Richard Meyers: Murder in Halruaa

Greeter,” the inquisitrix said briskly. “I believe you have more interlopers to test…?”

“But, Mistress Lymwich,” Matthaunin protested, “it isn’t every day that”

“Enough, Greeter,” the inquisitrix said curtly, making it plain that his personal time with Pryce was at an end. “Our illustrious visitor is here now, after much anticipation. We of the Mystran Inquisitorium can take it from here. There is no need to delay him, or yourself, any longer.”

The gatekeeper was visibly disappointed. “Yes, Inquisitrix. I understand.” Dejectedly he turned to go.

“How far can a canine run into a forest?” Pryce asked him in lieu of a good-bye.

“Wha-what?” Matthaunin stuttered, then brightened. “Oh… oh, I see. A riddle! A dog… the woods? Let’s see… Oh, dear, I should know this…. Curses! All right, how far?”

“Halfway,” Pryce informed him with a grin.

“Half…? Oh, of course! For the other half, it’s running out of the forest! Yes, yes, that’s good. I’ll use that… ” And then, shaking his head and smiling, Matthaunin Witterstaet disappeared back out the gate to his parchment, golem, and refugees.

Pryce turned back to the inquisitrix, who was watching him with a strange expression on her face. “What is it?” he asked her directly.

‘You didn’t have to…” she began, then tried again. “Why did you…?” And when that didn’t work either, she settled on a new observation. “You’re nothing like I expected, but somehow everything I expected.”

Pryce thought about chastising her for holding any preconceptions at all, but then he let the saner half of his head prevail. ‘What exactly did you expect?” he asked with a bemused smile.

His informality had the opposite effect of what he had intended. The inquisitrix cleared her throat and stood straight, her shoulders back. “Why, you, naturally, sir. I hope you will forgive me. I’m forgetting my responsibility. Of course we saw you through the Eye of the Inquisitor, and I was sent to make sure you are settled in comfortably. Will you follow me, sir?”

She led him down the road into Lallor proper, and soon Pryce was torn between trying to figure out ways to elicit information from Lymwich about her relationship to Gamor and what, exactly, the late rascal had told everyone about him, and trying not to be overwhelmed by the seemingly endless delights of this small, luxurious city by the sea.

Things were not simply built here, but tastefully designed, from street curbs to seemingly insignificant window displays. Incredibly most of the items offered for sale were hardly ostentatious. Rather, they were artful, even elegant, in their simplicity. Everything was clean, but hardly sterile. Individual character shone from each dwelling or shop they passed. Colorful decorations caught his eye everywhere he looked.

The people they passed were far from effusive, but certainly not unfriendly. In their soft, tastefully flamboyant clothes and cloaks that swept the street, they looked discerningly from him to the inquisitrix, then nodded with something approaching approval. For all the tales he had heard of Lallorian paranoia about strangers, the only evidence he had seen so far was the stringent entrance exam. Perhaps that was all the wealthy, civilized residents needed to maintain control… that and the all-seeing eye at the main gate.

An all-seeing eye that must have seen Gamor Turkal leave the city… and should know that he didn’t come back!

The rest of their walk was mostly a blur to Covington. As much as he wanted to enjoy the glorious architecture and landscaping, it was becoming increasingly important for him to find out what everyone else seemed to know about him. So intent was he on figuring out some way to get this information from the tiny, tightly wound inquisitrix that he didn’t notice how full the vegetation had become around them and how dense the tall, thick-barked trees were in this part of the city. “Here you are, sir.”

Covington looked up. “Excuse me?” They stood in a dark, cool cul-de-sac between the rest of Lallor and the inner wall of castles. They stood on rectangular stones of dark red. The dead-end road was shaped vaguely like a bulb, the walls of which circled Pryce on three sides and were totally covered by clinging, flowering vines. As he inspected the vines, he noticed that they grew wilder the higher they went, creating a partial ceiling of foliage above him.

Lymwich motioned to his left. “Here.” Pryce turned to stare at the huge trunk of an impressive stevlyman tree. The botanical wizard Usherwood Stevlyman had developed this particular species of tree many years ago, along with the much-beloved, multicolored flowering pollandry plant. The tree was cherished for its rich brown color and its elegant shape.

The inquisitrix again motioned Pryce toward the wide trunk of the stevlyman tree. On closer inspection, it appeared to have a gaping man-sized hole in it.

“Yes?” Pryce said slowly.

Berridge released another laugh. “You don’t understand. This is yours, sir. Your dwelling.” “My dwelling? A tree?”

She nodded and Pryce finally looked up. He noticed exquisite little round windows divided into even smaller square window panels, peeking out from the interwoven vines that covered everything. He then took a closer look at the tree trunk. The opening was cunningly concealed among the bumps and bends of the tree trunk itself, and it was so dark inside the opening that its very existence was difficult to detect from even a few feet away.

Pryce poked his head into the opening. Inside a small recessed area was a door, also designed to blend into the tree. Once again Pryce was reminded that everything about this city seemed to be designed like a living work of art.

Covington suddenly remembered his guide waiting outside. “Ha!” he said from inside the tree. “I am fully prepared to find suitable lodgings on my own. There’s no need to put anyone else out”

“Oh, no,” said Lymwich. “We wouldn’t hear of it. Gamor made Geerling’s wishes perfectly clear. You are to stay here.”

Pryce looked back over his shoulder from the entryway.

“Well,” he said with a shrug, “if I must, I must… ”He backed out of the entryway and motioned for the inquisitrix to precede him. “After you.”

Lymwich shook her head. “Oh, no,” she said. “You’re not tricking me so easily. I’d be mad to risk the protective magic of Geerling Ambersong!”

Aha, Pryce thought. One small step forward for Pryce Covington. Now, at least, he had a surname to go with the mysterious Geerling. He also had some sort of protective magic he had to figure out some way to get by. Instinctively he did what he had done before when he faced a thorny problem. “Inquisitrix Lymwich,” he said somberly, “do you know Gamor Turkal?”

“Humph,” she said, “that rake? Please, no more mention of him, if you don’t mind. It was disgusting the way he crowed about you, his friendship with you, and how important your arrival was to Grand Mage Ambersong.”

Pryce was distracted by a pleasant sensation of flattery. “Really? He talked about me?”

“Incessantly. He and you this, you and the Grand Mage that, he and Geerling Ambersong…”

Covington hoped she didn’t see him twitch. Geerling Ambersongcould he have been the other dead man at the tree? Pryce quickly turned around and faced the door again. Given the worsening odds, it was better to get this over with sooner rather than later. At least if Ambersong’s magic scrambled his body, his brains, or both, the suspense would be over, and he would be put out of his growing misery. He closed his eyes and took a final step toward the door.

He perceived a dim light from the other side of his eyelids and heard a click. Somehow the noise was welcoming rather than frightening. He opened his eyes just in time to catch the tail end of a glow coming from someplace below his chin, but before he could react to this turn of events, the door swung slowly inward.