Murder in Halruaa (8 page)

‘You have a firm grasp of the obvious,” Pryce said dryly. When the halfling looked affronted, Covington quickly continued. “Sorry. Just blowing off some pent-up tension. My real name isn’t as relevant, however, as the question how do you know?”

“What do you mean?” asked the halfling, taken aback.

Pryce took a moment to study the fellow carefully. He was wearing a dark, soft, comfortable-looking shirt that cinched loosely at his neck and wrists. Matching loose pants of some similar soft fiber cinched more tightly at his ankles. Over the shirt was a long vest with three pockets on each side, the top left one displaying the stitched legend Gheevy Wotfirr and under that.Af Your Service.

“Well, Gheevy,” Pryce said affably, “everyone else in this town—including its official gatekeeper, a top-ranked inquisitrix, the owner of its most popular gathering place, and the daughter of the man’s own teacher!—have never laid eyes on this Blade person, but apparently you have.”

“Well, everybody knows me,” the halfling said.

“Did Darlington Blade drink with you in the privacy of this grotto? Because no one upstairs seems to have seen him.”

“No,” the halfling began hastily. “You see, I deliver wine all over the area. That’s how everyone knows me. And I—I used to make some deliveries to a predetermined place outside the wall for Geerling Ambersong and—”

“Don’t say it,” Pryce implored. “Let me guess … the person I’m not”

Wotfirr nodded.

“So,” Pryce continued wearily, “did you all sing songs around the campfire?”

“Now, now,” chided Gheevy Wotfirr. “There’s no need for sarcasm, my good man. Geerling Ambersong wanted Darlington

Blade’s identity to be kept a strict secret until he personally presented him to the Lallor citizenry at the Fall Festival. My seeing him was a complete accident. I only caught a glimpse of him through some trees.” The halfling shook his head sadly. “And ever since that moment, I’ve wished I hadn’t.”

“Me, too,” said Pryce dryly. “Why the Fall Festival? What’s the big secret?”

“Oh,” Wotfirr said with renewed spirit. “Mage Ambersong had a sincere desire to improve the lot of the people of Halruaa. But he was getting older, and he wanted his successor to be ready… and undistracted by the entreaties of many in Lallor who would seek favor with a new primary mage.”

“Hmmm,” Covington considered. “And with his identity a secret, he could travel without attracting undue attention … as long as he removed this blasted cloak, of course!”

“Mage Ambersong showed the cloak to the people at last year’s Fall Festival,” Wotfirr explained. ” ‘By this cloak you will know him,’ he said.”

“Just my luck,” Pryce said miserably. “I assure you, Gheevy, that I came into possession of this cloak completely by accident and was totally innocent of any malice aforethought. If I had known what it meant and what it represented, I never would have touched it, but it was windy and wet and cold, and, well…” Covington let his words trail off into silence.

“If it’s any help,” the grotto manager said quietly, “I believe you. But who are you?”

Pryce glanced at the earnest halfling. ‘Trust me, the name would be meaningless to you … just a bunch of syllables you would be better off not knowing. Or, to put it more truthfully,
would be better off if you didn’t know. For the shortest time it takes to figure out a way out of this, please just call me anything but Darlington Blade.”p>

“Very well… friend… I understand. But what are you going to do now?”

“Well,” Pryce said briskly, standing up and brushing off his trousers, “The way I see it, there’s nothing to do but cut my losses, try to prevent any more trouble, and go back where I came from, never to be seen in these parts again.”

“But—but you can’t!” Gheevy blurted suddenly.

Pryce looked at the halfling askew. “Why not? I grant you, the eye at the gate might be a problem, but—”

“No, you can’t just leave now!”

“Oh, but I can, my dear Gheevy,” Covington said patiently. “That is, if you’ll be kind enough not to say anything.”

“No,” the halfling said, agitated. “It’s not me. It’s you. It’s Darlington Blade!”

“I told you not to call me that!”

“No, you don’t understand! They’d hunt you down to the ends ofToril!” “Who would?”

“The wizards. The mages. The inquisitrixes. Berridge Lymwich!”

“Why?” Pryce asked in anguish. “All I did was borrow a cloak! I’ll put it back!”

“It’s too late! All those people you mentioned. They saw you. They called you… by that name. You didn’t disagree. Don’t you understand? Impersonating a mage is punishable by deathl”

The wine grotto was silent for what seemed like minutes.

A variety of emotions shot through Pryce Covington’s brain, but none showed on his expressionless face. Gheevy Wotfirr looked up at him in concern but said no more.

Finally the silence was broken by Pryce’s quiet, considerate, careful words.

“Oh, dear.”

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, my.”

“What are you going to do?” “Oh, no.”

Gheevy felt impelled to dispel the paralyzing mood that was filling the grotto. He gathered his courage and addressed the stunned man the only way he could. “Blade?”

“Yes?” said Pryce immediately, snapping out of his shock.

“What are you going to do?”

“Carry on,” Covington snapped. “With style.” He acted as if absolutely nothing was wrong. “All right, my dear Wotfirr, do you have any idea what Geerling Ambersong had in mind for Darlington Bl—I mean, for me?”

Wotfirr tried to speak but found he wasn’t up to the challenge. He shook his head vigorously.

“Do you have any idea where this Geerling Ambersong is?”

Gheevy shook his head again, then suddenly stopped and looked hopeful. “But I can show you where I delivered the ale and grog,” he offered. “He might be close by.”

Covington wasn’t impressed. “Let me guess,” he said aridly. “The Mark of the Question?”

Gheevy’s mouth dropped open. “That’s incredible!” he burbled. “How did you know that?”

“Rudimentary, my dear Gheevy,” Covington said airily, waving away the question with mock refinement. Then he abruptly leaned toward the halfling. “Where do you think I found this cloak?” he asked, then murmured, “Among other things…”

“I beg your pardon?”

Instead of answering, Pryce fell miserably to his knees. Unable to remain oblivious any longer, he let despair wash over him, driving him to his elbows, his face in his hands. For a time, the only sounds in the grotto were Covington’s groans. Finally, cupping the side of his head, he looked over at the halfling. “I wonder… can I trust you?”

The halfling straightened to his full height, his chin rising.

“Never trust a person by his words,” he intoned. “Only by his actions. You will note that I have not, and will not, turn you in. I will not have your death on my conscience for what I believe was an entirely innocent act.” He nodded with certainty. “I believe your remorse and confusion to be genuine.” Then he smiled kindly, with a small twinkle in his eye. “As is my pity for you, poor man.”

Pryce rose to his knees. ‘Thank you. I try. Now, would you mind doing me a small favor?”

“What have you gotten me into?” Gheevy Wotfirr complained into the night upon seeing the two corpses.

“Nothing!” Pryce insisted, motioning for the halfling to keep his voice down. “I just need your advice.”

“Well, then, my advice is not to have involved me in the first place!” the halfling retorted. “Oh dear, oh, dear. This is just awful!”

They had left Lallor under the cover of moonlight and the shadow of ale barrels. “Good friends” Gheevy Wotfirr and Darlington Blade had passed below the eye at the gate, carrying refreshments for their mutual friend and Blade’s teacher, Geerling Ambersong.

“But what if Inquisitrix Lymwich tries to follow us?” Gheevy had worried. “Or tries to get a wizard to track our steps?”

“I’m counting on Blade’s… I mean, my reputation to make her think that any attempt would be futile. If Lallor is truly Halruaa’s exclusive retreat, most of the wizards will be staying at vacation castles. I hope they’re not interested in being bothered. Besides, they would hardly dare to show up the city’s primary mage.”

His reasoning had seemed logical enough, and all went well until they reached the tree. Then the halfling became a trifle unreasonable.

“Do you know who that is?” Wotfirr wheezed, pointing excitedly at the second man.

“Don’t tell me,” Pryce replied sarcastically. “Fm keen to guess.” “It’s Darlington Blade!”

“Shush!” Covington pleaded, then tried to distract the excitable halfling by pointing at the first man. “Do you know who that is?*

To Pryce’s surprise, Wotfirr said matter-of-factly, “Oh, that’s just Gamor Turkal. But what are we going to do about—”

“Just Gamor Turkal?” Pryce interrupted. “What’s so unimportant about Gamor Turkal?”

“Well, if you must know,” Wotfirr began hesitantly, ‘Turkal wasn’t exactly well liked around here. No one, myself included, could understand why Mage Ambersong insisted that he be treated with such deference and respect. Turkal certainly didn’t treat anyone else that way.”

Covington nodded with recognition. Given the situation, he could well imagine Gamor acting arrogant. “But he was my partner,” Pryce said somberly. “And when your partner is killed, you’re supposed to do something about it.”

Wotfirr let that sink in for a moment, then replied helplessly, “Okay. What?” It was the halfling’s turn to drop to his haunches and put his head in his hands. “I promised not to turn you in,” he said miserably, “and I can’t, I won’t, have your punishment on my conscience… but, oh, if only the Council of Elders weren’t so intractable in their laws!”

Pryce felt sorry for the little man, so he tried to find a way out for both of them. “Gheevy, I brought you here because I have to know what is possible and what isn’t. Gamor was hanging by his neck from this branch.” He pointed at the bent branch of the tree. “And Darlington Blade was sitting right there, leaning against the trunk.”

“Where?” Gheevy asked.

“Here,” Covington replied, showing him. “Do you think it’s possible that somehow Gamor accidentally killed Darlington

Blade and hanged himself in remorse?” “What?”

“Well, it sort of fits,” Pryce said defensively. “Gamor does some incredibly stupid thing that gets Blade killed, and rather than face the wrath of Geerling Ambersong, he hangs himself.”

“But how does that explain the mage’s disappearance?”

Pryce looked at him blankly for a few seconds, then continued. “All right, how about this? Geerling takes one look at the scene and realizes that Gamor has caused Darlington’s death and has killed himself. The mage is so devastated by the death of his student that he wanders away, overcome with grief. And remember, it was Ambersong himself who insisted that Gamor be treated with respect, so the mage would also feel remorse at his own complicity in the death of his favorite disciple. It would be enough to drive anyone over the edge.”

For a moment, Wotfirr stared with disbelief into Pryce’s hopeful face, and then his expression turned sour. ‘The Council of Elders and the inquisitrixes would never believe that Gamor Turkal could do such a thing.” The halfling shook his head sadly. “Handsome? Yes. Smooth-talking? Yes. But intelligent enough to kill Blade on purpose or stupid enough to kill Blade by accident … ?” The halfling looked helplessly up at Pryce. “Besides, where’s your proof? Was there a suicide note? They’re not going to simply accept our word for it, you know.”

Pryce recognized the truth of the halfling’s words. “I could try to find Geerling Ambersong,” he mused. “He couldn’t have gone far….”

“But what if you’re wrong?” Gheevy pointed out. “What if you find him and that’s not what occurred? What happens to you then?”

Covington thought about it and didn’t like the conclusions he reached. As before, the odds were just too great. “Good point,” he said, sitting down disconsolately next to the halfling. He considered his situation for a short time, hardly enjoying the cool,

clean night air. “There’re only four things I can do,” he concluded. “One, run and take my chances.”

“You wouldn’t stand a chance,” said Wotfirr ruefully.

‘True,” said Pryce. “There’re only three things I can do. One, find Geerling Ambersong and beg for mercy.”

“Not much hope of that,” said Wotfirr. “On either count, I’m afraid.”

“Also true. So there’re only two things I can do. One, stay and continue the impersonation, hoping nobody finds me out.”

“And Geerling Ambersong never returns,” Wotfirr reminded him.

“And Ambersong never returns.”

“Unlikely,” the halfling commented. “Besides, from what you told me, you nearly were caught twice in the tavern.”

“True again.” Covington sighed. “So there really is only one thing I can do.”

“And what is that?” Wotfirr asked curiously.

“Find some proof,” Pryce said flatly, leaning back against the tree’s tangled network of aboveground roots. Suddenly he froze in place as he spotted something close to the tree trunk. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?” Gheevy inquired, leaning back.

“Look here, Gheevy, in the space between these roots.” Pryce turned over on his hands and knees and gripped a loop of a root that rose from the loose dirt.

“What is it, Blade?” Wotfirr inquired, straining to see what had so interested Covington.

Pryce looked up at the night sky and then down again. “This afternoon’s storm probably washed away any other evidence we might have found, but these roots form what amounts to a tiny protected cave. And look here, in the mud.”

Wotfirr used his halfling sight to good effect, peering among the roots as closely as he could. “It’s a footprint of some kind.” Pryce’s mood lifted. “No,” Gheevy corrected himself, “a paw

print of some kind.” Pryce’s mood sank.

“Wait a minute,” Covington said, inspired. ‘What kind of paw print?”

“I—I can’t quite make it out. I don’t recognize it.”

“Let me see,” Pryce insisted, maneuvering to get a better angle. He held onto the upturned roots like handlebars and stuck his head, upside down, between the roots.