Murder in Cormyr - Chet Williamson [77]
"Because of Razor," he said, tickling the temperamental cat under the chin so that it purred in delight. "Razor bit him as he entered, you see. Hard. Right on the ankle. Enough to make anyone limp. I knew Tobald wouldn't say anything about the bite, because of what you had told me about his attempt to impress Mayella Meadowbrock with his supposed camaraderie with animals. He would have lost face with her were he to let anyone know that he alone of all who traipsed through my house was the only one unlikable enough to be bitten." He shook his head. "Odd, isn't it? As far as he knew, he had already poisoned her, and yet he couldn't bear to have her think him a man so base that animals hated him. Ah, vanity."
"You planned for Razor to bite him?"
"Jasper, my communication with my pets is, shall we say, intense. We need no words, my dears and I."
"But why did you want Tobald to limp?"
"So that everyone would think he dropped his gout pills in the cave and stepped on them."
"But I hadn't delivered the pills to him yet. He didn't have them to lose in the cave."
"Of course not, Jasper. But I did."
"What!"
"Yes, I followed Grodoveth to the cave, you see-I'm not completely sedentary, no matter what you might think-and there I found him dead. No one else was in the cave. Except Fastred, of course."
My head was swimming. "What are you… mean… Tobald didn't kill Grodoveth?"
Benelaius shook his head.
"Then, for the gods' sake, who did?"
"The same person who killed Dovo." I tried to keep track of the conversation, but it seemed to be skittering all over the place like a salamander in a skillet. I'm afraid my confusion showed on my face.
"Evidence can be manipulated in certain ways, Jasper," Benelaius said patiently. "It's almost like magic, but not real magic. It's more like prestidigitation, using misdirection to show you only what I want to show you and nothing else. You think a ball or a scarf has vanished into thin air, but it hasn't. It only looks that way. Your Camber Fosrick-or any good detective-can make a situation look exactly like he wants it to."
This so-called explanation wasn't helping a bit, and I told him so. "Are you saying," I asked him, "that you framed an innocent man?"
"Bite your tongue," he answered in mock dismay. "I framed no one who was not already a traitor and an attempted murderer… mass murderer, for want of a better term." Benelaius's face grew grim. "Tobald's poison would have slain hundreds of people. The vultures would have feasted in the streets of Ghars for weeks to come. Men, women, even children and babes in arms, all would have died in agony. No, Tobald deserved far worse than the fate that he met in the swamp."
His face brightened a bit then, and he looked up at me and smiled. "And speaking of the swamp, I think the best way for you to understand what truly happened is to go there with me. You shall be the student, and I the teacher, just as we are during your tutoring sessions. I shall ask you questions, and you shall ask me questions, and thusly, by asking and answering, you shall derive your knowledge, yes?"
"If that's the only way to get to the bottom of all this, yes, of course."
"Excellent. Then briskly make us a light lunch to fortify us against the rigors of the swamp, and your questions will be answered and your puzzles solved."
34
I felt as though it was the slowest lunch ever made by the hands of man. The fire took forever to bring the water to a boil, the meats took an eternity to fry, the soup eons to bubble. But at last the meal was served, and slowly and appreciatively eaten by my master. For myself, I could scarcely get down a mouthful, so huge was the lump of expectation in my throat.
After he finished eating, Benelaius pushed himself back from the table, stifled a small belch, and stood. "You seem somewhat anxious to have your questions answered, Jasper. Therefore, why not clean up the dishes when we return?