“That’s too bad,” Pryce Covington said somberly. “Because I think I do.” He turned away again to see his reflection in the windows of the captain’s cabin. “What if our murderer can’t do either of those things?”
The halfling could only stare at the man who would be Darlington Blade, unable to comprehend.
‘What do you mean?” he asked.
Pryce went on without looking at him. “Give me a moment alone, would you, my friend?” he asked quietly.
Gheevy took a final worried look at the man he had almost exposed, then subsequently risked his life to protect. “Of course,” he said, then left the cabin, carefully and quietly closing the door behind him.
“It’s time to depart!” Berridge Lymwich bellowed from the bow. “Crew members, clear the deck and cast off the lines! Move those people back away from the ship!” The crew rushed to insure that the onlookers were clear of the lines, aided by the inquisitrixes, militiamen, and patrols lining the narrow plateau beneath the Verity.
News of a Mystran temple skyship’s departure, its hold filled with the magical treasures of Geerling Ambersong, apparently traveled fast, and it appeared as if all the citizens of Lallor had turned out to see them off. Every street and yard along the sloping incline from the city wall to Lallor Bay was filled with people, halflings, elves, and half-elves, waving, setting off harmless magic fireworks, shooting magical streamers, and in general giving the Great Mystra Skyship Verity a magnificent send-off.
Berridge Lymwich turned from the railing to see that no passengers were considering anything as rude as getting skysick or as foolish as trying to disembark. After checking for several moments, she seemed satisfied that all of Blade’s suspects were present and accounted for.
Gheevy Wotfirr gave Berridge Lymwich a meaningful look as he passed. The halfling then slipped between the burly Azzo Schreders and the shapely Sheyrhen Karkober at the port bow. The inquisitrix looked down the deck to see that the stooped, jowly Matthaunin Witterstaet stood near Dearlyn Ambersong, both of whom were watched over by the gaunt Asche Hartov, who lived up to his name by appearing positively ashen.
Even though they all acted reluctant to participate in this journey, they wouldn’t have missed the liftoff for, well, all the electrum in Zoundar, Lymwich thought.
At that moment, the Verity started to float skyward.
Renwick Scottpeter handled the carved cylinders like a musical instrument, allowing the levitation fields to be activated at just the right calibration. The liftoff of the big ship never failed to thrill her as it launched into the sea of the sky. She had labored long and vigorously to become a skyship captain, then trained the most capable, prepared, and resolute crew in the realm.
On the bow of the great ship was a beautiful figurehead, shaped by Minsha Tyrpanninq, Talathgard’s finest sculptor. It was an interpretation of Mystra in flight, created entirely of electrum. The goddess’s serene, smiling face looked up at the clouds, and her gown-swathed figure seemed to draw the ship irrevocably up toward the heavens. The Verity lifted forty yards from the ground, then slowly started a drifting turn to the northwest.
Lymwich turned her face into the wind and closed her eyes. She tried to feel the powerful magic emanations that would draw the ship unerringly toward Mount Talath, but a voice broke her concentration.
“Tend to your passengers,” she heard a melodic voice say. Lymwich opened her eyes to see the disapproving gaze of Mystra Superior Wendchrix Turzihubbard, her direct superior and the principal authority at the Lallor Mystran Inquisitrix Castle. “Do not concern yourself with the flight,” the tall, commanding woman in the regal robes said. ‘That is what I, and the others guarding the cargo below, are here for.”
Her words reminded Lymwich once again that she was not only on this boat in a security capacity but also as a prime suspect
“Mark two-five-zero-zero!” the bowman cried, his call being echoed until it reached the captain. “Mark-two- five-zero-zero!” she responded, moving the carved cylinder slightly so the climb was less steep. The heavy ship seemed to move along the calm air currents like a soap bubble, rising in small, smooth fits and starts.
“Mark three-zero-zero-zero!” cried the bowman.
“Mark three-zero-zero-zero!” cried the aftwoman.
“Lock on three-zero-zero-zero!” Scottpeter called. She expertly moved the cylinders until the ship leveled off. Dearlyn watched the captain enviously, thinking that her passion for her work rivaled that of the finest musician. Renwick played the levitation fields of the ship as if she were a conductor directing a symphony.
Dearlyn drank in the view of the skies above and the ground below. If she raised her head and ignored the handsome, shining deck, she could almost believe that she herself was flying. Then she felt a chill from the northwest and quickly hugged her cloak around her.
Dearlyn stepped down the ladderlike steps to the main deck, where she saw Azzo Schreders with his arm around a shivering Sheyrhen Karkober, while Matthaunin and Asche bundled up their own coats around their throats. Suddenly the three masts grew dark red, and the need to fight the chill was eliminated. Heat magically emanated from the pillars, extending to encompass the entire deck space.
“Navigator!” Scottpeter called from her post.
“Aye, Captain,” the female elf answered through an open window behind Renwick.
“Course verified?”
“Course verified, ma’am. Two hundred and fifty miles northwest on an exact line of fifty-four degrees.”
“Excellent. Inquisitrix Lymwich?” Scottpeter called.
“Here, Captain!” Berridge shouted back, resisting an urge to sneak a look at her superior’s reaction.
“We have reached our cruising altitude. The Verity is at your disposal. Please be kind enough to prepare your passengers.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Berridge turned toward the others. “All right, everyone gather around the center mast. The great Darlington Blade requests your attention.”
The passengers made their way, some more reluctantly than others, to the area around the central pillar, around whose base was carved a visual history of the ship. Sheyrhen, in particular, marveled at depictions of flying dragons, great storms, and hordes of sky pirates. She turned only when she heard the cabin door behind them slam open. She turned to see what everyone else was already staring at.
Pryce Covington stood at the guidance rod of the ship, dressed in incredibly splendid robes of red and black. Shining from his breast was the Ambersong clasp that marked him as the great Darlington Blade. Completing the picture was the huge, leatherbound book he held in one arm. He stood before them, looking toward their destination as the clouds fittingly darkened overhead.
He opened his mouth and spoke.
“Excuse me for a second, would you?” He ran to close the heavy cabin door. “I wasn’t prepared for the wind up here,” he apologized to Scottpeter.
The captain laughed quietly. “The wind has a tendency to be rather strong at these heights,” she informed him.
Pryce walked quickly back to the banister overlooking the main deck. He placed the spine of the book on the polished railing. ” ‘When you eliminate the impossible,” he called to them, “whatever is left… no matter how improbable… has to be the truth.’” Pryce looked up. “This was the teaching that my master lived by.” For effect, he let the book fall to the deck with a bang that seemed to echo beyond the gathering clouds.
“But my master is dead,” he told them. ‘You have known for half a day what I knew even before I set foot in Lallor.” They stood and stared at him, waiting for the next revelation. ‘You had never seen me before,” Pryce continued, leaving the book near the captain and beginning to descend the ladderlike steps to the main deck, “and you never would have seen me at all had my teacher not been murdered. The reasonthe only reasonthat I came to Lallor was to find the killer.”
He looked from one face to the next, registering their expressions of stupefaction, regret, concern, and recrimination. He took his first step among them. “Does this news surprise you?” he asked, putting his arms out wide. ‘You all know my reputation: I’m an adventurer. What do I need of an exclusive land of leisure?”
‘Youyou knew all along?” Lymwich sputtered.
He turned to look directly at her. “I found his body by a tree when I arrived from the north,” he said evenly, refusing to even hazard a glance in Gheevy’s direction. “Next to the corpse of Gamor Turkal… hanged by the neck from the curve of the Mark of the Question.”
That elicited an audible gasp from the thicket of suspects. Pryce set the scene for them, letting Geerling become the second corpse. It was the only way to feel his way through this murderous maze without revealing his
