Murder in Cormyr (18 page)

Well, there it was then, all neatly wrapped up. I was sure that Benelaius would be happy to hear that Sunfirth, the five-foot two-inch, hundred-and-ten-pound barmaid, had beheaded both Dovo and Grodoveth with a single blow because Dovo, in his fight with Rolf, had made a mess for her to clean up, and

because Grodoveth might have spilled something or left no gratuity for her services. On such a strong case, I had no doubt the Purple Dragons would execute her immediately and so end the threat to the kingdom. In a pig’s ear.

I decided that I would no longer trust my dreams, no matter how brilliant they might seem to a half-awake dullard like myself.

When I went downstairs to prepare breakfast, I got quite a surprise. There in the main room were Benelaius and Kendra, chatting and laughing like old friends. She was sitting up in the chaise, which she was sharing with a dozen contented cats, and my master was sitting next to her. They were both holding cups of tea, and so enthralled were they in their conversation that I had to clear my throat twice before they looked up.

“Ah, Jasper, good morning to you,” said Benelaius. “I have to thank you for bringing such a delightful guest to our door last night. Kendra here has been to more places and seen more fascinating things than many a far older adventurer. She has added greatly to my store of information concerning the different species in areas of Faenin to which I have never fared.” Beaming, he turned back to the woman. “My dear, you make me wish to see those things firsthand.”

“Why not?” said Kendra. “You’re never too old for a new journey. And new experiences.”

“Ah, but I may be too set in my ways to travel far. I have put down roots like an old mushroom here.”

“But mushrooms have notoriously shallow roots,” she said, and the coquettishness in her manner amazed me. Was this the woman who had been threatening men with disem-bowelment for looking twice at her? Maybe, I thought, she saw in Benelaius a nonthreatening father figure and thus

felt free to flirt with him. But Benelaius? Flirting?

“You tempt me,” he said, “but I fear I may strike out for no new horizons until the current crisis in Ghars is resolved. And to that end, Jasper,” he said, turning to me, “I must send you into town again, as soon as you prepare a delicious and hearty breakfast to strengthen our temporary invalid here.”

I needed no further cue. In the kitchen I put together a hot and healthy repast, and by the time I had it on the table, Lindavar had joined the parry as well. Bags hung beneath his eyes, and I suspected that he and Benelaius had talked far into the night.

His appetite was good, however, and I never saw a woman eat as heartily as Kendra. Benelaius actually assisted her to the table, and although she favored her unwounded leg, my master assured her that only a small scar would be evidence of her battle with the hydra.

When the meal was finished, Benelaius handed me a long, thin leather courier’s pouch and a small satchel. “Ride into Ghars,” he said, “and deliver the letters in this pouch. The one addressed to Mayor Tobald and Captain Flim is the directive from Vangerdahast we received last night. Make sure they both read it, and leave it in Captain Flim’s hands, since he is the one who will have to carry out the order… should the killer be taken. As far as making it general knowledge, tell them I advise against it, though I would be interested in seeing Barthelm Meadowbrock’s reaction. Perhaps you can inform him privately.

“There is another envelope for Captain Flim alone, and there is also one for you, along with this satchel.”

“Me?”

‘Yes. Open and read the letter when you are ready to return here. At that time you will understand the need for

what is in the satchel. Oh, and I almost forgot…” He reached into his robe and, smiling wryly, took out a bottle of small white pills. “Mayor Tobald’s gout medication. Please give this to him in private. I don’t want anyone to tell Doctor Braum that I’m treating his patient. Braum’s a good man, though only a fair doctor, and I don’t wish to offend him.”

Benelaius and Lindavar came out to bid me farewell, while Kendra returned to the comfort of her chaise and the cats, who had taken quite a liking to her. As I turned Jenkus and prepared to ride away, Benelaius held up a chubby hand. “One thing yet, Jasper. I suggest you drink ale today.” And he placed into my hand several coins to make such a request possible.

I thought I had misheard him and asked to him to repeat what he had said.

“Ale today, Jasper. If you are thirsty, drink only ale. Don’t ask why. Just humor an old man.”

Though it was one of my master’s more eccentric requests, I nodded acceptance and rode toward Ghars, wondering if the great man’s mental faculties had been temporarily dulled by a Mirtul-Eleint infatuation with Kendra, or by a constant and deep concentration on the solution to the murders.

But in retrospect, I thought his command an easy and even fun one to obey. Rare is the master who tells his man, “Go and drink ale, my boy!” So I decided to consider myself lucky, and rode happily toward Ghars.

I heard the humming in the town while I was still a quarter mile south. If yesterday’s flurry of preparation had been busy, then today’s was a cyclone of activity. Although supposedly everything had been long prepared, there were apparently half a hundred unexpected occurrences that had to be taken care of.

I found Captain Flim on his horse in the town square. Behind him were a dozen Purple Dragons watching the scene, ready, no doubt, to lay waste to any Zhentarim spy bold enough to announce his intentions. In truth, they were there to preserve order, although such a task at that time was well nigh impossible.

I told Captain Flim that Benelaius had had a communication from Suzail that both he and Tobald should be aware of. He nodded brusquely and led the way to the Sheaf of Wheat, where Tobald and Barthelm were overseeing the final arrangements for the arrival of the guild leaders. The captain and I dismounted, and he beckoned Tobald over.

When Flim beckoned, even the mayor reacted quickly, albeit with a hasty limp. His gout, I could see, had worsened.

We miraculously found a quiet room in the inn, and I closed the door behind us as we entered. Then I read Vangerdahast’s directive to them, and showed them the missive itself.

“Excellent!” Tobald said. “As much as I dislike violence, only such an extreme act can restore honor to our town. Captain Flim, are you ready to follow these orders?”

Flim’s expression didn’t change a jot. “I am. What comes from Vangerdahast is as good as from the king himself. A Purple Dragon follows his king’s orders, and I’ve not a man in the garrison who wouldn’t cut down his own mother if Benelaius would say she was the murderer.”

“Oh, my,” Tobald said, shaking his head. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“I doubt it,” I said lightly. “I don’t think any of the Dragons’ mothers are under suspicion. By the by, Captain, Benelaius wanted you to take possession of that letter, and this is also for you from my master.” I handed him the letter, and he looked at his name on it.

“Shall I read it now?” he asked, as though it made no difference to him, now or later.

I shrugged, and he broke the seal and read. His face underwent no change. ‘Tell Benelaius I’ll do as he asks,” Captain Flim said, and walked out the door, leaving me alone with Tobald.

“Lord Mayor,” I said, “before you return to your preparations, I have something for you from my master as well,” and I handed him the bottle of pills.

He beamed in relief. ‘Thank the gods,” he said, and opened the top and swallowed one down without water, making a face as he did so. “And thank your master,” he

said. “I’ve been so anxious for these.”

Then he was off again into the fray. I think I worked less hard as a slop boy.

Finding myself alone in the small meeting room at the Sheaf of Wheat, I decided to indulge myself by merely sitting and luxuriating in sloth at the place where I used to work so diligently and for such low pay. Sitting in one of the comfy chairs near the dead fireplace, I took out Benelaius’s letter and opened it.

It was brief, and instructed me to remain in Ghars and place myself at the service of Captain Flim, who would be leading a party to Benelaius’s cottage late that evening. I should return home then. It told me to also attend the welcoming fete to be held at the Sheaf of Wheat that evening, and that Captain Flim would see to it that I was admitted. Inside the satchel were my best dress clothes. The letter ended with the words, “Watch everyone.”

Quite a trick, I thought, what with the hundreds milling in the streets and the dozens who were to come that day. But I would do my best. Before putting myself at Captain Flim’s service, however, I had one more thing to do.

I found Barthelm Meadowbrock at a long table outside the Sheaf of Wheat. He was going through large sacks of woven silver mesh that were to be given to each attendee. They were filled with examples of the wares of Ghars, both food and crafts, and Barthelm peered into each one as though he were expecting a serpent to slither out of it.

He looked up when I hailed him, and frowned at me. “What d’you want?” he barked, turning his attention to another bag.

“Just to bring you relief, good sir,” quoth I. “I know how anxious you are that the killer of Dovo and Grodoveth be found and punished.” He frowned even more deeply at the

mention of the two names. “So you will be pleased to know that an order has come from Suzail commanding that the killer, once discovered, is to be immediately executed by the Purple Dragons.”

He stopped looking through bags for a moment, stared off into the distance thoughtfully, then turned with a jerk to me. “Well, that ought to discourage this kind of thing from happening again. Bloody inconvenient, these murders, what with the guild council coming and all…” He continued to mutter as he turned his attention back to the sacks.

I wondered if that was the reaction Benelaius had expected. Did my master suspect Barthelm of being the killer? If so, then the merchant should have grasped his neck at the news and muttered, “Urk,” or something of the sort. But then, murderers would be more skilled at hiding their feelings. At least successful murderers would. That was what made it so hard to catch them, wasn’t it?

I decided to follow Benelaius’s orders and presented myself to Captain Flim for his further service, but he just shook his head. “There’s nothing I’ll need you for until after the fete tonight. I’ll see to it that you can get in. In the meantime, you’re on your own. Do what you like.”

So I did. I hung around the square, watching others work, which was quite a novelty. At noon, I went into the Bold Bard and had a bowl of soup and an ale, since Benelaius had told me to drink it exclusively, and then I went out and watched the busy bees some more.

The council of the Merchants’ Guild began to arrive by midafternoon, and that was fun to watch. Nearly all were rotund (wealth meant good eating, I saw), and all were accompanied by retinues of servants and hangers-on. The merchants of Ghars fell all over themselves in their desire to properly greet the nabobs, and I swear that I saw old

Menchuk, the dry-goods seller, shovel up piles of horse droppings left by one leader’s entourage so that the smell would not offend the next leader to arrive. I had to laugh, for he moved so quickly that one would have thought he was shoveling up diamonds.

Some of the councilmen were sent to the Sheaf of Wheat, and others to the Silver Scythe, but first, all were presented by Mayella Meadowbrock with the ceremonial food and drink of welcome, which consisted of a piece of fresh elven bread arrived that morning from the Isle of Evermeet, and a silver goblet of fresh water. After their brief repast, Mayella gave each of them their silver sack of goodies while Barthelm spoke words of welcome.

From the libidinous looks that some of the leaders gave the girl, I felt sure they would have rather been presented with the beauteous Mayella herself. But none of them made any overt propositions in that regard, so the protective Barthelm was able to keep his temper under control.

By late afternoon, the last of the councilmen and his party had arrived. They had all retired to their rooms at either the Sheaf of Wheat or the Silver Scythe for a washup and a change of clothes, and I did likewise, putting on the garments that Benelaius had packed for me.

At seven o’clock, everyone gathered in the great room of the Sheaf of Wheat. Since the Silver Scythe would host the meeting the next day, the Sheaf of Wheat would play host to the grand reception.

Silver medallions that had been given to the guests upon their arrival were their entry into the reception. Captain Flim had gotten one for me through Mayor Tobald. Beneath the medallion was suspended a piece of parchment with one’s name and home city on it, along with one’s position, such as Council President or Council Member. Mine stated

Council Special Guest, and I hoped I would be allowed to keep the medallion later, since the silver in it weighed as much as five falcons.

Lukas Spoondrift himself was guarding the door, graciously admitting only those with the proper credential pinned to their chests. When my ex-boss saw me, he half-smiled, half-sneered, and I could see that he was anxious to give this supposed gate crasher the boot. “And where do you think you’re going, slop boy?” he said in a rather inhospitable tone.

“Not slop boy,” I corrected him as I tapped my medallion meaningfully. “Special guest of the Cormyrean Merchant’s Guild council. And one who expects gracious hospitality. I hope, Spoondrift, for your sake, that everything surpasses the Sheaf of Wheat’s usual fare. I intend to savor every dish tonight, looking for your old tricks of putting mutton in the lamb stew, and adding horsemeat to the beef dishes. I was not totally blind during my tenure with you, you know. And any such corner cutting for the sake of economy will be reported to the council, of whom I am a”—I glanced down meaningfully at my title—”special guest.”

His face worked for a long time, but he finally succeeded in hiding his hatred of me and smiled the most appalling, insincere grimace I have ever seen. But at least it was an attempt at sincerity, and there was nothing of the demeaning sneer in it, so I knew I had him by the scruff. “I beg your pardon… sir,” he said, every word coming out like a pulled tooth. “Welcome to this… humble inn, and if I may be of any assistance, you have but to ask.”