t know, he was… when I found him.”

“What were you doing here?” he asked.

“I…”

“Lord Thornwood,” said the teacher, “he’s a child, he couldn’t do such a thing even had he wanted.”

Leopold looked him in the eyes, then said, “Right, a child, that, you are not.”

“Let’s not blame each other,” said Eleanor, “we could all work together to find whoever did this,” she turned to face her brother, “Right?”

The school kids assembled following their teacher’s order.

Pointing at Theodore, “You,” called Eleanor, “come here.”

The child of the streets had no problem escaping the micro-crowd of students and stood next to the lady, all before, but not without, the teacher noticing.

“Wycliffe! Have you the slightest idea what kind of trouble you got us into?”

“He will be assisting my lady to find the murderer,” answered Altham, “Please, wait for him.”

As the children left the room, Leopold took Eleanor’s hand and dragged her into the corner, to what seemed like an argument; a calm, tense one.

Theodore used that moment of solitude to approach the body. He looked at the wound for a long moment, then put his index finger inside of it, all the way through. He sensed the depth of the cut, the kind of damage it left… the tip of his finger barely touched the intact hyoid bone.

The blood had already clotted and stopped flowing; however, so little stimulation was enough to revive the vessels and dye his finger with blood, just as he wanted. He then took his finger off and measured the bloody section, hence the depth of the cut.

He was so indulged in his work that the hand of Leopold on his shoulder got to him before any sign of the latter approaching.

For reasons he wasn’t fully aware of, Theodore expected a tap on his shoulder. But he found himself on the receiving end of a fierce push.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” said Leopold in a threatening low voice, “Why are you even here?”

Theodore ignored him; he didn’t know how to deal with his kind and assumed someone else would take care of the explanations for him. He began examining the floor. The blood left marks of the struggle from last night, then hardened, leaving a living record of the incident. That being said, some traces on the floor can only tell so much, but not nothing.

Some elongated marks left by the motion of his legs indicated he struggled on the ground; the fact that they were all located in the same spot indicated that he might’ve been pinned or tied to that place during the struggle, which made sense. The throat was mostly intact, and so the victim needed to be shut down, not to make any noise.

But all of that had nothing to do with the price of eggs; Theodore needed to find the weapon.

“Lady Thornwood,” Theodore called her. She ignored her brother; she was not listening to him anyway. “I need you to have everyone look for a certain weapon in this house.”

She looked around before drawing as near as she could, so close, in fact, that he felt the warmth of her cheek on his.

She then whispered, “You know he must be hiding it, right?”

Startled, he composed himself and answered, “Anything’ll do, we’re trying to prove he’s the killer, but even if we can’t, we could make it seem as though he is.”

She nodded and headed back to her butler, telling him to gather the housekeepers, just as Theodore commanded.

In no time, the room contained the crew of half a dozen maids who knew the mansion like the palm of their hand.

“Look for a bulky sword or dagger, no polearm could be swung here, don’t bring me a sword too long either, the shorter the better, one that looks recently sharpened, but a little blunt at the end,” Announced Theodore.

And with that, they walked away one after another, some already knowing where to head, some walking as they figured that out. “You go too,” demanded Theodore, looking at the young Lady.

She nodded and walked away, and he watched her ever-so-swift steps. His breath growing slower and heavier with fear, a feeling he’s familiar with. She disappeared from his sight, and his heart sank as she closed the door behind her, for in that room, the killer and the only person who could catch him stood alone.

Theodore, who’d gone so far only to create this situation where he gets preyed upon, stood uneasily, waiting for the sharp end of a sword to rub against his neck.

His eyes were closed, but he could hear his opponent’s footsteps. He could feel a pull from behind; his legs were so weak they barely supported his weight, and anything as strong as a breeze could knock him out.

But none of that happened.

“Please, Mr. Wycliffe, find whoever did that to my father.” He said, giving Theodore something of a pat on the back.

Theodore sighed in relief, only to be troubled again by an even more terrifying idea: “Why is he so relaxed and confident?”

The sound of footsteps accelerated towards the two, and as the door finally opened, a young maid holding a dagger approached Leopold and handed the blade to him. He then took it out of its sheath and showed it to Theodore, “Does this match your description, Mr. Wycliffe?”

He nodded.

“Where did you find it?” Leopold asked the maid.

She stuttered in loss of words, but as he screamed, “Where?”, she finally spoke.

“It was in the young Lady’s room.”