He said it blithely, but Wotfirr’s reaction was anything but composed. The halfling actually did a double take. “Dearlyn Ambersong? She embraced you?”
“She was concerned for my safety,” Pryce said. “As she would be for anyone attacked by a dragon turtle.”
Gheevy looked around the room in disbelief. “I don’t know which is more amazing,” he finally decided. “Your exploration of the castle or Dearlyn Ambersong’s reaction to your safe return!”
Pryce raised a forefinger in triumph. “You see? I ask you, could anyone but Darlington Blade accomplish these things?”
The halfling couldn’t help but nod. “Very well. I’ll give you that. You are now, and forever will be, the great Darlington Blade.” He moved closer and looked Pryce in the eye. “So, Blade, what now?”
“Now?” he echoed, slowly rising from the pile of books. “Now we get some lunch!”
“But the workshop could be anywhere!” Wotfirr contended as they walked back to Schreders At Your Service, enjoying a picture-perfect autumn midday. Lallor Bay glittered like crests of diamonds, the green leaves in the trees swayed to a silent song, and children laughed while they followed bobbing, glowing clusters of multicolored lights down the street.
The splendidly dressed, excruciatingly polite adults treated Blade, né Pryce, to the internationally famous “Lallor hello.” That is, they looked everywhere but directly at him, practically outlining his form with their gaze if they happened to turn their heads in his direction. It was a universally accepted courtesy for the incredibly famous.
“Couldn’t you ask Dearlyn if she knows anything about the workshop’s whereabouts?” Gheevy inquired. “You’re friendly enough now, apparently.”
“A small problem there,” Pryce explained. “I’m Darlington Blade, remember? I’m supposed to know.” Then he said something Wotfirr was completely unprepared for. “Besides, it’s not exactly polite to interrogate the daughter of your main suspect to discover his whereabouts.”
Gheevy’s exclamation of “What?” was loud enough to draw the attention of several adults and more than a few children.
Pryce smiled at the onlookers magnanimously and said, “You know, this isn’t going to work if you can’t control your interjections.”
“Sorry,” the halfling said, his voice quieter. “But what are you saying?”
“You know the language I’m speaking,” he chided. “I admit that the concept is difficult, but so is the concept of murder in Halruaa. As Priest Santé wrote, ‘Once you accept the concept of the unthinkable, the rest is easy.…’ ” The halfling looked at him doubtfully. “Or something to that effect.”
“But Geerling?” Gheevy queried. “He’s been the most trusted person in Lallor for many years!”
“I know, I know,” Covington sympathized, “and I’ll admit it’s easier for me, since I never knew him, but consider the situation logically. You said it yourself: No one would ever believe Gamor Turkal could kill Darlington Blade. So who, then? Who was the closest to him, and, more importantly, who had the power to slay such a famous wizard?”
“Well, when you put it like that … but, no, I can’t believe it.”
“I’m sure I couldn’t either if I were in your position, but I have to find out. And that means I have to find Geerling Ambersong’s secret workshop. It’s not in his home. He had the place cleared of spellbooks and magical items in deference to his plans for his daughter. So where could it be?”
“That was my initial question,” Gheevy reminded him. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“I do,” Pryce said, putting his hand on the halfling’s shoulder. They were outside Schreders’s now, and there was a good deal of foot traffic in the area. “You must know that trader in liquids, Teddington Fullmer. Your employer was about to introduce you when you nearly exposed me.”
“Certainly,” Gheevy answered dubiously. “I talked to him earlier today, when he came in for breakfast. He has a vacation cottage somewhere around here.”
“Really?” Pryce said with interest. “Do you happen to know whether he’s planning to come back for lunch?”
“As a matter of fact, he is. He said he would drop by. He wants to see my grotto, but I don’t think I should—”
“Perfect!” Pryce interrupted. “I think you should show him your grotto, Gheevy; you absolutely should.”
“Really? Why? He’ll only say it’s understocked and try to sell me something. And since he has a home in the area, he’ll keep pestering me until—”
“Don’t you see?” Pryce interjected. “Think back … remember what the jackalwere said.” He suddenly took note of the halfling’s puzzled expression. “Wait a minute,” he continued. “You were unconscious during my talk with the jackalwere, weren’t you?” Gheevy kept looking at him with patient disbelief. “Looked him in the eye, didn’t you, you silly boy? Well, anyway, remember my telling you that he gave me the descriptions of two people who had also been around the Mark of the Question?”
“I had just woken up. I was tired, and you kept talking and talking, and—”
“All right, all right Trust me. He described Berridge Lymwich and someone who was … how did he put it again? Ah, yes: ‘A great captain of industry.’ A ‘sailor on the pirate sea.’ With his little chin spike a-quivering, his long lip curls a-shaking and a-shimmying with pomposity.’ Sound like anyone you’ve met recently?”
“Fullmer! But why would he be involved? Do you think he wants to become Lallor’s primary mage?”
“Not at all, my dear Wotfirr,” Pryce answered. “But why do you think he chose this moment to visit Lallor? Could it be that he heard a trove of magical items were the prize for the best treasure hunter? I know this man, Gheevy. He’s always looking for the one windfall that could set him up for life.”
“The items in Geerling’s workshop could certainly do that,” Wotfirr acknowledged. “But still … what a coincidence that he should be at the tree and then in the tavern just as you appeared.”
“Not really,” Pryce countered. “Not if he were looking for the workshop. I think as soon as he heard the name Darlington Blade being shouted, he came rushing right over. It wasn’t until then that he saw it was actually …” Covington let that thought trail off.
“Saw it was actually what?”
Covington looked down at his friend, unable to tell him right away that he wasn’t the only person in Lallor who knew Pryce wasn’t Blade. “Gheevy, would you mind doing me the smallest favor?”
“It’s magnificent,” Teddington Fullmer enthused, sitting on the wine barrel in the grotto that had, most recently, cradled the bottom of the “great” Darlington Blade. “It is truly a collection to be proud of.”
“Thank you,” the halfling murmured, raising the fascinatingly colored and amazingly twisted bottle of Mhair liquor, lovingly collected, at great personal risk, from the sap of the rare weeping fredrod trees along the monster-filled outskirts of the Mhair jungles. He refilled Fullmer’s cup and sat down heavily on his own barrel.
“And so quickly put together as well!” Fullmer commented, before taking another careful, appreciative sip.
Gheevy considered standing in order to correct the liquids trader, but thought better of it. Below him were the finest of Cormyrian spirits, which aged better with body heat liberally applied to one side, and one side only, for as long as possible during its lifetime ripening process. “Whatever do you mean?” he finally said with a certain challenge in his voice.
“But—but—but Azzoparde told me,” the trader replied with a tinge of bluster, pompously using Schreders’s full first name, “that he only recently decided to make this grotto the finest and most comprehensive in all the city.”
If Gheevy hadn’t been matching the man chalice for chalice, he might have seen this ploy for what it was: a blatant lead-in to a sales pitch. “I’m sure you’re mistaken,” the halfling huffed. “What I’m sure tavern master Schreders said was that he, himself, might have only
recently accepted the fact that my grotto was the finest and most complete in the city … not to mention the nation.”
“Of course, of course,” Fullmer quickly agreed. “I’m sure that was what he meant.”
From his hiding place deep in the shadows behind a wall-sized cask, Pryce gripped his forehead and winced. Come on, Gheevy, he thought I asked you to question the man, not drink with him. Remember what you both have in common, besides the love of a refreshing beverage!
“But enough talk of wine!” Wotfirr said, seemingly reading Covington’s mind, and perhaps realizing that if he kept drinking he wouldn’t be in a position to see, let alone speak. “We’re here to enjoy it, not talk about it. Besides, you’re on holiday, are you not? About time we stop discussing shop, what?”
Fullmer looked into his cup, a small smile playing about his lips. “Oh, I love talking about my work at any time.”
“But surely you haven’t come to Lallor on the eve of the Fall Festival to sell your wares, have you? It’s not time to market; it’s time for pleasure. Am I right?”
“Certainly, certainly,” Fullmer blustered, his goatee quivering.
“So, have you taken in the sights of our fair city? Have you appreciated our impressive monuments and curiosities of nature … both inside and outside the walls?”
Pryce put his head slowly into his hands with a silent groan. Wow, he thought dryly, what a conversational gambit that was!
“Why, yes,” Fullmer said evenly. “I love this place. Why else would I have purchased a home close by?”
“Close by?” Wotfirr echoed. “Not in the city proper?”
“I assure you, Mr. Wotfirr, that I am successful, but I am not that successful! After all,” he continued slyly, “I’m no Darlington Blade.”
Pryce grew very still, then slowly pressed himself even closer to the wall. Meanwhile the halfling tried bravely to carry on.
“Well, no … ha, ha, we certainly all can’t be Barlington Dade—I mean, Darlington B-Blade. Heh, heh, certainly not!” With a courage Pryce had to admire grudgingly, the halfling vainly attempted to wrest back control of the conversation. “But, uh, speaking of your cottage, I mean your home, I would love to see your personal collection of liquid refreshment. Is it near any particular landmark I would know about? Your home, I mean?”
Pryce looked to the ceiling in disbelief. But the worst was yet to come.
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” said Fullmer calmly. “I set up housekeeping fairly close to the Mark of the Question. You know the place, don’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, the trader continued. “Yes, I hear you know that location quite well. It was one of several reasons I decided to look in that area for a suitable site for my … as you quite correctly described it … cottage.”
“R-Really?” Gheevy stuttered. “Well, isn’t that ironic? Imagine … well, well. More wine?”
“No, thank you,” Fullmer said flatly. “I’ve had quite enough.”
“Yes? Well, then … I’ll just put these things away.”
As the halfling busied himself with the bottle and glasses, Fullmer continued in a light, conversational tone. “You know, now that you mention it, you really should stop at my abode and inspect my modest collection. I think you would find it illuminating. And,” he added, his voice deepening, “then we could discuss a most interesting thing you mentioned the other night”
“Me?” Pryce’s ears hurt at the high pitch of Wotfirr’s response. “Whatever could I have said that would have piqued the interest of someone of your broad experience and knowledge?”
Pryce felt like banging his head on the cask but resisted the temptation.
“Oh, you know,” Fullmer began innocently, the tips of his mustache bobbing with amusement. “Something about how someone wasn’t actually someone, but was actually someone else.…”
Gheevy hovered near the wine racks, his back to the trader. “That’s peculiar. I can’t honestly recall anything of that nature.”
“Oh, you must!” Fullmer cried expansively, rising from the barrel and stretching out his arms. “Try to remember. The other night. Early evening. I was talking to a tall, thin, cadaverous-looking chap. You were behind the bar with Azzoparde. There was someone else between us … who was that again? You recall, don’t you?”
“Someone … between?… No … Let’s see. I’m thinking.…”
“But certainly you must remember! About six feet tall, slim, pleasant-looking, wearing a very handsome cloak. Very handsome cloak …”
“Cloak?” Gheevy choked.
“Now, what did you say to him again?” Fullmer mused mockingly. “Two words … two names?… Starts with ‘You’… ends with—”
“All right, Teddington,” said Pryce, emerging from behind the cask into the dim light. “That’s enough.”
“Why, look who’s here!” the portly trader said with mock enthusiasm. “As I ferment and age, it’s … it’s.…” He snapped his fingers several times. “Gheevy, who did you say this was again?” He looked directly at Pryce. “Or should I ask, who did you say this wasn’t?”
“I said that’s enough,” Pryce repeated before turning to his contrite halfling colleague. “Gheevy, would you mind leaving me and my … ‘friend’ … alone for a time?”
“Blade … I’m so sorry.”
“No, Gheevy, you did the best you could. Never apologize for that. We were just up against the kind of man”—he said the rest of the sentence with dripping disdain—“who would call me ‘pleasant-looking.’ ”
The halfling’s gaze went from one man to the other; then he started to back away to the ladder that led up to the trapdoor. “I’ll—I’ll be upstairs,” he said hurriedly before practically running up the rungs. Even so, he lowered the trapdoor very cautiously, making nary a sound.
Fullmer watched him go, smirking, and then turned to Pryce with a superior gaze. “Well, he’s no Gamor Turkal, but—”
“Ha, ha,” Covington said without humor. He sat on a small barrel opposite the trader. “So what brings you to Lallor, Teddington? You didn’t come here to critique my performance.”
“Perhaps not,” the little man replied quickly, taking his seat again, “but while I’m here, I simply can’t resist. Darlington Blade! Really, Pryce, don’t you think that this is a bit beyond the extent of even your many talents?”
“I didn’t do this on purpose.”
“Didn’t you? You forget, Covington, I know you. I’ve worked with you. And even if I hadn’t, I still would have known your heart’s desire. Everyone from Mount Alue to Achelar knew it. We called it the Pryce Poem. ‘He doesn’t want your friendship, he doesn’t want a wife … all the man of service wants is a cushy job for life.’ ”
The trader laughed while Covington’s eyebrows rose. “You had a poem about it?” Pryce asked.
“Children played skipping games to it. I’d tell you the other stanzas, but they get a bit insulting … even risqué.”
But Covington wasn’t offended. “A poem, eh?” he echoed with a bit of pride.
“You know, Pryce,” Fullmer continued, leaning forward, “I’ll tell you the truth. When I heard the name and then saw it was you, there was a moment when I thought it might be true. That you really were the great Darlington Blade.”
“Come on, Teddington.…”
“No, truly! Remembering all your skills—from the frivolous to the abstruse—I thought it just might be the case. Remember, you were a wizards’ messenger. It wasn’t too long a leap to think you might also be learning something from them.”
“Teddington, if you truly knew me at all, you’d know I don’t like magic. Gamor certainly knew.”
“But don’t you see, Pryce? That fits, too. You protested too much—a perfect cover.”
Covington shook his head in amazement. “Teddington, if you worked half as hard as a liquids trader as you do inventing intrigue, you wouldn’t have to be in constant search of a big deal.”
“Hmph,” Fullmer said, blowing a
ir into his goatee. “And you should have stayed in Merrickarta, selling what was left of your eroding wit, instead of having the unmitigated gall to impersonate the most famous adventurer in the Shining South.”
“You know, Teddington,” Pryce sighed, “I think you’re right.”
“Still,” the trader said casually, leaning back and looking at his manicured fingernails, “your pathetic little performance could have its purpose.…”
Pryce looked up at him like an animal that just realized it had stepped into a trap. The two men sat in that split second between the time the spring was sprung and the iron jaws snapped shut
“Oh?”
“Well, you know and I know … and that halfling fellow seems to know … that you’re not who you say you are.…”
“Who everyone else says I am,” Pryce corrected.
Fullmer waved away the niggling point aside. “But that selfsame ‘everyone else’ doesn’t know. They think you are Darlington Blade.”
“So?”
“So let’s take advantage of that, Pryce. I know what you want, and you know what I want, so let’s collaborate to achieve our dreams together.”
“How?” Pryce wondered truthfully.
Fullmer put his elbows on his knees and spoke with intensity. “I’ve been waiting all my life for an opportunity like this. A primary mage’s workshop, ripe for the taking? He’s missing; you’re his student It’s rightfully yours!”
“But as Zalathorm is my witness, Teddington, I really don’t know where it is.”
“I know that, Covington! If you did, you wouldn’t be waiting around for the inquisitrixes to disintegrate you.”
“So what do I do?” Pryce exclaimed helplessly. “Go to the next council meeting and say, ‘Hey, it’s my workshop, so if anyone will simply tell me where it is, I’ll wrap it up and be on my way’?”
The trader just smiled. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“Yes?” Pryce echoed incredulously.
“Yes. I know, and you probably know, that a variety of people are scrambling to be in line for the primary mage’s post if Geerling Ambersong doesn’t return by the Fall Festival. He had already announced his retirement in any case. Now, everyone knows Darlington Blade is his student, so all you have to do is declare a right of possession.”
Murder in Halruaa Page 12
