“Saw it was actually what?”
Covington looked down at his friend, unable to tell him right away that he wasn’t the only person in Lallor who knew Pryce wasn’t Blade. “Gheevy, would you mind doing me the smallest favor?”
“It’s magnificent,” Teddington Fullmer enthused, sitting on the wine barrel in the grotto that had, most recently, cradled the bottom of the “great” Darlington Blade. “It is truly a collection to be proud of.”
“Thank you,” the halfling murmured, raising the fascinatingly colored and amazingly twisted bottle of Mhair liquor, lovingly collected, at great personal risk, from the sap of the rare weeping fredrod trees along the monster- filled outskirts of the Mhair jungles. He refilled Fullmer’s cup and sat down heavily on his own barrel.
“And so quickly put together as well!” Fullmer commented, before taking another careful, appreciative sip.
Gheevy considered standing in order to correct the liquids trader, but thought better of it. Below him were the finest of Cormyrian spirits, which aged better with body heat liberally applied to one side, and one side only, for as long as possible during its lifetime ripening process. “Whatever do you mean?” he finally said with a certain challenge in his voice.
“Butbutbut Azzoparde told me,” the trader replied with a tinge of bluster, pompously using Schreders’s full first name, “that he only recently decided to make this grotto the finest and most comprehensive in all the city.”
If Gheevy hadn’t been matching the man chalice for chalice, he might have seen this ploy for what it was: a blatant lead-in to a sales pitch. “I’m sure you’re mistaken,” the halfling huffed. “What I’m sure tavern master Schreders said was that he, himself, might have only recently accepted the fact that my grotto was the finest and most complete in the city… not to mention the nation.”
“Of course, of course,” Fullmer quickly agreed. “I’m sure that was what he meant”
From his hiding place deep in the shadows behind a wall-sized cask, Pryce gripped his forehead and winced. Come on, Gheevy, he thought. I asked you to question the man, not drink with him. Remember what you both have in common, besides the love of a refreshing beverage!
“But enough talk of wine!” Wotfirr said, seemingly reading Covington’s mind, and perhaps realizing that if he kept drinking he wouldn’t be in a position to see, let alone speak. ‘We’re here to enjoy it, not talk about it. Besides, you’re on holiday, are you not? About time we stop discussing shop, what?”
Fullmer looked into his cup, a small smile playing about his lips. “Oh, I love talking about my work at any time.”
“But surely you haven’t come to Lallor on the eve of the Fall Festival to sell your wares, have you? It’s not time to market; it’s time for pleasure. Am I right?”
“Certainly, certainly,” Fullmer blustered, his goatee quivering.
“So, have you taken in the sights of our fair city? Have you appreciated our impressive monuments and curiosities of nature… both inside and outside the walls?”
Pryce put his head slowly into his hands with a silent groan. Wow, he thought dryly, what a conversational gambit that was!
“Why, yes,” Fullmer said evenly. “I love this place. Why else would I have purchased a home close by?”
“Close by?” Wotfirr echoed. “Not in the city proper?”
“I assure you, Mr. Wotfirr, that I am successful, but I am not that successful! After all,” he continued slyly, “I’m no Darlington Blade.”
Pryce grew very still, then slowly pressed himself even closer to the wall. Meanwhile the halfling tried bravely to carry on.
“Well, no… ha, ha, we certainly all can’t be Barlington DadeI mean, Darlington B-Blade. Heh, heh, certainly not!” With a courage Pryce had to admire grudgingly, the halfling vainly attempted to wrest back control of the conversation. “But, uh, speaking of your cottage, I mean your home, I would love to see your personal collection of liquid refreshment. Is it near any particular landmark I would know about? Your home, I mean?”
Pryce looked to the ceiling in disbelief. But the worst was yet to come.
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” said Fullmer calmly. “I set up housekeeping fairly close to the Mark of the Question. You know the place, don’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, the trader continued. ‘Yes, I hear you know that location quite well. It was one of several reasons I decided to look in that area for a suitable site for my… as you quite correctly described it… cottage.”
“R-Really?” Gheevy stuttered. “Well, isn’t that ironic? Imagine… well, well. More wine?”
“No, thank you,” Fullmer said flatly. “I’ve had quite enough.”
‘Yes? Well, then… I’ll just put these things away.”
As the halfling busied himself with the bottle and glasses, Fullmer continued in a light, conversational tone. “You know, now that you mention it, you really should stop at my abode and inspect my modest collection. I think you would find it illuminating. And,” he added, his voice deepening, “then we could discuss a most interesting thing you mentioned the other night.”
“Me?” Pryce’s ears hurt at the high pitch of Wotfirr’s response. “Whatever could I have said that would have piqued the interest of someone of your broad experience and knowledge?”
Pryce felt like banging his head on the cask but resisted the temptation.
“Oh, you know,” Fullmer began innocently, the tips of his mustache bobbing with amusement. “Something about how someone wasn’t actually someone, but was actually someone else… ”
Gheevy hovered near the wine racks, his back to the trader. “That’s peculiar. I can’t honestly recall anything of that nature.”
“Oh, you must!” Fullmer cried expansively, rising from the barrel and stretching out his arms. ‘Try to remember. The other night. Early evening. I was talking to a tall, thin, cadaverous-looking chap. You were behind the bar with Azzoparde. There was someone else between us… who was that again? You recall, don’t you?”
“Someone… between?… No… Let’s see. I’m thinking… ”
“But certainly you must remember! About six feet tall, slim, pleasant-looking, wearing a very handsome cloak. Very handsome cloak…” “Cloak?” Gheevy choked.
“Now, what did you say to him again?” Fullmer mused mockingly. ‘Two words… two names?… Starts with You’… ends with”
“All right, Teddington,” said Pryce, emerging from behind the cask into the dim light. “That’s enough.”
“Why, look who’s here!” the portly trader said with mock enthusiasm. “As I ferment and age, it’s… it’s…” He snapped his fingers several times. “Gheevy, who did you say this was again?” He looked directly at Pryce. “Or should I ask, who did you say this wasn’t?”
“I said that’s enough,” Pryce repeated before turning to his contrite halfling colleague. “Gheevy, would you mind leaving me and my… ‘friend’… alone for a time?”
“Blade… I’m so sorry.”
“No, Gheevy, you did the best you could. Never apologize for that. We were just up against the kind of man”he said the rest of the sentence with dripping disdain”who would call me ‘pleasant-looking.’”
The halfling’s gaze went from one man to the other; then he started to back away to the ladder that led up to the trapdoor. “I’llI’ll be upstairs,” he said hurriedly before practically running up the rungs. Even so, he lowered the trapdoor very cautiously, making nary a sound.
Fullmer watched him go, smirking, and then turned to Pryce with a superior gaze. “Well, he’s no Gamor Turkal, but”
“Ha, ha,” Covington said without humor. He sat on a small barrel opposite the trader. “So what brings you to Lallor, Teddington? You didn’t come here to critique my performance.”
“Perhaps not,” the little man replied quickly, taking his seat again, “but while I’m here, I simply can’t resist. Darlington Blade! Really, Pryce, don’t you think that this is a bit beyond the extent of even your many talents?” “I didn’t do this on purpose.”
“Didn’t you? You forget, Covington, I know you. I’ve worked with you. And even if I hadn’t, I still would have known your heart’s desire. Everyone from Mount Alue to Achelar knew it. We called it the Pryce Poem. ‘He doesn’t want your friendship, he doesn’t want a wife… all the man of service wants is a cushy job for life.’”
The trader laughed while Covington’s eyebrows rose. “You had a poem about it?” Pryce asked.
“Children played skipping games to it. I’d tell you the other stanzas, but they get a bit insulting… even
