Murder in Cormyr

by Chet Williamson

  Slowly he sank down but did not take his eyes away from the unhurriedly pursuing wraith. He never looked down once, but kept his gaze fixed on the ghost of Fastred that now stood directly over him, its axe by its side, watching the man sink lower and lower into the mire.

  Soon only Tobald’s head and hands were visible, the fingers moving feebly as they were sucked under one at a time. Then there was just his face, and finally that vanished too, like a tiny moon eclipsed fully, sliding ever so slowly into the dark sky.

  The ghost looked down at the mire into which Tobald, his lungs filled with swamp mud, had gone forever. Then the phosphorescence that had surrounded the ghost began to fade, while the light of the lantern Captain Flim was holding was reborn and began to grow brighter, as though the light from the ghost were flowing into the living man’s lantern. Within seconds, Fastred’s ghost had vanished, leaving the vista of the Vast Swamp empty and black once again. We saw nothing but mire and dead trees, and heard only the voices of the night.

  At last the silence was broken by the still, soft voice of Benelaius. “I think,” he said, “that the orders from Suzail have been carried out.”

  And none of us could disagree with him.

  33

  Needless to say, after Tobald sank to the bottom of the Vast Swamp and Fastred’s ghost returned to wherever it is ghosts return to after they’ve finished with their supernatural vengeance, things calmed down quite a bit.

  Captain Flim and his Purple Dragons came back onto the piazza, and Lindavar and I brought new coals and relit the braziers so that we had light once again. Once the ghostly chill was gone, everyone was congratulating Lindavar and Benelaius, and even me. Mayella Meadowbrock told me that she thought I had done “a simply wonderful job,” but from the way that Rolf was looking at me, I merely thanked her without extending the conversation.

  Barthelm was the happiest of the lot, and I thought he was going to fall to his knees and kiss the hem of the two wizards’ robes in gratitude for saving the lives of the Grand Council. “Rest assured that I shall see to it that everyone in Cormyr knows of your genius, young man,” he told Lindavar, and I suspected that any negative impressions his fellow War Wizards might have had of their new colleague would disappear as quickly as … well, as a ghost, when news of his deductive triumph reached them. His reputation would be enhanced a hundredfold, especially since Benelaius kept implying that all the deductions were Lindavar’s.

  In truth, I thought it all too possible, especially when I considered the piece that didn’t fit.

  I was dying to ask Benelaius about it. After everyone but Lindavar and Kendra had left for Ghars, I approached him in his study. “Master,” I said, “there is still one thing that I would like to ask you about.”

  He held up a hand and shook his head. “Our guests leave tomorrow morning,” he said, “and it is quite late. There will be plenty of time on the morrow to tie up … loose ends, Jasper. Now, get you to bed for a well-deserved rest.”

  The finality of his last sentence allowed for no objection, and I wearily went upstairs. Yet despite my tiredness, it took a long time for me to fall asleep. The terror of the ghost was still fresh in my mind, but what really kept me awake was my certainty that Lindavar’s deductions were not totally correct. Oh, yes, Tobald was the traitor all right. His placing what he thought was poison in the public cistern was proof of that, along with his outburst at Benelaius once he had been found out.

  But what haunted me more than any ghost was the thought of the pills that I had delivered to Tobald that very morning.

  The next day dawned without its usual dryness and sunlight. Dark clouds had gathered on the horizon over the swamp, and a brisk wind sent them scudding northwest, toward us and, hopefully, the farms beyond.

  I was the first awake in the cottage, and when I went downstairs I saw Kendra sleeping on the chaise, beneath a coverlet of cats. She looked quite comfortable, and I heard her snoring softly.

  In the kitchen, I pushed the window open and let the strong wind blow in. It brought a fine mist of water with it. Good. It had begun to drizzle. With luck, rain would follow. I breathed in the damp air, trying to get myself awake and alert for the day. Both Lindavar and Kendra were leaving, and I wanted to send them off with a good breakfast. Then, once they were on the road, I could at last talk to Benelaius.

  By the time the others were up and dressed, I had a sumptuous repast ready for them, and they feasted triumphantly. I, on the other hand, only picked at my food, my mind far away from the needs of my stomach.

  “Jasper,” Benelaius said heartily, “here you’ve made us this fine breakfast and you hardly touch it yourself. Come, come. Eat up, or the cats will have the better share.”

  “Very well, master.” I made myself smile and nod, and managed to get down a few bites of griddle cakes and sausage, but I could not get my questions out of my mind.

  Lindavar was the first to leave at midmorning, by which time a gentle rain was falling. Benelaius and his former pupil bade each other an affectionate farewell, Lindavar climbed into the carriage, and we were off, with my master and Kendra waving good-bye.

  As I turned my head and saw Benelaius and Kendra standing there, looking perfectly natural together under the umbrella he was holding, I realized that I didn’t know if Benelaius had ever been married, or had a woman in his life. There was much I did not know about him, and a few things that I must either learn about or go mad.

  Lindavar and I spoke seldom on our journey. What little he did say had to do with thanking me for all my legwork. “Were it not for you, Jasper,” he said, “I fear that Ghars might be a town of the dead today.”

  That was excessive praise, and I told him so, but I did not mention what was bothering me. That was for Benelaius’s ears only.

  The rain kept everyone in Ghars indoors, except for the few who were overjoyed at the sheer novelty of it. The council was deep in its meeting, and I saw none of the honored, and nearly murdered, visitors. I wondered if Barthelm would apprise them of how closely their lives had hung in the balance, but then decided that he would not. Telling your guests that they had narrowly missed suffering a slow and painful death is not the best way to impress them with the hospitality of your town.

  I waited with Lindavar in the soft rain until the coach for Suzail arrived, and we said a friendly good-bye. “Look after Benelaius, Jasper,” he said, taking my hand. “He’s a great man, good and wise, but he needs someone like you. And thank you for your hospitality as well as his. It was … an interesting stay.”

  He grinned, climbed into the coach, and gave me a wave as it rolled away toward Suzail and the College of War Wizards.

  I drove the carriage back to the cottage as quickly as the horses could go, and when I put Jenkus and Stubbins in the stable, I noticed that Kendra’s horse was gone. Inside, I found Benelaius alone, seated before the fireplace on the chaise in which Kendra had slept, and absentmindedly stroking the cats that had settled on his lap. He scarcely seemed to notice me when I came in.

  “Has the lady left, then?” I asked him.

  “Left?” His voice was faraway, and when he looked up at me, so were his eyes. “Oh, yes, she has.” He touched his cheek, as if remembering something soft and foreign that had rested there. “She had to ride on. Heading for Anauroch, I believe. Something about a lost city filled with jewels.” He gave a bittersweet smile. “I’ve had a full life, Jasper, but sometimes I realize that there are things that I have missed.”

  He inhaled sharply, as if clearing his head. When he looked at me again, his gaze was now on me and nowhere else, and he smiled and spoke crisply. “Did you get Lindavar off to Suzail?”

  “Yes, the coach left promptly. He’s on his way back.”

  “Good, good, and with a much greater reputation than he had previously. This little affair should make some of the more hidebound wizards in the college look at him as more of an equal. And what’s more, he did it with his wits. Not a bit of magic.”

&
nbsp; “And did you do it with your wits, too, master?”

  He cocked his head as if I’d just made a jest he didn’t understand. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Something’s wrong and you know it,” I said. “You knew last night when I mentioned a piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit. What about the—”

  “The pills,” he said, smiling benignly, “of course.” My mouth fell open for an instant, and I shut it again. “I knew that you were certain to realize that piece didn’t fit. I trusted, however, that you would remain silent and let us play it out, and you did.”

  “Tobald was out of pills the morning Grodoveth was murdered,” I said, trying to put it into words. “But he had his pills yesterday morning. I took them to him myself. So why was he limping last night?”

  “Because of Razor,” he said, tickling the temperamental cat under the chin so that it purred in delight. “Razor bit him as he entered, you see. Hard. Right on the ankle. Enough to make anyone limp. I knew Tobald wouldn’t say anything about the bite, because of what you had told me about his attempt to impress Mayella Meadowbrock with his supposed camaraderie with animals. He would have lost face with her were he to let anyone know that he alone of all who traipsed through my house was the only one unlikable enough to be bitten.” He shook his head. “Odd, isn’t it? As far as he knew, he had already poisoned her, and yet he couldn’t bear to have her think him a man so base that animals hated him. Ah, vanity.”

  “You planned for Razor to bite him?”

  “Jasper, my communication with my pets is, shall we say, intense. We need no words, my dears and I.”

  “But why did you want Tobald to limp?”

  “So that everyone would think he dropped his gout pills in the cave and stepped on them.”

  “But I hadn’t delivered the pills to him yet. He didn’t have them to lose in the cave.”

  “Of course not, Jasper. But I did.”

  “What!”

  “Yes, I followed Grodoveth to the cave, you see—I’m not completely sedentary, no matter what you might think—and there I found him dead. No one else was in the cave. Except Fastred, of course.”

  My head was swimming. “What are you … mean … Tobald didn’t kill Grodoveth?”

  Benelaius shook his head.

  “Then, for the gods’ sake, who did?”

  “The same person who killed Dovo.” I tried to keep track of the conversation, but it seemed to be skittering all over the place like a salamander in a skillet. I’m afraid my confusion showed on my face.

  “Evidence can be manipulated in certain ways, Jasper,” Benelaius said patiently. “It’s almost like magic, but not real magic. It’s more like prestidigitation, using misdirection to show you only what I want to show you and nothing else. You think a ball or a scarf has vanished into thin air, but it hasn’t. It only looks that way. Your Camber Fosrick—or any good detective—can make a situation look exactly like he wants it to.”

  This so-called explanation wasn’t helping a bit, and I told him so. “Are you saying,” I asked him, “that you framed an innocent man?”

  “Bite your tongue,” he answered in mock dismay. “I framed no one who was not already a traitor and an attempted murderer … mass murderer, for want of a better term.” Benelaius’s face grew grim. “Tobald’s poison would have slain hundreds of people. The vultures would have feasted in the streets of Ghars for weeks to come. Men, women, even children and babes in arms, all would have died in agony. No, Tobald deserved far worse than the fate that he met in the swamp.”

  His face brightened a bit then, and he looked up at me and smiled. “And speaking of the swamp, I think the best way for you to understand what truly happened is to go there with me. You shall be the student, and I the teacher, just as we are during your tutoring sessions. I shall ask you questions, and you shall ask me questions, and thusly, by asking and answering, you shall derive your knowledge, yes?”

  “If that’s the only way to get to the bottom of all this, yes, of course.”

  “Excellent. Then briskly make us a light lunch to fortify us against the rigors of the swamp, and your questions will be answered and your puzzles solved.”

  34

  I felt as though it was the slowest lunch ever made by the hands of man. The fire took forever to bring the water to a boil, the meats took an eternity to fry, the soup eons to bubble. But at last the meal was served, and slowly and appreciatively eaten by my master. For myself, I could scarcely get down a mouthful, so huge was the lump of expectation in my throat.

  After he finished eating, Benelaius pushed himself back from the table, stifled a small belch, and stood. “You seem somewhat anxious to have your questions answered, Jasper. Therefore, why not clean up the dishes when we return? I am sure the cats will do an excellent job of erasing most of the remaining bits and sauces so that your later cleanup should be minimal.”

  I couldn’t have thought of a better idea myself. He told me to get two lanterns, and then, to my surprise, told me to saddle Jenkus and Stubbins rather than hitch them to the carriage. “Are you sure, sir?” I said.

  “Do you think me incapable of riding a horse?” Benelaius said, somewhat piqued. “I was, after all, a War Wizard, lest you forget, and Stubbins is a gentle creature, when one knows how to approach him.”

  He wasn’t gentle when I saddled him. He twisted and kicked in his stall so that I was afraid he would break several of my bones before I could cinch him. But Benelaius showed up, clad in an oilskin rain cloak with a hood, and spoke softly to Stubbins so that I was able to finish my work and lead him outside.

  Benelaius didn’t hesitate. He swung himself into the saddle, and Stubbins stood beneath him as placidly as a windless pond. “Well?” Benelaius said. “Are you too stunned by the sight of a real equestrian to get mounted yourself?”

  We headed west on the swamp road in the drizzling rain. For all his girth, Benelaius sat his horse well. I began asking questions immediately.

  “How on earth did you ever wind up at Fastred’s tomb?” was the first one.

  “Through following the lead of Grodoveth. As you know, he was our primary suspect from the beginning. First of all, he was left-handed—”

  “Which Tobald wasn’t,” I said.

  “That’s correct. But since Tobald was unschooled in the arts of war, he might very well have swung an axe forehand rather than backhand. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s Grodoveth we’re concerned with now. He had the means and the opportunity but not a motive, as far as I could see. And frankly, I wasn’t quite sure that I wanted to find it, if it existed.”

  “Why not?”

  “Answer the question for yourself, pupil.”

  I thought for a moment. “Possibly his position? I mean, he was a relative of the king himself.”

  “Precisely. By marriage, true, but still on the fringe of the royal family. To convict him, or even to question him, would have taken overwhelming evidence. And even then it would put the royal family in such a bad light that it might not be worth the effort.

  “You may recall a case well over a hundred years ago in Waterdeep, Jasper, in which a relative of the queen was suspected of killing several wenches in a thoroughly unpleasant manner. But the fact that he was even suspect came out only in recent years. Fortunately, before he came into line for succession to the throne, he died in battle. Fleeing, I believe. So it all worked out nicely.”

  “Are you saying it would be better to let a murderer go free rather than cast aspersions on the crown?”

  “That is a moral dilemma I am glad we did not have to face. Now, last night I stated that Grodoveth had an interest in the history of Ghars, and possibly Fastred in particular. But because, as you found out, he had been investigating those legends before the bogus ghost started to appear, what assumption was it logical to make?”

  “That he had something to do with the ghost.”

  “Of course. Now there are such things as coincidences, but when one is looking for co
nnections, one takes what one can get. So it seemed likely at the time that Grodoveth was in some way responsible for the hauntings. He had the brains and the whereto-fore that Dovo did not. The most likely result of the hauntings, and one that anyone might expect, would be to keep people away from the swamp. Therefore, the next question is?”

  “Why would Grodoveth want people kept away from the swamp?”

  Benelaius nodded, and rain dripped from his hood onto his lap. He brushed away the water patiently. “As the broken lantern and its disappearance would suggest, Dovo was signaling to someone on the other side of the swamp. And what is there?”

  “Sembia.” I wondered if I was going to get a grade on all this.

  “And when one thinks of illegal doings in Sembia, one naturally thinks of the Iron Throne. So there at least was a premise from which to start. Dovo was sending messages to Iron Throne agents. But what kind of messages? Wish you were here? Bring rain?’ Hardly likely.”

  “And the ghost appeared,” I said, “when Grodoveth was staying in Ghars.”

  “That’s right. And the trade information that he possessed would be invaluable to the Iron Throne.”

  I tried to work it out with words, but it was difficult. “So Grodoveth told Tobald, and Tobald told Dovo, and Dovo told the Iron Throne agents with lantern signals. But that’s pretty much what you said last night.”

  “Yes, but you’ve just added a middle man. Tobald.”

  “But … but he was in on it, wasn’t he? I mean, you proved that last night.”

  “Yes, he was. But you see, Tobald didn’t have to tell Dovo. Can you see why?”

  Then I had it. “Because Grodoveth told Dovo.” I pulled back on Jenkus’s reins and stared at Benelaius, who also reined in. “You mean … they were in it together?”

  “Of course they were,” my master said. “Can we continue, please? This is a day for answers, not for standing still and chatting in the rain.” And we rode on.