Murder in Cormyr

by Chet Williamson

  26

  But when we arrived at Benelaius’s cottage I was unscathed, though Kendra seemed weary from the loss of blood. Benelaius and Lindavar were standing outside worriedly, since Jenkus had arrived home alone, and they both hailed us as we came riding up.

  “Kendra saved my life,” I said as I climbed off her horse. “A hydra attacked me and Jenkus threw a shoe. But Kendra killed the monster.”

  “With a slight wound to myself, I fear,” she said. “Jasper told me you were skilled in the healing arts.” She tried to swing her wounded leg over the saddle but could not, and clung to her horse’s neck. The three of us came to her rescue immediately, lifting her off her steed and onto the ground, where she leaned heavily on Lindavar and held her left leg aloft.

  “That looks quite nasty, my dear,” Benelaius said. “But I have no doubt that we can soon set you right.”

  We helped her inside and onto a large, comfortable chaise before the fire. Benelaius chattered all the while. “A hydra, you say? A common hydra, I suppose. The cryohydra is unknown here, and the pyrohydra is quite rare. Since you are not singed, I assume it was a common multiheaded variety. Not a lernaean hydra either, I wager.”

  “The kind that regenerate their heads?” Kendra said. “No, this one’s heads didn’t come back once I lopped them off, thank the gods.”

  “Must have been very hungry to come out of the swamp,” Benelaius went on. “Stupid beasts, though, and slow. Move well in swamps but awkwardly on land. All the better for both of you, eh?”

  “Still fast enough to catch my leg,” Kendra said as we eased her down. In spite of the pain that caused beads of sweat to appear on her pale and lovely face, she chuckled at the sight of the cats. “Do with me what you will. I trust a man who likes animals.”

  “Lindavar, please heat water on the stove while I get the salves and unguents. Jasper, see to it that Jenkus and the lady’s horse are cared for, then come back here. Quickly now.”

  I did as my master said, envying him the task of having such a patient as that magnificent specimen of a woman. I wondered if he was as much in awe of Kendra as I was, and assumed he was not. Benelaius was undoubtedly not a creature of his passions. Kendra would be interesting to him only for what she might tell him about the fighting habits of hydrae. I sighed. What a waste of intimacy.

  I fed and rubbed down the horses. By the time I went back in, Kendra was sleeping, her wounded leg covered by a virginally white sheet, and Benelaius and Lindavar had just finished putting away the equipment. Benelaius motioned me into his study, where the three of us sat down. He filled a pipe with tobacco and lit it, and his words poured forth on the smoke.

  “I have sewn up the wound and given her a sleeping draught,” my master said. “By morning she will feel much better, but she should rest here a day or two. She has lost some blood and must regain her strength.” He smiled admiringly. “A fine woman, and a brave one, though one who, I fear, would not suffer fools gladly.”

  “Meaning Dovo and Grodoveth,” I suggested.

  “I believe they would have qualified as fools,” Benelaius said. “Now tell me, Jasper, what you’ve learned in town today. Did the ghost witnesses prove at all valuable?”

  I related everything that I had learned, and was pleased to see that some of the information hit home. Benelaius and Lindavar seemed particularly interested in the fact that Barthelm Meadowbrock was with Diccon Piccard when he saw the disguised Dovo, and their eyebrows raised when I told them Lukas Spoondrift’s theory about Rolf being the killer. But what really piqued my master’s interest was when I related Looney Liz Clawthorn’s tale of the glowing hands.

  “I know of the woman,” Benelaius said thoughtfully. “She has the cataract, the veil over the eye that blurs and softens her sight. If she said she saw two waving hands …”

  He left it for me to finish, and finish I did. “Lanterns,” I said. “She saw two lanterns. Dovo must have had the one, but the other?”

  “Someone Dovo was signaling to,” said Lindavar, a catch of excitement in his voice. “That great mere we saw this morning would have been one of the few places in the Vast Swamp where signals could be given over long distances. Still,” he said knowingly, “we saw no lantern by Dovo’s body.”

  “But we did see lantern glass,” said Benelaius. “And that means—”

  But I was not to know Benelaius’s conclusion, for at that moment we were all startled by the flutter of wings at the window, which Benelaius had opened to disperse the heavy tobacco smoke. I gasped as I saw what sat on the sill.

  It looked like a raven, but its body was half again as wide, and its wings equivalently longer. Its eyes glimmered an eerie greenish yellow in the candlelight, and they looked directly at Benelaius. The feet were more menacing than those of any normal bird, with three-inch talons at the end of pale, fleshy claws that looked like dead men’s fingers. Around this creature’s neck was a bag of thick leather knotted shut.

  With a motion that made my breath catch in my throat, the weird bird hopped into the room and perched right on Benelaius’s shoulder. It was a tribute to my master’s calm that he moved not an iota at the bird’s act. Then he turned his head toward the beak that could have pierced an eyeball with a single thrust, and smiled at the gleaming eyes.

  “A good evening to you, Myrcrest,” Benelaius said. “I hope that Vangerdahast, your master and my good friend, is well this night?”

  The bird nodded its head slowly, and a guttural squawk escaped its thick throat. The sound sent chills through me like fingernails on slate. Even Lindavar winced.

  But Benelaius was unshaken by the din. He raised his eyebrows and looked pleased. “I am glad to hear it,” he said. Then he gestured toward the leather pouch. “And may I assume that inside is a message for me?”

  Myrcrest nodded again, slowly and solemnly, like one of those toy birds that dips its beak in water over and over again.

  “Then, with your kind permission …” Benelaius lifted his hands and, with a series of deft, tiny strokes, undid the pouch from around the great bird’s neck. I noticed in the light of the candles that Myrcrest’s feathers had no sheen to them at all. They gave back no light but seemed rather to pull the light into them, and kill it. I have never seen so flat and lusterless a black. The thing must have noticed my attention, for it fixed its beady eyes on me. I could not hold its gaze, and quickly looked at Benelaius’s hands.

  He had freed the pouch and undid the string that held it shut. From it he withdrew a heavy paper, folded many times, but when he unfolded it, the creases vanished, and it was as smooth as though it had just come off a press.

  Benelaius read it, his composed and serious face giving no hint as to the letter’s matter. When he had finished, he nodded once more at the fiendish bird on his shoulder. “Pray tell Vangerdahast that his message has been received, and that its contents will be obeyed. Fortune smile on him, and bid you speedily home, good Myrcrest.”

  The bird nodded again, as graciously as a courtier. Then it spread wide its wings, and I ducked at the sudden movement, although the feathers were yards away from my face. It leapt to the window, and then through it, so that its blackness seemed sucked up by the night. Its exit was so abrupt that at first I could hardly believe it had been there at all.

  But the paper that Benelaius held was the proof. My master looked at Lindavar and me and said, “This you should hear,” and read:

  Benelaius, my friend in wizardry—

  Be it known by all men that Azoun, King of Cormyr, and I, Vangerdahast, Royal Magician and Chairman Emeritus of the College of War Wizards of Cormyr, do place in you our absolute trust concerning the apprehension of the murderer of Grodoveth, the envoy of the King, and another victim.

  When you have proven to your own satisfaction the identity of this killer, whose act threatens the peace of this good land, Captain Flim, or whoever may at that time be commander of the local garrison of the King’s Purple Dragons, shall order his troops to immediately put
the murderer to death.

  Vangerdahast

  “Well,” said Benelaius, sitting back in his chair and taking a deep puff upon his pipe. “That seems rather final, does it not?”

  27

  “No arrest? No trial?” said Lindavar. “Why would the king order such a … a departure from the normal process of justice?”

  “The king did not order it,” said Benelaius. “Vangerdahast ordered it, and it is well within his power. It is altogether possible that King Azoun knows nothing of this order. Perhaps Vangerdahast felt it would be better for all concerned if he did not.”

  “But why?” I asked, echoing Lindavar. “I don’t understand. I think that the king would want a trial of such a person, to make an example of what happens to those who would so openly flout his authority and kill his envoy.”

  “Unless,” Benelaius said, “that envoy was a member by marriage of the royal family … and if the solution to the mystery cast aspersions on that envoy’s honor. And, by extension, upon the honor of the king himself.”

  “Then Vangerdahast is trying to protect the king?” Lindavar asked.

  “I think it likely,” the old wizard said. “He loves his king more than he loves his magic, and Azoun is a good man and a good king. I doubt that he himself would make such an order as this that hints of self-protection.” He removed his pipe from his teeth and tapped it on a metal bowl. The dottle dropped out, and he set the pipe next to it.

  “But this command,” he went on, “is contingent upon our finding the perpetrator in the first place, and that we have not yet done, though I fancy we have all the information we need. It is merely a matter of placing that information in the proper context and viewing it from the correct perspective.” He smiled at me. “I suppose your Camber Fosrick would have done so far more quickly. Of course, he has the benefit of being a character in fiction, while we, unfortunately, are saddled with mundane reality. Still, we shall do our best.”

  “So what are your thoughts, sir?” I asked him, desperate to know what synthesis he had made of the disparate parts of this mystery.

  “Still forming, I fear,” Benelaius answered. “But even such infant musings would not have been possible without your diligence and hard work, my good Jasper. You have done superbly. But you must be very tired from all your labors, and the night has grown late. I suggest you retire to your bed. Kendra will be quite comfortable on the chaise for the night, and I wish to speak with Lindavar for a short time.”

  I had no choice but to obey. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall, listening to their conversation, and when I was in my room, I tried to hear their talk, but since my quarters were at the opposite end of the cottage from Benelaius’s study, I heard only a low droning, out of which I could distinguish no separate words at all.

  So I lay in the darkness and decided that I would not fall asleep until I had done what Benelaius had suggested was within the realm of possibility. I would determine who had killed Dovo and Grodoveth. I would come down with that information in the morning and dazzle them with my ratiocinative wizardry, and glory at the look of wonder and admiration in Benelaius’s eyes.

  And so I exercised my brain feverishly for all of three minutes, when exhaustion caught up with me and bashed me over the head.

  But my concentration on the solution to the murders came with me into my dreams, and I remember waking up, convinced that I had the solution and the killer. In the darkness, I sleepily fumbled for the note pad and pencil with which I had taken notes for my master, and scribbled down several words that held the key to the mystery that had gained the attention of even the king himself. In the morning, even if I had forgotten the amazing revelations that came to me in my sleep, those words would still be there, and my sharing them with the world would bring me fame, honor, and riches. I fell back on the bed, smiling as sleep claimed me again.

  I awoke at eight o’clock and had nearly finished my morning ablutions before I remembered that I had solved the murders in the middle of the night. And sure enough, as I had feared, I had no memory of the solution. So I dashed to the paper, snatched it up, and read:

  Sunfirth-D made mess-fight-G-spilled? no tip?

  Well, there it was then, all neatly wrapped up. I was sure that Benelaius would be happy to hear that Sunfirth, the five-foot two-inch, hundred-and-ten-pound barmaid, had beheaded both Dovo and Grodoveth with a single blow because Dovo, in his fight with Rolf, had made a mess for her to clean up, and because Grodoveth might have spilled something or left no gratuity for her services. On such a strong case, I had no doubt the Purple Dragons would execute her immediately and so end the threat to the kingdom.

  In a pig’s ear.

  I decided that I would no longer trust my dreams, no matter how brilliant they might seem to a half-awake dullard like myself.

  When I went downstairs to prepare breakfast, I got quite a surprise. There in the main room were Benelaius and Kendra, chatting and laughing like old friends. She was sitting up in the chaise, which she was sharing with a dozen contented cats, and my master was sitting next to her. They were both holding cups of tea, and so enthralled were they in their conversation that I had to clear my throat twice before they looked up.

  “Ah, Jasper, good morning to you,” said Benelaius. “I have to thank you for bringing such a delightful guest to our door last night. Kendra here has been to more places and seen more fascinating things than many a far older adventurer. She has added greatly to my store of information concerning the different species in areas of Faerûn to which I have never fared.” Beaming, he turned back to the woman. “My dear, you make me wish to see those things firsthand.”

  “Why not?” said Kendra. “You’re never too old for a new journey. And new experiences.”

  “Ah, but I may be too set in my ways to travel far. I have put down roots like an old mushroom here.”

  “But mushrooms have notoriously shallow roots,” she said, and the coquettishness in her manner amazed me. Was this the woman who had been threatening men with disembowelment for looking twice at her? Maybe, I thought, she saw in Benelaius a nonthreatening father figure and thus felt free to flirt with him. But Benelaius? Flirting?

  “You tempt me,” he said, “but I fear I may strike out for no new horizons until the current crisis in Ghars is resolved. And to that end, Jasper,” he said, turning to me, “I must send you into town again, as soon as you prepare a delicious and hearty breakfast to strengthen our temporary invalid here.”

  I needed no further cue. In the kitchen I put together a hot and healthy repast, and by the time I had it on the table, Lindavar had joined the party as well. Bags hung beneath his eyes, and I suspected that he and Benelaius had talked far into the night.

  His appetite was good, however, and I never saw a woman eat as heartily as Kendra. Benelaius actually assisted her to the table, and although she favored her unwounded leg, my master assured her that only a small scar would be evidence of her battle with the hydra.

  When the meal was finished, Benelaius handed me a long, thin leather courier’s pouch and a small satchel. “Ride into Ghars,” he said, “and deliver the letters in this pouch. The one addressed to Mayor Tobald and Captain Flim is the directive from Vangerdahast we received last night. Make sure they both read it, and leave it in Captain Flim’s hands, since he is the one who will have to carry out the order … should the killer be taken. As far as making it general knowledge, tell them I advise against it, though I would be interested in seeing Barthelm Meadowbrock’s reaction. Perhaps you can inform him privately.

  “There is another envelope for Captain Flim alone, and there is also one for you, along with this satchel.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Open and read the letter when you are ready to return here. At that time you will understand the need for what is in the satchel. Oh, and I almost forgot …” He reached into his robe and, smiling wryly, took out a bottle of small white pills. “Mayor Tobald’s gout medication. Please give this to him
in private. I don’t want anyone to tell Doctor Braum that I’m treating his patient. Braum’s a good man, though only a fair doctor, and I don’t wish to offend him.”

  Benelaius and Lindavar came out to bid me farewell, while Kendra returned to the comfort of her chaise and the cats, who had taken quite a liking to her. As I turned Jenkus and prepared to ride away, Benelaius held up a chubby hand. “One thing yet, Jasper. I suggest you drink ale today.” And he placed into my hand several coins to make such a request possible.

  I thought I had misheard him and asked to him to repeat what he had said.

  “Ale today, Jasper. If you are thirsty, drink only ale. Don’t ask why. Just humor an old man.”

  Though it was one of my master’s more eccentric requests, I nodded acceptance and rode toward Ghars, wondering if the great man’s mental faculties had been temporarily dulled by a Mirtul-Eleint infatuation with Kendra, or by a constant and deep concentration on the solution to the murders.

  But in retrospect, I thought his command an easy and even fun one to obey. Rare is the master who tells his man, “Go and drink ale, my boy!” So I decided to consider myself lucky, and rode happily toward Ghars.

  28

  I heard the humming in the town while I was still a quarter mile south. If yesterday’s flurry of preparation had been busy, then today’s was a cyclone of activity. Although supposedly everything had been long prepared, there were apparently half a hundred unexpected occurrences that had to be taken care of.

  I found Captain Flim on his horse in the town square. Behind him were a dozen Purple Dragons watching the scene, ready, no doubt, to lay waste to any Zhentarim spy bold enough to announce his intentions. In truth, they were there to preserve order, although such a task at that time was well nigh impossible.