Richard Meyers: Murder in Halruaa

‘You have a firm grasp of the obvious,” Pryce said dryly. When the halfling looked affronted, Covington quickly continued. “Sorry. Just blowing off some pent-up tension. My real name isn’t as relevant, however, as the question how do you know?”

“What do you mean?” asked the halfling, taken aback.

Pryce took a moment to study the fellow carefully. He was wearing a dark, soft, comfortable-looking shirt that cinched loosely at his neck and wrists. Matching loose pants of some similar soft fiber cinched more tightly at his ankles. Over the shirt was a long vest with three pockets on each side, the top left one displaying the stitched legend Gheevy Wotfirr and under that. Af Your Service.

“Well, Gheevy,” Pryce said affably, “everyone else in this townincluding its official gatekeeper, a top-ranked inquisitrix, the owner of its most popular gathering place, and the daughter of the man’s own teacher! have never laid eyes on this Blade person, but apparently you have.”

“Well, everybody knows me,” the halfling said.

“Did Darlington Blade drink with you in the privacy of this grotto? Because no one upstairs seems to have seen him.”

“No,” the halfling began hastily. “You see, I deliver wine all over the area. That’s how everyone knows me. And II used to make some deliveries to a predetermined place outside the wall for Geerling Ambersong and”

“Don’t say it,” Pryce implored. “Let me guess… the person I’m not”

Wotfirr nodded.

“So,” Pryce continued wearily, “did you all sing songs around the campfire?”

“Now, now,” chided Gheevy Wotfirr. “There’s no need for sarcasm, my good man. Geerling Ambersong wanted Darlington

Blade’s identity to be kept a strict secret until he personally presented him to the Lallor citizenry at the Fall Festival. My seeing him was a complete accident. I only caught a glimpse of him through some trees.” The halfling shook his head sadly. “And ever since that moment, I’ve wished I hadn’t.”

“Me, too,” said Pryce dryly. “Why the Fall Festival? What’s the big secret?”

“Oh,” Wotfirr said with renewed spirit. “Mage Ambersong had a sincere desire to improve the lot of the people of Halruaa. But he was getting older, and he wanted his successor to be ready… and undistracted by the entreaties of many in Lallor who would seek favor with a new primary mage.”

“Hmmm,” Covington considered. “And with his identity a secret, he could travel without attracting undue attention… as long as he removed this blasted cloak, of course!”

“Mage Ambersong showed the cloak to the people at last year’s Fall Festival,” Wotfirr explained. ” ‘By this cloak you will know him,’ he said.”

“Just my luck,” Pryce said miserably. “I assure you, Gheevy, that I came into possession of this cloak completely by accident and was totally innocent of any malice aforethought. If I had known what it meant and what it represented, I never would have touched it, but it was windy and wet and cold, and, well…” Covington let his words trail off into silence.

“If it’s any help,” the grotto manager said quietly, “I believe you. But who are you?”

Pryce glanced at the earnest halfling. ‘Trust me, the name would be meaningless to you… just a bunch of syllables you would be better off not knowing. Or, to put it more truthfully, would be better off if you didn’t know. For the shortest time it takes to figure out a way out of this, please just call me anything but Darlington Blade.”p›

“Very well… friend… I understand. But what are you going to do now?”

“Well,” Pryce said briskly, standing up and brushing off his trousers, “The way I see it, there’s nothing to do but cut my losses, try to prevent any more trouble, and go back where I came from, never to be seen in these parts again.”

“Butbut you can’t!” Gheevy blurted suddenly.

Pryce looked at the halfling askew. “Why not? I grant you, the eye at the gate might be a problem, but”

“No, you can’t just leave now!”

“Oh, but I can, my dear Gheevy,” Covington said patiently. “That is, if you’ll be kind enough not to say anything.”

“No,” the halfling said, agitated. “It’s not me. It’s you. It’s Darlington Blade!”

“I told you not to call me that!”

“No, you don’t understand! They’d hunt you down to the ends ofToril!” “Who would?”

“The wizards. The mages. The inquisitrixes. Berridge Lymwich!”

“Why?” Pryce asked in anguish. “All I did was borrow a cloak! I’ll put it back!”

“It’s too late! All those people you mentioned. They saw you. They called you… by that name. You didn’t disagree. Don’t you understand? Impersonating a mage is punishable by deathl”

The wine grotto was silent for what seemed like minutes.

A variety of emotions shot through Pryce Covington’s brain, but none showed on his expressionless face. Gheevy Wotfirr looked up at him in concern but said no more.

Finally the silence was broken by Pryce’s quiet, considerate, careful words.

“Oh, dear.”

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, my.”

“What are you going to do?” “Oh, no.”

Gheevy felt impelled to dispel the paralyzing mood that was filling the grotto. He gathered his courage and addressed the stunned man the only way he could. “Blade?”

“Yes?” said Pryce immediately, snapping out of his shock.

“What are you going to do?”

“Carry on,” Covington snapped. “With style.” He acted as if absolutely nothing was wrong. “All right, my dear Wotfirr, do you have any idea what Geerling Ambersong had in mind for Darlington BlI mean, for me?”

Wotfirr tried to speak but found he wasn’t up to the challenge. He shook his head vigorously.

“Do you have any idea where this Geerling Ambersong is?”

Gheevy shook his head again, then suddenly stopped and looked hopeful. “But I can show you where I delivered the ale and grog,” he offered. “He might be close by.”

Covington wasn’t impressed. “Let me guess,” he said aridly. “The Mark of the Question?”

Gheevy’s mouth dropped open. “That’s incredible!” he burbled. “How did you know that?”

“Rudimentary, my dear Gheevy,” Covington said airily, waving away the question with mock refinement. Then he abruptly leaned toward the halfling. “Where do you think I found this cloak?” he asked, then murmured, “Among other things…”

“I beg your pardon?”

Instead of answering, Pryce fell miserably to his knees. Unable to remain oblivious any longer, he let despair wash over him, driving him to his elbows, his face in his hands. For a time, the only sounds in the grotto were Covington’s groans. Finally, cupping the side of his head, he looked over at the halfling. “I wonder… can I trust you?”

The halfling straightened to his full height, his chin rising.

“Never trust a person by his words,” he intoned. “Only by his actions. You will note that I have not, and will not, turn you in. I will not have your death on my conscience for what I believe was an entirely innocent act.” He nodded with certainty. “I believe your remorse and confusion to be genuine.” Then he smiled kindly, with a small twinkle in his eye. “As is my pity for you, poor man.”

Pryce rose to his knees. ‘Thank you. I try. Now, would you mind doing me a small favor?”

“What have you gotten me into?” Gheevy Wotfirr complained into the night upon seeing the two corpses.

“Nothing!” Pryce insisted, motioning for the halfling to keep his voice down. “I just need your advice.”

“Well, then, my advice is not to have involved me in the first place!” the halfling retorted. “Oh dear, oh, dear. This is just awful!”