Murder in Halruaa (forgotten realms)

by Richard Meyers

  Covington dropped his finger and leaned back, his hands behind his head. “Then they would, no doubt, divine our intentions, and who do you think would walk away intact?”

  Fullmer kept his finger up, but he blanched. Even his mustache seemed to droop. ‘You wouldn’t!”

  “I might,” said Pryce, sitting up, “but I’m just trying to make the point that these threats aren’t necessary. All I want is your assurance that Geerling Ambersong will not interrupt my performance.”

  Fullmer beamed and slapped his thigh in relief. “Now, there’s the Pryce Covington I remember and love!”

  “Of course,” Pryce said casually. “Cushy job for life, remember? Away from the pain and strife?”

  “Yes, yes, very good. Now, my friend, my associate, my partner, what can I do to assure you?”

  “You said you had it ‘on very good authority that it is extremely unlikely,’ etcetera, etcetera, and so forth.”

  Fullmer laughed. ‘Tour memory is incredible,” he marveled. “Even better than Gamor Turkal’s.”

  “Yes, yes, flattery will get you nowhere. Now,” Pryce said portentously, “what I want to know is from whom.”

  Fullmer reacted as if Covington had asked him to pull down his pants and dance a jig. “But I can’t do that!”

  “Which means you’re lying, and you’re just trying to convince me.

  “No, it’s true. I’m not lying.” The wine merchant was suddenly desperate. “Please, Pryce, be reasonable. You have to understand that I’ve been finessing this operation for months. Ever since I heard the rumor that the workshop might be up for grabs, I’ve been following leads, creating a network of informants, investigating every dead end-“

  “It seems, however, that now you’ve found a right-of-way. Come on, Teddington, give. I need to know as much as you do more! that Blade’s rite will not be wronged.”

  Fullmer was dead white and sweating profusely in the gloom of the grotto. “Pryce, if you only knew, you wouldn’t ask such a thing!”

  Covington was tempted to leap upon the man and use his stomach as a springboard until he talked. He resisted and just kept to the course. But the closer he thought he was getting, the more the chase seemed like trying to grab a pollandry seed out of midair. It just kept shooting out of his closing fingers. “But I don’t know, Teddington, and I need to know if I’m going to be convincing.”

  The trader was shaken, but he nodded with agitation, his chin and lip hair bobbing. “All right. You’re right, of course. If we are to share in the wealth, then we must share in the danger as well.”

  At the time, Pryce thought Fullmer was saying that he would share Pryce’s danger. Only later did Covington realize that the trader was actually revealing that he was willing to let Pryce share Teddington’s jeopardy.

  “I need to take care of some things,” Fullmer said, distracted. “Meet me this evening behind the restaurant, in the little clearing among the rocks where the deliveries take place. I’ll have all the information you need then.”

  ‘Tell me now,” Pryce insisted.

  “I can’t!”

  ‘You don’t think I know what will happen tonight?” Covington exploded. “Either you won’t show, or you will… with some very big friends!”

  “Pryce, upon my honor”

  “For what that’s worth!”

  To Pryce’s surprise, the trader swelled up to his fullest height and widest width. “You tell me honestly, Pryce, in all our dealings, and in all the dealings you ever heard I was involved in, has my promise ever been anything but reliable? You think carefully and answer me, Covington. Have I ever cheated on a bet or broken a promise?”

  Pryce did think, then felt slightly ashamed. “You make precious few promises, Teddington, but the ones you do make are not broken,” he conceded grudgingly. “I’m sorry I besmirched your reputation.”

  The trader stood and carefully brushed off his clothing. “With all the other stains upon my character,” he said with remarkable candor, “your smudge is hardly noticeable.” He nodded. “Tonight then.” He named a specific time. “I promise, tonight you will know all that I know.”

  Then, as elegantly as he could, Fullmer made his way up the ladder and disappeared through the trapdoor.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  New Low Pryce

  The next few hours were the longest of Pryce Covington’s life. He was tempted to use the time exploring the grotto or returning to the Ambersong residence for a nap, but he knew he would have a very hard time exploring or sleeping with the weight of this investigation on his head.

  So, instead, he waited a few minutes after Fullmer’s departure, then slowly climbed the ladder out of the grotto. He tried to analyze any new information as he went, but the many “whys” he asked himself were answered only by “huh?” or “what do you mean?” or “I’m not sure I follow that.”

  When Pryce emerged from the trapdoor into the eating and drinking establishment, he found himself beside a thick leg attached to the rest of Azzoparde Schreders’s burly body. The proprietor smiled down at him and offered a hand. “Get what you want, Master Blade? Eh, eh?” the friendly barkeep boomed as he lifted Pryce easily from the opening.

  “Not yet,” Pryce said, dusting himself off, “but I’m working on it”

  It was late afternoon, and the crowd was sparse. Pryce looked over the bar to see Berridge Lymwich sitting at a distant table near the door, staring at him from over a glass. But instead of giving him a suspicious look, she had formed her thin lips into a knowing smile. Silently she raised her glass to him.

  With one hand, Pryce reached down, took an empty tankard from a holder under the bar, and raised it sardonically to Lymwich in return. As he put it back, he used his other arm to nudge Azzo. The proprietor turned his solid bulk toward Covington with a low, rumbling “Hmmm?”

  “Isn’t Inquisitrix Lymwich on duty?” he inquired lightly, nodding toward her. Schreders looked over at the thin woman, who was no longer looking in their direction. Instead, she was looking out the front windows at the splendid Lallor afternoon.

  Azzo shrugged. “She often comes in after the lunch rush.” He smiled at Pryce. “Even inquisitrixes have to eat sometime. Eh, eh?”

  Covington was distracted by the passing of Sheyrhen Karkober. He watched her saunter across the floor, then turn to wink at him. Then she placed a bill of fare on a table where the gaunt figure of Asche Hartov sat.

  Well, well, well, Pryce thought. All the suspects in easy proximity, perhaps to overhear what Fullmer and I had to say to each other. The shapely serving wench and the lean mine owner spoke to each other for a few moments, then the beautiful blonde waitress walked back to the bar.

  Pryce thought she was going to give Azzo the visiting miner’s payment, but instead she leaned both elbows on the bar, bent forward to expose a generous portion of cleavage and said, “Mr. Hartov wanted me to say hello to you, Darling.”

  Pryce cocked his head to one side and was about to inquire whether the “Darling” came from Asche or her, but the waitress had already gone about her business. Meanwhile, however, Covington noticed that Azzo had raised his head and was giving his serving wench a strange look… an expression Pryce felt himself mirroring when he saw Dearlyn Ambersong come through the front door, carrying a large book from Geerling’s library.

  Pryce realized it was later than he thought. They had arranged to meet even before Wotfirr had shown up at the Ambersong residence earlier in the day. Covington quickly and expertly vaulted over the bar, swinging his legs to the side like a gymnast, and landed on the floor just as Dearlyn reached him. She was obviously more impressed with this than she had been by his cartwheels to escape her magically powered bed.

  “Did you find out anything?” she asked quietly, her beautiful eyes darting from side to side. He placed a hand on her arm and moved her casually toward a table near the opposite wall.

  “Not yet,” he replied tightly, annoyed that he couldn’t tell her everything without revea
ling his true identity. “Fullmer and I have a rendezvous later tonight, when I hope to learn something.” He pulled out a chair for her, then quickly sat opposite. “Have you seen Gheevy?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “He came directly from here to our residence, and he was terribly upset. He thought he had failed you.”

  Pryce quickly shook his head, deciding to concentrate on the problem at hand. “He did his best, poor fellow,” Covington quickly assured her, then let the rest of his instructions come out in a hushed rush as he leaned toward her. “Go back and keep him company. I can’t risk trying to follow Fullmer, and I think I should remain in a public place until our meeting.”

  She placed her hands on his. He stared at them, then looked up at her. Her gaze was earnest. “You’re the only connection I have to my father now,” she said. “Please be careful.”

  This was too much. Emotions of paternal tenderness rushed up in Pryce’s brain, but in order to stay in control, he fought them back. His feelings for her were countered by the knowledge of what he had already done and his own suspicions of how her father might be involved in the murders… not to mention who else might be stalking Pryce even as he sat there.

  “Of course I’m not going to be careful!” he snapped at her. She blinked at his reply, and then he made a motion to shoo her away with his free hand. His other hand lay beneath the warmth of hers… as long as that lasted. “Away with you, woman!”

  Her jaw set, her gaze hardened, and she stood up. She stared at him a moment more, her fists clenching and reclenching. Then she turned purposefully away and left the restaurant.

  Pryce sat in the gathering darkness of twilight, a nearby pillar casting a shadow across his face. He left his right hand, the one she had clasped, where it lay and watched her proud, erect figure move past the front window toward the hidden circular iron stairway. Only then did he finish his thought in a whisper.

  “There’s no need for both of us to be in danger.”

  For a short time, Pryce read the wisdom of Priest Sante. Then he ate a leisurely dinner, lovingly served by the attentive Karkober. He studied the schedule of the restaurant’s employees, taking careful note of when the dwarf chef and human dishwasher took their breaks. Then he sat and watched as the citizens of Lallor came and went, all giving him the respect of his privacy, as he was expected to give them theirs. But Schreders’s was a popular place, so it wasn’t long before the tables and bar filled up with the most interesting residents the city had to offer, and the noise and smoke got loud and thick.

  Only then did Pryce purposefully rise, carry the book to the bar, and lean over between a sumptuously garbed old half-elf scholar and an elegant middle-aged seamstress. “Azzo!” Covington called above the din, gaining the barkeep’s attention. Schreders came over immediately. It was, after all, Darlington Blade calling him. “Keep this for safekeeping, would you?” Pryce said, handing him the book. “I have a meeting to attend. I’ll be back for it.”

  Azzo didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he took the book and nodded reassuringly. Pryce waited until the barkeep had placed the book in a dry spot under the far side of the bar and was again busy with his patrons before moving quietly and purposefully toward the back of the establishment.

  He found the kitchen easily. It was the only door along the back wall. He waited until the cook and dishwasher stepped out for a break before he slipped inside the swinging door. He stood in a well-lit and well-furnished kitchen, especially noting the fine cast-iron stoves and marble sinks. A huge wooden table separated the cooking area from the cleaning area. One side was filled with the freshest fruits, vegetables, and meats, and the other with the cleanest of pans, pots, and plates. Pryce’s nostrils filled with the scent of cooking food, still simmering on the fires.

  Pryce quickly spotted the back door. That was where deliveries were made, and where Fullmer had set their rendezvous. There was still some time before their meeting, so Covington had a few minutes to carefully search the area.

  He opened the back door a crack, looked quickly about, then stepped outside. The night was as pleasant as the day had been. The moon cast a serene silver-blue light over everything, and the elegant foliage seemed to reach up toward the twinkling stars. The air was cool, clean, and filled with the aroma of pollandry blooms.

  Pryce surveyed the rendezvous point. It was approximately twenty by thirty feet, surrounded on three sides by a vine-covered stone wall that rose fifty feet up to the roots of the Ambersong residence. To his left, the stone wall was connected to the back wall of the restaurant. But on the right side, there was a long, narrow, twisting alley between the restaurant’s wall and the stone. There delivery people could carry fresh food and drink from their carriages to the back door.

  Covington thought he heard a rustle behind him. He spun around, but saw no one. The leaves of the flowering vines rustled in the night wind, but otherwise no person or animal disturbed the calm. Pryce quickly glanced back into the alley. It was the only way Fullmer could arrive. Covington decided to take up a position by the rear door. That way, if Teddington brought “friends,” Pryce could easily slip inside.

  He made a quick final survey of the area, running his hands along the stone wall to make sure there wasn’t another hidden spiral staircase. He was pleased to find there wasn’t. Instead, he simply found large, flat, vine-covered stones. Standing with his back to them, he looked at the restaurant’s rear door, feeling safer than he had all evening.

  With a decisive, flat-palmed slap to the flat rocks of the wall behind him, he took a step forward.

  He stopped dead in his tracks.

  The flat rock behind him had moved inward.

  Goose bumps covered Pryce’s skin in a rolling wave, and the hair on the back of his neck stood straight out as he heard the same rustling as before, only this time coming from above him.

  He tried to somersault away, but as he began to dive forward, something hard, heavy, and painful smashed into the back of his head. There was sudden, incredible pressure, and then he felt his brain shift, crashing into the inner side of his forehead.

  He felt as if Berridge Lymwich had hit him full with her inquisitrix spell. He was blinded by white. Then the white suddenly swirled with gray. Then black dots emerged from the gathering haze, growing larger and larger until the white was gone and the gray was swallowed up.

  Then all was black, and blacker still, until he fell into the blackest pit of all.

  Pryce Covington knew he wasn’t dead when his brain started lecturing him.

  Apparently it was its way of dealing with the shock of the attack, once it had determined that the assault was not fatal. Seemingly, from what Pryce was distantly hearing, his subconscious was stunned, both physically and mentally, by the blow to the back of his head.

  In a land where magic was extolled, the need to strike someone on the back, side, top, or front of the head seemed so unnecessaryeven barbaricthat Pryce’s brain couldn’t decide whether it was more perplexed than hurt.

  Later Pryce would call it a draw. Actually, he would have loved to have been more perplexed than hurt, but a blow to the skull in any form had unavoidable consequences of a physical nature. In a word, pain.

  As usual, when self-pity wrestled with purpose, the former almost always won out. As soon as he was conscious enough, Pryce found himself thinking, What did I do to deserve this? through a needle-pricking haze. He was so thankful the light seemed to be turned back on again that his relief nearly forced the pain away… but only for a second. Then his mind sent out a series of lightning bolts of renewed pain.

  He had once seen a magical crystal ball with a storm inside it. Through its transparent shell, he could see a small cloud from which many dozens of lightning bolts arced out, dancing all over the inside surface of the orb. Now he could well imagine what that ball would have felt like if it had been lined with nerve endings.

  He tried opening one eye. The view wasn’t promising. It seemed dark and craggy and hairy. It was also sti
ll painful. He squeezed his eye shut again.

  Wait a minute, he thought. Hairy? It seemed to be making disconcertingly rabid noises as well.

  Pryce’s eyes snapped open. Something was bobbing in his vision. It was black and red and orange and furry. There were two fuzzy half-cones on either side of a hairy half-dome, moving up and down and slavering. Covington dimly remembered seeing that somewhere before..

  “Cunningham!” he bellowed. “Get off me, you beast!”

  The jackalwere leapt back as Pryce tried to jump up, but the creature knew his surroundings better than the man did. Pryce’s head slammed into a low, rocky ledge that laid him back down hard.

  Getting hit on the head was bad enough, but hitting himself on the head was even worse. Pryce felt as if he were sinking into the bay beyond the Lalloreef, but he sensed a jackal turtle waiting for him beneath the surface, its slavering maw opening and closing in eager anticipation. Covington clawed back toward the surface, ignoring the millions of mental lightning bolts that danced around him.

  “Cunningham!” he cried. “Don’t you dare gorge on me!” The sharp yellow teeth of the jackalwere filled his vision like a horizon of tombstones. Pryce cried out in spite of himself, making the creature leap back once more into the surrounding gloom. Covington’s cry of surprise turned into a groan of suffering as pain pushed everything else aside. “II don’t feel well,” he managed to understate.

  “I have seen you looking better,” Cunningham informed him, “if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  Pryce hoped that by concentrating on the jackalwere he could crawl out of the thicket of agony inside his head. “You were going to take a bite out of me, weren’t you?”

  “Oh, my good sir, no!” The jackalwere sounded mortally offended.

  “Yes, you were, and then you were planning on drinking my blood. Right?” “Not at all.”

  ‘You’re hungry, and you’ve got a brood to feed.” “I’ll have you know, sir, that we are subsisting quite well on your kindness.”