Rewind and replay
HERE IS HOW THINGS GOT STARTED FOR THE CRIMINAL CASE--WHEN THE QUEST PARTY HAD BARELY GOTTEN ON THE ROAD THE FIRST MORNING.
They were not even entirely out of sight of the castle when Horatius drew near to the horses and said to Edmund and the queens, "Your Majesties, I smell herbivore's blood from somewhere ahead; body scent with it suggests an antelope. Very fresh scent; could be still alive."
"_Wild_ antelope in Narnia usually range only in the southern grassy areas," remarked Edmund. "So what you smell may be a _Talking_ Antelope. Run ahead and investigate. If it is, or even _might_ be, a Talking Beast, you will render any aid you can while we catch up with you. If it's a dumb animal for _certain,_ give it as merciful an end as you can, and we'll have it for supper."
Horatius loped ahead to investigate. He had not covered half a mile before he had instant confirmation that the creature he smelled was indeed intelligent. The antelope was being dragged along on a large travois by four Satyrs; _their_ scent had been smothered by the rich blood-aroma. Another four Satyrs walked alongside--probably taking turns with the burden. Two of the unencumbered Satyrs brought spears nervously to the ready when they caught sight of the approaching predator; but Horatius hastily exclaimed, "TALKING Leopard! TALKING Leopard!"
Soon the four-footed soldier learned the meaning of this odd procession. The Talking Antelope, Dranvalan by name, had been wounded in one haunch with an arrow, evidently by some other Satyr besides these now helping him. The Satyrs helping him all felt that it must have been merely bad luck that their fellow Satyr mistook Dranvalan for a non-intelligent antelope. Dranvalan, however, insisted that the hunter had acted in deliberate malice with knowledge of what his target was. He had raised a ruckus demanding no less than a royal investigation of the "attempted murder."
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WHEN DRANVALAN HAD BEEN PLACED IN THE CARE OF CENTAURESS YEDULIA, PETER AND ANGELA TOOK CHARGE OF INVESTIGATING THE AREA WHERE LUCY'S PARTY HAD FOUND THE FRIENDLY SATYRS HELPING THE ANTELOPE...
Peter had considered making the men-at-arms go on foot at a forced march, to toughen them; but he decided that the exercise could wait. He wanted to reach the scene of the shooting while there was still enough daylight left for a thorough inspection of the area. So the men-at-arms rode. So, in fact, did the terrier, on the saddlebow of the soldier he was most friendly with. All horses involved, of course, were ones trained not to be afraid of the leopardess who was with them. While they went, Peter asked Grodlork to tell more about the personalities of the two Satyrs who were tentatively suspects; but nothing emerged from this which clearly pointed to either of those two having any particular motive to shoot any Talking Beast on purpose.
The fateful spot was in an area of mixed groves and meadows. The antelope had been in the open, but within a few yards of trees, when he had been wounded.
"Men-at-arms, fan out," Peter commanded. "Search the open ground for the discarded arrow, and for any obvious trail signs. Grodlork, Vesta and Angela, please mind the horses for the moment. Snowpelt--into the woods with me."
For the next ten or fifteen minutes, the High King and the white terrier combed back and forth among the trees. Then Snowpelt went on alert like a hunting hound. "Your Majesty, someone has died in this very stand of timber....died within this day....sire, a _Satyr_ has died....a female Satyr."
Less than a minute later, Snowpelt had led Peter to the unhappy proof of his accuracy. A female Satyr lay dead in the undergrowth, with an arrow stuck through her collarbone into her heart.
"Aslan receive her spirit," the High King sighed. Then: "Snowpelt, please run back to the others, tell the men-at-arms to regroup around the horses, and send Angela, Vesta and Grodlork to me. Then use your noble nose in the open area, in case other informative scents linger there also."
When the three called for joined Peter, he first asked Grodlork, "Do you know this Satyr-woman?"
Grodlork's first answer consisted of dropping to his knees weeping. "Blinjarda!" he howled. "A distant cousin of my own wife! Alas, what foul play was here?"
As the Satyr grieved (and it was perfectly genuine, as far as the others present could tell), Angela looked closely at the lethal arrow. "Peter, do you notice the angle at which that shaft is sticking in?"
"I do," her brother-in-law replied. "Assuming that Blinjarda was standing erect at the moment that arrow struck, it was shot by someone above her." Peter turned to the leopard. "Vesta, I want you to start climbing. Search the trees one by one for any sign that someone may have perched in one."
As Vesta complied, Angela raised a question to Grodlork: "Do your people commonly climb trees?"
Grodlork choked back his tears long enough to say: "Not often, my lady, but we are capable of doing so at need."
Peter leaned close to Angela. "This causes the shooting of Dranvalan to make _less_ sense. It was suggested that a hunter might have shot at game which was near, and hit the antelope with a missed shot. But if the archer who slew this poor Satyress was aloft in the branches, Dranvalan could not have been in the line of flight for arrows that were intended to hit someone where we're standing. Do you have any ideas?"
"Yes. It could be that the killer, while competent in plain straightforward archery, lacked experience in woodland stalking. Remember: both Satyrs and antelopes have CURVED HORNS. Perhaps the killer, intent on this victim, caught a fleeting glimpse through the trees of Dranvalan's horns, and shot in that direction in haste and excitement. When Dranvalan cried out in pain, Blinjarda would not have known the cause of that noise which was coming from the opposite direction to her enemy; so she would not have known to run for it...and when the killer saw his mistake, the next arrow found its unsuspecting intended target."
Minutes passed. While they waited for any findings by Vesta, Peter asked Grodlork the logical question, whether Blinjarda was known to have any enemies among Satyrs, or among other beings with whom the local Satyr population had regular dealings. Again, the answer was negative. "Grodlork," said Peter, "you may take the pony we've lent you, and go to fetch others of your people, so that your kinswoman may have a decent burial."
The sorrowing Grodlork had gone his way before Vesta finally had something to report. "Your Majesty! This oak, in which I'm now sitting, bears a trace of Satyr scent; also a hint of leather, which might bespeak a leathern quiver that held the slayer's arrows."
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More details can be found on the pages after page 28. Scent-evidence proved the murderer to be Zelzil, the victim's own sister. When placed under arrest by leopardess Vesta and the terrier Snowpelt, Zelzil implied that Blinjarda had done something to deserve death, although no one seems to know what. If you are still up to playing Angela, you can invent for yourself what Blinjarda may have done to be so hated by her sister.
Lord have mercy! Im sick of character changes ppl! Either COMMIT or dont but plz make up your minds!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!