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"What did you find out?" The question was based on a guess a guess that the civilar had just
performed some supernatural act, likely a divination.
The halfling sighed. "Clever. Very clever of you, of course, but clever of the killer. This gunne was never
fired. A gnome made it in Lantan, a compulsive little gnome who always worried about his mother.
Nothing interesting has ever happened to this weapon, and no one interesting has ever handled it. It is not
the gunne that was used to kill your friend. It's a mirage, a false lead. I would guess the killer unwrapped
it and left it here after the murder." Ardrum looked up. For the first time since I'd seen him, he was
smiling not by much, but it was a smile. "How was that for a wild guess?"
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"A psychic," I said. "You amaze me." The truth was that little would amaze me now with Snorri dead,
even a psychic watchman. The Lords of Waterdeep no doubt recruited trustworthy psychics at every
turn, though such had to be as rare as cockatrice teeth.
"A birth talent, and a limited one," said Ardrum in dismissal. The smile vanished. "I'm sensitive to the
emotional impressions left behind when someone touches something. I feel what was felt, see what was
seen. Like your early training in burglary, it has served me well in my line of work. And like you, I do not
like to discuss my talent. People would find it unnerving to know that I could read their personal life with
just a touch. I put my trust in your goodwill to keep my secret. I would not discuss it except that time is
short and your wits are acute."
Ardrum pulled the gloves from his belt and carefully put them on. I recalled that he had not shaken my
hand, and he had used his dagger blade to examine things on the desk. His control over his special talent
was likely poor, then, and likely it was too that he did not relish peering into other people's
lives particularly if those people had just been violently killed.
I wondered what Ardrum saw in his mind when he picked up a bloody dagger or garrote, checking for
clues to a murder. I quickly shook off the thought.
"It is late, but we must be off to the market," Ardrum said, collecting his watchman's rod and
light-casting sticks. He wrapped the sticks up as he put them away. The room gradually fell into
near-total darkness. "We must pick up a package there, and speak with this Gulner named on the
plaque. I think he came back for his merchandise, given that the Yellow Mage said he'd received the
wrong item, and left a substitute instead. Are you ready, good Formathio?"
A tiny shaft of light from a crack in a shuttered window fell on the back of Civilar Ardrum's head,
revealing every loose strand of his hair like a halo around his shadowed face. And an obvious thing came
to mind. Something I could do.
"Almost ready," I said. "I am going to cast a spell. Please stay back, and do not be alarmed at whatever
you see or hear."
I recalled the proper procedure, then passed my arms, palms out, through the darkness before me. I
whispered words into the air, then reached into one of the many pockets in my clothes. Pulling out a
pinch of dust, I pitched it into the air before me and spoke a final word.
The room rapidly grew cold. Civilar Ardrum's boots scraped the wooden floor as he stepped back a
pace. He had infravision, I guessed, the ability to see heat sources. Most halflings had it. He would now
see a black column between us, about the size of a human like me.
"Shadow," I said to the black thing. "You see all that casts a shadow of its own. I demand one answer
from you, then will release you to go your dark way."
A whisper reached my ears, so faint it could have been a sigh from a distant child."Yes."
"A man was murdered here during the daylight." My voice almost failed me. I shoved aside the memory
of Snorri, bloody and dead on the stretcher. "I command you, shadow, to reveal who murdered this
man."
This was my own special spell, and no other living per-
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son had seen me use it. My control over the shadow was good, so it posed no danger to me or to the
civilar. In other circumstances, however, the shadow could have left us both frozen and dead on the
ground, our spirits cursed to join it in endless roving of shadows and night.
Nonetheless, when I felt the shadow draw so close that the skin on my face burned and stung from its
bitter cold, when I shivered from the absolute emptiness of it, I was in fear that my control over it was no
more.
The shadow sighed once again. I imagined its words were spoken with a touch of glee.
"/saw no one murder him," said the shadow, and was gone.
The air at last grew warmer on my face. My arms fell to my sides. No one? No one had killed my
friend? Shadows had a way with their words; they loved to mislead with the truth. I wrestled briefly with
the answer, then admitted defeat for now.
"Let us go," I said to the civilar.
Outside, it was late twilight. The three watchmen had returned to wait there for their captain, guarding
the doorway and keeping away onlookers. With their permission, I put a locking spell on the door and
windows to keep the curious away; only the watch or a major wizard would have the resources to take
the spell off at leisure.
Civilar Ardrum and I arrived at the market after a short and rapid walk. The other watchmen were
summoning more of their fellows to meet us at our destination. We said nothing to each other along the
trip, even as we came into view of the great, torch-lit market of Waterdeep.
We crossed Traders' Way and entered the long ellipse of booths that made up the market. Even now,
after sunfall, vendors called out praises of their wares to passersby. Few shoppers were out this evening. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]