Richard Meyers - Murder in Halruaa

He looked up just in time to catch the full contents of her wine goblet directly in his face.

Pryce Covington was blinking when he heard the loud clink of the goblet on the table, and he opened his eyes to see the angry young woman looking hurriedly around the table, as if she were looking for something to hit him with. When she didn’t spot anything suitable, she jumped to her feet, nearly knocking over her chair. Then she stared at him, furious, with both fists clenched. Finally she spoke.

“You’re Darlington Blade?” she seethed. “You’re Darlington Blade?” Then she turned and stormed out of the tavern.

Pryce didn’t move until he saw some activity out the corner of his eye. A number of diners had risen from their tables, with expressions ranging from shocked to affronted, even vengeful. How dare she hurl chablis in the face of the great Darlington Blade! Several of them started for the door.

His face still dripping wine, Pryce quickly slipped in front of the angry diners and held out both arms to keep them from going after the woman and forcing her to apologize. When they had redirected their attention from the door to him, he licked his lips and chin.

“Amusing little vintage,” he commented. “Azzo! Is it Halagard Prime?”

“Halarahh Golden,” the proprietor immediately corrected him, realizing that Blade was trying to defuse the situation. “Good guess, though.”

“Ah,” said Pryce, licking the remaining wine from his lips. “Free, nonetheless.” He and Schreders laughed, and, Zalathorm bless them, most of the rest of the diners joined in.

The laughter subsided as Pryce spotted Karkober and approached the bar, motioning for the waitress to put his dinner on the bar near the proprietor. He leaned over the plate, his arms folded on the bar edge, to look into the knowing face of Azzo Schreders. “Dearlyn Ambersong,” was all the barman said.

“Ah,” Pryce said, using Azzo’s proffered damp cloth to clean the rest of his face. “Geerling’s…?”

“Daughter.”

“Ah.” Covington said again, sitting down.

“Her mother’s name was Lynn,” Azzo explained solemnly. “Died in childbirth, sad to say. Father named her.” Azzo looked distantly off toward the door. “Spitting image of her mother,” he mused. “Her mother’s temper, too.” He took the crockery and cutlery the waitress had retrieved from Dearlyn’s table and arranged it in front of Pryce.

“You all right, Darling?” Karkober inquired of Pryce solicitously. She leaned over provocatively before Azzo motioned her away with his head. She looked at him with resentment, but she went anyway.

Pryce ruminated at the bartender. “Doesn’t like me, apparently… Dearlyn, I mean.”

Schreders pursed his lips, looking down at the wine goblet to make sure all the liquid had been emptied before he began cleaning it. “No,” he intoned deeply. “I should say not.”

Pryce started to eat. “Doesn’t appreciate my approach?” he ventured.

“Doesn’t appreciate your existence” Azzo corrected him.

Pryce took another bite of his food, choosing his next words carefully. “Can’t blame her, I suppose… ”

“Oh, don’t take it personally,” Schreders said absently, busying himself with some goblets and tankards. “It’s the talk of the town. Full of resentment, that one. She’s told anyone who’d listen that her father should have been teaching her instead of you.” He looked deeply into a goblet, seemingly to spot any stains he may have missed with his washcloth. “No one wants to listen to her anymore.”

Pryce ate his food without comment, but inwardly he felt relief. Another disaster narrowly avoided. That’s what he got for trying to exploit his mistaken identity. His best course of action was to finish his meal, leave the city quickly to “take care of some business that just came up,” and then let the legend of Darlington Blade grow or wither of its own accord.

By the time Covington had finished his meal, he was more convinced than ever that this was the only possible scenario. Now all he had to do was leave the tavern without speaking to another soul. That way, no one else could possibly discover that he wasn’t Darlington Bladethat he was, in fact, actually nothing more than the lowly, insignificant, inconsequential

“Pryce Covington!” he heard from behind him.

Pryce sat bolt upright on the barstool and spun around. Behind Pryce stood Azzo Schreders. Off to one side was Sheyrhen Karkober. And coming directly toward him, his arms spread wide, was tiny, portly, extravagantly dressed Teddington Fullmer.

Teddington Fullmer… Pryce didn’t have to wonder what he was doing in Lallor, nor in Schreders’s bar. Fullmer was a successful trader of Luiren stout and Ulgarthian coffee, for whom Covington had worked when the businessman was investigating the exportation of Nathian ore deposits. He had ultimately decided to stay with liquid assets, but he was about to trade in cooked goose if Pryce didn’t shift his mind into top gear. “Pryce! Pryce!” Fullmer boomed.

“Please, sir,” Azzo interrupted from behind the bar. “I’ll have your check for you immediately. No need to shout.”

Covington launched himself from his seat and caught both Fullmer’s arms in a death grip. ‘Teddington Fullmer,” he said directly into his face. “Call me Darling.”

“What?”

“Darling. Isn’t that what you used to call me? Your Darling boy at any Pryce?” He laughed, a trifle hysterically. He knew even Fullmer might balk if he thought Covington was trying to impersonate a man as great as Darlington Blade. “Please, Teddington, for old time’s sakefor mecall me Darling. Would you do me that favor, dear?”

“Darling? You want me to call you darling?”

“Would you? That would be wonderful.” Pryce quickly leaned over and hissed into Fullmer’s ear. “It’s a bar bet. Go along with it. I’ll cut you in.” He leaned back and looked hopefully into the trader’s face.

“What? Oho! Oh, ho, ho, ho!” Teddington said knowingly, then nodded.

Pryce nodded back, then led the man to the bar. “Azzo Schreders,” he said, “I’d like you to meet Teddington Fullmer, the finest trader of refreshing beverages this side of the Shaar.”

What the barkeep saw was a short, round manstout, befitting his productwith a magnificent mustache and goatee and a prominent widow’s peak. He wore a dark-colored coat over an ornate vest, a ruffled shirt, and copper breeches under shin-high boots of expensive leather.

“Pleased to meet you, Schreders,” the trader said expansively. “Any friend of… Darling’s is a friend of mine.”

Covington considered fainting in relief but decided against it

“Well,” said Schreders with a raised eyebrow. “Good to meet you, too, Teddi. I imagine you’ll be wanting to meet our winemaster, Gheevy Wotfirr. I’ll call him up here, eh?”

The bartender left to fetch the wine manager while Fullmer turned to Pryce. “So what do I get, Pryce?” the trader asked insistently. “What’s this all about?”

“No, no!” Pryce wailed softly. “Darling. Call me Darling. You get nothingI get nothingunless you call me Darling. Do you understand? From here on, I’m not… that other name. To you, I’m Darling!”

“Yes, yes, all right!” Fullmer replied indignantly. “From now on, you’re Darling.” “Cost!”

Covington winced in stunned amazement at the sound of the new voice. No, he thought It can’t be…

It was. Asche Hartov, a tall, thin, almost cadaverous Nath mine owner, with whom both he and Fullmer had had less than straightforward dealings, was coming toward them. And that was not Pryce’s only new problem. In order to maintain the secret of Fullmer’s interest in Hartov’s ore deposits, Pryce Covington had told Hartov that his name was Cost Privington.