The maid proved somewhat shaky, a fact that was unsurprising considering her first introduction to her mistress was to wash the sprayed arterial blood off her mistress. Her hands trembled so violently that she pulled Emmaline’s hair several times until Emmaline was forced to take over, relegating the woman to fetching things and holding the hand mirror. Emmaline herself was no better off but had the benefit of long practice of pretending everything was fine. When she was finally presentable she changed into a gown of green silk with brocade of gold thread. Her jewels, largely gifts from Oderick and other suitors had been brought to the room. Amazingly nothing was missing and Emmaline selected a gold ring with a large emerald as her only adornment.
 
Once she had been made presentable Kasimir and the Captain of the guard tramped in looking puzzled and troubled. Both men were scanning the area and had hands on swords, as though expecting another assassin to leap from the shadows at any moment. Emmaline gave a brief account of events, admitting only to a struggle with the killer.

 “What I don’t understand is, what happened to the man’s hand?” the Captain, a rugged handsome man by the name of Kilbrook, puzzled.

 “I zink ee cuts it of vith is own digger nes pa? Ven ee feel on moi?” Eleanor suggested. Both Kasimir and Kilbrook looked momentarily taken aback by such a monumentally stupid suggestion.
 
“Ma’dam,” Kilbrook began awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by her apparent ignorance “such a blade could never…”
 
“Perheeps ze bleed was inchanteeed vith vicked mageeks,” Eleanor continued, both men looked dubious but thoughtful. Magic blades were something with which they were familiar with, at least in theory. An improbable explanation was always preferable to the inexplicable.
 
“Oz more concseerned vith vou ee eez and vi ee tri to keel moi,” Eleanor said. Kilbrook looked blank but Kasimir, with more exposure to Eleanor’s erzat accent, leaned over and whispered a translation. Kilbrook’s eyes cleared though were no less troubled.

 “He was dressed as a servant but none of the others knew him. I suspect he stole the livery,” Kilbrook said.

 “Vy mee ou as nee-ver seed boo to ze gos?” she demanded. Both men exchanged puzzled looks at this but eventually grasped her meaning.

 “We ahh… assume it has something to do with Sir Oderick,” Kilbrook said, as though this were not the most obvious thing in the world.

 “Whoever killed him must think you know something, or saw something,” Kilbrook expanded. Eleanor nodded her head.

 “Ai cannot imaginé what,” she told him, to the Captain’s obvious disappointment. After a few more desultory questions the interview wound to a close and the Captain departed, leaving Eleanor and Kasimir alone. She wrestled with her conscience. The assassin had said that he needed to kill both of them. Should she warn the man? She hadn’t mentioned it to Kilbrook because she was fast coming to the conclusion that there was no one she could trust. No one except Kasimir it seemed.
 
“Shall we go and get those bon-bons?” Kasimir asked.

 “Oui,” Eleanor replied, brightening considerably.