It was a beautiful, sunny day in the Basin of Life, but junior scientist Eepok Oolin of Hallifax wasn't enjoying it in the least.

Only yesterday, he had spent the entire day happily hunched over a desk in the city's Onyx Research Laboratory, feverishly absorbed in working to solve a series of complex equations on metaplanar physics that could conclusively prove his new theory of transdimensional harmonic modulation. Certain that he was on the verge of a scientific breakthrough, the lucidian researcher had literally glowed with single-minded enthusiasm. So intense was his focus upon his calculations that he scarcely noticed darkness falling or the stars emerging outside his window as day turned into night. Ignoring his throbbing head, aching wrists, and fatigue, Eepok had continued working until eventually his head wavered and drooped and he finally collapsed facedown onto the laboratory worktop, fast asleep.

 He'd woken the next morning to a disquieting sight. A great, circular fracture disfigured the worktop where his crystalline forehead had cracked the once-pristine onyx surface. Even more alarming, the slender yet formidable figure of Senior Researcher Wi'ix Manchova loomed beyond the worktop's edge, her dark-hued features pursed in a stern, disapproving frown.

 "Junior Researcher...Oolin, isn't it?" she said crisply. "I have heard from your fellow scientists that you have been working exceptionally hard recently. And I see now that it is true. Painfully true."

 To Eepok's growing dismay, she continued, "I normally have no objections to diligence, but I must draw the line when it ends in the defacement of city property. Clearly, you have been driving yourself to exhaustion, which shows a commendable sense of dedication but also a lamentable lapse in self-discipline." She paused, then stated, "I think it is time you took a vacation, Junior Researcher Oolin."

 "A...a vacation?" stammered Eepok. "But Senior Researcher, this was only a momentary lapse, I assure you! I don't need a vacation. I'd much rather stay here and keep working on my theory!"

 One chiselled eyebrow rose in what might have been amusement. "And risk more damage to the laboratory? That would be most illogical. Yes, you need a vacation, outside of the city and away from your laboratory, and a vacation you shall have, whether you wish one or not."

 So it was that Eepok Oolin found himself summarily shooed out of his laboratory, pointedly escorted to the Bridge of Wings by a sympathetic but unyielding colleague, and politely coerced into shouldering a pack of provisions and accepting a map of the Basin. The lucidian stared forlornly back at the jewelled spires of his beloved city, utterly at a loss for what to do. Nevertheless, if the Senior Researcher wanted him to take a vacation, then he would take it to the best of his ability. The mountain air was refreshing, at least, and the sun pleasantly warm and rejuvenating upon his crystalline skin. Still deeply bemused by the very concept of a vacation, Eepok proceeded down the mountains and found himself following the Great Southern Highway.

 The best use of his time, he decided, would be to utilise his so-called vacation to uphold the interests of Hallifax abroad. If he continued southward, Eepok could visit the human village of Stewartsville, which was currently under Hallifax's influence and doubtless could use an inspection. That way, he could continue to serve the Collective while obeying his superior's instructions to relax and rest.

 Navigating the highway faultlessly, as a scientist should, Eepok arrived in the village and found that all was well among the ordinary commoners, who seemed content with their humble, rustic lives of service. The atmosphere of orderly productivity within the small village pleased the lucidian deeply. The mere sight of his crystalline figure seemed to motivate the villagers to work harder, the local children to behave more decorously, and even the cows to chew their cud more assiduously, as if his presence inspired them to greater heights of efficiency.

 When Eepok approached Stewart Mansion, though, quite a different set of affairs awaited him. A heavy pall hung over the mansion, which seemed oddly silent and dismal compared to the bustling village. The Countess Cecelia, reputed to be a gracious hostess, did not greet Eepok at the mansion's magnificent double doors. Instead, they hung open, and the bemused lucidian pushed through them to find a middle-aged man standing in the foyer, with a huge, bristling moustache, a bronze star hanging from his neck, and searching, calculating eyes that reminded Eepok vividly of Senior Researcher Manchova.

 "Greetings, lucidian," the man said, inclining his head briefly to Eepok. "You've come at a bad time. I'm Magistrate Gumboliah Brooks, and I'm afraid the Countess Cecelia has been murdered."

 "Murdered?" Eepok repeated, his crystal pulsing bright ruby. "How can that be? Who would do such a thing? Have you brought the foul perpetrator of such a discordant crime to justice?"

 "Unfortunately not," the magistrate replied, to the lucidian's great disbelief. "The case is baffling, and we have too many suspects." He sighed, but then his face brightened as he took in Eepok's white laboratory coat. "But hold on a moment! I've heard you lucidians in the sky have got quite the reputation for being brilliant thinkers, don't you? Maybe you can help me solve the case!"

 Eepok drew himself up and started to say, affronted, "I do not know what you've heard about the citizens of Hallifax, but...."

 Abruptly, however, he had a sudden inspiration that made him fall silent.

 After all, Senior Researcher Manchova had sent Eepok out of the laboratory to take a vacation, even though Eepok had never intended to take any such thing. His life lay in his work, in thinking about theories, mechanics, and how to make things work better than they ever had before. The idea of the archetypal vacation, of lounging in soft chairs, basking in the sun, and lazing about all day, held no appeal for him. This, though...this task of solving a puzzle with logical reasoning and setting a village under Hallifax's sphere of influence to rights actually seemed worthy Eepok's time and intellect. He closed his mouth with a snap, entrapping his instinctive refusal, and then opened it again.

 "But," Eepok continued, "the Institute's motto is, in fact, 'Take no one's word for it.' We are trained to trust nothing and question everything. As such, I am admirably suited to helping you investigate this heinous murder, Magistrate, and thus I shall."

 As the Magistrate's face reflected a curious mingling of relief and apprehension, the lucidian took a moment to gather his thoughts.

 "If I may ask, Magistrate," he said at last, "do you have any suspects so far? I believe I will perform at optimum efficiency if you give me the information you have already found and I may proceed with my investigation from there."

 Still looking apprehensive, the Magistrate gave him the names of the four guests and two staff members who were in the mansion the night of the Countess' death: Darcy Wainwright, Sir Archibald Prescott, Montgomery Estenborough, his sister Fennela, the butler Albert Dimple, and the cook Bessie Blande. "Just bring me any evidence you find," he started to say, only to trail off helplessly as Eepok promptly turned on his heel and marched toward the sitting room, giving no sign that he had heard the Magistrate's final words.

 Magistrate Brooks shook his head in consternation. "Those confounded crystal men in the sky, always thinking they know better! Well," he added to himself, his enormous bristling moustache twitching humorously, "perhaps they do, at that."

 Eepok, meanwhile, stalked purposefully into the sitting room, where he found a bewildered-looking countryman smoking a pipe. The man barely had time to wave away the wreaths of smoke around his head before the lucidian whipped out a notebook from his pack and began his interrogation.

 "Is your name Darcy Wainwright?" he demanded.

 The man nodded dumbly, staring at the unexpected crystalline visitor in astonishment.

 "And you were a friend of the deceased, correct?" At Darcy Wainwright's puzzled look, Eepok clarified, "Of Countess Cecelia. You were a friend of hers?"

 "Oh, sure! Ah done known the Countess for ages," began Darcy, warming to the subject. "Ya know, we pretty much run Stewartsville betw..."

 Wincing visibly, Eepok held up a hand to stop him, while scribbling rapidly into his notebook with the other hand. "Please, no editorialising. Just the facts, thank you. Now, tell me, Mr. Wainwright..." He paused and sniffed the air deeply. "What type of pipe tobacco do you smoke?"

 Shortly afterward, having asked all his questions, the lucidian briskly strode back into the foyer with a small stack of notes torn with meticulous neatness from his book. Ignoring the presence of Magistrate Brooks, Eepok pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket and began drawing a diagram upon one corner of the tiled floor. Only when the Magistrate shouted, "Hey!' and hurried over did the lucidian even look up at him, before returning calmly to his drawing.

 "You can't do that here!" the Magistrate blustered, bending over him. "Uh...what ARE you doing?"

 "I am transcribing the notes from my interrogation of Mr. Darcy Wainwright as a sequence of mathematical statements and inequalities to help me determine which of his answers are truths, falsehoods, and uncertainties," Eepok explained serenely, still outlining intricate markings of circles, squares, and triangles on the floor. "I plan to similarly interrogate all the mansion's inhabitants and transcribe their statements, before combining the statements into a single equation and solving it. That will give us the final truth of the matter: the identity and motive of the murderer."

 The Magistrate gaped wordlessly at him for a moment, before sputtering, "You...you're going to try to solve the crime with...with mathematics? And chalk?"

 Eepok raised his head again, his crystal glimmering a deep sapphire-blue, and blinked long and thoughtfully. "Why, yes, of course. How else do you expect me to proceed?"

 The expressive contortions that rippled across the Magistrate's face would have been a comical sight to anyone else but the impassive Eepok, who watched silently as the middle-aged man's eyes widened and narrowed and his mouth opened and closed several times. Finally, Magistrate Brooks explained very slowly, as if speaking to a child, "You know, most investigators who come to the mansion usually go about the business by poking around the rooms to look for clues, asking the guests about any suspicious activity they saw, and the like. They didn't ask about," he glanced down at the stack of notepaper for a second, "about Darcy Wainwright's childhood playmates! And they didn't draw chalk pictures all over the Countess' fine floors!"

 Entirely unperturbed, Eepok replied, "And how many of those investigators have solved the crime so far?"

 The Magistrate visibly deflated. "Well, none."

 "Then I will thank you to not question my methods," Eepok declared haughtily, rising to his feet. "And please, do be careful where you step, lest you disturb my valuable calculations."

 With a sigh of deepest resignation, Magistrate Brooks threw his hands up in the air and backed away gingerly, muttering a few choice words about "crystal men from the sky" under his breath as he watched the lucidian head toward the solarium in search of Sir Archibald Prescott.

 Feeling, if not as comfortable and contented as he did in his laboratory, at least quite sure of himself, Eepok continued to confuse and scandalise the people of Stewart Mansion by asking seemingly preposterous and probing questions with every interrogation. He ruthlessly prodded Sir Archibald about his financial troubles until the handsome man's face turned a most unattractive shade of lobster-red; then he queried the sombre butler Albert about his favourite jokes and funny stories. He asked whether Bessie Blande had ever been married, engaged, or in love and infuriated Fennela and Montgomery Estenborough by inquiring why they clung to their outmoded notions of aristocracy in the face of the irrefutable superiority of Collectivism. Their every answer and reaction Eepok recorded faithfully into his notebook and illustrated upon the foyer's tiled floor in abstruse figures and formulae. At the end, he even turned around and questioned the Magistrate himself quite unashamedly, noting his responses in chalk as well while the man fumed speechlessly and watched.

 Once all his exhaustive interrogations were finally concluded, Eepok began his calculations in earnest. By this point, chalk diagrams of circles, squares, triangles, and other, more exotic geometric figures covered almost the entire floor of the foyer, with fastidiously neat lists of mathematical equations written within each outline. Moving noiselessly and precisely among the diagrams, Eepok would study his illustrations and either stoop to draw connections between the separate diagrams, kneel to rub out or add new terms to an existing equation, or create a new diagram altogether with new equations written inside.

 "If A equals B, then B must equal A," he whispered to himself under his breath, much to the bafflement of the Magistrate relegated to the doorway. "Yes. But here, A plus B should equal B plus A, yet the two quantities are different!"

 Thoughtfully rubbing his chin with a sound like fingernails on a comb, Eepok continued his low-voiced monologue. "And here, the butler's statement D plus E from Montgomery and F from Fennela should give the same result as D plus F plus E. Yet, once more, the results of the two are not the same! That would affect the cook's statement C, here, which we must then call C-prime to allow for the time-varying property from E. Aha! Yes!"

 Walking a few paces, he bent over another series of equations. "Carry the one...and there! That means the only possible murder weapon was a knife! The probability of that is..."

 The chalk squeaked against the floor as he rapidly scribbled calculations, before announcing triumphantly, "Yes! Ninety-nine point seven percent!"

 His face aglow with discovery, Eepok quickly padded back to the opposite side of the foyer, illustrating new shapes with his much shortened stick of chalk. The Magistrate's eyes were glazed from the long hours of watching the lucidian drawing his mathematical mandalas with an endless patience that inspired fear and boredom alike. Eepok hardly seemed to notice the time passing as he added and subtracted the equations, quantities, truths, lies, observations, guesses, facts, unknowns, and connections in search of a murderer.

 All Eepok knew was that his head buzzed with activity, his thoughts flowed like quicksilver, and his fingers flew as though given wings as he worked. He felt almost like he was working on metaplanar physics again. Not quite, of course.

 But almost.

 Finally, some time after midnight, he dashed off the final sums with a flourish and leaped energetically to his feet, his crystal flashing excitedly in shades of emerald, beryl, and amethyst. His sweeping gaze alighted upon the semi-recumbent Magistrate, who had fallen asleep several hours ago leaning against the doorway. Eepok tapped his foot against the tiled floor, causing the middle-aged man to spring awake all at once.

 "Not the tentacles again!" Magistrate Brooks shouted in a daze. Then, with a start, he focused. "Wait. What? Did you find something, lucidian?"

 "Magistrate Brooks," Eepok proclaimed in his grandest, most solemn tone, "I have solved the murder of Countess Cecelia Stewart." As the Magistrate gaped at him and began to ask for evidence, the lucidian interrupted gravely, "If you would, please, awaken the mansion's inhabitants and bring them here. I feel everyone should be here to witness what happens next."

 From the dumbfounded looks that Magistrate Brooks gave him and his chalked diagrams covering the foyer floor, Eepok could tell the man wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. Yet, he did as the lucidian requested, tiptoeing around the diagrams and slowly gathering everyone at the doorway of the foyer that led to the mansion's ballroom. Still dressed in their nightshirts and dressing robes, seven pairs of drowsy, yet questioning eyes stared at Eepok as he cleared his throat to gain their attention.

 "I have deduced who among you murdered Countess Cecelia," Eepok announced dispassionately. The lucidian researcher pointed one unerring crystalline finger toward the crowd. "It was you, Sir Archibald Prescott!"

 Immediately, an outcry of startled gasps and horrified exclamations erupted as the other six inhabitants of the mansion quickly turned to confront Archibald.

 "Magistrate, I am a hundred percent certain that you will find the knife used to stab the Countess hidden in the bookcase," Eepok continued. "If you search Sir Prescott's person, there is an eighty-nine point two percent probability that you shall also find a copy of her last will and testament, which names him as a major beneficiary."

 Turning a steely glare at Archibald, Magistrate Brooks demanded, "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

 "I needed the gold!" Archibald burst out. "Cece was a wonderful lady, but the amount of gold I stood to inherit from her would have paid off all the bills to my tailor, hairdresser, cobbler, custom armourer, perfumer, milliner..." His voice trailed off as contemptuous and angry hisses arose around him.

 "However..." Eepok cleared his throat again. "I have also deduced that Sir Archibald Prescott was not the only one hiding something. Magistrate Brooks, please bring Countess Cecelia out from hiding. I believe it is no longer necessary to continue the charade that she is dead."

 "What?" "She's alive?" "Impossible!" The other denizens of the mansion could not have been more astonished. Only Magistrate Brooks retained his calm, smiling fixedly and never taking his eyes off Eepok.

 "Yes," he admitted finally. "She's alive."

 Eepok never blinked. "Please bring her here, then, to face her would-be murderer. I believe she would wish to hear what I have to say next."

 The Magistrate snapped his fingers, and a prismatic doorway of brilliant magical energies opened in the empty air, through which the beautiful, radiant, and, yes, very much alive Countess Cecelia entered in an elegant sweep of pink silk and white lace. Her eyes flicked impassively over the sight of Eepok and his chalk diagrams, before narrowing in righteous indignation when the Magistrate bent to whisper into her ear. Whirling, she levelled a withering glare at Archibald.

 "So, it was you!" she cried furiously. "I can't believe you would betray our friendship for mere gold, Archibald, no matter how badly you were in debt! You almost succeeded in murdering me, but I survived and asked Gumboliah to stage this investigation in hopes of finding out who was responsible. Now that I know it was you, I never want to see you again!"

 She waved her hand in dismissal, but Eepok cleared his throat for a third time, and all eyes turned back toward him.

 "I have one final deduction to share," the lucidian announced mildly. "During my interrogation of Sir Archibald Prescott, I noticed a number of very small, subtle peculiarities in his behaviour, most noticeably upon first seeing me. If you will all follow me, please..."

 Looking thoroughly baffled by now, the mansion's inhabitants fell into line behind him, the Magistrate keeping a firm grip on Archibald and the others determinedly surrounding him to prevent any possibility of escape. Eepok marched through the hallways, opening doors and poking his head into rooms like a man who had no idea where he was going but a rather good idea of what he wanted to find. After some blundering, he finally made his way to the pantry, the only room remaining in the mansion that he hadn't already explored during his interrogations.

 Finding the door locked, Eepok rapped sharply upon the wood. Everyone uttered muted gasps when the faintest sound of groaning emerged from within in response. Countess Cecelia hastened to find the key for the pantry and opened the door.

 Inside lay the trussed-up and severely battered figure of Sir Archibald Prescott, a blindfold tied over his eyes and a gag stuffed into his mouth.

 "But how can this be?" the Magistrate exclaimed, echoing the general sentiment of sheer bewilderment.

 "That," Eepok answered, pointing at the prone Archibald, "is the true Sir Archibald Prescott. He did indeed owe you many debts, Countess, but he would never have sought to kill you because of them. This," he nodded at the seething Archibald in Magistrate Brooks' custody, "is an imposter. And not just any imposter.

 "One of the Illuminati in disguise, hoping to sow chaos in Stewartsville and turn you against the city of Hallifax."

 The prone Archibald groaned again, as if to validate Eepok's deduction. A chilling laugh issued from the lips of the false Archibald, and everyone except Eepok and Magistrate Brooks let out a scream and jumped back as the imposter's face rippled and warped. His very flesh deformed with grotesque slowness into the hideous visage of a transmogrified dracnari, who hissed with amused malice at Eepok with a horribly long, snake-like tongue.

 "Very nice," the dracnari snarled. "But you've made one mistake. You've put yourself within my reach!"

 Before it could attack, though, Magistrate Brooks raised both hands and suddenly disappeared in a flash of multi-coloured light, taking the malevolent dracnari with him. Eepok blinked and let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. At his side, Countess Cecelia chuckled grimly.

 "We have our ways of dealing with murderous imposters," she said in a low voice.

 Graciously, she turned to Eepok, though her occasional glances toward the trussed-up Archibald betrayed her evident desire to rush toward her dear friend. "Thank you, sir lucidian, for your invaluable assistance. If it hadn't been for you, we would never have discovered the foul plot behind this heinous murder attempt. How can we repay you?"

 Eepok opened his mouth, the automatic response of requiring no payment for his services rising to his lips, but then he hesitated.

 Outside the kitchen windows, golden rays of sunshine streaked the brightening sky to herald the coming of another glorious dawn. The lovely sight reminded him of the glowing dawn the previous day, which had so unforgivingly illuminated the circular crack his sleeping head had made on the surface of his laboratory worktop, back in Hallifax. In the moment of silence, Eepok could feel the signs of fatigue affecting him again: the aching wrists, the drooping eyelids, and the sense of heaviness in his limbs. And the Countess' voice, devoid though it was of a lucidian's airy, crystalline harmonics, reminded him a little of Senior Researcher Wi'ix Manchova's tones in its unconscious, but unmistakable undertone of calm command.

 "Countess Cecelia," Eepok said formally, "if you wish to repay me, I would appreciate the use of one of your guest bedrooms for a long-needed slumber."

 His crystal flickered an ironical shade of milky moonstone as he continued, "You see, my superior originally sent me out of Hallifax for a vacation. Though she may approve of what I have accomplished here to help you, I doubt this is what she had in mind."

 The Countess laughed lightly. "No, I don't think so either! You're welcome to stay as a guest as long as you wish, my friend, after the great service you've done for me. Albert," she beckoned to the butler, who obediently bowed and hurried to her side. "Please show our lucidian investigator to one of the guest bedrooms. And then, if you would be so kind, have the servants wash the chalk markings off the foyer."

 Ten minutes later, Eepok lay fast asleep in the guest bedroom, his head making a circular dent this time in the pillows piled beneath him. Tucked under warm blankets, he slumbered so deeply that every breath emerged as a resonant, humming snore. Even as he slept, though, his mind still surged and raced with dreams of logical reasoning and scientific discoveries, of mysteries, mandalas and mathematics.