“Certainly,” Gheevy answered dubiously. “I talked to him earlier today, when he came in for breakfast. He has a vacation cottage somewhere around here.”
“Really?” Pryce said with interest. “Do you happen to know whether he’s planning to come back for lunch?”
“As a matter of fact, he is. He said he would drop by. He wants to see my grotto, but I don’t think I should”
“Perfect!” Pryce interrupted. “I think you should show him your grotto, Gheevy; you absolutely should.”
“Really? Why? He’ll only say it’s understocked and try to sell me something. And since he has a home in the area, he’ll keep pestering me until”
“Don’t you see?” Pryce interjected. “Think back… remember what the jackalwere said.” He suddenly took note of the halfling’s puzzled expression. “Wait a minute,” he continued. “You were unconscious during my talk with the jackalwere, weren’t you?” Gheevy kept looking at him with patient disbelief. “Looked him in the eye, didn’t you, you silly boy? Well, anyway, remember my telling you that he gave me the descriptions of two people who had also been around the Mark of the Question?”
“I had just woken up. I was tired, and you kept talking and talking, and”
“All right, all right. Trust me. He described Berridge Lymwich and someone who was… how did he put it again? Ah, yes: A great captain of industry’ A ‘sailor on the pirate sea.’ With his little chin spike a-quivering, his long lip curls a-shaking and a-shimmying with pomposity’ Sound like anyone you’ve met recently?”
“Fullmer! But why would he be involved? Do you think he wants to become Lallor’s primary mage?”
“Not at all, my dear Wotfirr,” Pryce answered. “But why do you think he chose this moment to visit Lallor? Could it be that he heard a trove of magical items were the prize for the best treasure hunter? I know this man, Gheevy. He’s always looking for the one windfall that could set him up for life.”
“The items in Geerling’s workshop could certainly do that,” Wotfirr acknowledged. “But still… what a coincidence that he should be at the tree and then in the tavern just as you appeared.”
“Not really,” Pryce countered. “Not if he were looking for the workshop. I think as soon as he heard the name Darlington Blade being shouted, he came rushing right over. It wasn’t until then that he saw it was actually…” Covington let that thought trail off.
“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… ”