Poison in the Citadel by Kathryn Ramage

"It was in the tea," Pahiril told Frodo. "That's as much as we know so far. That, and it wasn't nightshade."

"Not nightshade?" Frodo echoed. He had arrived at the Houses of Healing only minutes before, heart beating wildly in fear for his cousin and the ladies. The plaza around him was busy as it had not been since the days of the siege, when the Houses were crowded with the wounded and dying; healers and herbalists rushed in out of the central House, where patients were kept, bearing basins, blankets, and pitchers of water. Gandalf, Faramir, and Aragorn were already there ahead of him. Beregond conferred with the Steward and King while Frodo spoke to the herb-master.

"No, they were given some other poison, one that causes severe nausea and vomiting. Elderberry root, or perhaps wisteria. The second has no medicinal value, but it grows freely even within the city. We are most fortunate that the poison was diluted by so much water--the tea was given to so many. Any amount ingested by one person would not be fatal."

Frodo suddenly felt weak with relief. "Then they're going to be all right."

"Oh, yes," Pahiril said, as if he'd already said so. "They've all been given a harmless purgative, to be sure all the poison has been emptied from their stomachs, which is especially important for those who had not expelled it on their own. It is an unpleasant process, but once it is done, they are all sure to make swift recoveries."

They were now at the door to the central House. The Master Healer came out to meet them. "Where's Merry?" Frodo asked eagerly. "Can I see him?"

"Yes, of course. I will take you to him."

The Master Healer guided Frodo into the hall, and down a corridor past several rooms. Through partially opened doors, Frodo could glimpse various ladies lying on beds and looking pale and unwell. Eowyn was sitting on the edge of her bed, head in her hands and golden hair spilling on the floor. Dame Thressildis sat in another room; Arwen sat beside her with an arm around her, and the old lady insisted that she was quite well now and ought to go and see to the maidens in her care. Tharya lay curled up into a ball like a cat in another room.

Near the end of the corridor, the Healer opened a door. Merry was on the bed, looking as pale and sick as any of the ladies, but he smiled when he saw Frodo and held out both arms to him. They hugged each other fiercely, and when Merry rested his brow on Frodo's shoulder, Frodo stroked his cousin's hair and kissed his temple. He didn't care who saw; the Big Folk would think nothing of it.

"You gave me quite a scare for a change, Merry. I was afraid you'd be dead," he said softly near Merry's ear. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel like I do after I've had far too much ale and spent the whole night with my face over a chamber pot," Merry joked. "I don't think I'll want afternoon tea for awhile after this. The ladies are sure to give it up entirely."

"You halflings are a remarkably robust people," said the Master Healer, who had remained near the door. "Given your size and weight, Meriadoc, I would have said that you would be affected worst of all, rather than the least."

Merry lifted his head from Frodo's shoulder to smile. "I'm just more used to being violently sick."

Gandalf had come to join them by then, and also looked extremely relieved to see that Merry was all right.

"Meriadoc can go home to rest in his own bed tonight," the Master Healer told them. "But I would have the ladies who are more ill remain a little longer, to be sure they have fully recovered, and ensure that they come to no further harm."

Merry was unsteady on his feet when he got up from the bed, and Gandalf gathered him up to carry him home. Frodo walked with the Master Healer behind Gandalf and Merry. As they went back down the corridor toward the front door, he observed that Faramir had gone in to see Eowyn and was holding her as tightly as he had hugged Merry. Arwen was looking after the ill maidens in Thressildis's place while the Dame continued to rest.

Frodo began to wonder if this incident was actually the work of the murderer. He couldn't help feeling that if the true poisoner had wanted to kill these people, they would now all be dead. Could it have been an accident, or a horrible, cruel prank?

Or could it be a ruse? Was the note to Cirandil and his fear of poisoning merely a sham after all, to deflect the suspicion that had turned upon himself? His warning to Tharya to eat only what others ate might therefore actually be covert instructions on how she might also escape suspicion, by giving herself and the other ladies an alarming but essentially non-deadly bout of sickness.

If that were so, could she also be the one who had poisoned Alaric, knowing that Cirandil wouldn't eat the food meant for him? Frodo knew that Cirandil couldn't have tainted the stew himself, and may not have known of his lover's plan; he had seemed genuinely upset at the other guard's death.

"I've been hoping to offer you my apologies, Frodo," said Master Healer. "I did not come on the day of your great illness, as I had promised to, and it has troubled me since. Another patient, seriously ill, required my care and I could not be called away from him. I was greatly relieved to learn that the King himself attended you when I could not. He gave you kingsfoil? It is a common plant we are only beginning to learn the virtues of. It seems to have greater healing properties than traditional herb-lore has hitherto recognized. Master Pahiril has been making a keen study of its merits since Lord Elessar first brought it to his attention. You are fortunate to have such friends. Our King is a most talented healer, as is his queen." He bowed his head to Arwen as they passed her, attending to one of her ladies.

"Yes, they've both aided me." Frodo's hand went to the pendant on his breast, hidden beneath his shirt. "I received the medicine you sent, but with the King's ministrations, I didn't need to take any of it."

"Medicine?" said the Master Healer. "I sent no medicine."

As Frodo stared up at the Healer, his mouth dropped open and his head began to whirl. He quickly pardon himself to the Healer and raced to catch up with Gandalf and Merry; they had stopped at the entrance to the House to speak with Beregond and Aragorn.

"Gandalf! Strider!" Frodo called to them urgently as he ran up to them. "Do you remember on my worst day, somebody brought a potion and said it was from the Master Healer? He's just told me he never sent anyone. What happened to that bottle? Do you know?"

No one knew. Merry remembered that a bottle had been sitting on the bedside table for a few days while Frodo was recovering, but it had disappeared soon afterwards. He hadn't seen it since.

"It must be found," said Frodo, "right away."

Together, they hastened up to the house on the sixth level to look for it. After a brief but frantic search of Frodo's room, Merry found the bottle in the nightstand drawer, along with the sleeping potion. The two small bottles were identical, except that one was half-empty while the other was full and the wax seal over the cork was unbroken.

"Don't touch that!" Gandalf ordered as the hobbits reached to pick the bottle up. He came forward to take the upper rim of the cork on the sealed bottle very carefully between his fingernails, and held it up to the light from the windows. He peered at it closely, then smiled.

"There is an obscure piece of wizard-lore that you may not be familiar with," he told them. "The pattern of whorls on the ends of your fingers--have you noticed them?"

Everyone present, Man and hobbit, held their hands up before their faces, fingers spread to examine their fingerprints.

"It is said that no two are ever alike. They are distinct for every person. But I think we can learn something from these even if we can't identify the person they belong to." The wizard was still examining the prints on the bottle. "These appear to be quite small. The hand is, I think, a hand larger than a hobbit's or a child of Man, but not so large as a grown Man's. A half-grown boy, or perhaps a woman."

"I haven't touched it," said Frodo. "Merry, did you-?"

Merry shook his head. "I don't think so. I can't remember. I might've put it into the drawer, or else the servant did it."

The day-servant was still in the house. Summoned to Frodo's room, she admitted that, yes, she'd done a bit of tidying up after the little one'd been taken ill. She'd shoved the bottles and other clutter on the table top into the drawer so she could dust--she made a broad gesture with one arm to demonstrate how she had cleared the table. No, she hadn't picked anything up.

"Didn't anyone notice who brought this vial in?" Frodo asked. He could only recall hearing a voice.

"I didn't see," said Merry. "We were all too busy tending to you."

"The room was dimmed, the curtains drawn," said Aragorn. "It was only a shape at the doorway, cowled and robed as a healer. I gave him no more than a glance. I thought it a beardless youth, but it might've been a young woman."

"You let no one in?" Beregond asked the servant.

"No, Capt'n, only his lordship." She made a bobbing curtsey to the King. "There wasn't no healer come that day, not that I saw."

Frodo's mind was busy. A young woman. She'd disguised herself as a healer, just as she must've dressed as a serving-maid. Who? Tharya, working with Cirandil? Ilsethe? Lady Imadene? Some agent of Imatibin's he had not yet discovered?

She'd stood here in this room and no one had noticed her. Cowled and robed, her face would barely be visible. She must have walked into the house without knocking; they hadn't locked the doors, since they'd all been at home. She'd known that he would be ill that day, and that the Master Healer wasn't be able to come. Had she intercepted the message Gandalf sent to the House of Healing? How?

The bottle Gandalf held was exactly like the one which contained the sleeping potion the Master Healer had given him. The poisonous plants might be gathered outside the city and brewed over any fire, but who outside the Houses of Healing could have access to medicine bottles like the healers used?

"It might be that one as was here afore," the servant was still speaking. "I let 'e in then--young lass in healer's robes. E's been up and down outside t'house a score o' times this week, since the little master's been up and about."

Frodo saw it. The room seemed to whirl around him and he staggered. Aragorn darted forward to catch him by the arm; he thought Frodo was about to faint.

"No, I'm fine," said Frodo, waving the offer of support away. "It's Methilde."

"Methilde?" Aragorn repeated the name without recognition. "Who-?"

But Merry and Beregond knew who he meant. "The apprentice herbalist," said Beregond. "The niece of Bregilde, the third victim."

"Yes, her. She's our poisoner!" Frodo spoke as if it were obvious, even though he had only just realized it for himself. The truth had been right before him, and he had been blind. Then he realized something else. "We must go back to the Houses--right away! Don't you see? The ladies weren't meant to be killed by the poisoned tea, only made sick. It was meant to bring them, bring Tharya, to the healers. She can be given more 'medicine,' and if she takes a turn for the worse-"

He didn't need to say anything more; Aragorn and Beregond understood the danger, and raced out of the house, not troubling to wait for Frodo. Merry wasn't feeling up to going out again, and Gandalf agreed to stay and look after him.

"Let us know how it turns out!" Merry called after Frodo as he ran to catch up with the two Men.
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