'Could be,' McKern replied, and turned to face Volo. 'You seem to be a bit familiar. Perhaps we have met before?'
'Perhaps,' Volo replied carefully, adding, 'after all I do get around.'
McKern gave a hearty laugh at the witty rejoinder, and then turned his attention to Rassendyll. 'I was just filling Honor in on the latest goings on in Mulmaster. Evidently a prisoner has escaped, two vagabonds are being sought, and there is rumor that there is unrest in the High Blade's marital chambers.'
Honor quickly joined in.
'McKern here is one of Mulmaster's older Cloaks,'
Fullstaff explained, surreptitiously adding yet another blade to his juggling assortment. 'We've known each other for years, and, in fact, both served under the previous High Blade.'
'Selfaril's father,' Chesslyn interrupted to annotate for Volo.
'Now there was a High Blade,' McKern reminisced. 'He wasn't the type to go off and marry some bald-headed sorceress from the east, of that I am certain.'
'Indeed,' Fullstaff concurred. 'I miss the old devil.'
The gracious and jovial host interrupted his juggling for a moment to quaff an entire goblet of the dessert wine that McKern had been slowly savoring. When the cup was empty, he removed two sabers from their stanchions and began to twirl them in close quarters.
'And you sir,' Honor said to the seated Rassendyll as he resumed the show of his expertise, 'by your tone, you are either quite congested or your head is bound in blankets. Which is it?'
'The latter, your honor,' Rassendyll replied, 'or at least something like that. It is the custom of my people.'
Midway through Rassendyll's second sentence, a shocking thing occurred. There was the clang of steel on stone. Honor Fullstaff had dropped one of the blades, and was bracing the other, hilt in hand as if he was ready to deal some sort of mortal blow.
'What are you doing here?' Honor demanded of the masked and disguised escapee, the tip of his blade poised bare inches from his blanket-swathed head.
The others were speechless.
'I will not repeat the question,' Honor said drawing back the blade as if readying a slash.
'Honor,' the shocked Chesslyn asked, 'what is it?'
'Yes, old boy,' McKern added, standing up and hastening to his old friend's side. 'What is the matter?'
Honor remained braced, and ready to strike. 'I thought I was the only one blind here,' the swordmaster declared. 'Are you all deaf as well?'
'Again, I ask you,' McKern repeated, concerned more for the agitation of his old friend than for the danger that loomed over the head of the turbaned guest, 'what is the matter?'
Honor Fullstaff laughed out loud. This time however the tone was no longer jovial, and was, in fact, quite sinister.
'Why don't you tell them, Selfaril?' Honor said to the masked man.
'What?' the shocked escapee asked, as the onlookers stood by, puzzled at their host's actions and allegations.
'Surely I am not the only one here to recognize the High Blade through his tawdry disguise,' Honor said firmly. 'The custom of my people indeed. I'd recognize your voice anywhere. Prepare to die for the murder of your father.'
To the shock of the others, Honor drew back the saber once more, and launched into a killing blow.
10
'Permission to speak frankly, your highness,' Rickman requested.
'What is it now?' the High Blade demanded.
'My men apprehended a felon by the name of James just before nightfall,' the captain of the Hawks explained. 'In addition to having claimed to have seen the travel writer named Geddarm when he left the city, he also claimed to have spotted two men who resembled drowned rats walking away from Mulmaster along the Moonsea shoreline. The description of one of them matches that of the itinerant thespian by the name of Passepout.'
'Go on.'
'At first we suspected that the other drowned rat was Geddarm, but James firmly denied this, saying that it was not the same person he had earlier encountered.'
'Did he talk to the two, as you call them, drowned rats?'
'No, sire,' Rickman explained. 'He was hiding in wait for easier prey. He didn't like the odds of two against one.'
'Indeed,' Selfaril commented. 'Maybe he was mistaken the first time. Perhaps the fellow that he previously encountered was not Geddarm. Maybe he was mistaken then.'
'I don't believe so, sire,' Rickman replied, reaching into his tunic and withdrawing a throwing dagger. 'He claimed to have taken this off the first fellow.'
The captain of the Hawks handed the dagger to the High Blade who drew it closer to examine it. Clearly etched into the hilt of the bladed weapon was the monogram VG.
'Two questions,' Selfaril petitioned.
'Yes, sire.'
'Where do you suppose this Geddarm fellow was heading after he left the city, and where do you suppose he is now?'
The captain was prepared with an answer.
'The felon pinpointed his encounter with the alleged Geddarm as taking place on a remote road that I am not unfamiliar with.'
'Oh?' the High Blade said, an eyebrow raised in evidence of peaked interest.
'It's the road to the Retreat,' Rickman explained, 'and as much as I was able to extract through our various means of persuasion, it was roughly within a few hours of when Wattrous and Jembahb were supposed to be there. I fear that this Geddarm fellow is the reason for their inability to find the bloodstained wand that would have implicated our friends from the east.'
'The fools,' Selfaril hissed. 'The bleeding incompetents.'
'Before he died, Jembahb mentioned that he thought the Retreat was haunted. Something about strange noises and such. Obviously this Geddarm fellow was in hiding and managed to trick the two half-wits. I fear that we have underestimated this clever travel writer.'
'Do you believe him to be a Harper agent?'
'Perhaps, sire,' Rickman answered. 'Cyric knows they would love to have an agent in your city.'
'You have already mentioned that Jembahb is no longer a risk, due to his incompetence. What about Wattrous?'
'An assassin has been dispatched,' Rickman replied. 'A reliable one, one of my best. Stiles should have Wattrous… removed by the end of the week. Our spies have already tracked him to Hillsfar where he is seeking an appointment. The only one he will receive is with our discreet executioner.'
'Good,' Selfaril said with a tone of demanding finality. The High Blade stroked his neatly-trimmed goatee in deep thought, then continued his inquisition.
'Were you able to get anything else out of James the felon?' he demanded.
'No sire,' Rickman apologized. 'I'm afraid that he lacked the constitution to survive our thorough cross- examination. Ironically, his body was disposed of at the same time as the late Jembahb.'
'So we still don't know who the third conspirator is?'
'No, sire,' Rickman replied. 'I concur that Geddarm and Passepout are obviously in league with each other. The third fellow's identity is still a mystery.'
