Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [42]
“Join me.” Beccaroon nodded to the chair at his corner table. “I’m the magistrate in my region. We should be able to think of something to talk about.”
Hopdin laughed as he pulled out the chair and took a seat. Three hours later, the two were fast friends.
“Tell me about these disappearances,” said Bec.
“Ah yes. That is a sinister puzzle. Odd really. Those who disappear are those who have the responsibility of keeping order in one way or another.”
Beccaroon clicked his beak. “If we could figure out who’s behind these actions and what’s achieved by this ploy, we’d be closer to putting our finger on the culprit.”
“Or culprits.”
“Indeed. Aren’t these officials replaced as soon as it is determined they are more or less permanently absent from their posts?”
Hopdin nodded and sipped his ale before he spoke. “Word came from the palace this week that any foreign traveler is to be kept under surveillance and his movements cataloged and reported to Ragar. Obviously, the king thinks the influx of strangers has something to do with it. And the rumors of war brewing with Baardack make me think the disappearances are serving to disrupt our organization if a war actually breaks out.”
“I concur.” Beccaroon nodded toward the three men sitting around a table. “So you have someone keeping tabs on those bisonbecks?”
“That’s right.”
“And that creature?”
“The Grawl? His comrades call him The Grawl. He almost never comes into the village, and when he’s in the woods, it’s impossible to keep track of him.”
“I’d like to know exactly where he came from and what he is.”
Hopdin stood. “You and everyone else in this town.” He pushed in his chair. “I’ve got to get home. It was nice meeting you, Sir Beccaroon. If you’re staying a few days, maybe we can do this again.”
Bec nodded, and the marione magistrate made his way to the door, speaking to several people along the way. The grand parrot glanced around the room and noticed that most people were on friendly terms with their magistrate. If they didn’t call out a farewell, they gave a wave. All except the bisonbecks. They did not acknowledge his departure. But why should they?
Hopdin went out the front door.
Beccaroon studied the three bisonbeck men. He again noted their indifference, but this time a frisson of alarm chilled him. Their disregard appeared too pat, too studied. Beccaroon hopped down from his perch and pushed through the crowded tavern to follow his new friend.
Outside, he saw Hopdin approaching a corner, whistling as he walked. Beccaroon walked after him, listening to the tune that echoed the last one played in the inn. He came to the corner, but before he turned in the same direction, the cheerful whistle came to an abrupt end. Bec peered into the dim street. The main road behind him had lamps at intervals. This side street did not.
“Hopdin?” Bec’s voice sounded loud in the still night air. No answer brought another call, louder than the first. “Hopdin?”
Beccaroon thrust out his wings and took to the air. He could see more from that vantage point. Above the buildings, he batted back an onslaught of despair. He saw more shadows and dark alleys than patches of light. Nowhere did he see the marione magistrate.
The Grawl stood in the shadows of a mercantile, his victim at his feet. He preferred to dispose of the body outside city limits, in the woods, but he could do it here. He spent a moment watching the circling bird, quite sure Beccaroon had not spotted him. The radius of the grand parrot’s circle grew larger.
The Grawl pulled out a pouch from an inner pocket of his tunic. He frowned over the few capsules remaining in his supply. Groddenmitersay had ordered a new supply of the poison, and hopefully it would come soon. He could wait for hours to snare prey, but waiting for the tumanhofer’s shipment did not sit well with him.
Beccaroon altered his pattern to a figure eight. The Grawl sneered. If the man at his feet was the object of this search, the bird would not find him.
The Grawl opened the pouch and fingered three oblong capsules