Murder in Cormyr - Chet Williamson [71]
"He met him at the swamp, made some excuse to examine his axe, ana beheaded him, making it look like the act of a vengeful ghost who would bear no mockery. Grodoveth already had an interest in local legends, is that not so, Mr. Marmwitz?"
"Oh, yes," Marmwitz said, nodding frantically, recognizing that this was his shining moment. "He was always looking over the books on local folklore, particularly anything to do with the Vast Swamp."
"And it was impossible that he could have done all that reading without coming across the legend of Fastred, was it not?"
"Oh, no," said Marmwitz, still bobbing like a cork in a squall. "I mean, yes… I mean, I'm certain he would have come across Fastred, oh my, yes."
"And coming across stories of the old warrior-brigand, he might have suspected, as did most of us, that Dovo's death was due, not to a ghost, but to foul play, and, as it turned out, from the foulest motives. His investigations into the legend of Fastred were so deep that he figured out the riddle that has puzzled many people for years-the location of Fastred's tomb. What better place, he thought, for the hiding place of the murderer. And if, on the other hand, the murderer was not even cognizant of the hidden tomb, what a treat its discovery would be for the historians of Cormyr.
"And he found it. But he also found the killer. Or the killer found him. He struck quickly, so that Grodoveth did not even have a chance to defend himself. To the superstitious, it would have looked like one more act of revenge from beyond the grave, this time for entering Fastred's tomb and disturbing his rest. The only thing is, if that were the case, Fastred's treasure would still have been there. But it was gone, taken by the killer, either then or long before, if he had indeed discovered the location of the tomb before Grodoveth had.
"But the killer made one mistake, one foolish error of the type that has tripped up far more clever criminals than he. He left something behind him-a clue, which Jasper was alert enough to find. Something that pointed the finger of suspicion at him enough for us to investigate further.
"We surreptitiously searched his personal belongings and found a certain vial. When we analyzed the contents of that vial, we found that it was poison. Blackweed, extremely potent but slow acting. Once it had been ingested by the victim, there would be no sign of its presence until at least twelve hours later, when the pains would begin, first annoying, then excruciating. But no one who took it would be alive within twenty-four hours of ingestion."
My mind was racing as I listened to Lindavar's tale. No wonder Benelaius had advised me against drinking the water in Ghars. Blackweed, just like the poison Benelaius had extracted from Mayor Tobald. But who would try to poison Tobald and then…
The word suddenly came back to me. Extracted, Benelaius had said. But what did he mean, exactly?
'There was enough blackweed in that vial," Lindavar said,
"to kill the entire population of a town the size of Ghars, along with whatever important guests were visiting the town at the time."
"The council!" Barthelm cried, leaping to his feet.
"Please, Barthelm," Benelaius said. "All is in hand. Sit and allow Lindavar to complete our case against the killer." Barthelm sat, but he was trembling, and his face looked ashen.
"The Iron Throne wants revenge on Cormyr for its banishment. And what better way," said Lindavar, "for it to drive a stake through this kingdom's heart and strengthen its own trading powers than by assassinating the entire Grand Council of Cormyr's Merchants' Guild? And by something as simple and certain as the ceremonial drink