Murder in Halruaa (forgotten realms)

by Richard Meyers

  “I told her you wished to talk to her later,” the halfling reported, “if she’s willing to listen.”

  “Thank you. Did she answer you?”

  The halfling pursed his lips and looked down. “No.”

  Pryce Covington shook his head ruefully. “That’s all right, my friend. I don’t blame her, really. Is everything else ready?”

  The halfling looked up, his expression brightening. “Yes, sir. Everything is ready out here.”

  “Excellent. Thank you.” Pryce carefully placed the last book of the learned priest back on the hovering stone slab next to him, then grabbed the lip of the table and started to pull himself up. He groaned, his elbow and knee joints popping audibly.

  The halfling shook his head in bemusement. He had tried to counsel Covington to use this time for rest, but his sage advice had fallen on deaf ears. “You really should get some sleep, you know,” he said for the sixth time.

  Pryce stretched his arms as high as they could go over his head, letting out an expansive grunt. Then he relaxed. ‘Teddington Fullmer is sleeping,” he said lightly. “Geerling Ambersong is sleeping. Even Gamor Turkal is sleeping.” He walked to the door and started to cross in front of the halfling. “There’ll be plenty of time for sleep later,” he concluded quietly as he passed.

  It was an entirely new world outside the no-longer-secret workshop. The caverns, from the hatchlike entryway behind Schreders At Your Service to the workshop door, had been illuminated by a string of floating light orbs. Lallor militia units in specially designed uniforms stood beside every glowing bulb, hands resting on the hilts of short swords specially designed for all their indoor hacking needs.

  Inquisitrixes, in their own uniforms of black and gold, moved about, carefully examining every inch of the caverns. They sometimes found evidence of magic, over which they tossed crystals or powders and muttered divining spells with accompanying gestures. If there were any other secrets hidden in these caves, these illusion scholars would find them.

  Directly in front of Covington lay a naked Teddington Fullmer, floating above the cave floor on a magically enhanced morgue slab. Examining his feet was, surprisingly, Matthaunin Witterstaet, wearing his customary gatekeeper robe. Examining Fullmer’s head was Berridge Lymwich, dressed in her full inquisitrix regalia. Pryce approached the latter first.

  “I imagine Dearlyn and Gheevy have told you everything they know by now,” he said. “Anything I can add?”

  “I don’t know,” she said in her sandy voice without taking her eyes off Fullmer’s head wound. “Is there?” She seemed to be angry that he had given her something to do other than covet his status.

  Pryce shrugged, refusing to be baited. “Possibly not… but I can tell you what you’re thinking.” She finally looked at him first with surprise, then with disbelief, and finally with defiance. She said nothing, but Pryce took her behavior as permission. “You’re thinking someone at Schreders’s place did this.” Mentally he scored himself a point, not because she reacted in surprise, but because she didn’t Instead, Lymwich folded her arms and let her eyelids fall to half mast.

  “What makes you think that?”

  Pryce shrugged, frowning. “It only makes sense. The entrance was right behind the tavern’s back door; Azzo was in a position to know almost everything that went on in Lallor; and, besides, who but a non-mage would kill anyone as crudely as this?”

  Lymwich kept her arms crossed and exhaled through her nose, like a bull about to charge. Pryce took it as a sign of grudging acceptance. He glanced around at her sister inquisitrixes. “Any luck finding Geerling’s haunt?”

  Lymwich looked at the other inquisitrixes’ progress in the cavern with a certain frustration. “Not a thing,” she admitted reluctantly. “Curse it, a haunt must remain within sixty yards of where its body lies! But no matter how we track itup, down, right, leftnothing! If either the daughter or the halfling had come to me with this story minus your corroboration, I never would have believed it.”

  “Ah, the joys of reputation,” Pryce said. He looked at her with calm self-assurance. “Have you done as I requested?”

  She seemed ready to argue, but quickly controlled herself. “What you had your halfling… associate… request for you,” she corrected him reprovingly. “But,” she conceded, “your idea was an expedient one. It met with the approval of my superiors.”

  Pryce resisted the temptation to rub salt into her wounded ego, so he kept his expression placid and his tongue still. He simply nodded and stepped over to the other side of the slab. He tried to attract the gatekeeper’s attention, but the old fellow was too intent on the body. “You’re a man of many talents,” Pryce finally said idly.

  “Hmmmmm?” the gatekeeper said without looking up.

  “Gate guard, immigration officer, and now magical examiner.”

  “Cleric as well,” Lymwich elaborated. “Matthaunin is one of our little community’s most respected members.”

  “Outside of your own master, of course,” Witterstaet hastily added.

  “Really?” Pryce retorted.

  “Geerling Ambersong basically gave Witterstaet his choice of responsibilities in our exclusive retreat,” Lymwich continued, walking the length of the morgue slab and back again, “and he chose his place at the gate.”

  “Fresh air,” Witterstaet explained, looking at the ceiling of the cavern, “meeting new people, constant intellectual stimulation…”

  “But you also double, or should I say triple, as an examiner?” Pryce marveled.

  “Matthaunin is also one of the most respected seers of magical presence in the nation,” Lymwich said sourly, apparently not reserving her infinite pool of envy to Blade alone.

  “Really?” Pryce drawled again, raising one eyebrow practically up into his hairline.

  “It has been said, sir,” Witterstaet answered modestly, “but, of course, I wouldn’t dare test my paltry skills against your own, sir.”

  “Wouldn’t you, now?” Pryce echoed, looking askance at Lymwich, who studiously avoided his gaze. Even so, Pryce quickly redirected their attention, just in case anyone considered pressing the point. “And have you uncovered anything around the body of Teddington Fullmer?”

  Once that subject was again broached, Witterstaet seemed to forget all about Blade’s fame. “Well, there was a very indistinct shadow, or afterimagean echo, if you willof the haunt’s previous presence that even I was hard pressed to perceive.” He turned toward Pryce for a moment. “But that is just a testament to the skill and power of your master.” He turned back to Fullmer’s cadaver. “Other than that, there isn’t a single iota of magic anywhere in, around, or on the body. Whatever happened to him prior to the haunt’s possession, it was done by a person alien to any form of magic.”

  Before Pryce could consider the ramifications of that statement, the people he had asked to be summoned arrived. Pryce stepped back as burly, bearded tavern owner Azzoparde Schreders, blonde and beautiful serving wench Sheyrhen Karkober, and gaunt mine owner Asche Hartovin the company of several inquisitrixes and militiamenmade their way down the brightly lit cavern to the section of wall that hid the workshop.

  “Cost, what is the meaning of this?” the gaunt mine owner demanded.

  “You had to pay these people?” the serving wench asked Hartov incredulously.

  Pryce rolled his eyes, then put his hands on his waist and leaned toward the three arrivals. “I told you before, Asche, Cost Privington is a pseudonym… a false identity. My real name is… Darlington Blade.” Pryce nodded to himself. He was getting the pause between “is” and “Darlington” down to mere seconds. Maybe if he said it often enough, he’d actually come to believe it

  “Harrumph,” wheezed Hartov, bending his slight frame. “False identity indeed! Why did you feel the compunction to fool the likes of me?”

  “Matters of national security,” Pryce said affably, “and that is precisely why I’ve asked you here today.”

  “Really?” Karkob
er breathed, her eyes widening.

  “Really.” He motioned toward the slab. “First, I believe you all knew Teddington Fullmer?”

  They stared at the man. “He doesn’t look well,” Karkober finally squeaked.

  “Not a bit,” Schreders agreed vehemently. “This is terrible!”

  “Very sound observation,” Pryce told them. “Unfortunately, it was the price he paid for finding his heart’s desire.”

  “Is he” Hartov choked”dead?”

  Pryce sighed and looked evenly at the distraught mine owner. “Be careful what you wish for, Asche. You, too, might get killed for it.”

  “Killed!” Schreders boomed. ‘You mean this was no accident?” Pryce just stared at him.

  “Butbut” the tavern owner stammered “but this is Lallor! Things like this don’t happen here. They can’t!”

  “Did,” Pryce said curtly. “Can.” He stepped back and pulled at the lip of the mechanical door. The unlocked gears now moved easily, and Pryce soon revealed the room dug out of the area beyond the cavern wall. “Lady and gentlemen, I give you Geerling Ambersong’s secret workshop.” He let them have a few seconds to take it all in. “Well, I’m not actually going to give it to you, but I will let you touch it. In fact, I’m going to let you carry itpiece by pieceout of here.”

  Schreders was the first to comprehend the words through the haze of his amazement. “Eh? Eh? What was that?”

  Pryce snapped his fingers until he got the attention of all of them. “I found Teddington Fullmer’s dead body in the middle of my teacher’s secret workshop,” he almost didn’t lie. “So this is no longer my classroom; it is a crime scene. Furthermore, the authorities have discovered evidence of additional foul play. I won’t bore you with the details, but rest assured that it is absolutely imperative that the priceless legacy of Geerling Ambersong be moved to safekeeping.” He smiled and clasped his hands together like a solicitous concierge. “And we need you three to help.”

  Schreders snapped to attention. “It would be an honor!” he announced. “Thank you, Mr. Blade, for even thinking of us!”

  “Not at all,” Pryce replied humbly. “It is our duty and responsibility to protect these materials so vital to our nation’s security. We can’t safeguard them here any longereven do not have the energy to cast a protective spell powerful enough to shield my own master’s life’s workso we must turn to you for help.” He then turned dismissively to Inquisitrix Lymwich. “And get that body out of here. It’s blocking the entrance.”p›

  Sheyrhen Karkober naturally took up the rear. Some things never change, Pryce thought as he carefully and quietly approached her. Whether in Merrickarta or Lallor, serving wenches usually deferred in the presence of their superiors or customers… but only in their presence. Left alone to her own devices, Pryce imagined Sheyrhen could juggle wine casks, but when in a mixed group such as this one, she played it safe by allowing the male egos to lift the big packages and lead the way.

  Pryce carefully moved alongside her in the cavern, watching her walk in her tightly laced waitress costume. “Ah,” he said casually, “I see you have the girdle of priestly might.”

  “I beg your pardon!” Sheyrhen said with offense. “I work very hard to maintain my figure.”

  Pryce slapped himself on the forehead, but kept pace with her. “No, no,” he quickly corrected. “Not yours… his! Geerling Ambersong’s.” She looked at him blankly. “It’s what you’re carrying,” he said, pointing at the magnificent jewel-and rune-covered vest in her arms.

  She looked at it, then at him. Then she dissolved into giggles. “Oh! Oh, of course!”

  “It’s not an actual girdle of priestly might, of course,” Pryce said casually, walking beside her. ‘That only appeared after the Time of Troubles. Priests of Mystra took it as a sign that the goddess had regained her power. This is my master’s… Geerling’s… version of it. It is said to give him greater strength and protection when worn.”

  “Really?” she said blandly. “How endlessly interesting. Why don’t you wear it, then?”

  “The power can’t be transferred,” he told her, taking interest in her disinterest. Was there something she was trying to hide? “In fact,” he continued, “it might have a calamitous effect if I were to try it on.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, looking at it now with a certain misgiving and holding it farther away from her. Pryce smiled, noticing how the eyes of each militiaman they passed followed them with only their eyes.

  “I’m sure there’s no danger to you,” Pryce told her, trying to ignore the disconcerting way one militiaman’s eyes would stop at the right side of his sockets and the eyes of the one next to him would start. “I totally agree with you. No girdle should mar the perfection of your form.”

  He watched her reaction carefully. Her eyes shifted toward him with a moment of suspicion, then mutated into a look of pride and pleasure when she decided he wasn’t being vulgar. “Thank you, Mr. Blade.” He could see she was still waiting for him to poison the conversation with an ill-chosen, licentious reply.

  So he didn’t even attempt a “Call me Darling.” Instead, he said, ‘That was quite a humorous misunderstanding back there.” “When?”

  “When I approached.” “Oh?”

  “Yes, and talked about the girdle.” “Oh! Oh, yes.”

  “I actually haven’t had a chance to fraternize much. I’ve been too busy studying. I leave all the socializing to Gamor Turkal.”

  He might as well have said “Call me Darling,” for the reaction he got. Sheyrhen did not show disappointment, but she grew distant without moving a millimeter away from him. “Gamor,” she repeated flatly.

  ‘Yes,” he said. ‘You knew him, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, yes… I knew him.”

  Pryce kept walking beside her, but turned his head toward the ceiling. “Ah, yes, Gamor. He always had an eye for a beautiful wench, serving or otherwise. I always think of them as people first and waitresses second. He always thought of them as… as

  “As chattel?” Karkober said coldly. He looked at her in surprise. However, she did not avert her gaze or soften her retort. “I’m sorry, Mr. Blade, but I didn’t like your… friend… Gamor Turkal. He never once looked at me with anything approaching humanity. If I wasn’t a vessel for his fantasies, I was little more than a piece of furniture bringing him his ale.” Only then did she lower her head sadly. “Is that so terrible?”

  “No,” Pryce assured her, looking calmly ahead. ‘That’s not nearly as terrible as the other thing we’ve been doing since I first introduced the subject.”

  She looked at him with surprise and just a touch of misgiving. “What’s that?”

  “Speaking of him in the past tense,” he revealed with a cheerless smile. “Excuse me, would you?” Pryce hastened his stride to move down the passageway until he approached Azzo Schreders.

  Unlike his serving wench, Schreders seemed honestly glad to see him. “Blade! Let me say how honored I am to be chosen to even touch, let alone carry, such valuable magical items. I’ll be telling my grandchildren and great-grandchildren about this! Eh, eh?”

  “And hopefully even your not-so-great grandchildren, unless they’ve been sent to bed early,” Pryce quipped feebly. Before the barkeep could summon up a forced laugh, Covington continued. “How could I have thought of anyone but the man who makes Lallor run? Everyone knows that if you need refreshment or information, Azzoparde Schreders is at your service.”

  The man’s wordless acknowledgement was lacking a bit of his previous bonhomie. Pryce continued, unabashed. “How did you secure such a superlative establishment in the first place? Prices must have been prohibitive, especially a building with such an extensive liquor grotto. What’s your secret, Azzo?”

  The man looked stunned by the questions and more than a bit concerned. “Come, come, Azzo,” Pryce said with genuine amusement. “You can tell me. After all, I’m the great Darlington Blade.”

  “Sir,” the tavern master s
tarted slowly, losing all familiarity and licking his lips, “I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details of my education, training, and experience as a manager of eating and drinking establishments.”

  “Of course not,” Pryce agreed. “But I would like to know, in all seriousness, how a man of your education, training, and… what was the third thing again?”

  “Experience.”

  ‘Yes, thank you. Experience… What was I saying?”

  “In all seriousness… a man of my experience…” “Ah, yes! Tell me, Azzo, how could you not know about these caverns?”

  Azzo blinked, swallowed, and replied, “I did.” “Yes?”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Blade, certainly!” Azzo practically burbled in his rush to confess. “I knew about them all along. This area is attached to my grotto by a small opening high on the rear wall. I knew they were here, but as you can see, I would have had to do extensive renovating to make them suitable for my liquor cellar. Besides, I had no idea where they led to and had no desire for all manner of creatures having access to my liquid refreshments. So I placed a large wine cask over the opening to seal it off.” His smile was tentative. “I even filled the cask with our least distinctive vintage.”

  “Really?” Pryce replied with appreciation. “Not much chance of that particular cask being drunk dry, then, eh? Eh?”

  Schreders chuckled nervously at Pryce’s imitation of his verbal habit. “You’d be surprised,” he said with forced friendliness. “Why, it was the favorite brew of many, shall we say, less discerning palates?”

  Pryce chuckled back. “Like Gamor Turkal’s?”

  Schreders stopped chuckling. He even went a little pale. “Why, yes… come to think of it… it’s the only thing Gamor ever drank.”

  Pryce nodded. “How endlessly interesting,” he commented, quoting the nervous serving wench. ‘Thank you, Azzo. You’ve told me what I needed to know. Excuse me, won’t you?” He quickly bounded over to where Asche Hartov was heading up the retinue. “Ah, Asche, leading the way, I see.” The mine owner didn’t reply. Pryce tried again. “Spellbooks,” he said, glancing at the volumes the man carried.