Read Murder in Halruaa for Free Online

you are as perceptive as everyone has alleged.”
    “Everyone?” But before Pryce could pursue the point further, an impressive woman marched purposefully up to stand before them. Her sudden appearance made Pryce aware that the splendid architecture had distracted him from the well-mannered, well-dressed people who went about their everyday business on the wide, well-maintained streets.
    The woman stood about five feet, three inches tall—the top of her sandy-colored hair came to his sternum—and she must have weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. When Pryce finished examining the small feet wedged into skintight boots, bandy but well-shaped legs in dark hide pants, small but powerful torso within the U-necked, blood-red tunic with the white-and-gold-dotted black epaulets, he concentrated on the face above the deep-purple cowled cape that swept off her shoulders and brushed the cobblestoned road at her feet.
    Big, dark blue eyes, a snout of a nose, high, prominent cheekbones, and thin, thin, thin lips. Make that lip, singular, he thought. The top one was merely a straight gash a few centimeters above her sharp chin. Not to the least of Covington’s surprise, her sandy hair was pulled back in a tight, short pigtail.
    “A hale and hearty morning to you, Greeter,” she said to the clerk in a not entirely pleasant reedy voice.
    “And a hale and hearty morning to you, Inquisitrix,” he replied. He moved both arms toward Pryce, as if presenting him as a long-sought prize. “And this is—”
    “You don’t have to tell me who this is!” she interrupted, smiling up at Pryce. He noticed that her incisors were a bit sharper than normal. “One look told me. I would not, could not, make a mistake about him!” She shot out a hand. “Berridge Lymwich, Mystran Inquisitrix of the first rank, at your service, sir. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you after all I’ve heard.”
    He took her hand. It was cold and hard, her grip like a vise. Pryce winced and quickly pulled his hand free. “If your pleasure is as great as your strength,” he said, “then you must be delirious with joy.”
    Lymwich’s chin went down, her mouth opened, and she blinked. Then she brayed a loud laugh. The clerk leaned toward her, a twinkle in his eye. “Is he not everything we’ve heard?”
    She looked Pryce up and down appraisingly. “And more!” She put one foot behind the other and half-bowed, half-curtsied. ‘Truly, sir, a pleasure to meet you.”
    ‘Thank you,” Pryce replied, fluttering his own hand to make sure all the bones and knuckles were still in place. Then he shook a finger at her. “You Lallorians keep surprising me with your friendliness. I was told that I would be lucky to receive much more than an occasional glance, certainly nothing as familiar as a handshake.”
    Lymwich allowed another laugh to escape with a bray, marveling at his amiable forthrightness. “Now, who told you that?” she asked with a certain familiarity. “Has Geerling been telling you tales?”
    Pryce’s eyebrows raised. Geerling? Geerling who? Or what? But before he could inquire, the clerk leaned forward. “More likely Gamor Turkal,” he said with a smile that crinkled the flesh around his beady eyes and a nod that shook his several chins.
    ‘Turkal,” Lymwich sniffed with a certain distaste. “Hmph.” His former partner’s name certainly had changed the mood, but Pryce wasn’t surprised. Gamor often had that effect on people. He could kill a conversation at five yards. “But enough small talk,
    Greeter,” the inquisitrix said briskly. “I believe you have more interlopers to test… ?”
    “But, Mistress Lymwich,” Matthaunin protested, “it isn’t every day that—”
    “Enough, Greeter,” the inquisitrix said curtly, making it plain that his personal time with Pryce was at an end. “Our illustrious visitor is here now, after much anticipation. We of the Mystran Inquisitorium can take it from here. There is no need to delay him, or