Chapter Four
FOUR
Faint indigo light traced the side of Francis Gladwell’s face. For several seconds, Vesper could only stare.
It didn’t make sense. An hour and a half ago, the inventor had stood tall and proud on a stage, presenting his groundbreaking machine. Now he was lying prone in the center of a maze. Vesper pursed her lips.
Why was Mr. Gladwell here, and what on earth had happened to him?
Her gaze ran the length of his body, zeroing in on the details.
The inventor’s cheeks were red; spittle wet the corners of his mouth.
His gold silk cravat had been loosened and, despite the evening’s chill, a sheen of sweat slicked his forehead.
His breath came slow and deep, and there was a fruity scent of alcohol in the air mixed with something sweeter that reminded Vesper strangely of licorice. She put the pieces together.
Francis Gladwell was … drunk.
She sighed. The inventor had seemed perfectly fine when they’d spoken before his demonstration, but a few quick drinks to calm the nerves paired with a few more drinks after his onstage success could explain his current condition.
Her eyes found what looked to be a half-filled champagne bottle nearby, confirming her suspicions. She tilted her head.
“Uh … Mr. Gladwell?”
The inventor didn’t stir.
Vesper took a deep breath, then tried again, louder. “Mr. Gladwell, I know that you’re … indisposed, but I think it best you sit up. It’s quite cold out here, and—”
A rustling sound to her right cut her short. Vesper glanced over her shoulder, eyeing the surrounding hedges.
“Hello?”
Only a howling wind answered, but a sense of unease lingered.
She and Mr. Gladwell were the only ones in the courtyard, but it still felt like someone was watching them, just out of sight.
She returned her attention to the inventor.
He was losing color. Vesper knelt beside him and gently pressed two fingers against his inner wrist. He was still warm, but his pulse was faint.
She weighed her options. The temperature was dropping, which put him at a higher risk for hypothermia and dehydration, but she wasn’t strong enough to carry him back to the museum on her own. That left one remaining option.
She stood and brushed the grass from her skirts.
I’ll come back. I promise.
She glanced over her shoulder a final time before heading toward the archway through which she’d first come.
This time, she placed her right hand on the wall.
She’d need to find the way out quickly, and she’d also need to remember how to get back to this place.
Every time she turned in a different direction, she tried to commit it to memory.
Left, left, right. Left, right, right.
The longer she walked, the more anxious she became.
She had no way of tracking time here, but she guessed that approximately ten minutes had gone by since she’d left Mr. Gladwell in the center of the maze.
She thought of the brilliant inventor, lying alone, and tried to think of what had led him there.
Perhaps he’d simply drunk too much, and wandered into it by mistake.
She certainly hoped she was able to find someone soon.
She was still thinking about him when she rounded a corner and slammed into something—or rather, someone.
“Oh!” Vesper jumped back. “Apologies, I didn’t…
” She stiffened. Maximilian Kite was staring down at her, looking only mildly surprised.
This close, Vesper could smell his cologne.
She detected vetiver, a woodsy scent that reminded her of a library.
It was almost … nice. Before she let herself dwell on that, she stepped back and crossed her arms.
“Mr. Kite.”
“Miss Evans.” Maximilian offered a mocking bow. “We really should stop meeting like this. People will talk.”
Vesper’s face warmed, but she didn’t avert her gaze. Maximilian Kite was studying her with an inexplicable intensity. Under the moonlight, his eyes seemed to have darkened to a deep-sea blue. She floundered, searching for something to say.
“Why are you still in the maze?”
The sorcerer shrugged. “I was on my way out.”
Vesper pursed her lips. It had been at least twenty minutes since she’d finished interviewing him. If Maximilian had truly been looking for an exit, he would have found it by now. An internal warning bell sounded.
He’s lying.
“In any case, I could ask you the same,” Maximilian went on. “Why are you still here?”
“I was trying to find help,” said Vesper. “There’s been an incident.”
Maximilian’s expression grew serious. “What’s happened?”
Vesper pointed in the direction she’d come. “It’s Mr. Gladwell. He’s fainted.”
“Fainted?”
Vesper fumbled, looking for more tactful words. “I saw a bottle of champagne near him. I think he may have overindulged.”
“Good grief.” Maximilian rolled his eyes.
“He needs help,” said Vesper. “He was unconscious when I left him, and I don’t think he should stay outside in his current condition.”
“Right.” Maximilian’s tone was terse. “Take me to him.”
Vesper turned and placed her left hand on the wall, trying to remember the way from which she’d come. She focused on that instead of thinking about the sorcerer following close behind. Eventually, a spot of light beaconed up ahead.
“Just here,” she said as they reached it. “He’s—”
In so many ways, the courtyard looked just as it had before.
Moonlight still illuminated the stone fountain in its center, and Francis Gladwell was still lying prone exactly where Vesper had left him, his head turned to the side.
But something was wrong. Her eyes ran the length of the inventor’s body, then snagged on a dark spot near his temple: blood.
It had trickled across the bridge of his nose, past his blank open eyes, and pooled in the grass beneath him.
He was too still. Vesper’s mouth went dry.
“I … I don’t understand. He wasn’t injured before.”
Maximilian shouldered past and headed straight for Mr. Gladwell. He knelt and placed a finger below the inventor’s nose. Then he looked up at Vesper.
“He’s not breathing.”
Vesper swallowed. “What do we do?”
Maximilian looked around, then murmured something and held his hand out. As though summoned, the maze’s tiny lights flew to him, gathering until they’d clustered into a glittering orb the size of a large pumpkin. He tilted his head, and the orb soared up to hover above them.
“It’s a distress signal,” he explained. “Someone will see it and come to us with help.”
“Right.”
The sorcerer looked down at Mr. Gladwell again. “You’re sure he wasn’t like this before?”
“I’m sure,” said Vesper. “He was lying there, but he was breathing and definitely uninjured. I checked his pulse myself.” She stepped closer. “I knew he’d been drinking because there was a bottle of champagne near his feet, and…” She frowned. “It’s gone.”
“What?”
“The champagne bottle. It’s gone.”
“Miss Evans.” Maximilian sounded strained now. “Did you see anyone else in this maze after you found Francis?”
Vesper went over the night’s events in her mind.
She remembered an uncomfortable feeling, the sense that she was being watched.
Had the person who’d done this to Francis Gladwell been hidden somewhere, waiting?
The idea was unsettling, but perhaps that’d just been her imagination.
She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.
“He and I were the only ones here,” she said. “I didn’t see anyone else until I found you.”
The sorcerer shook his head. “This isn’t good.” He steepled his fingers and began to pace, muttering to himself. Vesper watched him until the question on the tip of her tongue escaped her.
“Why were you in the maze tonight, Mr. Kite?”
Maximilian looked up. “Pardon?”
“You were the host of this exhibition,” Vesper went on. “Why leave the party and come into the maze in the middle of it?”
Maximilian’s expression turned cool and imperious. “That’s hardly your business.”
Vesper had just opened her mouth to argue when she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. She turned, and her heart sank.
Three uniformed police officers had just entered the courtyard, and she recognized the one leading them instantly. He was short and bald, with a slightly ruddy complexion. As if he sensed her discomfort, Chief Stettner’s stern gray eyes went straight to her.
“Miss Evans?” Basalton’s most senior law enforcement officer sounded equal parts wary and exasperated. “What on earth are you doing here?” His eyes cut from her to Francis’s body. “And what’s happened?”
Maximilian stepped forward. “This is Francis Gladwell. He was the guest of honor at an exhibition taking place at the museum tonight. Miss Evans and I just found him. I was the one that sent a distress signal.”
Chief Stettner was already moving. Vesper couldn’t see the police chief’s expression as he knelt and took the inventor’s pulse. When he stood again and turned to face them, he was ashen. He addressed the officers who’d come with him.
“Send for additional personnel, and a coroner,” he ordered. “This man has been murdered, and this maze is now a crime scene.”