Free Scholar's Plot by Hilari Bell Page B

Eventually. But it’s my turn to investigate Hotchkiss’ murder now, and I want to start by checking out the scene of the crime.”
    “He was killed in his home,” I said. “As he was leaving to go to the lecture, according to Captain Chaldon. Why do you want to look at the place he died?”
    “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have to look. That’s why they call it investigating. And you agreed that after you talked to the professor at the tower, it would be my turn.”
    “I didn’t even get in to the tower.” But that wasn’t his fault. And I had agreed. “All right, ’tis your turn. What next, my … associate? You won’t be able to simply walk into Hotchkiss’ house, you know. ’Twill be locked. You’ll have to get permission from Headman Portner, and maybe Captain Chaldon too. Whereas at the library, they might just let us in.”
    Fisk chose to ignore this sensible suggestion. “I don’t need permission, I just need a key. And we will need it — if we burgled Hotchkiss’ house in the middle of the night and wandered around lighting candles, someone would call the scholar’s guard. This is a search we need to do by day.”
    “Where are you going to get a key to—”
    I was interrupted by a pealing bell, and then doors in all the buildings around us burst open and scholars flooded out and down the paths like … I was about 
to say, like a flock of blackbirds, but the students 
where noisier, and most of them shed their black coats 
as soon as the sunlight heated them. Fisk had to grab one of them, to stop him long enough to ask directions to the office of the university’s chief clerk.
    “What makes you think the clerk will have a key? Much less give it to you?” I had to raise my voice to be heard over the clatter.
    “The clerk always has spare keys,” said Fisk. “You think the headman wants to be bothered every time someone locks himself out? As for giving me the key… I’ll start out slow, a few questions, a bit of flattery… What man wouldn’t want to help catch a murderer?”
    “A man who doesn’t want to lose his job,” I said. “For passing out his keys to strangers.”
    “You’d do it,” Fisk said. “If I pitched it right.”
    “I did fall for your pitch,” I said. “Once. But this clerk may be a smarter man than I.”
    However, when we reached the clerk’s office that proved impossible on the face of it … for the clerk was a woman.
    “Are there many women working here?” Fisk asked pleasantly, after we’d introduced ourselves. “We’ve just come from talking to Professor Dayless and, well, it’s unusual to see so many women in positions of authority.”
    Nancy Peebles was a plump, middle-aged woman with smooth dark hair and a comfortably worn face. Her office was small, but her desk all but filled it, and a clutter of papers covered the desk. Between that and the file cabinets, there was barely room for Fisk and me. I leaned against the wall, put my hands in my pockets, and prepared to watch the show. Fisk had done little to help with my investigation, after all. I saw no reason to intervene in his.
    “There aren’t that many of us,” the clerk said. “Though if I had a sister I’d not hesitate to send her here, Master Fisk. Do you have a sister to enroll?”
    “No,” said Fisk. “My associate here is Benton Sevenson’s brother, and since we were accused of Master Hotchkiss’ murder, we’d like to look into the matter.”
    The woman’s jaw dropped, small blame to her. I was almost as startled, by the rare spectacle of Fisk telling the simple truth. Though he doubtless had some sneaky reason for doing so.
    “Accused…? But I thought… I didn’t know Professor Sevenson had… Wait. If you’re accused of the murder, why aren’t the guards holding you? I thought they decided a burglar did it!”
    “They did think that, at first,” said Fisk. “Then they discovered that Professor Sevenson had good reason to hate Master Hotchkiss. And when he