“Let’s take a look at the victim first, shall we?” Torin approached Beffel as he spoke, Manfred following behind.
“Gotcherself some easy sailin’ for this one,” Jared said. “Boneen’ll come by an’ do the peel-back and you’ll have your guys.”
Boneen came to crime scenes and cast an Inanimate Residue, or “peel-back,” spell which would reveal what happened in a given location in the recent past. Torin smiled. “It’s not quite that simple, Jared. Boneen can tell us how many there were and what they look like, and what weapons they might have used, but he can’t tell us where they are now.”
Jared shrugged. “Fair ’nough.”
Manfred knelt down by Beffel, the halfling’s breaths steady, if shallow. Torin hoped the healer would arrive soon.
After a moment, Manfred pointed at the indentations on the halfling’s right cheek. “Those look like knuckle marks.” He lifted Beffel’s tunic to expose his stomach, revealing more indentations of the same shape. “I’m thinking he was punched a lot. So Boneen probably won’t see any weapons,” he added with a smile.
Torin nodded in agreement.
“’Ey, Lieutenants!”
Turning, Torin saw one of the guards holding the crowd back standing next to a Temisan priest.
“We got us a healer!”
“Let him through.” Torin was grateful that the healer arrived first. With luck, he’d be done by the time Boneen arrived. The peel-back only worked if there were no living creatures in the vicinity, excepting the spellcaster.
The priest was tall, overweight, and wearing the traditional red robes of a Temisan priest. His head was completely bald, save for a small tuft of hair on the crown tied into a top-knot, and he had a braided chin-beard. Both were blond flecked with gray. “I’m Brother Gambari.”
“Lieutenant Torin ban Wyvald. Anything you could do for this poor halfling would be appreciated.”
“Of course. What is his name?”
“Beffel.”
Manfred was staring at Gambari, then looked at Jared. “You got a priest?”
Holding both hands palms-up, Jared said, “What? There’s a Temisan church right over on Axe Lane.”
“Yeah, and there’s that healer right over on Boulder Pass.”
Jared’s face scrunched up. “What, that ugly half-dwarf crone?”
“She’s not ugly!”
“Jared,” Torin said quickly, “can you fetch the ones who found him?”
“Yeah, sure.” He shot Manfred a look, then went off to do so.
The priest, for his part, was kneeling next to Beffel and placing his hands on the halfling’s chest. After Gambari muttered a chant—the only words Torin could make out were “Beffel” and “Temisa”—a glow enveloped those hands, which spread to the halfling’s chest a moment later.
As soon as Gambari removed his hands and stood up, Beffel’s eyes lazily opened. “What—what happened?”
Holding out a hand for him, Torin said, “You were attacked, good sir. I’m Lieutenant ban Wyvald of the Castle Guard, this is my partner, Lieutenant Manfred.”
Manfred, Torin noticed, beamed a bit at that.
“I—I—I don’t—” Beffel shook his head, then finally took the proffered hand. Torin tugged gently to aid him to his feet. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I—I’m afraid I’m a bit scattered.”
Gambari nodded. “He’ll need a few moments to collect himself. I was able to heal all the damage, Mr. Beffel, but you will need to rest some.”
Beffel frowned. “How do you know my name, priest?”
Defensively, Gambari said, “He told me,” while pointing a long finger at Torin.
“And how’d you know it, Lieutenant?”
“I shared your name with the Castle Guard, Beffel,” came a familiar voice from behind Torin.
Turning, Torin saw the diminutive form of Ubàrlig, the famous dwarven adventurer who had travelled with Gan Brightblade. Torin had first met the former general when he and Danthres investigated the murder of Brightblade and three of his and Ubàrlig’s other comrades before midsummer.
Ubàrlig looked up at Torin. “Lieutenant ban Wyvald. It’s a pleasure.”
Torin couldn’t entirely say the same, since the dwarf and his friends had done all they could to impede his and Danthres’s investigation. The survivors then stuck around past midsummer creating more trouble. “I was not aware that you had returned to Cliff’s End, General.”
“I had accompanied Brother Genero back to Velessa, but after word of Lord Albin’s death, I returned for the funeral.”
“Just you?”
Ubàrlig smiled ruefully. “Worry not, Lieutenant, I’m alone. Bogg returned north, and Genero is still under investigation by the bishopric.”
Gambari inserted himself into the conversation. “I’m sure the bishopric will exonerate Brother Genero. He is a great man, and I pray for him daily.”
“Thank you.” Ubàrlig nodded to the priest, then turned his attention back to Torin. “I have no intention of causing any trouble for you or Lieutenant Tresyllione. Where is your partner, anyhow?”
“She is my partner no longer. This is Lieutenant Manfred.”
Manfred gave a slight bow. “It’s an honor, sir.”
“Well, you’re certainly a more polite liar than Lieutenant Tresyllione. The honor is mine, Lieutenant Manfred.”
“Excuse me, but may I go now?” Beffel asked the question, and Torin had to admit to having momentarily forgotten the halfling.
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Beffel. We need to know who attacked you.”
“I—I’m afraid I didn’t really—I mean . . .” Beffel blew out a breath. “Look, I just want to forget this happened.”
Manfred stepped forward. “It’s not that simple, Mr. Beffel. If these people attacked you, they could attack someone else. We need to know what happened.”
“Worry not, young man,” came a voice from the mouth of the alley, “we’ll know as soon as you people get out of this alleyway.”
Torin smiled as the M.E. waddled past the two guards. “Of course, Boneen. Come, Mr. Beffel, Brother Gambari, General Ubàrlig—let us leave the wizard to his magicks, and we’ll continue this conversation in the street.”
As they married action to Torin’s words, the halfling glowered at Ubàrlig. “Why did you tell them my name?”
The dwarf stared at Beffel. “The first guard who came to investigate asked me. I was unaware that it was classified information.”
“Look,” Beffel said testily, “if I wanted to tell the Castle Guard my name, I’d tell them, and I’ll thank you to mind your own business.”
Manfred cut Ubàrlig off before he could reply. “Mr. Beffel, we have to question you about this. The lord and lady’s law explicitly states that—”
“I thought Lord Albin died.” Beffel folded his arms defiantly over his small chest.
“Yes,” Manfred said slowly, “but his laws still—”
A blood-curdling scream came from the alley, and Torin found himself running to see what had happened before he even consciously acknowledged that he heard it. Manfred, Jared, the other two guards, and Ubàrlig were all right there with him.
Boneen was kneeling, the herbs and other spell components scattered around him on the ground, and his pestle was broken in three pieces. The wizard was drenched in sweat and breathing heavily.
Torin moved to help him to his feet. “What happened, Boneen?”
Between deep breaths, Boneen said, “A Keefda stone. Whoever assaulted that halfling had a blessed Keefda stone. It very—very aggressively blocks the use of magick in the vicinity of its activation for several days.”
Torin had never heard of such a thing, but Ubàrlig apparently had. The dwarf stepped forward. “Keefda only made twelve of those—they were meant to be weapons against Chalmraik the Foul. But three of them were destroyed.”
“Actually, six of them were.” Boneen was now standing upright, and Torin let go of his arm. “Thank you, ban Wyvald. There ar
e still a half-dozen of the stones at large.”
Torin frowned. “I assume that the acquisition of such a stone would be prohibitively expensive?”
“The least I’ve heard of one selling for is five thousand gold pieces.”
“What!?” Manfred made a choking noise as he cried out. Torin couldn’t blame him. One thousand gold was an amount of coin the average person never even saw, much less five times that.
“It is a very rare and valuable item.”
“So not something one would expect to see in the hands of barroom brawlers?” Torin asked the wizard.
“Hardly.”
Torin turned back to look at the mouth of the alley—only to see no sign of the halfling in the crowd. “Where’s Beffel?”
“Shit,” one of the guards muttered, and he, his companion, and Jared all dashed back out onto the street.
Moments later, they came back. “He’s gone.”
Manfred turned to Torin. “Now what do we do?”
Ubàrlig said, “I’m more than happy to provide you with a description of the events.”
Torin winced. The notion of the general attempting to be helpful was one that filled him with dread. “Did you actually witness the assault?”
“No, but I can describe what it sounded like.”
With a sigh, Torin said, “Very well, come back to the castle with us and we’ll take a statement. Perhaps we shall be lucky. Jared, tell Sergeant Grint to put out an all-points on Beffel.”
“You bet. Don’t worry, Lieutenant, we’ll find the little shit.”
Manfred smirked at Torin. “I know that look on Jared’s face, Lieutenant. He hates being made a fool of. He won’t rest until Beffel’s found.”
“Good to know. Because without him, there really isn’t much of a case.” Torin smiled. “And we’re equals now, Manfred. You may call me ‘Torin.’ Indeed, you could have before as well.”
“Sorry, Lieu—er, Torin. Habit, you know?”
“Of course.” He glanced at Ubàrlig. “Come, General, let us go to the castle and see what we might salvage from this.”
“I’ll join you, ban Wyvald.” Boneen still sounded a bit ragged. “I’m afraid I don’t have the capacity for a Teleport Spell just at the moment.”
Torin’s eyes went wide. Boneen’s preferred exit from a crime scene was always to teleport. The fact that the effects of this Keefda stone were that extensive indicated all the more that this was more than just a simple assault.
SIX
“It’s so terrible, what happened, isn’t it?”
Danthres ground her teeth in annoyance as she somehow managed not to point out that this was the fifth time that Sir Lio had said that what happened was terrible. She and Kellan were sitting in his office, barely able to even see the transport minister over the schedules for ships and caravans and reports from various guilds that were piled on his desk.
The nobleman went on. “I feel like I’ve been hit in the knees repeatedly. Just an awful blow to the city-state.”
“What we need to know, Sir Lio, is if you can think of anyone who might have had reason to kill Lord Albin.”
“Kill? I thought he died from his illness. He got that every year at this time, you know. Just awful. I always said it would kill him some day, and here I see I was right. It’s so terrible, what happened, isn’t it?”
Speaking slowly mostly to avoid yelling, Danthres said, “We need to investigate the possibility that he was murdered, Sir Lio. Rule it out, at the very least.”
“Rule what out? Don’t be ridiculous, everyone loved Lord Albin. Honestly, I think he was more loved than the king and queen.” He chuckled. “Unless you suppose the king and queen killed him out of jealousy?”
Frowning, Kellan said, “You think that’s a possibility?”
Danthres rolled her eyes, even as Sir Lio said, “No, of course not! Goodness, what kind of imbeciles are they employing as guards these days? My point is that no one wished him ill. Except for some peasants, perhaps, but how would they have killed him? Anyhow, it doesn’t matter, it was the illness that killed him. It’s so terrible, isn’t it?”
Realizing that they were getting nowhere—again—Danthres got up from the guest chair. “Thank you for your time, Sir Lio. If you think of anything, please send a messenger to the east wing.”
“There’s nothing to think of.” Sir Lio shook his head and went back to his schedules. “There’s no one who wanted Lord Albin dead.”
“Half the castle wanted Lord Albin dead.”
Madam Brigit hadn’t been in her office when Danthres and Kellan came by, but her secretary—a harried, halfling woman—said she was in the dining hall preparing for Lord Blayk’s first state dinner, and she was very busy and probably wouldn’t have much time to talk, but if they wished they could try to speak to her while she worked as she was very busy and wouldn’t have time for them at all otherwise.
As they had approached the dining room, Kellan had asked, “How busy can the person who plans the banquets be?”
“I thought the same thing until I met Madam Brigit the first time nine years ago.” Danthres had shaken her head with amusement at the memory. “It’s rather like battle strategy, making sure every arrangement is precisely perfect without offending any of the dozens of participants, all of whom are easily offended at the most idiotic things.”
Right now, Brigit was supervising the placement of the name cards on the table, which was being done by two pagegirls. “No, no, girl, Sir Palrik can’t sit next to the Fansarris. They hate each other. And don’t put him next to Sir Rommett, he’s left handed and they’ll clash elbows. Also Sir Palrik tends to gnaw on his meat, so don’t have him face Madam Ylrik, as she does not consume meat and tends to lecture on the subject of those who do.”
The girl frowned. “Won’t anybody sittin’ ’cross from ’er be eatin’ meat?”
“Yes, girl,” Brigit said, exasperatedly, “but Sir Palrik is particularly vulgar in his consumption of it, and is highly likely to set Madam Ylrik off. Put one of the daintier eaters across from her. Sir Rommett, perhaps—no, wait, he must sit near to the lord and lady, and Lady Meerka finds Madam Ylrik tiresome.” She shook her head, then turned back to Danthres. “Where was I?”
“You said that half the castle—” Danthres started.
“Yes, they all hated Lord Albin, may Mitre grant him safe passage to the afterlife, even though they pretended they loved him. No, girl, I told you, Sir Palrik is left-handed, so his forks must go on the right.”
“So was there anyone in particular who wanted him dead?” Danthres asked.
Brigit shook her head. “It’d take less time if I listed who didn’t. Sir Rommett loved him all to pieces, but Lord Albin made him chamberlain after Sir Gevlin passed on, may Mitre grant him safe passage to the afterlife.”
“How did you feel about him?”
“Well, I would’ve liked it if he held fewer banquets, or at least invited fewer people to ’em, and most of his demands were hilarious, but that merely made him annoying, not worthy of a journey to the afterlife.”
Guided by Mitre, no doubt, Danthres managed to stop herself from saying. “Did anyone recently have a particular grudge against him?”
“Well, Sir and Madam Fansarri were upset because Lord Albin didn’t stop the Brotherhood of Wizards from censuring their boy when he studied magick on his own. As if he could’ve done anything. But I doubt either of them did it, they’re all talk, those two. No, girl, don’t put Sir Louff there, he’s very old and can’t hear out of his left ear. He needs to be on the end.” She turned back to Danthres. “Look, I’m sorry, I have to get this done. Lord Blayk could’ve at least waited another week so folks could mourn before holding the dinner. You want a suspect, talk to the whole blessed castle, that’s what I say.”
As they left the dining room, Kellan shook his head. “How is it that she can keep track of who eats what, who’s left-handed, who’s deaf in one hear, who hates who, but she can’t remember the
pagegirls’ names?”
Danthres snorted. “You heard the pagegirls talk. They’re not upper-class—probably the daughters of someone’s secretary. Nobility rarely bother to remember the names of anyone who doesn’t have a prefix.”
Kellan smiled. “That include ‘Lieutenant’?”
Unable to help smiling back—which was twice in one day while in the presence of her unwanted new partner—Danthres said, “Especially ‘Lieutenant’.”
“What, poisoned? No, not possible. But then, it might be possible. I suppose. Who do you think did it?”
Danthres was mildly amused that her and Kellan’s next stop was Sir Palrik, given what they’d just learned about his eating habits from Madam Brigit. He was smoking a pipe while sitting at his desk, which, in contrast to that of Sir Lio, was empty. As the chief military advisor to the lord and lady, his job was fairly unnecessary, since the Castle Guard was under the purview of Sir Rommett, Cliff’s End had no standing army as such, and King Marcus and Queen Marta weren’t at war with anybody.
In answer to his question, Danthres said, “We’re not sure, Sir Palrik, that’s why we’re talking to you and the other people in the castle.”
“Ah, yes, I see. Weren’t you partnered with ban Wyvald? I served with him under your Captain Osric back during the elven wars. Nasty business, that. Did ban Wyvald go and retire along with Osric?”
“No, he simply has a new partner. I was wondering—”
“Those were some heady times, though, I can tell you. Oh, it was mostly awful, but Osric was a damn fine commander. You’re lucky to have had him for so long. But I suppose he earned his retirement.”
Danthres refrained from comment, given that Osric was basically forced out and replaced with an imbecile. “Sir Palrik, we’d like to know who you think might want to have poisoned Lord Albin.”
“Poisoned? Oh, that’s unlikely. Isn’t it? Look, I’m more than happy to think about it, if you like, but I don’t see how it’s even possible.” He took a thoughtful puff on his pipe. “Well, there was that one fella.”
Finally! Danthres was barely able to contain herself enough not to say that out loud. “Who might that be?”
Gryphon Precinct (Dragon Precinct) Page 6
