Covington blinked in surprise as Dearlyn threw her head back, laughing hysterically. ‘The great Darlington Blade! Even the gods can’t touch him!” Then she looked at him evenly, all hysteria leaving her voice. “I knew there was good reason to hate you.”
And with those final words, Dearlyn Ambersong stepped off the rail and disappeared into the clouds below.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Pryce Is Right
‘Twenty-five,” said Gheevy Wotfirr. “Wrong,” said Pryce Covington.
It was a beautiful autumnal afternoon, and they were walking through the rolling green hills southwest of the Lallor Gate. It was in the direction completely opposite from the Mark of the Question Tree. Behind them, beyond the Lallor walls, the Fall Festival was in full swing. Even from here, the two could hear the music and revelry that marked the celebration.
“Divide thirty by half…” Gheevy considered again.
“Yes?”
“And add ten.” ‘Yes.”
‘Twenty-five.” “No.”
“Argh!” Gheevy groaned, balling his little fists. To say that the remainder of the voyage to Mount Talath had been uneventful would be an understatement, considering what had come before. Incredibly, within minutes of Dearlyn Ambersong’s leap, the Verity had cleared the storm clouds, and the rest of the journey was made in blue skies and sunshine.
No one on board, however, was in a mood to appreciate it. Karkober couldn’t stop crying, while the rest of the people who had once been suspects either sat in motionless shock or wandered around in a reflective fog. Despite that, the grandeur of Mount Talath was such that even the most aggrieved individual couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by its majesty. Then there was the powerful presence of Priestess Greila Sontoin.
Wearing spectacular ceremonial robes, she had swept down a long runway that was swathed in thick blue velvet. There was a big smile on her pale, lined face, but she looked remarkably good for a person rumored to be more than a hundred and twenty-five years old. To the crew’s surprise, and Pryce’s shock, she opened her arms to welcome the great Darlington Blade, who shyly came forward, falling to his knees before her.
” ‘One knee,’ ” he later told the enraptured crew on the trip back. “She actually whispered to me, ‘One knee is all that is required. One knee looks like I’m going to bless you. Two knees and you look like you’re going to be sick all over my shoes!’” But no matter how they begged and entreated him, he wouldn’t tell them the subject of their short, but extremely private, talk.
“Rest assured that the legacy of Geerling… and Dearlyn… Ambersong is in the best possible hands,” he told them. “And that you are all welcome to visit anytime… and perhaps even enter the Order of Mystra to learn the wisdom of the ages.”
That was when Matthaunin Witterstaet finally gave Pryce the answer to his conundrum.
‘Think, Gheevy,” Pryce insisted, making it to the top of another green, grassy hill beyond the Lallor Gate. “Half. By half. What’s half?”
“Of thirty? Fifteen.”
“Yes and no. You’ll never get anywhere if you don’t listen.
Fifteen is half, right? So?”
“So… thirty divided by half is fifteen!”
“No, no! You’re not listening to the actual problem!”
They kept going at it until they came to the crest above a low, rolling valley. There, nestled in the gentle slope below, was a small but comfortable-looking abode made of stone, wood, and plaster.
“There it is,” Pryce said. ‘Teddington Fullmer’s cottage.” He started down toward it, the wind rippling his clothes and hair, but Gheevy had only one thing on his mind.
“All right, I give up,” said the halfling, coming up from behind Pryce. ‘You tell me. What’s the answer to your conundrum?”
“I’m not telling.”
“Oh, come on, Blade!”
“No,” Pryce laughed and then began to run. ‘You have to get it yourself.”
And so it went, until they reached the cottage’s unlocked door.
“Half is half,” Gheevy was saying as Pryce stepped inside. ‘You cut something in half…” Then he, too, stepped inside. All conversation stopped as they looked in awe at the inside of the cottage.
The furniture wasn’t mucha simple but comfortable table, utilitarian chairs, a writing desk, and a bedbut all four walls, including the windows, were lined with row upon row of bottles of every shape, size, and color. Light from the windows shone through the bottles, creating a rainbow effect.
This has to be the most complete collection of bottled liquor anywhere in Lallor,” Gheevy breathed in wonder. “Maybe in all Halruaa!”
“Well, he was a trader in liquid refreshments,” Pryce said, “when he wasn’t plotting the theft of magical items, that is.”
“So the Mystra Superior told you you could have first pick?” Gheevy asked.
“He’s a convicted conspirator,” Pryce told the halfling as he walked slowly around the large single room, “and a murder victim. She said I should at least come out here and see if there was anything of interest for the castle in my capacity as Lallor’s new primary mage.”
Gheevy laughed in mirth and amazement. “Blade, Blade, Blade. How on Toril are you going to”
“I haven’t officially accepted the post yet,” he interrupted.
“But you must!” Gheevy contended. “You’ve come this far. What else would you do?”
“Hey, I’m Darlington Blade!” Pryce reminded him. “I’m supposed to be a great wandering hero, a legendary traveling adventurer, remember? Besides, I think I’d have more luck playing off my reputation to a new audience every night. I think the element of surprise is kind of lost here…”
“Nonsense!” Gheevy jovially argued. ‘You’re a part of Lallor history now… and what a history! To these people, a man who has had a private audience with Greila Sontoin can do no wrong.” Then his voice became serious. “And, remember, you have friends here, too. Where else, in all of Halruaa, can you say that is true?”
Pryce looked askance at the halfling, one eyebrow raised. “Well, if I’m going to even think about staying here,” he exclaimed, “I’ll need to know that my friends are smart enough to figure out a simple conundrum!”
“Blade, I tell you I can’t”
“Come, come. I’ll make it easy. What do you do when you divide by half?”
“Half of thirty is”
“No, no, no. Stop thinking that way.”
Gheevy Wotfirr grew silent, thinking. Finally he ventured, “Divide thirty by half? Half of thirty is fifteen.”
Pryce shook his head with a grin. “Not half of thirty. Just half!”
“Half?” Gheevy said in wonder. “Half is… half is”
‘Yes?”
“Half is… zero-point-five.” “There!”
“Thirty divided by zero-point-five is… sixty!” “Now add ten.”
“Seventy. The answer is seventy!”
“Excellent, my dear Wotfirr,” Pryce said proudly. “Elementary numerology.”
Gheevy laughed. “Amazing, Blade. How do you do it?”
Pryce waved a hand airily. “It’s a gift. Or a curse, depending upon your point of view. After a hard life and a tough job, I’ve learned that little things are almost always important. Things that don’t add up logically or psychologically pinch at my brain.”
“I’ll tell you one thing,” said the halfling, beginning to study Fullmer’s collection in earnest. “Your brain is certainly well connected to your mouth. On the skyship? I never saw such a thing. You were so convincing I almost believed you were Darlington Blade!” He laughed in honest appreciation. He only became serious while studying an extremely rare bottle of Jhynissian wine. “Where do you think Geerling Ambersong’s body actually is, anyway?”
Pryce’s words were quiet and flat. “What? You don’t believe me?”
“Come along now, ‘Blade,’” Gheevy stressed without interrupting his examination. “We bo
th know who those bodies actually were”
Pryce’s next words succeeded in getting the halfling’s attention. “Well, actually, that’s not exactly true.”
Gheevy looked at his associate in surprise, then tried to smile. “What are you talking about? We both saw Darlington Blade’s corpse.”
Pryce was standing just inside the door, leaning his back against the wood. “You’re not listening again, Gheevy. You said we both knew who those two bodies were. To say that is not true is merely a statement of fact. only knew who one of those bodiesp› was. You told me who the other one was.”
“Is this… is this another conundrum?” the halfling asked weakly.
“In a way. Sante wrote, ‘Never trust what a person says, only what a person does.’ Remember? You told me that yourself. You didn’t attribute it to the source, but there you go.”
Gheevy stood straight, his shoulders back. “I have been nothing but loyal and straightforward with you!”
“Now, now, my friend, don’t get defensive. Sante also wrote, ‘Never trust what a person says about another, but always trust that what he says about himself may be just the opposite.’”
“I’m beginning to hate this Sante,” the halfling muttered darkly.
“No need, since it seems you have read him yourself. And since Geerling Ambersong had the only complete works that I’ve ever seen, I wonder how it came about that you know his writings.”
“Oh, for Sontoin’s sake!” Gheevy erupted in exasperation. “It’s only a phrase, Blade! I don’t know where I got it. It’s such a universal sentiment, I may have made it up. There! I made it up. Are you satisfied?”
“Well, if you want to know the truth… no.”
Gheevy stared at him for a few moments, then began to laugh. “Oh, I know what this is all about,” he said. ‘You’re feeling guilty about Dearlyn killing herself, aren’t you? So now you’re rooting around for some other explanationany other explanation. You’re seeing murderers everywhere, aren’t you? All right, then, it’s your turn to think. Because really, does it matter whose body it actually was? Gamor killed the real Darlington Blade, Dearlyn or Geerling killed him, then maybe Geerling killed himself, and Dearlyn killed Teddington. Maybe the jackals got Geerling; I don’t know. I don’t care! The haunt proves that Geerling is dead, so it’s over! Everyone got justice, everything is taken care of, so face it. It’s over. We’ve won. You’ve won! So just let it be, can’t you?”
Pryce wasn’t impressed. “F, Gheevy.” “What?”
‘Why? It’s the very first, and the very last, question. Why? You want to know the biggest why in this case?”
Gheevy sighed elaborately and rolled his eyes. “All right, Blade, if you must. What is this case’s biggest why?”
“I must,” Pryce Covington said quietly. “The biggest why is why would a hero as famous as Darlington Blade insist on remaining unseen?”
Gheevy reacted like a talentless entertainer caught in the eye of the Lallor Gate. ‘What did you say?”
“It was what was bothering me from the very outset,” Pryce explained. “Why would a valiant, celebrated adventurer hide himself from his admirers? Why would a mage as beloved as Geerling Ambersong teach such a heroic figure in secret… secret even from the knowledge of his cherished daughter?”
Gheevy’s mouth flopped like a fish in the sand. “Butbut you said”
“My explanation was feeble even to my ears. At last year’s Fall Festival, Geerling announced that Darlington Blade would appear this year to take his place as primary mage. I said that I, ‘Darlington Blade,’ appeared only to find my master’s murderer. Of those two sources, who would you believe?”
“Butbut we saw Darlington Blade’s body!”
No, you saw Darlington Blade’s body! I saw the body of a complete and utter stranger! A stranger who I thought had absolutely no reason to shield himself from the eyes of the residents of Lallor. So why? Why had no oneno one alive, that isseen Darlington Blade except you?”
Gheevy Wotfirr’s voice, when he finally replied, sounded different. It was no longer light or helpful or eager or friendly.
Gheevy Wotfirr’s voice was now flat and deep and dangerous. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Pryce Covington moved his face into a shaft of multicolored light. “Because you are Darlington Blade.”
Gheevy Wotfirr didn’t laugh. He didn’t try to defend himself. He didn’t even try to dissuade Pryce of his contention. Instead, he asked for an explanation. “How do you figure that?”
Pryce cleared his throat and leaned against the door. “It’s all about fashion, really,” he said diffidently. “You know what a fashion plate I am, Gheevy. I want everything to be just so. So it really bothered me that the one thing I couldn’t afford to take off or change was this cursed cloak.” He fingered the clasp even now. “And while everyone treated me royally, I actually felt a tinge of jealousy that every other cloak in Lallor nearly reached the ground, while mine stopped above my knees.”
Gheevy couldn’t help shooting a glance at Pryce’s legs. Sure enough, the bottom of the cloak ended midway down his legs.
“Think back, Gheevy,” Pryce continued. “Even Dearlyn’s cloak reached the ground. So why didn’t the supposed matching cloak of Darlington Blade also reach the ground… unless the real Darlington Blade was almost two feet shorter than a normal human?”
Gheevy remained silent, still holding the bottle of Jhynissian wine.
“Remember when I first fell to my knees in front of you, begging you not to give my identity away? That was the only time we ever saw eye to eye. If you wore this cloak,” said Pryce, nodding with certainty, “it would reach the ground.”
Pryce waited. Gheevy finally spoke. “Is that it? Is that all you’ve got? The length of cloak hems this season?”
Pryce looked down sadly. “Not quite. You lauded my performance on the skyship a few moments back, for which I thank you. I really couldn’t have done so well had I not mixed in as much truth as I possibly could. Remember when I said a haunt’s words and actions were sacrosanct in the eyes of the law? True. But interpretation is nine-tenths of the law.”
“So?” Gheevy challenged. “What you said up there makes sense. Still does. The haunt jumped the wench.”
Pryce shook his head again, both at the halfling’s attitude and his coarsening language. “You’re not asking the right why again, Gheevy. Namely, why would a mage take all the trouble to become a haunt… and then take back his dying clue? You heard him! He actually contradicted himself. He clearly stated that Darlington Blade was the one who murdered him, then a second later added a feeble contradiction. Why, in the name of all the deities in the heavens? Why?”
“And the answer is…?” Gheevy drawled sarcastically.
“The single best answer I can think of is fear. The same sort of fear you started to show when you thought the haunt would name you. Geerling tried, but he only knew you as Darlington Blade! He wasn’t pointing at me. He was pointing at the cloak clasp! Then he realized that if he did name you, you had it in your power to kill his only child… and whoever this strange fellow was who was now wearing the cloak. So he did what any loving parent would do in the same situation… what he had been doing for his daughter’s entire life, in fact. He protected his child, while trying to provide her with a clue to the truth, all while attempting to remain in control of a dying, very recalcitrant body.”
Again silence reigned in the cottage until Pryce inquired quietly, ‘That’s why Teddington Fullmer had to die, wasn’t it? Not because he found the secret workshop. He hadn’t, until you put his mortally wounded body there. It was because he was foolish enough to broach a confidence in order to gain the upper hand in a business transaction.”
Gheevy looked up sharply. It was all the encouragement Pryce needed. “You had sworn Azzo to secrecy about the length of time you had worked at his tavern, hadn’t you? Remember when I confronted him about his secret on the skyship? That’s what I was alluding to, Gh
eevy. And guess what? On the way back from Mount Talath, I took him aside and called him on it. Do you want to know what he said?”
Wotfirr’s eyes were mere slits. “I have absolutely no interest in anything that fat, lovesick dog has to say.”
“I’m sure the inquisitrixes would,” Pryce countered, looking braver than he felt. But his anger drove him on. “He admitted to me that you promised him the finest grotto in Lallor if he maintained that you had been working with him for years. But he had let slipor Teddington had guessedthat you had only been stocking the liquor for a short time. I was hiding behind the cask when Teddington suggested it. You, of course, denied it with a great show of wounded pride, but you decided then and there to silence him, didn’t you?”
When Gheevy didn’t answer, Pryce continued on inexorably. “But Fullmer, bless and curse him, told me more than just that. He said that he almost believed for a second that I was Darlington Blade. If only I had understood the subtext of both statements sooner. Namely, in the latter case, that if I could be Darlington Blade, then someone else could be, too. Namely, you.”
Silence settled again, like the dissipating dust of Gamor Turkal’s magic communications. Gheevy’s first words in some time were flat but challenging. “So,” he said. “How’s your mom?”
“Unfortunately she’s dead,” Pryce said without pause. “Like almost everyone who truly knows you. But more to the point, opportunity and means were no problem for you, were they? Oh, no, not for the great Darlington Blade!”
“So that only leaves motive, doesn’t it? What do you have to say about that, little man from Merrickarta?”
Pryce was cautioned by the obvious warning in the halfling’s well-chosen words. The tide was beginning to shift, and the weight of evidence was growing ever heavier on his shoulders. But he was letting Covington know that he would not bear such overwhelming weight for long. So be it. Pryce had made himself… and Dearlyn Ambersong… a promise.
He stepped forward, back into the light, returning the challenge directly at the murdering knave. “Don’t you wonder what Greila Sontoin and I discussed in our private conversation? Everyone else does. In fact, you gave me a hint that you were interested when we first arrived here.”
Murder in Halruaa (forgotten realms) Page 22