Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 133, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 811 & 812, March/April 2009

“I first began to suspect the lord Roger,” I said, solemnly, “when he told me how much he admired Idwal’s playing. Yet he didn’t invite the harpist back to his house, even though Idwal would pass his door on the way to Monmouth. That struck me as odd. There had to be a reason why he didn’t offer hospitality to Idwal. He’s now told us what it was. Knowing exactly when the man would depart from your house, the lord Roger lay in wait for Idwal and struck him down.”

“Then he blamed it on Uncle Owain.”

“I fear that he did, Gwenllian.”

She was dismayed. “Are you telling me that Angharad was his confederate?” she asked querulously. “I know that the poor woman has lost her wits, but I didn’t think she’d forgotten the difference between right and wrong.”

“Angharad is free from any blame. She had a dream and much of it foreshadowed the heinous crime. When she recalled it to me, however,” I went on, “she admitted that she only saw the figures in dim outline. Angharad knew that Idwal was the victim because she saw the harp. She assumed that your uncle was the killer because the man in her dream resembled him. When she took her story to Roger de Brionne, he couldn’t believe his good fortune. He plied her with wine and put flesh on the bare bones of her dream.”

“How did she know that the harp was hidden in our stables?”

“Because that’s where the lord Roger had it placed,” I explained, “and where he convinced Angharad that it would be. Her dream was real, but it was peopled by the lord Roger, whispering in the ear of a woman affected by strong drink. I can vouch for its strength,” I added, “for he offered some to me. When I found a flask of it at Angharad’s hovel, I knew who her benefactor was.”

“Poor woman!” she cried. “He practised upon her.”

“The full truth will emerge at the trial — the full truth about the murder, that is.” When I turned to look at her, she dropped her head guiltily to her chest. “There’s something you held back from me, isn’t there?” I probed. “It’s to do with the night when Idwal tapped on your chamber door in search of your favour.”

“I’d rather not speak about it.”

“It’s a shame that it must be acknowledged, Gwenllian. It may be habitual among the Welsh but it’s wrong and I’ve preached against it many times. Tell me the truth, child.”

“No, no,” she whispered. “I dare not.”

“Then let me put the words into your mouth,” I said, recalling that moment when I passed by her and felt that peculiar sensation. “You didn’t open the door to Idwal that night for one simple reason. Someone was already sharing your bed.”

Her face turned white and she brought her hand up to her mouth to smother a cry. Owain ap Meurig would be released from custody but, in truth, he was no innocent man. Roger de Brionne had exploited the weakness of the Madwoman of Usk and implicated her in a murder plot. Owain had seduced his niece and turned her into his mistress. Both men would answer for their sins before God. I was once again honoured to be chosen as the instrument of His divine purpose.

Silverfish by S. J. Rozan

Black Mask

One of the genre’s most celebrated authors — an Edgar, Anthony, Shamus, and Macavity award winner for her novels and an Edgar winner for Best Short Story — S. J. Rozan came to fiction writing only after a successful career as an architect. At the same time this issue goes on sale, her publisher, St. Martin’s Press, will release a new novel in her popular Bill Smith/Lydia Chin series, The Shanghai Moon. It’s the first installment in the series since 2002’s Winter and Night.

* * *

“What kind of a fish is that, anyway?”

“What?”

“A silverfish. Is it, like, all silvery?”

Silverfish blew out a breath and tried to be patient. You had to be patient with Lady Mary. “Not a fish. It’s a bug.”

Lady Mary giggled. “You call yourself after a bug?” She checked her lipgloss once more and snapped her mirror away. “Must be a pretty bug.”

“It’s ugly. Lots of legs and it slithers.”

“Then why—”

“’Cause of my hair.”

Lady Mary didn’t say anything but Silverfish watched her blue eyes fill with doubt. Well, good. Silver-fish’s natural hair was brown, just like Lady Mary’s. She wore it short, spiked, and silver, but that was a choice, not something you’re stuck with and have to do your best about, like name yourself after. Silverfish had come into the life three years ago, at the same age Lady Mary was now, but she knew for a fact she’d never been as naive, as just plain street-dumb, as this kid. If Lady Mary didn’t wise up and stop believing everything people told her, she’d never survive.