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 …”
“Your 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 r
emained 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?”
The nervous man chirped, “No, sir!”
“Do you possess skills in pickpocketing, lock opening, trap removal, camouflage, wall climbing, shadow hiding, or silent movement?” Pryce inwardly winced at mention of the second item, plus the last three. He began to work his mouth nervously, stretching his lips across his teeth, in preparation for the coming interview. This was not going to be easy … not with that big eye above them, watching for any sign of discomfort, and the golem below, waiting to act as official bouncer.
“No, sir, I assure you,” said the little man earnestly. “I only want to entertain, and I hope to find favor with the good people of Lallor.”
“How long do you intend to audition?” the clerk intoned, looking up from his parchment.
At this question, the man started to relax. “I think I would need only a fortnight permit, sir. By then I’m sure I could show my worth.”
“Fine,” said the clerk brusquely, seemingly no longer concerned with the man. He was now paying attention only to his parchment, where he was rapidly writing something, the quill pen jiggling busily. But just as the little man finally felt comfortable enough to breathe a sigh of relief and release a broad smile, the clerk looked up again suddenly and said, “Two men play five games of chance. Each man wins the same number of games, and there are no ties. How can this be?”
“Wha—what?” the surprised little man stammered.
“Two men. Five games. Each wins. No ties. How?”
“I … but … how does this …?”
“Come, come, sir,” the gatekeeper burbled reasonably. “Surely you didn’t think that desire was enough to secure entry to Lallor. We are an exclusive community, sir. We must know that those who seek to entertain—especially those who seek to entertain—have their wits about them. Now, come along, please hurry. How can two men play five games with no ties and both win?”
“I’m sorry.” The little man was first confused, then desperate, then crestfallen. “I—I”
Pryce put a hand on his shoulder. “They weren’t playing each other,” he whispered.
“What?”
“The two men weren’t playing each other,” he repeated. “That’s the only way they could both win an equal number of games.”
Comprehension spread across the little man’s face. The reaction of the clerk, however, was not so beneficent. He struggled to his feet, both fists shaking on the floating marble slab. “I beg your pardon, sir!” he said angrily. “How dare you?”
Pryce knew he had to think and talk even faster now. If that golem was psychically attuned to the clerk’s emotions, his head was applesauce. There was only one thing to do: Distract attention from himself.
“I apologize, but it is imperative I speak to someone in authority. It is about my friend. Gamor Turkal.…” To his amazement, Pryce watched the clerk’s wrathful expression melt, then, even more incredibly, rise like a basset hound being offered prime steak. The clerk then repeated his previous admonition, but the tone this time was one of apology.
“Sir … I beg your pardon!”
“Yes, yes,” Pryce said humbly. “But my friend Gamor …” He started to point back down the road.
“Of course, sir!” the clerk interrupted, hurrying around the floating marble slab. “Gamor Turkal told us of your coming. We have been waiting for you!”
“You have?”
“Of course,” the clerk said enthusiastically, raising an arm to put over Pryce’s shoulders, then thinking better of it. “We’ve been awaiting your arrival for some time.”
Pryce blinked. His mind had been ready for a lot of things, but not this. “Really? Well, the storm slowed me down a bit, and then there were the dangers of the pass.…”
“Oh, we knew you would make quick work of them,” the clerk said dismissively. “But come, come. You must be hungry and thirsty after your journey.” Only then did the clerk feel secure enough to take Pryce by the shoulders and lead him toward the open gate.
“But—but,” Pryce stammered, pointing back at the line of staring pilgrims, “shouldn’t I take the test?”
“Oh, pshaw,” the clerk said. “This test isn’t for you! Only you would think of having the humility to stand in line and take the entrance exam. Your kindness and consideration have not been exaggerated!” He drew Pryce under the gate’s eye, which followed his every move. Covington stared back at the thing, concerned that it might be looking down into his very soul.
“What a beautiful shade of blue,” he said with a toothy but mirthless grin, watching it. “No, green. Now brown!”
The clerk actually chuckled, his many sagging facial parts jiggling like coin sacks. “The Eye of the Inquisitrix,” he said cheerily. “No one enters, of course, without being recorded. Not even you!”
“Sound thinking,” Pryce said, managing to wrest his own eyes away from the ominous cyclopic orb above him. “Very wise.” Then he was inside the gate.
“Sir,” the clerk said demurely, “I can’t begin to tell you what an honor it is that I should be the one to welcome you to our humble city. And that I, Matthaunin Witterstaet, should be allowed to … well, sir, I don’t want to embarrass you, but I shall be telling my nieces and nephews that these hands actually touched …!” The old fellow couldn’t go on, which was just as well, because Pryce wasn’t listening to him. Instead, he was marveling at the exclusive “Jewel of Halruaa.” Whatever might happen to him from that moment on, he would never forget his first look at Lallor.
Both the city and the wall had been built very cunningly and very well. The wall encircled three quarters of the municipality and nestled on the highest elevation of the city. Beyond the wall, the city sloped lazily down to the shoreline of Lallor Bay. As Pryce had discovered earlier, only the very tops of the city’s highest castles could be seen from outside the wall. The slope also kept everyone who waited in line to take the entrance examination from seeing too much of the glory that was Lallor.
One glance told Covington that only Halruaa’s best and brightest would dare live amidst such splendor. He resisted the temptation to rub his eyes and tried to act as if he weren’t overwhelmed. The buildings were of various widths and sizes, but they all seemed to grow out from the lush green vegetation that surrounded them, interspersed with refreshing splashes of riotous color from rare pollandry plants.
Some buildings were classic mansions of tan and dark brown plaster, while others were extensive cottages of precious stone. All were veritable palaces of the most amazing d
esign and construction. Others appeared like huge bulbs of both organic material and opaque glass. The bulbs were not only of many dusky colors but also of many shapes, some more pointed and some more round, but all large enough to comfortably house extended families.
Pryce’s head craned forward to look closer at the landscape. He thought he could see movement within these amazing walls, but it might have been a reflection from the clouds and the sparkling bay. Shaking his head in wonder, he looked over his shoulder to see the more familiar castles that befit the great wizards of any Halruan city. These low, wide constructions almost formed an inner wall of their own, which stretched from one end of the city wall to the other.
“I hope our unassuming little community doesn’t disappoint a man of your travels and experiences,” the admission clerk intoned modestly.
Pryce turned on him with smiling insight “Laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think … what did you say your name was again, my good man?”
The admission clerk’s jowls shook as he moved his head back in surprise, then widened as his smile of appreciation grew. “Matthaunin Witterstaet, at your service! And, if I may say so, sir, you are as perceptive as everyone has alleged.”
“Everyone?” But before Pryce could pursue the point further, an impressive woman marched purposefully up to stand before them. Her sudden appearance made Pryce aware that the splendid architecture had distracted him from the well-mannered, well-dressed people who went about their everyday business on the wide, well-maintained streets.
The woman stood about five feet, three inches tall—the top of her sandy-colored hair came to his sternum—and she must have weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. When Pryce finished examining the small feet wedged into skin-tight boots, bandy but well-shaped legs in dark hide pants, small but powerful torso within the U-necked, blood-red tunic with the white-and-gold-dotted black epaulets, he concentrated on the face above the deep-purple cowled cape that swept off her shoulders and brushed the cobblestoned road at her feet.
Murder in Halruaa Page 3
