Murder in Cormyr (23 page)

His face brightened a bit then, and he looked up at me and smiled. “And speaking of the swamp, I think the best way for you to understand what truly happened is to go there with me. You shall be the student, and I the teacher, just as we are during your tutoring sessions. I shall ask you questions, and you shall ask me questions, and thusly, by asking and answering, you shall derive your knowledge, yes?”

“If that’s the only way to get to the bottom of all this, yes, of course.”

“Excellent. Then briskly make us a light lunch to fortify us against the rigors of the swamp, and your questions will be answered and your puzzles solved.”

I felt as though it was the slowest lunch ever made by the hands of man. The fire took forever to bring the water to a boil, the meats took an eternity to fry, the soup eons to bubble. But at last the meal was served, and slowly and appreciatively eaten by my master. For myself, I could scarcely get down a mouthful, so huge was the lump of expectation in my throat.

After he finished eating, Benelaius pushed himself back from the table, stifled a small belch, and stood. “You seem somewhat anxious to have your questions answered, Jasper. Therefore, why not clean up the dishes when we return? I am sure the cats will do an excellent job of erasing most of the remaining bits and sauces so that your later cleanup should be minimal.”

I couldn’t have thought of a better idea myself. He told me to get two lanterns, and then, to my surprise, told me to saddle Jenkus and Stubbins rather than hitch them to the carriage. “Are you sure, sir?” I said.

“Do you think me incapable of riding a horse?” Benelaius said, somewhat piqued. “I was, after all, a War Wizard, lest you forget, and Stubbins is a gentle creature, when one knows how to approach him.”

He wasn’t gentle when I saddled him. He twisted and kicked in his stall so that I was afraid he would break several of my bones before I could cinch him. But Benelaius showed up, clad in an oilskin rain cloak with a hood, and spoke softly to Stubbins so that I was able to finish my work and lead him outside.

Benelaius didn’t hesitate. He swung himself into the saddle, and Stubbins stood beneath him as placidly as a windless pond. “Well?” Benelaius said. “Are you too stunned by the sight of a real equestrian to get mounted yourself?”

We headed west on the swamp road in the drizzling rain. For all his girth, Benelaius sat his horse well. I began asking questions immediately.

“How on earth did you ever wind up at Fastred’s tomb?” was the first one.

“Through following the lead of Grodoveth. As you know, he was our primary suspect from the beginning. First of all, he was left-handed—”

“Which Tobald wasn’t,” I said.

‘That’s correct. But since Tobald was unschooled in the arts of war, he might very well have swung an axe forehand rather than backhand. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s Grodoveth we’re concerned with now. He had the means and the opportunity but not a motive, as far as I could see. And frankly, I wasn’t quite sure that I wanted to find it, if it existed.”

“Why not?”

“Answer the question for yourself, pupil.”

I thought for a moment. “Possibly his position? I mean, he

was a relative of the king himself.”

“Precisely. By marriage, true, but still on the fringe of the royal family. To convict him, or even to question him, would have taken overwhelming evidence. And even then it would put the royal family in such a bad light that it might not be worth the effort.

“You may recall a case well over a hundred years ago in Waterdeep, Jasper, in which a relative of the queen was suspected of killing several wenches in a thoroughly unpleasant manner. But the fact that he was even suspect came out only in recent years. Fortunately, before he came into line for succession to the throne, he died in battle. Fleeing, I believe. So it all worked out nicely.”

“Are you saying it would be better to let a murderer go free rather than cast aspersions on the crown?”

“That is a moral dilemma I am glad we did not have to face. Now, last night I stated that Grodoveth had an interest in the history of Ghars, and possibly Fastred in particular. But because, as you found out, he had been investigating those legends before the bogus ghost started to appear, what assumption was it logical to make?”

“That he had something to do with the ghost.”

“Of course. Now there are such things as coincidences, but when one is looking for connections, one takes what one can get. So it seemed likely at the time that Grodoveth was in some way responsible for the hauntings. He had the brains and the wheretofore that Dovo did not. The most likely result of the hauntings, and one that anyone might expect, would be to keep people away from the swamp. Therefore, the next question is?”

“Why would Grodoveth want people kept away from the swamp?”

Benelaius nodded, and rain dripped from his hood onto

his lap. He brushed away the water patiently. “As the broken lantern and its disappearance would suggest, Dovo was signaling to someone on the other side of the swamp. And what is there?”

“Sembia.” I wondered if I was going to get a grade on all this.

“And when one thinks of illegal doings in Sembia, one naturally thinks of the Iron Throne. So there at least was a premise from which to start. Dovo was sending messages to Iron Throne agents. But what kind of messages? Wish you were here? Bring rain?’ Hardly likely.”

“And the ghost appeared,” I said, “when Grodoveth was staying in Ghars.”

“That’s right. And the trade information that he possessed would be invaluable to the Iron Throne.”

I tried to work it out with words, but it was difficult. “So Grodoveth told Tobald, and Tobald told Dovo, and Dovo told the Iron Throne agents with lantern signals. But that’s pretty much what you said last night.”

“Yes, but you’ve just added a middle man. Tobald.”

“But… but he was in on it, wasn’t he? I mean, you proved that last night.”

“Yes, he was. But you see, Tobald didn’t have to tell Dovo. Can you see why?”

Then I had it. “Because Grodoveth told Dovo.” I pulled back on Jenkus’s reins and stared at Benelaius, who also reined in. ‘You mean… they were in it together?”

“Of course they were,” my master said. “Can we continue, please? This is a day for answers, not for standing still and chatting in the rain.” And we rode on.

“There was a bond between the two,” Benelaius said, “far deeper than that of master and student. They were both familiar with disgrace. You already know about Grodoveth’s displeasing the king with his lechery in Suzail, but did it never occur to you that Tobald’s leaving the university when he did was mildly suspicious?

“Most university masters remain there for their whole lives, writing when they tire of teaching. But Tobald left in what one would imagine to be the prime of his academic life, at an age when others would not only be highly acclaimed professors but would also have established themselves as scholars in their fields, beginning to create bodies of literary work. Yet Tobald left Suzail and came to little Ghars, where he immediately became a large fish in a tiny pond.

no disgrace, only dishonor. In their own eyes, they had not done wrong; the wrongs had been done to them by those more powerful than they. In Tobald’s case, the university, and in Grodoveth’s, King Azoun himself. And so?” Benelaius said, suggesting that I continue.

“And so they brooded,” I said, trying to imagine what went on in these two men’s minds. “They grew angry, and eventually they wanted revenge.”

“Mmm. Revenge on the universities, on their king, on their country itself. Enough of a motive for the overthrow of Cormyr, by military… or economic means.”

“So when someone from the Iron Throne approached Grodoveth,” I ventured, “he was ripe for the picking. He had probably found a sympathetic ear in Tobald from the start, and shared the plot with him.” I looked sharply at Benelaius. “What do you think the Iron Throne promised them in exchange for their betrayal of their country?”

My master shrugged. “Riches, undoubtedly. The Iron Throne and Sembia would realize great wealth as a result of Cormyr’s economic woes. Perhaps Grodoveth and Tobald even looked forward to the possibility of an eventual Sembian invasion of Cormyr, depending on how much damage was done to the kingdom. Then—a puppet throne for Grodoveth, and Tobald’s revenge on those in the university system who he felt had wronged him. We’ll never know what they had in mind, but we can be grateful it did not come to fruition.”

By now, we were passing the Swamp Rat, and Benelaius nodded toward it. “Feel a need to take the damp out of your bones?”

“Not in there,” I said, thinking of the weak ale and the pickled eggs. Then I happened to remember something. “But Grodoveth did, though, didn’t he?”

“Did he?” the wizard asked slyly.

“Of course. When he spent the night there, he knew exactly what room to go to without asking, because he had done so before. The Swamp Rat was their base of operations, wasn’t it?”

Benelaius only smiled, and returned my question with another. “If it was, do you think Hesketh Pratt, the good proprietor, was apprised of the plot?”

“No. It nearly ruined his business. An axe-swinging ghost is hardly a drawing card.” We traveled another hundred yards as I thought through the scenario. “Grodoveth or Tobald would give Dovo the information, either in town or at the Swamp Rat, and then Dovo would ride out to where the path led into the swamp, hide his horse, scare away any passersby who might have seen him, and then go off with his lantern into the swamp.” I looked at Benelaius, suddenly puzzled. “But why then did I find his cloak and hat at the Bold Bard?”

“Why do you think? Would he have left them there?” “No,” I replied after a moment’s thought. “But Grodoveth or Tobald might have.” “And why?”

‘To throw suspicion on Shortshanks perhaps, or at any rate to draw it away from the Swamp Rat. But why the whole plot in the first place, master? Why couldn’t Grodoveth just pass the information on himself?”

“A king’s envoy is an important person, and important people are under far greater scrutiny all the time than are mere blacksmith’s assistants. Grodoveth could disappear long enough to speak to Dovo, or perhaps the lad came to Tobald’s house after dark and received his information there. But it was necessary to have a third party. Too, if Dovo was caught, he could easily have said he was playing

ghost for fun. Whatever Grodoveth and Tobald were paying him would have been worth the mild punishment he would receive. Now come.”

Benelaius turned Stubbins off the road and down the hill toward the spot where I had found Dovo’s corpse. “We are here. We’ll tie the horses and then walk in to the tomb.”

“Can you… I mean, do you think you should, master?”

He answered petulantly. “I did before, didn’t I? In the darkness of early dawn and followed by a traitor. I suppose I can do so now in broad daylight followed by”—his tone abruptly softened—”a friend and helper.”

“How did you find this place?” I asked as we started back into the swamp.

“The same way Grodoveth did. In his studies into the legend of Fastred, undertaken at first in order to provide a cover for his messenger, he learned more and more of the tales of Fastred’s tomb, and the treasure that was supposed to be there. By comparing dozens of cross-references, and by a few leaps of intellect, he was able to pinpoint not only the location of the tomb, but also how to open it.

“When I learned from you what books he had consulted, I simply did the same reading in my own library and came to the same conclusion. I solved the riddle early in the morning of the day Grodoveth was found dead, and rode Stubbins out here, tying him where he wouldn’t be seen.”

I remembered hearing the cottage door close that morning. “That was you then, returning about seven thirty. And out here is where Stubbins got the mud on him.”

Benelaius nodded. “I’m afraid I’m not very adept at rubbing down horses. At any rate, as soon as it was barely light enough to see where my feet would land, I started in on the path that was visible to one who knew where to look.

“But very shortly I began to hear footfalls behind me. At

first I thought it was a creature of the swamp, and that I might have to resort to a protective spell, which would have been an admission of defeat after going all these months without using magic. Fortunately, I didn’t have to. But I’d better tell you why a bit later. As you can see, there is a thornslinger just ahead.”

I didn’t need to be reminded. I remembered the terrible violence of the tree all too well. We passed it in near silence, the only sound the soft sucking of our boots on the muddy surface of the path. When we were a good distance away, Benelaius resumed his tale.

‘When I heard someone following me, I walked faster, naturally. In fact, I was running, not a frequent occurrence, I may tell you. Before long, I came upon the mere… ah, there it is just ahead of us. At least a half mile across, wouldn’t you say? I have a theory that we should test when we have more time. Across that mere is another path, else the Iron Throne agent never should have gotten there. I suspect it leads through the swamp to the southeast, all the way to Sembia. But we shan’t journey to that country today.”

He turned left on the path that ringed the mere, and I followed him toward Fastred’s tomb.

“The path led directly to the mound,” he said, “and I hid behind it, hoping against hope that my pursuer just happened to be going to the same place as I. Miraculously, such was the case. It was Grodoveth, as I saw from the brush where I was concealed. I had no choice but to lie down, and I’m afraid I got my cloak rather muddy.”

“So that was it,” I said, remembering the last laundry I had washed. “It didn’t get muddy from just rubbing against Lindavar’s clothes.”

“No, and my apologies for making you work so hard at your washing. Grodoveth grinned when he saw the mound,