Stepping back into the duchess's study, Fred felt the familiar chill of a crime scene. His hand instinctively went to his pocket, searching for a non-existent penlight. The room remained untouched, just as he'd left it, save for one crucial detail. A figure waited. Seated casually at a delicate writing desk, long fingers drummed a soft rhythm against polished wood. A man. His dark eyes, sharp and intelligent, fixed on Fred the moment he crossed the threshold. He rose, a fluid motion, tall and lean. "You've returned," the man stated, his voice smooth, almost melodic. "I trust you found what you were looking for outside?" Fred blinked. "Who are you?" His gaze swept the room, checking for guards, for anyone who might have let this stranger in. No one. The door had been locked. A faint smile played on the man's lips. "My apologies. Gui Dumont. And I am here to assist." He gestured vaguely around the opulent, blood-splattered room. "A grave matter, wouldn't you agree?" "Assist?" Fred scoffed, a tight knot forming in his stomach. "Who sent you? I'm handling this. Alone." The man exuded an unsettling calm, a confidence that felt out of place for a casual observer. "The Duke himself requested my presence," Gui replied, his smile widening slightly. "A matter of civic duty, you understand. I am, myself, a… fledgling investigator. Always eager to learn, especially from someone with your… unique approach." His eyes seemed to linger on Fred's slightly anachronistic attire. Fledgling investigator? Fred narrowed his eyes. This wasn't adding up. The Duke had barely acknowledged him, let alone sent a junior partner. Still, arguing now would waste precious time. He needed to assess Gui, keep him close, and watch his every move. "Fine," Fred grunted, moving past Gui towards the duchess's body. He knelt, pulling out his mental checklist. Time of death, entry wounds, signs of struggle. He mentally updated his observations from earlier. Gui, meanwhile, observed Fred with an almost academic interest. He didn't flinch from the sight of the deceased. Instead, his gaze tracked Fred's movements, occasionally flicking to the various objects in the room. "What have you found so far?" Gui inquired, his voice quiet, not intrusive. He walked towards a bookshelf, his fingers trailing over leather-bound volumes, a gesture that seemed both casual and deliberate. "Not much that's obvious," Fred admitted, standing up. "Blunt force trauma, followed by a stab wound. No forced entry into the room, no signs of a prolonged struggle. The weapon isn't here." Gui hummed. "Intriguing. A killer who removes their weapon. Or perhaps, a killer who uses something readily available?" He turned from the bookshelf, his eyes scanning the floor. "Could be," Fred agreed, noting Gui's quick deduction. Too quick? Or genuinely insightful? He felt a prickle of unease. "I need to check the rest of the house. For anything out of place." "Excellent idea," Gui said, a genuine eagerness in his tone. "Allow me. Two heads are often better than one, even if one is, as you say, 'fledgling'." Fred reluctantly nodded. He couldn't refuse the Duke's "representative" without causing a diplomatic incident he couldn't afford. But he would keep his eyes open. Every movement, every word from Gui would be scrutinized. --- Moving through the grand corridors, the silence of the mansion pressed down. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stale air. Fred checked each room methodically. The salon, filled with plush velvet and ornate furniture, yielded nothing. The dining hall, set for a meal long past, showed no disturbance. He opened drawers, ran his fingers over surfaces, his modern instincts searching for prints, fibers, anything that might be out of place. Gui, on the other hand, moved with a different kind of purpose. He seemed to absorb the atmosphere, his eyes taking in the overall picture before focusing on specifics. He didn't touch much, but his gaze was sharp, probing. "A very private woman, the duchess," Gui remarked as they entered her personal chambers. The room was a riot of silks and lace, overflowing with personal effects. "No indication of a lover, a secret rendezvous?" Fred shook his head. "No sign of a struggle here either. No overturned furniture, no broken trinkets. If someone was here against her will, she put up no fight in this room." He moved to a vanity table, examining the array of silver brushes and delicate perfume bottles. A small, intricately carved wooden box sat among them. He opened it. Inside, a single, dried flower. Nothing else. Gui drifted towards a large wardrobe, opening its heavy doors. He surveyed the rows of gowns, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps the killer was known to her? Someone she wouldn't resist?" "That's one theory," Fred mumbled, his mind racing through other possibilities. "Or someone who caught her completely unawares. In her study, perhaps she was engrossed in paperwork, distracted." They continued their search, moving from the duchess's personal wing to the more functional areas of the house. The library was a labyrinth of books, their spines promising ancient knowledge. The music room, silent and grand, held instruments gathering dust. Fred felt a growing frustration. This place was too clean, too orderly for a violent crime. The killer had been meticulous, or extremely lucky. Or, most unsettlingly, both. "What about the servants' quarters?" Fred suggested. "And the kitchen? Often overlooked." Gui nodded. "A pragmatic approach. The heart of any household." His eyes held a flicker of something Fred couldn't quite decipher—amusement, perhaps, or a deeper calculation. "Lead the way, Inspector Cleavence." --- The kitchen was a cavernous space, smelling faintly of roasted meats and stale bread. Copper pots hung from hooks, glinting dully in the light filtering through grimy windows. A large wooden table dominated the center, still laden with a few forgotten pastries, drawing flies. Fred began systematically checking the pantry, his eyes scanning for anything unusual. A misplaced item, a footprint in spilled flour. His fingers brushed against sacks of grain, barrels of salted fish, all yielding nothing. His patience wore thin. Gui, meanwhile, moved with a more deliberate pace. He didn't rush. His gaze swept over the hearth, the various cooking implements, the chopping blocks. He was like a predator, slow and observant, missing nothing. He paused by a long, heavy counter, where various knives of different sizes were neatly arranged in a wooden block. His head tilted slightly. "Curious," Gui murmured, his voice cutting through the silence. Fred looked up from a shelf of dried herbs. "What is it?" He walked over, a sudden tension seizing him. Gui pointed a long, elegant finger. His expression was one of mild surprise, almost detached discovery. "This one." Nestled among the sharp blades was a knife. A common kitchen knife, but its handle was dark, almost black, and the blade itself seemed to have a faint, reddish-brown stain along its edge. It was subtly different from the others, slightly out of place in its perfect alignment. Fred's breath hitched. He recognized the size, the general shape. It matched the description of the wound in the duchess's chest. His heart hammered against his ribs. "Blood," Gui stated calmly, his eyes meeting Fred's. "Or something very much like it. And the size… it would fit the wound perfectly." Fred stared at the knife, then at Gui. A wave of suspicion, cold and sharp, washed over him. How had Gui found it so quickly? Almost too easily. Was it planted? Or was Gui truly that observant, that cunning? "This changes things," Fred said, his voice low. He didn't touch the knife. He knew better. He backed away a step, his gaze fixed on the stained blade. "This puts the killer in the kitchen. Someone who had access here, who knew where to hide it." Gui gave a slow, deliberate nod. His eyes, dark and knowing, lingered on the blade. "Indeed. Someone who had access to a kitchen knife. Someone, perhaps, who worked here." He looked up at Fred, a faint, unsettling smile touching his lips. "The servant, wouldn't you say?" The spots were now on the servant. He would have to question them immediately. This case was far from closed. The true killer remained hidden in plain sight, pulling strings. He felt it in his gut, a growing certainty that this was only the beginning of a much larger, more dangerous game. He had to uncover the truth, before anyone else became a victim. But first, he needed to find the servant. His mind raced, planning his next move, while Gui watched him with an unreadable expression. The implications of this discovery were immense, shifting the entire direction of the investigation. All signs now pointed to someone within the household, someone who moved among them, perhaps even someone he had already seen. This was a brutal, intimate crime, and the weapon's sudden appearance in the heart of the home twisted the narrative completely. Gui's eyes seemed to glitter with a quiet triumph. "A significant development, wouldn't you agree?" Fred just looked at the knife, a cold dread settling in his stomach. The servant. All the evidence now pointed directly to them, a convenient target. He needed to be careful. Very careful. Because Gui Dumont had found the crime weapon in the duchess's kitchen, and now the spots were on the servant. His very presence felt like a challenge. What else would he unearth? What else was he hiding? His gut screamed at him that this was too perfect, too neatly tied. His mind raced. This was a setup. But for whom? And why? He looked at Gui, then back at the knife, a chilling thought taking root. This wasn't just a discovery. It felt like a trap. What had he just walked into? The air crackled with unspoken questions, with the weight of a sudden, damning accusation. The true killer was still out there, manipulating events, and Gui had just handed him a suspect on a silver platter. He knew, with a sudden, sinking certainty, that his investigation had just taken a deadly turn. He had to find that servant, and quickly, before the narrative became irreversible. And he had to watch Gui. Every move. Every word. The game had truly begun. Gui had discovered the crime weapon in the duchess's kitchen, now the spots were on the servant. He knew this was just the start.

Chapter 3: Gui Dumont