learn.”
“About being a detective?” Gheevy asked cautiously. The man’s eyes were just a bit too bright for the halfling’s liking.
“Precisely. Detective. A person who obtains evidence.” He cocked an eye at the halfling, who swallowed some uncomfortable memories of the previous night. “A person who gathers information and investigates crimes. And what is the most important letter in the language to a detective?”
“I assure you I have absolutely no idea,” Wotfirr said with confusion and wonder.
“Y,” Pryce answered happily. “Pronounced Why. According to the great Netheril philosopher Sante, author of these texts, it is the letter, and question, that should lie at the heart of every decisionbut especially on the lips of every future enforcer of that decision. For things may ever change, but the letter, and the question, should remain constant.”
“Goodness,” Gheevy said, taken aback. “You learned all that last night?”
“I should say so. Not only did I learn it, but I was also able to put it into practice and get it corroborated, all in the space of a few hours.” He told Wotfirr of his amazing adventure of the early morning in the Inquisitrix Castle. During his recital, the halfling’s eyes grew larger and his jaw dropped lower.
“Remarkable,” Wotfirr finally burbled. “What an adventure!”
“Nothing compared to the one we are about to embark on, my dear Gheevy,” Pryce assured him. “I made a promise to myself in the castle: to discover the truth, and I will do so, no matter whether it costs me my freedom or my life.”
“But”
“It’s not as if I have a real choice,” Pryce admitted. “I can hardly just sit here and wait for the truth to catch up with me. More likely than not, when it arrives, it will take the form of a killing spell or an assassin’s knife. I don’t want to end up like Gamor or” Pryce glanced in the direction of the bedroom “well, you know, that other guy.”
Gheevy acknowledged Pryce’s desire not to mention the name, then nodded his head at the entrance to the sleeping quarters. “Doesdoes Miss Ambersong know about your decision?”
Pryce shook his head sadly. “No. I tried to tell her when I got back to shore, but she had to go and hug me.”
He said it blithely, but Wotfirr’s reaction was anything but composed. The halfling actually did a double take. “Dearlyn Ambersong? She embraced you?”
“She was concerned for my safety,” Pryce said. “As she would be for anyone attacked by a dragon turtle.”
Gheevy looked around the room in disbelief. “I don’t know which is more amazing,” he finally decided. “Your exploration of the castle or Dearlyn Ambersong’s reaction to your safe return!”
Pryce raised a forefinger in triumph. “You see? I ask you, could anyone but Darlington Blade accomplish these things?”
The halfling couldn’t help but nod. “Very well. I’ll give you that. You are now, and forever will be, the great Darlington Blade.” He moved closer and looked Pryce in the eye. “So, Blade, what now?”
“Now?” he echoed, slowly rising from the pile of books. “Now we get some lunch!”
“But the workshop could be anywhere!” Wotfirr contended as they walked back to Schreders At Your Service, enjoying a picture-perfect autumn midday. Lallor Bay glittered like crests of diamonds, the green leaves in the trees swayed to a silent song, and children laughed while they followed bobbing, glowing clusters of multicolored lights down the street.
The splendidly dressed, excruciatingly polite adults treated Blade, ne Pryce, to the internationally famous “Lallor hello.” That is, they looked everywhere but directly at him, practically outlining his form with their gaze if they happened to turn their heads in his direction. It was a universally accepted courtesy for the incredibly famous.
“Couldn’t you ask Dearlyn if she knows anything about the workshop’s whereabouts?” Gheevy inquired. “You’re friendly enough now, apparently.”
“A small problem there,” Pryce explained. “I’m Darlington Blade, remember? I’m supposed to know.” Then he said something Wotfirr was completely unprepared for. “Besides, it’s not exactly polite to interrogate the daughter of your main suspect to discover his whereabouts.”
Gheevy’s exclamation of ‘What?” was loud enough to draw the attention of several adults and more than a few children.
Pryce smiled at the onlookers magnanimously and said, “You know, this isn’t going to work if you can’t control your interjections.”
“Sorry,” the halfling said, his voice quieter. “But what are you saying?”
“You know the language I’m speaking,” he chided. “I admit that the concept is difficult, but so is the concept of murder in Halruaa. As Priest Sante wrote, ‘Once you accept the concept of the unthinkable, the rest is easy…’” The halfling looked at him doubtfully. “Or something to that effect.”
“But Geerling?” Gheevy queried. “He’s been the most trusted person in Lallor for many years!”
“I know, I know,” Covington sympathized, “and I’ll admit it’s easier for me, since I never knew him, but consider the situation logically. You said it yourself: No one would ever believe Gamor
Turkal could kill Darlington Blade. So who, then? Who was the closest to him, and, more importantly, who had the power to slay such a famous wizard?”
“Well, when you put it like that… but, no, I can’t believe it.”
“I’m sure I couldn’t either if I were in your position, but I have to find out. And that means I have to find Geerling Ambersong’s secret workshop. It’s not in his home. He had the place cleared of spellbooks and magical items in deference to his plans for his daughter. So where could it be?”
“That was my initial question,” Gheevy reminded him. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“I do,” Pryce said, putting his hand on the halfling’s shoulder. They were outside Schreders’s now, and there was a good deal of foot traffic in the area. “You must know that trader in liquids, Teddington Fullmer. Your employer was about to introduce you when you nearly exposed me.”
“Certainly,” Gheevy answered dubiously. “I talked to him earlier today, when he came in for breakfast. He has a vacation cottage somewhere around here.”
“Really?” Pryce said with interest. “Do you happen to know whether he’s planning to come back for lunch?”
“As a matter of fact, he is. He said he would drop by. He wants to see my grotto, but I don’t think I should”
“Perfect!” Pryce interrupted. “I think you should show him your grotto, Gheevy; you absolutely should.”
“Really? Why? He’ll only say it’s understocked and try to sell me something. And since he has a home in the area, he’ll keep pestering me until”
“Don’t you see?” Pryce interjected. “Think back… remember what the jackalwere said.” He suddenly took note of the halfling’s puzzled expression. “Wait a minute,” he continued. “You were unconscious during my talk with the jackalwere, weren’t you?” Gheevy kept looking at him with patient disbelief. “Looked him in the eye, didn’t you, you silly boy? Well, anyway, remember my telling you that he gave me the descriptions of two people who had also been around the Mark of the Question?”
“I had just woken up. I was tired, and you kept talking and talking, and”
“All right, all right. Trust me. He described Berridge Lymwich and someone who was… how did he put it again? Ah, yes: A great captain of industry’ A ‘sailor on the pirate sea.’ With his little chin spike a-quivering, his long lip curls a-shaking and a-shimmying with pomposity’ Sound like anyone you’ve met recently?”
“Fullmer! But why would he be involved? Do you think he wants to become Lallor’s primary mage?”
“Not at all, my dear Wotfirr,” Pryce answered. “But why do you think he chose this moment to visit Lallor? Could it be that he heard a trove of magical items were the prize for the best treasure hunter? I know this man, Gheevy. He’s always looking for the one windfall that could set him up for life.”
“The items in Geerling’s workshop could certainly do that,” Wotfirr acknowledged. “But still… what a coincidence that he should be at the tree and then in the tavern just as you appeared.”
“Not really,” Pryce countered. “Not if he were looking for the workshop. I think as soon as he heard the name Darlington Blade being shouted, he came rushing right over. It wasn’t until then that he saw it was actually…” Covington let that thought trail off.
