Murder in LaMut: Legends of the Riftwar: Book II

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘I’m not a captain,’ Kethol said. He had been the first to get out of his grey officer’s tabard. It, like the others, still had the rank tabs on the shoulders, but all now lay neatly folded on a chair by the door. ‘Never was much of one.’

  ‘Me, neither.’ Durine nodded. ‘Just three men who kill people for money,’ he said, then shrugged his massive shoulders and looked over at Kethol and Pirojil.

  Maybe they had enough money now to find a place for the Three Swords Tavern?

  Or would it have to be the Five Swords?

  Mackin nodded. ‘Then we’ll see. We leave at first light?’

  ‘Wolf’s tail,’ Pirojil said. That’s what they called it down in the Vale, that grey light before dawn that was certainly good enough for their purpose, since leaving was their purpose.

  Mackin nodded. ‘Then I’d better get a few pints of ale in me, and get some sleep, eh?’

  He left without waiting for an answer.

  ‘You think it’ll work out?’ Kethol asked. ‘Why bring in another two?’

  ‘We can find work for five as easy as three,’ Pirojil said. ‘And I think that Milo needs to leave LaMut, for a few reasons. We can talk about those tomorrow, eh?’

  Kethol bent back over his work. ‘Fair enough.’

  Pirojil wouldn’t cut Milo and the dwarf in, not without them buying their share with blood and money over time, but you never did know how much money a mercenary soldier had on him, not unless you searched him very carefully, and it was entirely possible that the other two had enough for their share.

  And there had been some blood involved, already, although he didn’t even want to think about that, not right now, and wouldn’t want to talk about it, ever.

  But cutting them in would be something to discuss. Even if it was only a way to avoid discussing other things.

  Secrets, he thought.

  Shit.

  He and Milo had a secret.

  Pirojil had been sure that the murderer was Verheyen, and thought he might be able to corner the Baron, forcing him–he was known to be short of temper–to do something that would reveal his guilt.

  But he hadn’t been sure of it, and Pirojil liked a sure thing.

  He could blame the Swordmaster for having put them in an impossible position. Or he could blame himself for not trusting his own instincts and reasoning.

  Or he could just try to forget about it.

  There was another knock on the door and this time whoever it was waited long enough for Durine to say, ‘Come in.’

  It was Milo, with an impassive expression on his face, and five small leather pouches held in his cupped hands. ‘The Swordmaster sent me, with your pay.’

  ‘Our pay?’ Kethol looked puzzled. ‘How did they get into the strongroom?’

  ‘I don’t much like asking about strongrooms,’ Milo said, grinning for a moment. ‘But as I understand it, Steven Argent took up a collection among the barons, to be repaid when the Earl gets back. Not enough on them to pay everybody off, mind, but enough for the five of us, so let’s not let anybody else know about it, eh?’ He pocketed the two smaller ones, and handed over the other three. ‘You might want to count the money, and check with him, just in case you think some of it might have fallen out on the way over.’

  Durine nodded. ‘We’ll certainly count it. Be a shame for us to get off on the wrong foot, and all, since you and the dwarf are going to be travelling with us, I’m told.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Milo said, looking at Pirojil, not at Durine. ‘It would be a shame if there were any misunderstandings, so let’s be sure that that doesn’t happen.’

  ‘Easy.’ Pirojil raised a hand. ‘We won’t have any problems. Or if we do, you just go your way, and we’ll just go ours.’

  Milo nodded, and left, closing the door behind him.

  Kethol laid the final one of the brezeneden on the pile with the others, then stretched. ‘Well, if we’re moving out in the morning, let’s get some sleep tonight. Bar the door, stand a one in three, or both?’

  ‘Both,’ Durine said.

  Pirojil nodded. It only made sense. Word would get around quickly, with the barons all talking to their captains, which meant that they were known to have a fair amount of money on them–although not nearly as much as they actually had–and you could never be sure about thieves and such.

  ‘I’ll take the first one, then wake you,’ he said to Durine, who nodded.

  Back to normal, at least in that.

  ‘I dunno.’ Kethol looked at the door longingly. ‘I’d sort of like to go up to the Aerie and say goodbye to Fantus.’

  Durine laughed. ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea. The Swordmaster would probably talk you into the three of us staying on, which would mean, as far as I’m concerned, that it would mean you staying on, because I need to get out of here.’

  Pirojil nodded. ‘Me, as well. Besides, I’ve never been very much for goodbyes, and neither have you.’

  ‘Yeah, but that’s with people,’ Kethol said, as though it made some sort of difference. ‘Dragons are different. In another world, maybe I might have liked to get to know one, you know?’

  ‘In this world, if you walk out, don’t come back and tell us we’re staying,’ Durine said, firmly.

  Kethol gave up with a bad imitation of good grace. ‘One more thing…’ he said, pouring what remained of the wine in the bottle into their three mugs. He passed out the mugs, and looked expectantly at Pirojil.

  ‘Your turn, I think,’ he said.

  ‘We all knew the Baron about as well, but Lady Mondegreen seemed to have taken a particular fancy to you,’ Pirojil said. She had also played him like a lute, but she had probably liked him, too. And Kethol had certainly taken quite a shine to her, as well. As had Pirojil, in his own way. Just because she scared the shit out of him didn’t mean that he hadn’t liked her–he just would have preferred to like her from a distance, given her penchant for manipulation, combined with her abilities at manipulation…

  Which, in the long run, hadn’t made her throat any less resistant to being cut, though.

  Kethol thought it over for a moment. ‘Baron Morray and Lady Mondegreen: a true gentleman, and a great lady,’ he said, then downed his wine with a quick gulp, as did Durine.

  Pirojil sipped at his own wine, making it last.

  Not the worst he had ever had, although it was a bit bitter and tannic for his taste. Not that a man in his line of work should be fussy about such things. Still, it might be that the Three Swords–or the Five Swords, now, perhaps–would have a wine cellar, as well as good dwarven ale and a decent human brew, and maybe he ought to acquire some knowledge about such things, even if he probably couldn’t ever afford fastidiousness.

  Kethol blew out the oil lamps, and he and Durine lay down on their bunks, and were almost instantly asleep.

  Pirojil took his chair, and leaned it back against the barred door, and let his eyes sag shut for a moment.

  Yes, there would be a lot to think about, and a few things to talk about, eventually. But give it a while. He sipped some more of the wine. Too bitter, really. Maybe there was something about all this that he was missing.

  He hadn’t missed much, he was sure. Verheyen probably would have got away with the murder, although, in the long run, he wouldn’t have ended up as Earl of LaMut, not if the murder had gone unsolved, and with everybody still under permanent suspicion. It wouldn’t have been either of the two Bas-Tyra stalking horses, either, although Guy du Bas-Tyra might have ended up profiting by having some other vassal of his put into the earldom. Vandros would hardly be in a position to resist the pressure from the Viceroy, not under the circumstances.

  Pity that he had been right.

  He had been hoping that there would have been a sign of fresh blood in Langahan’s sheath. Viztria was too much of a popinjay to be a murderer, but Langahan was a quieter sort, and probably more dangerous.

  He sipped at some more wine. Not much of it, but he might as well enjoy it.
/>   No, it had been Verheyen. Verheyen had had, in his own way, just as much respect for Lady Mondegreen as Pirojil did. It would have been nice to have had a look at Verheyen’s sheath before, but that wouldn’t have had the same impact.

  Having Milo lift Verheyen’s knife, cut his own finger, and rub it on the inside of Verheyen’s sheath before replacing the knife had been the right thing to do, and if Pirojil would never know for certain if Milo’s blood had covered Lady Mondegreen’s and Baron Morray’s, he could live with that. Maybe Verheyen had been just a little more fastidious than Pirojil had thought he was.

  Maybe not.

  Best to make sure that the problem was solved, and he had done that. Steven Argent wouldn’t have liked knowing how he had solved it, but…

  To hell with him.

  Tell a soldier to solve a problem for you, and he would do just that, and he’d do it with steel and blood, and do his best to be sure that it wasn’t his blood, and Pirojil’s betters were best off not knowing just how he had solved the problem. That was true for Kethol and Durine, too, at least for now, although he would tell them, eventually, when they were all far enough away.

  Far away sounded good.

  The next thing Pirojil knew, Kethol was shaking him awake, as the grey light of pre-dawn filtered weakly in through the mottled glass of the window.

  And as soon as he awoke he knew that he had been horribly wrong.

  He caught up with the murderer in the kitchen. Even at this hour, it was crowded with cooks and assistants, and the smell of the baking bread was overpowering.

  ‘Good morning, Ereven,’ he said.

  ‘And a good morning to you, Captain Pirojil,’ the housecarl said, his face as glum as usual, no more, and no less. ‘I understand you’re leaving–did you want me to pack some provisions for your journey?’

  ‘No. We’re fine.’ Pirojil shook his head. ‘No. What I wanted was a few moments of your time–I thought I should say goodbye to you. And I’m not a captain any more, nor would I wish to be.’

  Ereven nodded. ‘My time is yours, of course, Captain,’ he said. ‘A word about what?’

  ‘Step outside with me, for just a few moments.’

  The parade ground was still packed with snow, but it was starting to melt, and it was slippery beneath their feet.

  ‘I know,’ Pirojil said.

  Ereven’s expression didn’t change. ‘Know what, Captain?’

  ‘I know that the bottle of wine you gave to Baron Morray was drugged. As was, I assume, poor Erlic’s supper.’

  ‘I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, sir.’

  ‘Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Ereven. I could even hazard a guess as to why, rather than how, but the how is clear enough. And as to the who, I’m tempted to say the people who conspired with the late Baron Verheyen were you and your daughter, Emma.’

  That got to Ereven. He paled. ‘Captain, I–’

  ‘But I don’t even know if Verheyen was involved, not really. He hated Morray, and he was probably smart enough to see through Lady Mondegreen’s negotiated settlement, but was he the murderer, along with you?’ Pirojil shrugged. ‘That I don’t know. And I want to.

  ‘And if I don’t get an answer right now, the note that I’ve left–never mind with whom–will be put in the hands of the Swordmaster, a few days from now. Then he’ll be asking you the same question. Unless…’

  ‘Unless?’

  ‘Unless you explain to me, right now, why. The “how” part is easy, and I should have seen it before. A guard falling asleep on watch? A reliable man, up until the night before last. And then he suddenly fell asleep on watch. Very convenient.

  ‘A strange coincidence. Unless, of course, his food was drugged, as was the bottle of wine, which explains how you were able to slice their throats without waking them. A fine kitchen knife, well-sharpened, as all good kitchen knives should be, left their room on a covered tray, with you, after you brought it in on a covered tray, to slice their throats while they lay drugged. It wouldn’t be at all strange for the housecarl to be washing a knife down in the kitchen, would it?’ Pirojil nodded. ‘I think your daughter helped.’

  ‘She doesn’t know anything about it. Please don’t bring her into this. It’s not–’

  ‘It’s not right? You mean, in the sense that slitting two people’s throats isn’t right? Or–’

  ‘He treated her like a plaything,’ Ereven said, with no change in his inflection. A lifetime of keeping his expression and tone under control hadn’t abandoned him, even now. ‘He lured her into his bed, and made all sorts of promises to her–it’s not totally unknown for a noble to take a common wife, and a gentleman who sires a bastard acknowledges him.’

  ‘But Baron Morray didn’t do that.’

  ‘No, he didn’t. He lied to her and she thought he loved her. She was a good girl, and had never known a man before the Baron. I hoped to marry her to the son of Grigsby, the grain merchant. He’s a man of means and his son will take over the business one day. But a “kitchen wench” with the bastard of a noble in her arms? My girl thought herself in love with Morray, but he said nothing to her as her belly swelled with his baby, sir. I think…’ his voice faltered. After a moment he carried on: ‘Then to marry a woman who carries his baby–it’s no secret that Mondegreen was ill and his lady was with Morray many times.’ Ereven’s voice turned bitter. ‘What sort of man would deny his own? Not admit he fathered my daughter’s child, and then let another man claim a second child with the woman he was to wed? He and Lady Mondegreen were evil.’

  Pirojil nodded. ‘And this was your last chance to punish them for that, eh? Verheyen wouldn’t have him as Bursar, and wouldn’t want his fingers on the Purse in advance of coming into the earldom. Morray and Lady Mondegreen were going away to become a country baron and lady and do their best never to set foot in LaMut again, for fear that Verheyen might think they were gathering support against him, no matter what Morray had sworn.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Pirojil nodded. ‘That drug that you put in the wine, and the food. Do you have more of it?’

  Ereven hesitated for a moment. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then I’ve a suggestion. It won’t save you, but…’

  ‘But my daughter?’

  Pirojil nodded. ‘I’ll leave her out of this, if you’ll take yourself out of it. Swallow all of that drug that you have, and if you think that may not be enough to kill you for certain, find something else that will, and swallow it, too. Wash it down with a bottle of the Earl’s finest wine–but before you do that, write a note saying that it was you who drugged Erlic’s food–you can say that you did it at Verheyen’s behest, if you’d like, but if you say that you did it at mine,’ he added quickly, ‘all of it will come out, you can count on that. All of it–about how your daughter prevailed upon you to murder the father of her baby.’

  ‘But she didn’t. She doesn’t even know.’

  ‘So what? The daughter of a self-confessed murderer’s word against that of the captain who solved the riddle of who killed Mondegreen and Morray? Who will the Earl believe? They might wait until the child is born before they hang your daughter. Make your choice, housecarl. But make it now, and make it wisely. You won’t have another opportunity.’

  The impassive expression was back on Ereven’s face. ‘Your offer is acceptable, Captain.’ He nodded, once. Then, for a moment, just a moment, the mask dropped from his face. ‘You can have my blood on your hands, too, to go along with Baron Verheyen’s.’

  Pirojil shrugged. ‘I’ve had a lot of blood on my hands, Ereven. I’m used to it.’

  Ereven wasn’t the only one who could control his expression, after all.

  Pirojil could try to justify it to himself. After all, despite the peace they had made Verheyen was Morray’s enemy, and Baron Morray would not have minded at all Verheyen being dead, and never becoming the Earl of LaMut. He could blame Steven Argent for putting him in a situation that was
more than he had been able to manage. Pirojil was a soldier, dammit, and not some sort of constable, nor judge.

  But that wouldn’t work. And if there was a way to put blood back in a dead body, Pirojil would have used it many times before.

  However, Erlic’s blood was still in his body, and at least Pirojil could limit the damage.

  Ereven nodded. ‘I’ll see to it directly, sir. And if you’ll promise to put in a good word for my daughter, I’ll say that it was Verheyen.’

  Pirojil shook his head. ‘No promises. If I come back this way–unlikely, but you never know–I’ll look in on her, though. That’s the best I can do.’

  ‘It’s good enough, sir.’ Ereven drew himself up straight. ‘If there’s nothing more…’

  ‘No. There’s nothing more.’

  ‘Then I’ve got some writing to do, and a bottle of wine to find with which to wash down the powder, and I’d best be getting to it before you change your mind.’

  ‘Yes,’ Pirojil said.

  The housecarl turned and walked back into the kitchen.

  Pirojil turned and walked away.

  He had a great deal to do and wanted it done before they found the housecarl’s body and the note. If Durine’s description of the–whatever he called them, the snowshoes–was correct, they would take some getting used to as they made their way out of LaMut. And given the realization that a perfectly innocent baron–or at least as innocent as any baron could be given their nature–had died needlessly, Pirojil would rather not be around for the incessant chatter about the murders that was certain to be the table-talk of every noble in the duchy for weeks to come. He would prefer to be remembered as ‘that really hideous captain’ than have too many people recall his name. Even if no one ever discovered the truth, Verheyen had friends who would think it some sort of justice to see Pirojil vanish.

  Pirojil wanted to vanish from LaMut, but on his own terms, and he wanted to find himself somewhere warm, but not in a funeral pyre.