//------------------------------//
// III. Détective Clover l’Ingénieuse 
// Story: The Murder of Starswirl the Bearded 
// by Inky Scrolls 
//------------------------------//

There on the floor, lying almost at my hooves, was Celette. An unlit candle, presumably snuffed out by the fall from her hoof onto the carpet, lay nearby. I quickly leant down beside her, and was relieved to find her still breathing. Then I realised what she must have screamed at - for there, in a patch of moonlight shining through the uncurtained window between the clouds, lay Étoire de Magique, Starswirl the Bearded. And he was surrounded by a rapidly growing pool of rich, red blood.

A went to go to him, but Clover was there before me, casting a powerful spell to curtail the bleeding. She crouched beside the prostrate wizard, and felt his lower foreleg for a pulse. I watched, open mouthed, scarcely breathing in my anxiety. After almost a full minute, she laid the limb down, sighed deeply, and looked up at me. She shook her head.

Another scream rent the air. Not mine, for I was still trying to comprehend what had happened. The cry was from Clémentine, who now collapsed weakly against her doorframe, eyes staring, hyperventilating. Clover turned to me calmly. "Take Clémentine downstairs. Fetch her something to drink, perhaps a glass of water."

"No." The Kommandant, whom I had not previously seen, came stepping carefully down the stairs to the third floor. "I will take her." And, with more care and consideration than I should have thought possible from a usually so uncommunicative stallion, he nudged her gently to her senses, and escorted her slowly down to the salon.

Clover stood up, and sighed again. She murmured something to herself which I couldn't catch, then walked over to the landing bellpull and rang the bell. While we were waiting for a response, Celette began to stir. As she came round her eyes lighted on the body of Étoire, and she gave another shuddering gasp. Though unable to provide any explanation, I sat down on the floor in front of her, blocking her view, and took her hooves in mine. I made calming noises, and spoke in a low voice. She seemed to calm down slightly, and acquiesced to my suggestion that we go downstairs to the salon.

After checking that Clover would be alright, I walked slowly down the steps with Celette, in silent contemplation. The butler, a gentle giant of an earth-pony stallion with an imperturbably taciturn visage, passed us on his way upstairs to the second landing. I could hear him and Clover conversing in hushed tones until Celette and I reached the ground floor. My memory of the almost labyrinthine château's floorplan was still far from adequate, but fortunately I was able to follow Celette to the salon, whereupon she sank down into an armchair and closed her eyes.

Clémentine, too was seated, sitting by the window with a glass of brandy in one hoof. Her breathing had steadied now, and she seemed to have risen above her earlier shock. The Kommandant came quietly over to me. "Frau Clémentine will be fine now, I think. The initial terror has passed. How do you feel, Fräulein? Do you desire brandy?"

I thanked him politely but declined and, nodding, he went over to repeat these ministrations to Celette. She also declined, though with less forbearance, seeming almost contemptuous of von Orkan; for why I could not fathom. He turned abruptly away, and went to sit by Clémentine, taking her hoof in his and providing silent moral support. She seemed almost not to notice, and did not remove her hoof from his touch.

I wished it could have been I who was the one holding her hoof, I the one on whom she could rely. I find myself frowning subconsciously, and jumped when Clover's voice spoke at my shoulder. "Starlight, would you find Mam'zelle de Jaune, please? I have an announcement to make."

"Oh! Yes, yes of course." Clover had entered the room without my noticing, along with de Pomme the butler, and the young fillies, who looked both frightened and excited. De Pomme's non-expressive countenance was as impassive as ever, and he stood unobtrusively in the corner with Chérie and Poulette, for all the world like a silent guardian, taking extra care of his young charges given the disturbance of recent events. While Clover went round checking everypony was alright, I left, wondering where de Jaune could be - after all, she slept on the same floor as Clémentine, Clover, Chérie and Poulette, Étoire himself, and me - so how had she not been awoken by the commotion?

Managing to remember the way up to the second floor, I mounted the stairs. Gingerly, fearing what I may see on the second landing, I surmounted the last steps - and was relieved to find that Clover and Pommeteur had laid a sheet over Étoire's body, shielding him from view. I felt a catch in my throat as the realisation finally hit me - Starswirl the Bearded, the greatest mage in the history of ponykind, had been murdered. Why anypony would do so, or who they might be, was beyond me, and I felt tears start to my eyes. He had been more than just a wizard. He had been a friend, too, to Clémentine, a mentor to Clover, a friendly, uncle-like figure to Chérie and Poulette. I was filled with a determination that whosoever has committed this outrage would be found, and that they would be punished.

As I stood there, thinking these thoughts, the fur on the back of my neck began to stand up. I sensed the presence of somepony else, of somepony watching me. The clock on the wall struck five, and I jumped. The feeling of a malevolent somebody grew, and I turned round slowly, almost dreading what I might find - and then sighed in relief. The pony watching me was no-one more frightening than Mam'zelle de Jaune, who was standing in the shadows outside the entrance to her quarters. "What is happening?", she asked me.

"I'm afraid, Mam'zelle, I have some bad news... perhaps you could come downstairs with me to the salon?"

She nodded cautiously, and we padded back down the stairs together, her gaze being drawn for a long moment to the sheeted mound on the carpet of the landing. But she didn't ask what it was, or why I was so sombre. She seemed almost preoccupied, in fact, and - when I saw her in the early dawn light that was beginning to shine through the windows of the hall - she looked damp, somehow. Her mane was hanging limply, and her fur was speckled with minuscule droplets of water.

Presently we arrived in the salon. De Pomme was still standing guard by the fillies, both of whom were now drinking glasses of milk. The Kommandant and Clémentine were sitting, flanks almost touching, on the sofa by the fire, which was being lit by a member of the domestic staff. Celette had moved and was now sitting, back perfectly straight, in a hard wooden chair, her expression unreadable. Clover was stood by the window, make use of the little natural light available and scribbling hurriedly in her little notebook which was always somewhere about her person, occasionally gazing off into the middle distance before continuing feverishly. As de Jaune and I arrived and arranged ourselves by the fireplace, Clover put down her pen, and quietly cleared her throat to gain everypony's attention.

After waiting a moment for the housemaid to withdraw, she spoke. "As I am sure you are all aware, a great tragedy has occurred. Our mutual friend, Étoire de Magique, has been - and there is no better way of putting this - murdered."

De Jaune, though evidently surprised, said nothing. Clémentine gave a quiet sob, and was comforted by the Kommandant. Again, I felt that alarming spurt of jealousy, and scolded myself harshly. Who was I to deprive a grieving mare of comfort? And why should I care who gave that comfort? And yet I did mind. I managed to pull myself together as Clover continued.

"Whilst this matter is really not one for ears of foals" - she glanced at Chérie and Poulette - "I think that it is best that they know the truth. After all, they know no more nor less than the rest of us, and knew him as well as any now here. It would be churlish, in my mind, to exclude them. However, I bow to your judgement, Marquise Clémentine."

Here she paused to allow Clémentine to reply, but as she seemed barely to be listening, it was the Kommandant who decided for her. "No, I think I agree with you, Fräulein Clover. Let the fillies remain present."

Nodding her head slightly in acknowledgement, Clover continued. "Very well. At present we know very little about what has transpired, but I do know this - we will not rest until we know what has happened to Étoire, and who has done this terrible thing. If you are all in agreement" - she paused again to look round us all - "I would like to act as temporary detective, leading the investigation. If anypony has any objection, please say so now."

She waited, giving us all time to speak. No-one did so, so she continued. "Then it is decided. I will act as detective, and I should like you, Lumiette, to be my assistant. Our first task will be to precisely determine the cause of death, and then to move Étoire's... body. Perhaps you, Herr Kommandant, would be able to aid us with that, as I doubt Mam'zelle Lueur and I will have sufficient strength."

I knew for a fact that this wasn't true. As an alicorn, Twilight was easily the strongest pony present, despite being physically lesser in stature than either the Kommandant or de Pomme. However, it was vital that we not betray our temporal origins, and a play of lack of strength was important. The Kommandant nodded in acquiescence.

"Excellent," thanked Clover. "I suggest that, for now, the rest of you do your best to continue about your day. Lumiette, Herr Kommandant, let us return to the scene of the crime."

Leaving Clémentine alone on the sofa, staring unseeingly into the fire, the Kommandant followed Clover and myself back along the corridor, and up the two flights of stairs to the second landing. The sun was now almost fully above the horizon, and was casting an angry red glow across the eastern sky. Étoire, under the sheet, lay bathed in a patch of early sunlight. Before we removed the covering, Clover cast a spell to clear away the now drying blood. As well as making this already unpleasant task less unbearable, clean fur would help us discover exactly what had killed the late magician.

After waiting roughly a minute to allow the spell time to work, Clover took hold of the sheet. Closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, she slowly lifted the covering away from Étoire's body. He lay there before us, spreadeagled limply in pre-rigor mortis death. Clover swallowed, and I too felt a lump come to my throat. Only von Orkan remained impassive.

Clover worked quickly, searching the body for the cause of death. "Here," she said. She point with her hoof to a deep, raw gash across the back of the neck. "That explains the profusion of blood."

I looked around, wondering what could have happened to the murder weapon. It had evidently been a blade of some sort, as the cut was deep but clean. Not seeing anything, I turned to Clover, who was staring unseeingly, lost in thought, at the injury. Eventually she spoke. "Right. I think we've learnt all we can for now. Herr Kommandant, if you would be so kind as to help me carry Étoire through into his room? I think that would be the best place for him for now."

Together, with Clover using her magic and the Kommandant lending physical support, they moved the body into the late magician's bedroom. Laying him carefully on the bed, Clover fetched another sheet from inside the chest-of-drawers and arranged it over him. Then, after pulling the curtains tightly to, and glancing swiftly around the room, she led us back outside onto the landing.