I told Captain Flim that Benelaius had had a communication from Suzail that both he and Tobald should be aware of. He nodded brusquely and led the way to the Sheaf of Wheat, where Tobald and Barthelm were overseeing the final arrangements for the arrival of the guild leaders. The captain and I dismounted, and he beckoned Tobald over. When Flim beckoned, even the mayor reacted quickly, albeit with a hasty limp. His gout, I could see, had worsened.
We miraculously found a quiet room in the inn, and I closed the door behind us as we entered. Then I read Vangerdahast’s directive to them, and showed them the missive itself.
“Excellent!” Tobald said. “As much as I dislike violence, only such an extreme act can restore honor to our town. Captain Flim, are you ready to follow these orders?”
Flim’s expression didn’t change a jot. “I am. What comes from Vangerdahast is as good as from the king himself. A Purple Dragon follows his king’s orders, and I’ve not a man in the garrison who wouldn’t cut down his own mother if Benelaius would say she was the murderer.”
“Oh, my,” Tobald said, shaking his head. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“I doubt it,” I said lightly. “I don’t think any of the Dragons’ mothers are under suspicion. By the by, Captain, Benelaius wanted you to take possession of that letter, and this is also for you from my master.” I handed him the letter, and he looked at his name on it.
“Shall I read it now?” he asked, as though it made no difference to him, now or later.
I shrugged, and he broke the seal and read. His face underwent no change. “Tell Benelaius I’ll do as he asks,” Captain Flim said, and walked out the door, leaving me alone with Tobald.
“Lord Mayor,” I said, “before you return to your preparations, I have something for you from my master as well,” and I handed him the bottle of pills.
He beamed in relief. “Thank the gods,” he said, and opened the top and swallowed one down without water, making a face as he did so. “And thank your master,” he said. “I’ve been so anxious for these.”
Then he was off again into the fray. I think I worked less hard as a slop boy.
Finding myself alone in the small meeting room at the Sheaf of Wheat, I decided to indulge myself by merely sitting and luxuriating in sloth at the place where I used to work so diligently and for such low pay. Sitting in one of the comfy chairs near the dead fireplace, I took out Benelaius’s letter and opened it.
It was brief, and instructed me to remain in Ghars and place myself at the service of Captain Flim, who would be leading a party to Benelaius’s cottage late that evening. I should return home then. It told me to also attend the welcoming fete to be held at the Sheaf of Wheat that evening, and that Captain Flim would see to it that I was admitted. Inside the satchel were my best dress clothes. The letter ended with the words, “Watch everyone.”
Quite a trick, I thought, what with the hundreds milling in the streets and the dozens who were to come that day. But I would do my best. Before putting myself at Captain Flim’s service, however, I had one more thing to do.
I found Barthelm Meadowbrock at a long table outside the Sheaf of Wheat. He was going through large sacks of woven silver mesh that were to be given to each attendee. They were filled with examples of the wares of Ghars, both food and crafts, and Barthelm peered into each one as though he were expecting a serpent to slither out of it.
He looked up when I hailed him, and frowned at me. “What d’you want?” he barked, turning his attention to another bag.
“Just to bring you relief, good sir,” quoth I. “I know how anxious you are that the killer of Dovo and Grodoveth be found and punished.” He frowned even more deeply at the mention of the two names. “So you will be pleased to know that an order has come from Suzail commanding that the killer, once discovered, is to be immediately executed by the Purple Dragons.”
He stopped looking through bags for a moment, stared off into the distance thoughtfully, then turned with a jerk to me. “Well, that ought to discourage this kind of thing from happening again. Bloody inconvenient, these murders, what with the guild council coming and all …” He continued to mutter as he turned his attention back to the sacks.
I wondered if that was the reaction Benelaius had expected. Did my master suspect Barthelm of being the killer? If so, then the merchant should have grasped his neck at the news and muttered, “Urk,” or something of the sort. But then, murderers would be more skilled at hiding their feelings. At least successful murderers would. That was what made it so hard to catch them, wasn’t it?
I decided to follow Benelaius’s orders and presented myself to Captain Flim for his further service, but he just shook his head. “There’s nothing I’ll need you for until after the fete tonight. I’ll see to it that you can get in. In the meantime, you’re on your own. Do what you like.”
So I did. I hung around the square, watching others work, which was quite a novelty. At noon, I went into the Bold Bard and had a bowl of soup and an ale, since Benelaius had told me to drink it exclusively, and then I went out and watched the busy bees some more.
The council of the Merchants’ Guild began to arrive by midafternoon, and that was fun to watch. Nearly all were rotund (wealth meant good eating, I saw), and all were accompanied by retinues of servants and hangers-on. The merchants of Ghars fell all over themselves in their desire to properly greet the nabobs, and I swear that I saw old Menchuk, the dry-goods seller, shovel up piles of horse droppings left by one leader’s entourage so that the smell would not offend the next leader to arrive. I had to laugh, for he moved so quickly that one would have thought he was shoveling up diamonds.
Some of the councilmen were sent to the Sheaf of Wheat, and others to the Silver Scythe, but first, all were presented by Mayella Meadowbrock with the ceremonial food and drink of welcome, which consisted of a piece of fresh elven bread arrived that morning from the Isle of Evermeet, and a silver goblet of fresh water. After their brief repast, Mayella gave each of them their silver sack of goodies while Barthelm spoke words of welcome.
From the libidinous looks that some of the leaders gave the girl, I felt sure they would have rather been presented with the beauteous Mayella herself. But none of them made any overt propositions in that regard, so the protective Barthelm was able to keep his temper under control.
By late afternoon, the last of the councilmen and his party had arrived. They had all retired to their rooms at either the Sheaf of Wheat or the Silver Scythe for a washup and a change of clothes, and I did likewise, putting on the garments that Benelaius had packed for me.
At seven o’clock, everyone gathered in the great room of the Sheaf of Wheat. Since the Silver Scythe would host the meeting the next day, the Sheaf of Wheat would play host to the grand reception.
Silver medallions that had been given to the guests upon their arrival were their entry into the reception. Captain Flim had gotten one for me through Mayor Tobald. Beneath the medallion was suspended a piece of parchment with one’s name and home city on it, along with one’s position, such as Council President or Council Member. Mine stated Council Special Guest, and I hoped I would be allowed to keep the medallion later, since the silver in it weighed as much as five falcons.
Lukas Spoondrift himself was guarding the door, graciously admitting only those with the proper credential pinned to their chests. When my ex-boss saw me, he half-smiled, half-sneered, and I could see that he was anxious to give this supposed gate crasher the boot. “And where do you think you’re going, slop boy?” he said in a rather inhospitable tone.
“Not slop boy,” I corrected him as I tapped my medallion meaningfully. “Special guest of the Cormyrean Merchant’s Guild council. And one who expects gracious hospitality. I hope, Spoondrift, for your sake, that everything surpasses the Sheaf of Wheat’s usual fare. I intend to savor every dish tonight, looking for your old tricks of putting mutton in the lamb stew, and adding horsemeat to the beef dishes. I was not totally blind during my tenure wit
h you, you know. And any such corner cutting for the sake of economy will be reported to the council, of whom I am a”—I glanced down meaningfully at my title—“special guest.”
His face worked for a long time, but he finally succeeded in hiding his hatred of me and smiled the most appalling, insincere grimace I have ever seen. But at least it was an attempt at sincerity, and there was nothing of the demeaning sneer in it, so I knew I had him by the scruff. “I beg your pardon … sir,” he said, every word coming out like a pulled tooth. “Welcome to this … humble inn, and if I may be of any assistance, you have but to ask.”
Then he bowed, and it was all I could do not to laugh. Demeaning himself did not come easily to Spoondrift. I bowed in return, and passed by him into the grand reception.
29
Barthelm Meadowbrock had done a good job of pushing Spoondrift to put his best foot forward. There were several buffet tables, and other smaller tables for the councilmen to sit at, if they didn’t wish to stand and eat, as most of them were doing. The dishes were first rate, and I sampled nearly everything. No horsemeat in this stag sausage, though I thought I did detect a bit of mutton in the lamb stew.
Still, everything was cooked so well and presented so elegantly that I thought it expedient to overlook the mutton. The Sheaf of Wheat’s staff did much of the serving, but many of the town lovelies helped as well, including the dazzling Mayella Meadowbrock, who was dishing out an oyster and wild rice concoction that seemed to be the most delicious dish available, if the long line was any indication. I noticed a few councilmen gobbling down the food as though they hadn’t eaten in weeks, just so they could get back in line and face the radiant Mayella once again. I must confess to two helpings myself, even though I detest oysters.
At one point I stood in line next to Mayor Tobald, who was beaming with good health and, I assumed, several mugs of Suzale or Elminster’s Choice. “A grand evening, Jasper,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “A grand evening.” And I had to confess it was.
Some of the councilmen had brought their wives along. Most were old, fat and snobbish sorts, but a few were young and extremely attractive. Surprisingly, these were usually with the oldest and most physically repellent men, and I was cynical enough to note that if money cannot buy love, it can purchase a decent enough simulacrum of the same.
But for most of the party, it was boy’s night out. They ate and laughed and drank and told amazingly ribald stories for such pillars of the Cormyrean community. But their long travels wore them down early, and by ten o’clock, the official closing time of the reception, most had wandered back to their rooms, though some of the hardier ones congregated at the bars of the Sheaf of Wheat or the Silver Scythe, depending on which inn they were staying at. Some even went across town to the Bold Bard for their nightcap.
I heard Barthelm Meadowbrock tell Mayella that he was going to be joining some of the councilmen over at Shortshanks’s tavern, but that was before Captain Flim came up to him and spoke quietly. I couldn’t hear what he said, but I certainly heard Barthelm’s reaction.
“What! Flim, you must be mad! You can’t expect me to leave now and go out to … to that old wizard’s! I have business to conduct, contacts to make.…”
Since this conversation no doubt concerned my master, I moved in closer and heard Captain Flim’s reply. “Begging your pardon, sir, but the wizard Benelaius’s orders are to be obeyed by me as if they came from King Azoun himself, and if Benelaius says to bring you and your daughter to his house tonight, so it shall be.”
“It bloody well shall not!” growled Barthelm. “I am the host of this gathering, and—”
“And the host shall find himself taken in chains to Benelaius’s if he will not go willingly,” said Flim. “Hardly the image you wish to project to your fellow merchants.” Oh, yes, Captain Flim could be quite persuasive when he had to be.
“Are you threatening me?” Barthelm said.
“I am telling you, sir, that I will obey my orders and bring you to Benelaius’s house any way I must.”
Barthelm fumed for a few minutes, then nodded his head briskly. “Very well. Give me a minute to say my farewells and have the coach brought round.”
“Take your time,” said Captain Flim. “I have a few more citizens to gather. Benelaius wants us there by midnight.”
“Midnight,” grumbled Barthelm. “Oh, I’ll be so alert for the meeting tomorrow.…”
Captain Flim buttonholed Mayor Tobald then, who seemed just about ready to head off for more drinking with some convivial merchants. His ruddy face sobered quickly, and he nodded, looking concerned, I thought, that no news of this murderous scandal reach the ears of the councilmen.
“I have four more people to gather,” Flim told me after his talk with Tobald. “Rolf and Shortshanks will be at the Bold Bard, and I’ve already sent my men to the houses of Marmwitz and Khlerat.”
Phelos Marmwitz and old Khlerat? There was a pair. The ancient librarian and the retired dabbler in public works. Maybe it was a geriatric conspiracy.
“Have your horse ready outside the Bold Bard in twenty minutes,” Captain Flim concluded. “We’ll ride out to Benelaius’s together.”
“Will you be taking any Purple Dragons along?” I asked.
“A dozen good men,” Captain Flim said, and walked out the door.
A dozen men. That meant that something was going to happen at Benelaius’s, sure enough, and I recalled the thrilling scenes in the Camber Fosrick tales where Fosrick gathered together all the suspects, confronted them with the evidence, and identified the killer. Now Benelaius was going to create the same situation, but in reality. As much as he frowned on the Fosrick mysteries, I could not help but think that he had read them—and learned from them too.
I had Jenkus ready to go within minutes, and waited impatiently as the parties gathered. Barthelm and Mayella Meadowbrock were already there, Barthelm looking annoyed, Mayella looking as though she were willing to accept whatever life and her daddy threw at her. Tobald came riding up on his strong if none too fast mare, and shortly after, four soldiers rode up surrounding Rolf, who appeared nothing short of livid. I think he might have broken through them and run for it, but for the fact that they had him mounted on a very old, very tired horse.
Then a commotion broke out down the street in the person of one man—or dwarf. Shortshanks was riding a small mount between Captain Flim and one of his Purple Dragons, and I’ve seldom heard a dwarf so mad. “Tak’ me away from my tavern on the best night of all the years I’ve been here, will ya! I’ll have yer stripes fer this, Flim, I will! Of all the idiotic things I’ve seen the military do, this takes the cake, deprivin’ a dwarf of his livelihood … if I were a human, you’d not be doin’ this to me, I wager!”
“You’re wrong, dwarf,” said Captain Flim. “I’m doing the same thing to the most powerful man in town, so shut your little yap before I do something I’ll be sorry for.”
“Little! He called me little! Did ye hear that?”
“Yes,” said Flim wearily. “They all heard it, just as they hear me tell you now that if you don’t pipe down, you’re liable to be even littler—by a head.” Shortshanks glowered but said nothing. “Besides,” Captain Flim continued, “your worst troublemaker’s already with us here, and not back at your tavern, so you’ve naught to fear. Ah … here’s the last of our party.”
Two more dragons came riding up on either side of a small carriage. Old Khlerat was driving the two horses, and Marmwitz was sitting next to him.
“Let’s be getting out to Benelaius’s then,” said Captain Flim, and he spurred his horse and our caravan started off. The Dragons positioned themselves ahead and behind, left and right, to prevent any of the involuntary travelers from leaving the party, or so I assumed.
There was much to think about as we rode south toward Benelaius’s cottage and the Vast Swamp. Captain Flim, Tobald, and the Dragons were there in their official capacity, but I wondered greatly about the others.
<
br /> Barthelm might have had a motive for both slayings in fatherly protection. And Rolf could have slain both Dovo and Grodoveth out of jealousy. Shortshanks had little to gain from either death, unless, of course, Dovo had been driving customers away from the Swamp Rat at his behest and was threatening to talk about it. The dwarf could even have followed Grodoveth to the tomb. But then, so could anyone else.
Kendra was already at Benelaius’s and I wondered if my master would have had the Dragons take her there if she were not. I doubted she would have gone voluntarily, and thought it fortunate, if she was a suspect, that she had suffered her wound the night before.
As for the presence of Marmwitz and Khlerat, I was at a loss. Two harmless old men, as far as I was concerned. But I would learn in my life that what appeared harmless might not necessarily be so.
30
It seemed like a funeral procession going through the night. We didn’t speak or laugh or whisper. We rode, and the only sounds were the horses’ hooves striking the road, the creak of the leather saddles, and the rattle of the carriage’s wheels and boards.
In the strong company of a dozen Purple Dragons, I felt no fear as we passed the spot where I had seen the “ghost” and found its body the next day. In fact, I strained my eyes looking into that murky darkness at the swamp’s edge, just daring a ghost or hydra or zombie to appear. I was tense and edgy, and felt as though I wanted to confront something. But I saw nothing except the darkness of the night and the edge of the swamp, a deeper blackness against the black.
The Swamp Rat was nearly deserted, but those who were there came out and watched us ride past. I saw old Farmer Bortas with his two cronies, Rob and Will, and he waved at me. Rob and Will didn’t wave. I guess they still didn’t cotton to me.
“Say there, young feller,” Farmer Bortas called. “What’s all this great parade, eh?”
“We’re going to my master’s house. Benelaius.”
Murder in Cormyr Page 15
