Murder in Cormyr (22 page)

“Wait!” Benelaius said. “Not without a light. There are sinkholes and quicksand everywhere.” Lindavar passed down the light to Flim, but as I looked out at the swamp, I could see that Tobald was already nearly lost in the darkness.

It didn’t stop Captain Flim, though, who moved as quickly

as he could through the muck, his men behind him. If he could keep Tobald in sight, I had no doubt that the soldiers would apprehend him.

But then the light of the lantern started to fade, not from any gust of wind, but as though someone were slowly turning off the oil supply. Flim paused to examine it but jerked his head up again when Rolf shouted, “Look!”

Something was beginning to glow out in the Vast Swamp, at the spot where I had last seen the vanishing form of Tobald, and I could see that it was the figure of a man. Even from a hundred yards away, he looked like a giant.

In the cold blue light that radiated from his entire frame, I saw a mane of long hair falling about his shoulders, a gleaming shirt of mail over a broad, muscular torso, and legs as thick as tree trunks. The features of his face seemed magnified by the eerie light that streamed from him. His cheeks were gaunt, his mouth looked as though it had never smiled, and his eyes… let me just say that they had seen things I pray mine never have to look upon.

The sight of him was bad enough, and the huge war axe he held effortlessly in his right hand made him not a whit less frightening. “Fastred’s ghost,” Benelaius said, and although I heard no fear in his voice, I could tell he was as surprised as the rest of us at the appearance of the apparition.

The sight had frozen the Purple Dragons in their tracks, and I could see their forms against the constantly brightening light the ghost exuded. I could also see Tobald.

He was standing only a few feet away from the ghost. My fear at seeing the ghost at a distance was so great that I could only imagine Tobald’s terror at such proximity to the creature. He was brightly illuminated by the blue light of the ghost itself, and I saw him throw up his hands as if to

ward it off. He stood there, face-to-face with it for a long time. Then it took a step toward him.

Tobald backed away, his head still up, transfixed by the apparition’s baleful glare. His arms were up as well, as though he were being accosted by a highwayman. But Fastred’s ghost was far more terrible than any mortal brigand.

The ghost advanced, and Tobald continued to back away, until I saw his left foot sink into the black ooze. His fear had usurped his strength. He could not pull his foot out, could only step back with his right foot as well, so that now he was completely mired in the clinging muck.

Slowly he sank down but did not take his eyes away from the unhurriedly pursuing wraith. He never looked down once, but kept his gaze fixed on the ghost of Fastred that now stood directly over him, its axe by its side, watching the man sink lower and lower into the mire.

Soon only Tobald’s head and hands were visible, the fingers moving feebly as they were sucked under one at a time. Then there was just his face, and finally that vanished too, like a tiny moon eclipsed fully, sliding ever so slowly into the dark sky.

The ghost looked down at the mire into which Tobald, his lungs filled with swamp mud, had gone forever. Then the phosphorescence that had surrounded the ghost began to fade, while the light of the lantern Captain Flim was holding was reborn and began to grow brighter, as though the light from the ghost were flowing into the living man’s lantern. Within seconds, Fastred’s ghost had vanished, leaving the vista of the Vast Swamp empty and black once again. We saw nothing but mire and dead trees, and heard only the voices of the night.

At last the silence was broken by the still, soft voice of

Benelaius. “I think,” he said, “that the orders from Suzail have been carried out.” And none of us could disagree with him.

Needless to say, after Tobald sank to the bottom of the Vast Swamp and Fastred’s ghost returned to wherever it is ghosts return to after they’ve finished with their supernatural vengeance, things calmed down quite a bit.

Captain Flim and his Purple Dragons came back onto the piazza, and Lindavar and I brought new coals and relit the braziers so that we had light once again. Once the ghostly chill was gone, everyone was congratulating Lindavar and Benelaius, and even me. Mayella Meadowbrock told me that she thought I had done “a simply wonderful job,” but from the way that Rolf was looking at me, I merely thanked her without extending the conversation.

Barthelm was the happiest of the lot, and I thought he was going to fall to his knees and kiss the hem of the two wizards’ robes in gratitude for saving the lives of the Grand Council. “Rest assured that I shall see to it that everyone in Cormyr knows of your genius, young man,” he told Lindavar, and I suspected that any negative impressions his fellow War

Wizards might have had of their new colleague would disappear as quickly as… well, as a ghost, when news of his deductive triumph reached them. His reputation would be enhanced a hundredfold, especially since Benelaius kept implying that all the deductions were Lindavar’s.

In truth, I thought it all too possible, especially when I considered the piece that didn’t fit.

I was dying to ask Benelaius about it. After everyone but Lindavar and Kendra had left for Ghars, I approached him in his study. “Master,” I said, “there is still one thing that I would like to ask you about.”

He held up a hand and shook his head. “Our guests leave tomorrow morning,” he said, “and it is quite late. There will be plenty of time on the morrow to tie up… loose ends, Jasper. Now, get you to bed for a well-deserved rest.”

The finality of his last sentence allowed for no objection, and I wearily went upstairs. Yet despite my tiredness, it took a long time for me to fall asleep. The terror of the ghost was still fresh in my mind, but what really kept me awake was my certainty that Lindavar’s deductions were not totally correct. Oh, yes, Tobald was the traitor all right. His placing what he thought was poison in the public cistern was proof of that, along with his outburst at Benelaius once he had been found out.

But what haunted me more than any ghost was the thought of the pills that I had delivered to Tobald that very morning.

*****

The next day dawned without its usual dryness and sunlight. Dark clouds had gathered on the horizon over the swamp, and a brisk wind sent them scudding northwest,

toward us and, hopefully, the farms beyond.

I was the first awake in the cottage, and when I went downstairs I saw Kendra sleeping on the chaise, beneath a coverlet of cats. She looked quite comfortable, and I heard her snoring softly.

In the kitchen, I pushed the window open and let the strong wind blow in. It brought a fine mist of water with it. Good. It had begun to drizzle. With luck, rain would follow. I breathed in the damp air, trying to get myself awake and alert for the day. Both Lindavar and Kendra were leaving, and I wanted to send them off with a good breakfast. Then, once they were on the road, I could at last talk to Benelaius.

By the time the others were up and dressed, I had a sumptuous repast ready for them, and they feasted triumphantly. I, on the other hand, only picked at my food, my mind far away from the needs of my stomach.

“Jasper,” Benelaius said heartily, “here you’ve made us this fine breakfast and you hardly touch it yourself. Come, come. Eat up, or the cats will have the better share.”

“Very well, master.” I made myself smile and nod, and managed to get down a few bites of griddle cakes and sausage, but I could not get my questions out of my mind.

Lindavar was the first to leave at midmorning, by which time a gentle rain was falling. Benelaius and his former pupil bade each other an affectionate farewell, Lindavar climbed into the carriage, and we were off, with my master and Kendra waving good-bye.

As I turned my head and saw Benelaius and Kendra standing there, looking perfectly natural together under the umbrella he was holding, I realized that I didn’t know if Benelaius had ever been married, or had a woman in his life. There was much I did not know about him, and a few things that I must either learn about or go mad.

Lindavar and I spoke seldom on our journey. What little he did say had to do with thanking me for all my legwork. “Were it not for you, Jasper,” he said, “I fear that Ghars might be a town of the dead today.”

That was excessive praise, and I told him so, but I did not mention what was bothering me. That was for Benelaius’s ears only.

The rain kept everyone in Ghars indoors, except for the few who were overjoyed at the sheer novelty of it. The council was deep in its meeting, and I saw none of the honored, and nearly murdered, visitors. I wondered if Barthelm would apprise them of how closely their lives had hung in the balance, but then decided that he would not. Telling your guests that they had narrowly missed suffering a slow and painful death is not the best way to impress them with the hospitality of your town.

I waited with Lindavar in the soft rain until the coach for Suzail arrived, and we said a friendly good-bye. “Look after Benelaius, Jasper,” he said, taking my hand. “He’s a great man, good and wise, but he needs someone like you. And thank you for your hospitality as well as his. It was… an interesting stay.”

He grinned, climbed into the coach, and gave me a wave as it rolled away toward Suzail and the College of War Wizards.

I drove the carriage back to the cottage as quickly as the horses could go, and when I put Jenkus and Stubbins in the stable, I noticed that Kendra’s horse was gone. Inside, I found Benelaius alone, seated before the fireplace on the chaise in which Kendra had slept, and absentmindedly stroking the cats that had settled on his lap. He scarcely seemed to notice me when I came in.

“Has the lady left, then?” I asked him.

“Left?” His voice was faraway, and when he looked up at me, so were his eyes. “Oh, yes, she has.” He touched his cheek, as if remembering something soft and foreign that had rested there. “She had to ride on. Heading for Anauroch, I believe. Something about a lost city filled with jewels.” He gave a bittersweet smile. “I’ve had a full life, Jasper, but sometimes I realize that there are things that I have missed.”

He inhaled sharply, as if clearing his head. When he looked at me again, his gaze was now on me and nowhere else, and he smiled and spoke crisply. “Did you get Lindavar offtoSuzail?”

“Yes, the coach left promptly. He’s on his way back.”

“Good, good, and with a much greater reputation than he had previously. This little affair should make some of the more hidebound wizards in the college look at him as more of an equal. And what’s more, he did it with his wits. Not a bit of magic.”

“And did you do it with your wits, too, master?”

He cocked his head as if I’d just made a jest he didn’t understand. “I beg your pardon.”

“Something’s wrong and you know it,” I said. “You knew last night when I mentioned a piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit. What about the—”

“The pills,” he said, smiling benignly, “of course.” My mouth fell open for an instant, and I shut it again. “I knew that you were certain to realize that piece didn’t fit. I trusted, however, that you would remain silent and let us play it out, and you did.”

‘Tobald was out of pills the morning Grodoveth was murdered,” I said, trying to put it into words. “But he had his pills yesterday morning. I took them to him myself. So why was he limping last night?”

“Because of Razor,” he said, tickling the temperamental cat under the chin so that it purred in delight. “Razor bit him as he entered, you see. Hard. Right on the ankle. Enough to make anyone limp. I knew Tobald wouldn’t say anything about the bite, because of what you had told me about his attempt to impress Mayella Meadowbrock with his supposed camaraderie with animals. He would have lost face with her were he to let anyone know that he alone of all who traipsed through my house was the only one unlikable enough to be bitten.” He shook his head. “Odd, isn’t it? As far as he knew, he had already poisoned her, and yet he couldn’t bear to have her think him a man so base that animals hated him. Ah, vanity.”

“You planned for Razor to bite him?”

“Jasper, my communication with my pets is, shall we say, intense. We need no words, my dears and I.”

“But why did you want Tobald to limp?”

“So that everyone would think he dropped his gout pills in the cave and stepped on them.”

“But I hadn’t delivered the pills to him yet. He didn’t have them to lose in the cave.”

“Of course not, Jasper. But I did.”

“What!”

“Yes, I followed Grodoveth to the cave, you see—I’m not completely sedentary, no matter what you might think—and there I found him dead. No one else was in the cave. Except Fastred, of course.”

My head was swimming. ‘What are you… mean… Tobald didn’t kill Grodoveth?”

Benelaius shook his head.

‘Then, for the gods’ sake, who did?”

“The same person who killed Dovo.” I tried to keep track of the conversation, but it seemed to be skittering all over the place like a salamander in a skillet. I’m afraid my confusion showed on my face.

“Evidence can be manipulated in certain ways, Jasper,” Benelaius said patiently. “It’s almost like magic, but not real magic. It’s more like prestidigitation, using misdirection to show you only what I want to show you and nothing else. You think a ball or a scarf has vanished into thin air, but it hasn’t. It only looks that way. Your Camber Fosrick—or any good detective—can make a situation look exactly like he wants it to.”

This so-called explanation wasn’t helping a bit, and I told him so. “Are you saying,” I asked him, “that you framed an innocent man?”

“Bite your tongue,” he answered in mock dismay. “I framed no one who was not already a traitor and an attempted murderer… mass murderer, for want of a better term.” Benelaius’s face grew grim. ‘Tobald’s poison would have slain hundreds of people. The vultures would have feasted in the streets of Ghars for weeks to come. Men, women, even children and babes in arms, all would have died in agony. No, Tobald deserved far worse than the fate that he met in the swamp.”