Murder in Cormyr - Chet Williamson [62]
Quite a trick, I thought, what with the hundreds milling in the streets and the dozens who were to come that day. But I would do my best. Before putting myself at Captain Flim's service, however, I had one more thing to do.
I found Barthelm Meadowbrock at a long table outside the Sheaf of Wheat. He was going through large sacks of woven silver mesh that were to be given to each attendee. They were filled with examples of the wares of Ghars, both food and crafts, and Barthelm peered into each one as though he were expecting a serpent to slither out of it.
He looked up when I hailed him, and frowned at me. "What d'you want?" he barked, turning his attention to another bag.
"Just to bring you relief, good sir," quoth I. "I know how anxious you are that the killer of Dovo and Grodoveth be found and punished." He frowned even more deeply at the mention of the two names. "So you will be pleased to know that an order has come from Suzail commanding that the killer, once discovered, is to be immediately executed by the Purple Dragons."
He stopped looking through bags for a moment, stared off into the distance thoughtfully, then turned with a jerk to me. "Well, that ought to discourage this kind of thing from happening again. Bloody inconvenient, these murders, what with the guild council coming and all…" He continued to mutter as he turned his attention back to the sacks.
I wondered if that was the reaction Benelaius had expected. Did my master suspect Barthelm of being the killer? If so, then the merchant should have grasped his neck at the news and muttered, "Urk," or something of the sort. But then, murderers would be more skilled at hiding their feelings. At least successful murderers would. That was what made it so hard to catch them, wasn't it?
I decided to follow Benelaius's orders and presented myself to Captain Flim for his further service, but he just shook his head. "There's nothing I'll need you for until after the fete tonight. I'll see to it that you can get in. In the meantime, you're on your own. Do what you like."
So I did. I hung around the square, watching others work, which was quite a novelty. At noon, I went into the Bold Bard and had a bowl of soup and an ale, since Benelaius had told me to drink it exclusively, and then I went out and watched the busy bees some more.
The council of the Merchants' Guild began to arrive by midafternoon, and that was fun to watch. Nearly all were rotund (wealth meant good eating, I saw), and all were accompanied by retinues of servants and hangers-on. The merchants of Ghars fell all over themselves in their desire to properly greet the nabobs, and I swear that I saw old
Menchuk, the dry-goods seller, shovel up piles of horse droppings left by one leader's entourage so that the smell would not offend the next leader to arrive. I had to laugh, for he moved so quickly that one would have thought he was shoveling up diamonds.
Some of the councilmen were sent to the Sheaf of Wheat, and others to the Silver Scythe, but first, all were presented by Mayella Meadowbrock with the ceremonial food and drink of welcome, which consisted of a piece of fresh elven bread arrived that morning from the Isle of Evermeet, and a silver goblet of fresh water. After their brief repast, Mayella gave each of them their silver sack of goodies while Barthelm spoke words of welcome.
From the libidinous looks that some of the leaders gave the girl, I felt sure they would have rather been presented with the beauteous Mayella herself. But none of them made any overt propositions in that regard, so the protective Barthelm was able to keep his temper under control.
By late afternoon, the last of the councilmen and his party had arrived. They had all retired to their rooms at either the Sheaf of Wheat or the Silver Scythe for a washup and a change of clothes,