Murder in Halruaa (3 page)

The sudden, violent storm had ended by the time Pryce Covington reached the end of the long line of people waiting outside the Lallor Gate. He stood on the opposite side of the road, surveying the setup.

The line outside the gate was actually two lines: one very short, along a beautifully paved rock roadway; and one very long, in a muddy pathway that looked more like a narrow ditch, created by decades of hopeful immigrants desperate for an opportunity to prove their worth to the founding fathers of this bay-side retreat.

The two roads ran parallel, nestled between a cunningly constructed landscape, obviously designed for both beauty and security. Although greenery and foliage were much in evidence, the plants were trimmed low, so no lines of sight were obscured. Only narrow blooms and shrubbery were planted, so there were no real hiding places for any thief or attacker to use as cover.

Standing amid the carefully tended plants and flowers, Pryce

considered the two roads that led to the Lallor Gate. He saw that the paved road was similar to the wall that surrounded the city, in that it seemed to be constructed of interlocking stones, only these were a good deal smaller and more jewel-like than those used in the wall. Perhaps Gamor hadn’t been exaggerating when he called Lallor the jewel of Halruaa!

No, Pryce thought, it couldn’t be. These couldn’t be dull, uncut gemstones! If they were, the magic protecting them must have been prodigious. Besides, why tempt every thief from the seaport of Githim in the south to the Bandit Wastes hundreds of miles to the north? Even if they weren’t actual jewels, it was an impressive entry path for those wealthy or powerful enough to use it.

Pryce’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at the wall, then down the divided road to the Lallor Gate. Even from this distance, the gate was obviously a magnificent construction. The woodworking was exquisite and seemed to shine in places, as if the logs were mortared with silver and gold. Pryce’s eyes narrowed even more as he tried to make out a subtle design amongst the interweaving vines and bark.

Suddenly, incredibly, a large eye opened at the very top of the gate. It had to be twenty feet across, stretching from one side of the gate opening to the other. The pupil was as black as darkest night, the white as milky as the stars in the sky. But between the two was an oval that changed color from brown to blue to green in rapid succession.

At first Pryce Covington thought the giant eye was looking straight through him, but soon he realized that it was following the progress of a newcomer who had been granted entry to the city. It watched carefully as the man slowly hurried… that is, the man was clearly in a hurry to make his way inside Lallor, but careful not to show the witnessing eye any disrespect. He was actually hurrying slowly.

Pryce made a face like a frog, his lips stretching as far down as

they could go on either side. Then his mouth bounced back to its natural mildly pleasant expression, and he made his way nonchalantly across the gemstone road to the line of refugees. He trudged to take up his position behind the last person in line, careful not to jostle or disturb him.

After all, suspicion of outsiders was commonplace in Halruaa. It was a rich nation and quite exclusive. Having faced invasions on a regular basis from jealous outsiders, Halruans had become cautious by nature. Pryce appreciated this and tried to be as considerate as his ego would let him. Cautiously avoiding puddles, he waited at the very end of the long line, deciding that the wait was probably a good thing. It would give him time to figure out what he was going to do.

More of his father’s words reached him through the murk of his memory. “Every day is another play,” he recalled with remarkable clarity. “Think of your life as a comedy-drama with you as the hero. Prepare yourself for every eventuality as if your god were a master playwright. Then comport yourself as you would want your hero to behave. Be the star of your own life!” For an abandoning scoundrel who had left him next to nothing, Pryce’s father had managed to tell his only son a lot of useful things.

Pryce shrugged off the memory. He had two dead bodies to worry about, which had complicated his life more than anything he had previously experienced. Even so, he decided that he had come too far to stop now. After all, he had already torn up his Merrickartian roots to travel hundreds of miles down the Nath, past Lake Maeru, over the River Maeru, to the dangerous Lallor Pass. It was a tiny strip of serviceable land wedged between the undead-riddled ruins of the Zalasuu-Assundath Swamp, the monster-infested mountains of the Zhal Strip, and the bandit-filled desert of the Lower Swagdar outlaw wastes.

Even if he had wanted to return after experiencing the rendezvous-gone-wrong, he wasn’t going to tempt fate twice by trying his luck in the pass again. No, better to wait and take his

chances in Lallor. The question now was to tell or not to tell? The odds favored the fact that Gamor was already well established within these walls. How else could he have acquired the magic necessary to contact Pryce with a talking face of dust? Why else would he have promised Pryce a cushy job for life? Besides, the owner of the cloak Pryce now wore was probably a quite successful individual, if his subtle yet impressive garments were any evidence.

Maybe Pryce wouldn’t have to risk revealing the fates of his former partner and his unknown companion. Maybe someone inside the city would report them missing. That made good sense, given what he knew about Lallor. The Lallor inquisitrixes prided themselves on their security. Only the finest law-enforcing inquisitrixes could work in Lallor, and that was only after many years of service and extensive biyearly tests. Naturally they would want to secure their jobs by being as efficient as humanly possible. That meant letting no missing person remain missing for long.

A search would eventually have to turn up the bodies, and then Covington could take his chances with any clues he might have left at the Mark of the Question. He would have hidden the cloak long before then … or at least have changed the impressive clasp!

Pryce noticed that the man waiting in line in front of him had turned in Covington’s direction. Pryce suddenly realized that he must have been grunting, whispering aloud, and making faces as he considered his options. He opened his mouth to apologize, then shut it again. The man wasn’t looking at him as if he were a gibbering idiot or even an annoyance. In fact, he wasn’t actually looking into his eyes at all. He was looking at Pryce’s chin, averting his gaze as if he were facing some sort of deity.

The man’s mouth was moving as if he were trying to say something. His hands started fluttering like a bird with its wings clipped. Then the arms started making little sweeping motions in

front of him. “P-P-P-Please,” he said to Pryce. “I beg your pardon, good sir?”

“No, no, I beg your pardon. Please … I would take it as an honor if you would… take my place in line.” “Really?”

“Please. You would honor me.”

Pryce contemplated this odd but pleasant turn of events. He tried to come up with various reasons for it, but nothing believable was forthcoming. He couldn’t very well turn down the kind offer… that would be unforgivably rude. There was nothing to do but accept the man’s place in line and thank him properly later.

Covington stepped forward, drawing the interest of the next man in line. That man glanced back, started to turn forward again, then whipped his head back toward Pryce as if it had been yanked by a steel cable. He blinked up at Pryce, his mouth dropped open, and he backed up into the person in front of him. That individual whirled around and started to complain, but he saw that the man wasn’t looking at him. He followed the first man’s gaze to Pryce’s visage.

“By—by all the magic in Talath!” the latter man breathed, then took the former man’s arm and pulled them both out of Covington’s way. “Please, sir… if you would…”

“I would be delighted,” Pryce said with feeling. “Thank you very much.” He took position in front of them, standing his tallest, then shook his head with a disbelieving smile. Everyone in Merrickarta had told him that the Lallorians were tighter than an Akhluarian sinkhole, but he was receiving nothing but the utmost courtesy. Well, he was taller than everyone else in line, and from what he could tell, younger as well. And if he were pressed, well, then, sure, better-looking, too.

Pryce cocked his head and smiled with pleasure. That’s when the old woman in front of him noticed him. She looked all the way up his thin figure, then stopped at his face. Her head came

out from under her hood like a turtle peering out of its shell. “It—it’s you!”

Pryce looked at her kindly. What could he say, really? “None other,” he replied pleasantly.

She rapidly gathered up her skirts and started to shuffle farther back into the line.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Pryce said earnestly, trying to direct her back to her position in front of him.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” the woman muttered, still trying to get around him. “I insist… you must…” She feinted to the right, and when Pryce moved in that direction, she slipped by and stood triumphantly beside the others behind him.

Pryce looked at the satisfied little band, who were looking back at him like proud parents, then shrugged and turned toward the gate. He stood there for a few moments with his fists on his hips, then politely tapped the shoulder of the next person in line.

“Hello,” he said.

The person whose shoulder he had tapped only gaped, his jaw dropping, then rising again, like a fish out of water. Finally he stepped aside.

Pryce took an exaggerated step forward. He slowly leaned down, placing his head just over the shoulder of the next person in line. “Excuse me?” he said affably. The man grunted in reply. “How long have you been waiting?” Pryce asked, undeterred. The man grunted again. “Pardon me?” Pryce continued. “I didn’t hear what you said. What was that again?”

“I said—” the man began angrily, but by then he had turned to look at the intrusive questioner. “I—I—I—I said, uh, I said I shouldn’t be standing in the way of a man of your reputation! Sir, I beg you…”

‘Tour place in line?” Covington suggested, already moving forward. “You’re too kind.” It seemed that youth, vitality, and pleasant looks were at a premium at the Lallor Gate. Pryce rubbed his

hands together in anticipation. Cushy job for life indeed! If the respect and kindnesses of these people were any evidence, he was going to like it here… a lot!

He wasn’t even daunted by the grave gate guard who got closer and closer as each successive person saw Pryce, did a double take, and then offered him his or her place in line. The only thing that gave him pause was what looked like a difficult test that awaited him when he reached the one person between him and the big-eyed gate itself.

The first man in line—a skinny, nervous sort with an Adam’s apple that skipped up and down like a bouncing ball—couldn’t give up his place because he was already in the midst of the entry examination. It soon became abundantly clear that access to Lallor came only after a thorough explanation of who you were and a complete examination of what you could be.

An admissions clerk in a thick, elegant hooded vestment sat behind a floating slab of marble, upon which rested a pile of parchment. The man’s face was living proof of the law of gravity. Everything was sinking on his wizened visage, from the bags under his watery blue eyes to the jowls that hung like a hairless beard on either side of a mouth that looked like an upside-down horseshoe.

Standing slightly behind this clearly disapproving character was a stone golem, a more classic example of which Pryce could hardly imagine. Nine and a half feet tall, at least two thousand pounds, and chiseled to look like a cross between a gigantic headstone and a huge tree trunk, it loomed menacingly between the clerk and the gate.

Its rock eyes were closed, its nose flat and wide, and its long lips gave an impression of being slightly irked. Its body had only the merest suggestion of legs, giving Pryce the distinct feeling that it could not be tipped or knocked over. The most impressive and noticeable aspect of the thing, however, was its hands. They were huge and flat, seemingly made to create thunder if the

creature ever applauded. Covington could imagine a Lallor invader getting his head turned to flatbread by a single resounding clap. The monstrous golem had the effect it was no doubt created for: to discourage anyone except the most foolhardy or suicidal from making a run for the freedom and prosperity that Lallor promised.

Pryce’s previous bravado disappeared like a popping soap bubble. He gritted his teeth in concern and drew in a long breath. Then he became aware of the admissions clerk’s questions to the only person who remained between Pryce and the head of the line.

“Race?” The gatekeeper’s voice was similar to his face: heavy, thick, and deep.

“Human,” the small, bent, thin person in front of Pryce said quickly and quietly, manhandling his hat nervously.

The clerk suddenly went on quickly, as if the nervous man hadn’t spoken. “A, dwarf; B, elf; C, gnome; D, half-elf; E, halfling; F, human; G, other.”

“Uh, that would be F, sir. Yes, definitely F.”

The clerk ignored the dithering. He seemed only to hear the letter “F” and duly marked it down with a quill pen. Then he continued the interrogation, his voice again somber and slow. “Class?”

The man waited for the clerk to continue, but when he didn’t, the befuddled person felt compelled to say, “Some schooling, sir…”

“A, bard; B, priest; C, vagabond; D, warrior; E, wizard; F, other.”

“Oh! Uh … C, I suppose … No, A! Yes, that’s right, A” The clerk stopped dead, then looked up slowly, ominously. “Well, which is it? A or C?”

The skinny man’s eyes flicked nervously to the expressionless, motionless golem. “I have traveled many miles, sir,” he said with a wan smile. “I wish to be an entertainer for the good people within the city.”

The clerk stared at him silently. Pryce found himself holding his breath, but suddenly the silence was broken as the clerk sonorously said “C,” marked it down, then continued quickly. “Are you, or have you ever known, a thief?”