Richard Meyers - Murder in Halruaa

“That’s enough, Inquisitrix Lymwich!” Mystra Superior Turzihubbard snapped. The imperious leader had slid silently behind the smaller woman. “If the great Darlington Blade felt that precautions had to be taken that precluded our authority, then that’s good enough for me.” But she gave Pryce a piercing parting glance and added pointedly, “For now.”

Pryce grinned sheepishly. Even so, he was grateful for the reprieve, as short-term as it might be. “We were talking about means, Inquisitrix Lymwich,” he chided. “And the fact that I could find no cause for my master’s death.”

“Very well,” Berridge huffed, straightening her already straight uniform. “Go on.”

‘Thank you.” Pryce turned his attention back to the others. “Any one of us could have killed Gamor Turkal, but why? Why kill anyone? To gain more land? To get more power? These are common motives for killing, but there’s a difference between killing in battle and murder. There’s killing in Halruaa every day. Ores kill ogres, ogres kill giants, giants kill people, people kill each othersadly, it’s happening all the time.

“But such is the nature of good versus evil,” he stressed. “Killing occurs when good people must defend themselves against evil people for the good of the many. Murder happens when the battle between good and evil is lost inside one individual.”

He held up his forefinger, then slowly let it curl back into his fist. “The great priest Sante wrote that when a good person is doomed, he closes his door and murders himself. But when an evil person is doomed, he opens his door and murders someone else. That, I’m afraid, is what happened here. Someone had come to the end of his morality. But why? What is the most obvious motive for these murders?” He pointed with both hands to the deck. “We’re standing over it. Geerling Ambersong’s life’s work. Enough magic items and spellbooks to make everyone on board this ship wealthy beyond his grandest dreams.”

He pointed at Berridge Lymwich. ‘To you, it was an end to your ambitious means.” He pointed at Dearlyn Ambersong. ‘To you, it was a birthright.” He pointed at Matthaunin Witterstaet, Labor’s jack-of-all-trades and primary gatekeeper. ‘To you, it was a way to become the one thing you could never become while Geerling lived.” He used two fingers to point at Azzo Schreders and Sheyrhen Karkober. ‘To the two of you, it meant that whatever you wanted, you could have.” Finally he pointed at Asche Hartov, mine owner. “And to you, it meant the biggest business deal you could ever hope to make.”

The suspects looked from Pryce to each other. They began to mutter, even apologize, when Pryce continued briskly. “So much for motive,” he said dismissively. “Now we really separate the insidious from the innocent. Opportunity knocks. And who among you had the opportunity to murder anyone, let alone my master and his assistant?” He considered the nervous group.

“Matthaunin Witterstaet?” he wondered, then shook his head. “It’s hard to believe anyone spending twelve hours beneath a watchful eye while studying the means, motive, and opportunities of hundreds of immigrants would have the lime or inclination to confront a mage and kill him.

“Sheyrhen Karkober? Is it possible that someone who appears so guileless and acts so silly is capable of plotting the coldblooded murder of a mage in the middle of a city of mages?” He nodded curtly. “Possible.” She gasped. “But not likely,” he concluded. She relaxed, but not for long.

“Besides,” Pryce continued, “she was too busy hiding her affair with Gamor Turkal from the man who has secretly been her devoted paramour for years.”

“Sheyrhen!” the restaurant owner shouted like a wounded bull. “How could you”

Pryce cut off any further exchange between the two. “Forgive her, Azzoparde,” he told him, stepping between the burly barkeep and the shamed serving wench. “I’m sure Gamor pressured her unmercifully and made many tempting promises of wealth and fame he had no intention of keeping. I’m also sure that it was only one night, and she regretted it so deeply and was so intent on keeping you from being hurt that she allowed herself to become a murder suspect before she would admit the unfortunate truth.”

Pryce moved his head so Azzo could see Karkober nodding anxiously, then quickly straightened to lock eyes with the restaurant proprietor. “But you yourself aren’t out of the woods yet, Azzoparde Schreders. Although I know that the hours needed to run a successful tavern are long, you have your own secret, don’t you?” He stared at the bearded, burly man until Azzo’s gaze wavered. Only then did Pryce shake his head. “You knew, didn’t you? Just as Sheyrhen was keeping the secret of her one-night stand, you were keeping your knowledge of it from her, weren’t you?” The burly tavern owner said nothing. Instead, he looked sheepishly down at the deck. Karkober ran into his arms.

Pryce stepped back, a small smile crossing his face. “No, although you might have the urge to kill Gamor Turkal for what he did,” he told the burly man embracing the beautiful waitress, “I don’t think you had the time or inclination to murder a mage.”

“Howhow did you know?” Azzo wondered.

“You forget,” Pryce said with a grin. “I knew Gamor Turkal, too… probably better than all of you put together! And then… I saw the way you looked at Sheyrhen when you thought she had called me ‘darling’ in the bar last night. The rest was easy.” He sniffed modestly.

He turned quickly from the visibly relieved barkeep to the defiant inquisitrix. “Berridge Lymwich,” he mused aloud. “She certainly has cunning and desire that know few reins… ”He stared hard at the cold-eyed woman who faced him with her chin thrust forward.

He continued, his tone softening. “But she also has an entire castle of sisters who spend all day and night trying valiantly to teach her… that ambition without wisdom is meaningless.”

Lymwich held her defiant pose for a moment more. Then the words made it past her mental defenses, and she blinked. Her stare wavered and she turned quickly to look at her inquisitrix leader.

WendchrixTurzihubbard smiled benevolently and slowly nodded.

As Berridge Lymwich looked down at the deck, her fists clenching and unclenching, Pryce stepped carefully around her and faced the mine owner. “And now we come to Asche Hartov, visitor to our fair shore… ”

“All right, all right!” the gaunt man exploded, surprising everyone, including Covington. “You want to know why I came to Lallor? I’ll tell you why. Did I have the opportunity to meet with Geerling Ambersong and Gamor Turkal? Yes, I did, but I didn’t kill them! I tell you, I didn’t!”

“Wait a minute,” Pryce cried, trying to mentally catch up with the mine owner’s words. “If you didn’t kill them, what did you do, Asche?”

Hartov stared at Pryce, his lips trembling. ‘You know, Blade,” he whispered, almost blubbering. “Don’t you?”

“I only think,” Pryce stressed. “You know.”

“Yes,” Hartov cried, hiding his face in his hands. “I plotted with themFullmer and Turkal and 1.1 admit it!”

Pryce hastily looked at Lymwich and Turzihubbard, holding his arm out to keep them back. “To do what, Asche?” he demanded. “Speak now, or they’ll disintegrate you. You plotted with them to do what?”

The mine owner’s head shot up, tears blinking out of his eyes, remembering where he was… and what powerful people were in attendance. “Not to kill anyone! To steal magic artifacts! We only planned to plunder the secret workshop, I swear!”

“Only to plunder the workshop” Lymwich cried, but a quick look from Pryce shut her up.