The Riddle of Scorpions

Josh Reynolds

‘Well Vido? What do you make of it?’ Zavant Konniger asked. His hawk-like features were tight with concentration as he examined the heavy body lying slumped across the desk before him.

‘Offhand, I’d say he’s dead, master,’ Vido replied. In contrast to Konniger, the halfling was short and chubby, like all his people, but with a core of solid muscle that had surprised more than one unwary antagonist. Vido examined the offices around them while his master inspected the corpse. Jorge Mueller, the aforementioned corpse, had been a man of some means and his hefty shape attested to a sedentary lifestyle. Canopic jars from Khemri jostled for space with Cathayan ceramics. Dusty Bretonnian tapestries clung to the walls and the dried skin of one of the giant reptiles of the Southlands was stretched across a wall.

‘Yes, you Moot-born recidivist,’ Konniger said, twitching a finger at the body, which sprawled across the desk amidst piles of papers and log books. Mueller had been a merchant, Vido knew, and one of some small influence – hence the presence of Altdorf’s greatest consulting sage. ‘Examine the context and the circumstance. Why is he dead?’

‘Someone… killed him?’

Konniger’s eyes swivelled and Vido grinned weakly as the cool gaze pinned him in place.

‘Yes, someone killed him. The question is how?’ Konniger turned to scan the office with his keen gaze. The office sat in the top floor of a building in the eastern quarter of Altdorf, precariously perched over a fork of the Reik. Vido could smell the dank tang of the river seeping in through the windows. ‘You are here to learn, Vido, not spout useless factoids.’

‘Surely that should be “why was he killed”, master?’ Vido assayed, stung.

‘Why is irrelevant,’ Konniger said. ‘Obvious, as well. One but has to examine this room to find the answer to that. Mueller was a collector of gaudy knickknacks from all over the world, and few of them were gained legally; that vase, for instance. Mueller, as far as I know, has never been to Cathay, nor provided any services to the current seventh Minister of the Jade Interior.’

‘He stole it?’

‘Or paid to have it stolen, yes,’ Konniger said idly. ‘As he did every single object in this office. Mueller was a glutton in more ways than one – he had a mania, Vido, of a very particular and peculiar sort.’

‘Sounds like every thief I’ve ever met,’ Vido muttered, looking at the desk. Amidst the papers, he caught sight of a flash of brass and he peered closer. It was a tube of curious design, at once ornate but simple. It wasn’t very large, and at each end, a small, intricately wrought scorpion crouched, its stinger lying flat against the tube. Vido picked it up carefully and examined it. Beneath each scorpion was a hole just big enough to fit a finger. The tube’s centre was occupied by a number of flat brass rings covered in strange writing. Vido tapped one and saw that twisting the rings caused the writing to line up in different ways. Clutching the tube to get a better look, he said, ‘Master, what do you make of thi–’

Click.

Vido blinked. His forefingers had, somehow, become lodged in the holes at either end of the tube. Another click and he felt twin pinches. His eyes widened a moment later as he realised that the stingers of the scorpions were no longer flat, but arched as if in preparation to strike his trapped hands. As he watched, the stingers descended by a fraction of an inch. ‘Master…’ he said, turning.

Konniger’s hand fell on his head, pinning him in place. ‘Be still. What did I just say? Context and circumstance. Did you not notice the odd bruises on Mueller’s knuckles, or the pressure marks on his fingers?’ Konniger sank to his haunches, his hands on Vido’s wrists. The stingers dropped lower. Vido squirmed.

‘I said be still,’ Konniger snapped. ‘Ingenious, isn’t it, Vido? I recognised it immediately – an Arabyan Scorpion Trap, and a fairly old one, given the delicacy of the mechanism.’ He looked at Vido. ‘You should have recognised it as well. I’m quite disappointed in you.’

‘Master, please get it off of me,’ Vido whined. The stingers lowered again.

‘Hush. They were toys, you know, for the children of nobles, to teach them patience under stress. Every trap had its own geometric riddle. Solve the riddle, escape the trap. But it requires a clear head to see the patterns. Are you clear headed, Vido?’

‘Not even remotely,’ Vido grated, tugging against the scorpion trap’s hold. It was no use, however. The stingers dipped closer. ‘Is it poisoned?’

‘Why do you ask only the most useless questions?’ Konniger’s fingers worked the rings, lining them up and then spinning them again. ‘Better to ask what this scorpion’s riddle is.’

‘You do read Arabyan, don’t you master?’

‘Again, you ask a useless question. Stop wasting air, Vido. Tell me, why is Mueller dead?’

‘Poison,’ Vido nearly shrieked.

‘No.’

The stingers clicked downwards. Vido fought to control his breathing, to push past his fear, as Konniger had taught him. ‘He’s… he’s dead because he wasn’t paying attention,’ he said quickly.

‘Are you paying attention, Vido?’

‘I… yes,’ Vido shouted.

‘Good. What killed him?’

‘P-poison,’ Vido said.

‘Open your eyes, Vido.’

Vido did, and then yelped as the stingers flashed down, jabbing his knuckles. He froze, waiting for Morr to claim him. But nothing happened. He looked accusingly at Konniger. He twisted the rings and the trap released Vido’s fingers. Vido jerked the abused digits free and examined them. Sucking on one, he mumbled, ‘Not poison?’

‘No. What purpose would that serve, Vido? It is a child’s toy.’ Konniger bounced the trap on his palm. ‘Herr Mueller died of apoplexy, brought on by the difficulty of the trap.’

‘But you said someone killed him!’

‘Yes,’ Konniger said. ‘And that someone, Vido, was himself.’ Konniger tossed the trap to Vido, who scrambled to catch it. ‘Context and circumstance,’ the sage said, with a wintry smile.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Author of the novels Knight of the Blazing Sun, Time of Legends: Neferata and the forthcoming Gotrek and Felix: Road of Skulls, Josh Reynolds used to be a roadie for the Hong Kong Cavaliers, but now writes full time. His work has appeared in various anthologies, including Age of Legend and several issues of the electronic magazine Hammer and Bolter.

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