‘And herbs?’ Winter asked. ‘Any sign of what magic he might have been working on?’

She shrugged. ‘Some brimstone and foxglove. There are some more jars in his office but we’ve not had a chance to look at them properly yet.’

Diall’s corpse took that opportunity to let out what I can only describe as a massive belch. I yelped and jumped, banging into Winter’s hard body. He reached out an arm to steady me. ‘That’s quite normal,’ he assured me.

Normal? Ickity ick ick. ‘I’ll have a look through his office and see what’s there,’ I said hastily.

A faint smile settled on his lips. ‘Good idea.’ He turned back to the others and started asking more questions.

I darted out of the kitchen, pausing only to ask a red robe where the office was. My shirt felt tight and uncomfortable and I was sure that Diall’s heating was turned all the way up. On the plus side, I’d kept the contents of my stomach where they belonged so things could have been worse.

Diall’s office was like a cupboard. It was crammed full of books and papers and, although there was a desk, the place was cramped and dingy. I sat down on his chair and contemplated where my life had gone wrong. This time last week I was driving happily around the streets of Oxford dropping off old ladies and businessmen. I sighed. Being a key part of a murder investigation was not what I’d dreamed of.

I ran my eyes along the shelves but nothing caught my attention. There was no flashing neon sign pointing towards the stolen Volume 9. I leant back and fiddled with the drawers. The first one contained a set of quills and a stained inkwell. The second was filled with small glass jars of dried herbs. Interested from a purely professional standpoint, I rifled through them. Some looked more than slightly past their sell by date. Helpfully, Diall had labelled each one – and they were in alphabetical order. Musk. Myrtle. Nettle. Oak blossom. Ossombe root. Parsley.

I froze and went back for a second look. Ossombe root. I lifted up the jar and stared at it. The jar contained three or four ounces of dried brown stuff. I unscrewed the lid and took a quick whiff. Well, it was certainly pungent.

It didn’t seem relevant to the investigation that Diall had this particular herb in his possession and he certainly didn’t need it any more. I placed the jar on the top of the desk and looked at it. It wouldn’t be missed. I weighed up my options then, without thinking about it any further, shoved it in my pocket. It would be good to be free from the Order – and it would certainly be good to be free from Winter and his tiresome work ethic.

Right?

Chapter Sixteen

‘Diall has to have taken the Manuscript. And hidden the sceptre.’

‘Of the sceptre, we can be almost certain,’ Winter replied. ‘But of the Manuscript, there’s no actual proof, although it does seem the likeliest scenario. It’s definitely not at his house though.’