He’d cooked? Before I could ask what he’d made, there was a loud groan from a room nearby. Winter stiffened and shot me a warning glance as if I needed telling to keep quiet. I tutted softly.
We edged further in. Someone was definitely in the house; there was the sound of soft snoring. It was a wonder that they’d not woken up when Winter bellowed at the entrance. I nodded in satisfaction; that sort of dedication to sleep always impresses me.
Treading lightly, Winter walked in front of me and paused at the end of the gloomy corridor. He knocked on the door. The snoring continued. Nudging the door with his foot, he pushed it open. Inside there was a dimly lit room with large sash windows, draped with heavy velvet curtains. They would have looked rather grand but they were hanging off the rail in several places and looked as if they’d been flung up rather than carefully dressed. There was a flickering television screen in one corner and my gaze took in an extraordinary pornographic video involving several naked people and orifices I had no desire to think about. Winter hastily grabbed the remote control from the floor and switched it off.
The only other thing in the room, apart from empty bottles and squashed cans, was a sofa with a large lump on it. When the lump let out another snore, I decided that this had to be Oscar Marsh. For all that Adeptus Diall had seemed to be an unpleasant fellow prior to his untimely death, he appeared to have hit the nail on the head as far as Marsh was concerned. I doubted this was an Order witch of whom the Ipsissimus was particularly proud.
I wondered if it troubled Winter that he spent his time around less than noble witches when the Order did so much good for the world. I suppose it was the nature of his job – of our job.
Winter cleared his throat. If he thought that was going to wake Sleeping Beauty, he was deluded. Marsh was face down with his arse sticking up in the air and one arm dangling over the sofa’s edge. Considering what Winter had done to force me out of bed, I was surprised that he was being so delicate. ‘Throw a bucket of water over him,’ I said sourly. ‘It worked with me.’
Winter grimaced. ‘That was because I knew you weren’t likely to spring up and start attacking me. This guy is another matter.’
I frowned. ‘First of all, this guy is virtually comatose. Even when he wakes up, he’s hardly going to be in a position to attack. Alcohol is seeping out of his pores, Winter. He’s more likely to throw up and clutch his head than throw something at your head. And how did you know I wouldn’t attack you? I might have.’
‘You’re not the type,’ Winter dismissed, without explaining properly. ‘If this Marsh killed Adeptus Diall, not to mention stole the Cypher Manuscript, then he’s far more dangerous than he looks.’
I cast a doubtful look at the slumbering witch. There was no chance this was our man. Winter seemed to read my thoughts. ‘Appearances can be deceptive, Ivy. Perhaps he’s sleeping off a hangover because his guilt turned him to drink.’
‘There’s no evidence—’ I began.
‘I said perhaps. And you’ve accused everyone else we’ve met so far. Why not him?’
I shrugged; it just didn’t seem very likely. In any case, Oscar Marsh clearly wasn’t going to wake up without further help. I glanced round the room. Unless I was going to chuck the dregs of flat beer into his face, there wasn’t much that would help. Frankly, the man already smelled badly enough.
‘I’ll find the kitchen and get some water,’ I said gruffly. I turned on my heel.
There was a small galley kitchen towards the front door. It was surprisingly clean but Oscar Marsh probably didn’t do much cooking if he lived on a liquid diet. I was beginning to feel irritated. The Order obviously knew he had problems; there were plenty of things they could have done to help him.
I opened cupboards until I found a cup, took it to the sink and turned on the tap. Winter was shouting at Marsh in the other room. I paused and listened. It still didn’t seem like the man had woken up.
Glancing down, I reached over to turn off the tap. That was when I spotted the small, charred fragment of paper caught in the plughole. I set the cup to one side and carefully pulled it out. It was little more than a few inches wide and had obviously been burnt but there were still a few words visible.
I squinted at them and my veins ran ice cold. I guess I’d been wrong about Marsh. Leaving the water where it was, I went back to Winter. He was crouched down by Marsh’s head, poking him. ‘Winter,’ I whispered. He didn’t react. I tried again. ‘Rafe!’
The urgency in my voice reached him. He turned round and glanced at me. Grimly, I held out the tiny piece of paper. ‘I probably should have worn gloves,’ I said apologetically, realising that I had probably contaminated the evidence.
Winter stood up and took the paper. It took less than a second for its meaning to sink in. His face shuttered and something indefinable flashed in his eyes. Without another word he spun round, marched back to Marsh and hauled him upwards by the scruff of his neck.
Even Winter’s violent tug didn’t immediately wake up the witch. He emitted a groan. When Winter shook him, he finally opened his eyes, bleary confusion in their murky brown depths.
‘Wh – what?’ Marsh gabbled.
‘Philosophus Oscar Marsh, you are under arrest by proclamation of the Hallowed Order of Magical Enlightenment,’ Winter spat, using official Order language. ‘Any attempt to use magic to provoke, conceal or avoid taking responsibility for your actions will be held against you, regardless of your guilt or innocence. You are entitled to legal representation and to apply to the non-magical courts for consideration.’
Marsh still didn’t seem to understand what was going on. I didn’t blame him: one minute he was comatose in a puddle of his own spit and the next he had a furious Adeptus yelling at him. Then my gaze drifted downwards and I noticed that among the other stains on his grubby T-shirt there was definitely blood. My sympathy vanished in an instant.
‘What have I done?’ He blinked rapidly as if trying to remember.
‘You stole the Ipsissimus’s sceptre and Volume 9 of the Cypher Manuscript. Finally,’ Winter hissed, ‘you murdered Adeptus Exemptus Diall.’
Marsh just gaped at him. ‘I don’t think…’ He moaned. ‘I have a really sore head. Could we do this some other time?’
Winter laughed coldly in his face. ‘Not likely. Your time is up.’
Chapter Twenty