Well Dead

IV. In the Footsteps of the Little Philosopher

Harun had said good bye to Wenzel soon after his sudden decision. He needed some time to be alone to think about this. And if he needed some time for thinking, Wenzel needed substantially more of it.

Slowly, Harun wandered through the windy halls of the castle. He was so deep in thought that he didn't notice the cold as much as he usually did. Could he do this? Investigate a murder? Yes, why not. He was pretty sure of the fact that he was more intelligent than most people in the immediate vicinity. Yet, he admitted with a rueful smile, of this fact, most people were probably pretty sure. Nobody thought of themselves as dumb.

No, another factor was far more important in his qualifications as an unofficial one-man shurta. Of all the people in the castle who could have investigated the poor peasant’s death, he was the only one who showed any inclination to do so.

He had to do this.

Would he have the time to do so? That was only a rhetorical question. He had finished the dreary castle accounts, hadn’t he? And it would be some time before Sir Christian would be finished with his mass of masses and would remember again that he had a scribe to whom he needed to give work.

Harun had all the time in the world. He sighed, left the keep and went down to Wenzel's post at the gate again. The guard greeted him, grinning.

“Ah. The – what was it again? Shrubbyda?”

“Shurta. Wenzel, I need somebody to you talk to about this business.”

Wenzel cleared his throat. “Harun, I would love to help. But when I said I couldn't think of anybody clever enough to do this, that 'anybody' included me.”

Harun waved impatiently. “Don't worry. You don’t have to say anything intelligent.”

“I am relieved.”

“I just need a person to talk to. If Father Ignatius sees me walking through the castle talking to walls he’ll have me locked up for having unnatural discourse with an invisible devil.”

Wenzel grinned. “I wouldn't put it past him. So you came to me, because I'm the next best thing to a wall, did you?”

“Ehem... let's get back to the subject. Can I talk to you?”

“Sure. I’ll just pretend I’m a wall, shall I?”

“You do that.”

“I’m very good at it.”

“I’m sure you are. Let's start then, shall we?” Harun cleared his throat. “You see, this problem, like every intellectual conundrum which presents itself to the educated man, should be solvable by application of the ancient Greek principle of logos.”

Harun waited for a reply. When none came, he looked at Wenzel.

“I’m a wall,” Wenzel reminded him. “Walls don’t have to understand this sort of stuff.”

“Well, yes, quite.”

“And neither have they got to answer. Walls don’t usually do something like that.”

“I think I have grasped your meaning. Logos, or logic, translated into our tongue, is a principle of ancient Greek philosophy. One of the most famous methods of logic is that of the Athenian philosopher Socrates, handed down to us through the ages in the manifold written works of his disciple Plato. The Socratic Method, also commonly known as the Method of Elenchus or as Maieutics-“

“I may be a very silly wall, but I’ve never heard of either of the three.”

“-seeks to determine truth through a train of negative hypothesis-eliminations, at the end of which all hypotheses found to be untrue have been identified and eradicated, the only one remaining being the one in absolute conformity with truth.”