Murder in Cormyr - Chet Williamson [11]
"By begging abjectly," added the chandler.
"Well, he may be short-tempered," I observed, "but he has good taste in the fairer sex."
While we were speaking, Grodoveth had gotten up and gone over, Tobald in his wake, to the table at which Mayella and her father were sitting. Tobald was the first to speak, however. "Barthelm! So good to see you this fine evening! And your lovely daughter too! Oh my, what a precious little doggie. I do so love animals, and they love me as well. Hello, my little precious…"
Tobald's charm must have failed him. As he put out a hand to pat the dog, it gave a surprisingly low growl, pulled back its upper lip, and snapped at him. Only a quick retreat saved the mayor's fingers from being bitten. He nearly fell over but righted himself, looking truly shocked. "Muzlim," said the girl, giving the dog a little shake, "what's wrong with you? The nice man only wanted to pet you." She looked up at the crestfallen mayor. "I'm sorry, Mayor Tobald, I don't know what came over him."
"No, no…" muttered Tobald. "Strange indeed. I usually get on so well with animals." I had to chuckle. Tobald was a jolly, good enough sort, but seeing the high and mighty get a comeuppance, deserved or not, always tickled me. "I'll, uh, get our ales, Grodoveth," the mayor said, retreating to the safety of the bar. Shortshanks may have been as cranky as Muzlim, but at least the dwarf didn't bite.
Grodoveth remained at Barthelm's table, though I didn't hear either the merchant or his daughter invite him to sit. He placed himself across from Mayella, who drew, I fancied, a bit nearer her father as Grodoveth looked at her and gave his impression of a smile. It struck me as more of a smirk.
Their conversation grew quieter than it had been with the garrulous Tobald, and though I couldn't hear what was said, I assumed that it was displeasing to both Barthelm and his daughter. Mayella smiled uncomfortably at first, then a slight blush colored her cheeks.
Barthelm's reaction was more violent. His stern expression slowly grew so tense that I could see his jaw muscles tremble. Finally he leaned toward Grodoveth and spoke in a low, intense voice. I couldn't hear the exact words, but the sibilants hissed at Grodoveth like angry snakes.
The king's envoy sat back, shrugged, and opened his hands as though he had been misunderstood. Then he gave a gravelly laugh, stood up, nodded in what might have been mock politeness, and rejoined Tobald, who was looking on concerned. I heard the mayor ask Grodoveth what was wrong, but the envoy waved the question away and began drinking his ale.
6
Barthelm looked angry for a long time, and I thought I could see the glimmer of tears in Mayella's lovely eyes, but I wasn't about to go and comfort her. I know a furious father when I see one.
"So what do you think that was all about?" I asked the tailor, who seemed to know everything.
"The only thing hotter than Grodoveth's temper," he said, "is his taste for the ladies. And he's not always the most tactful of men."
"I'd think," said the chandler, "that Barthelm would be glad to have one of King Azoun's relatives paying attention to his daughter, especially since the only chap she seems set on is that roofer's lad, Rolf."
"But what if that attention is coarse? And what if that king's relative was related to the king by marriage?"
"He's married?" the chandler squeaked.
The tailor nodded sagely. "Grodoveth's wife is one of Azoun's cousins."
"That doesn't seem to stop him," I said, "from making suggestions that make maidens blush and fathers bluster. I assume his position and family ties protect him."
"So far," the tailor said. "Though I've heard tell that some indiscretion on his part was what got him booted out of Suzail. By the king himself, yet. Now it's just a rumor, but I heard that this drab in a Suzail tavern was-"
The no doubt colorful anecdote was abruptly interrupted by the tavern door banging open and the entrance of none other than Dovo, Aunsible Durn's mighty but moronic assistant. He walked