Cat looked back up at the nobleman. "He may have meant to include something more about the thief in his message, but it got cut off," the mage conjectured.
"Cut off? What do you mean?" Giogi asked.
Cat repeated the message, holding up a finger for every word. "'Giogi listen. The wvvern's spur is your destiny. Steele mustn't get it. You must find it first. Search for the thief.' That's twenty-one words. The spell he used to send the message only has magic enough to send twenty-five words. That leaves four words."
"Four words," Giogi mused. "He could have told me the thief's name and city, at least. Why didn't he?"
"He probably did, but he used four words at the beginning of the message, probably by accident. Remember?"
"'Down, Spot. Naughty boy,'" Giogi said with a sigh. He looked at the tomcat chewing on his quill pen. "You are a naughty boy, too," the noble said, pulling the feather from the cat's mouth and setting it back up on the desk. "Well, that's that."
"A priest might be able to try speaking with his spirit," Cat suggested.
"Aunt Dorath would never allow that. Not even to find the spur. We don't disturb the dead in our family."
"Then you're back to scratch unless there's anything else you can think of that your uncle might have mentioned. Is there?" the mage queried.
"He told me to watch my step, that my life could be in danger," Giogi recalled.
"From whom?" Cat asked.
Giogi shook his head uncertainly. He considered Julia's attempt to drug him at Steele's request. Steele wouldn't have killed me, he thought. The guardian would never harm a Wyvernspur, even if she is always talking about cracking bones. Uncle Drone wouldn't have bothered to warn me about the disgusting stirges or the awful kobolds or the bugbears—he knew I already knew about them. The only other person down there was Cat.
Giogi looked at the lovely mage. Her face was still pale and drawn from exhaustion, but her green eyes glittered. She saved my life in the catacombs, he thought, so it couldn't have been her that Uncle Drone meant. She must have been freezing down there, Giogi realized, noting the way the firelight shone through Cat's shimmering robes, outlining her slender figure. Her long, shining copper hair would have kept her warmer than that foolish frock, he thought.
"Master Giogioni? Who are you thinking of? Who would want to kill you?" Cat asked, noting the faraway look in the young noble's eyes.
Giogi snapped out of his reverie. "No one. I haven't got any enemies."
"Does the guardian know about your fate? Is that what she meant by 'not long now'?"
"I don't know."
"You said before that you don't want to know. I would want to know if it were my fate. Why don't you want to know?"
Giogi shuddered. "Because it has something to do with dreaming about the death cry of prey, the taste of warm blood, and the crunch of bone." The words just tumbled oft his tongue before he could hold them back.
"Do you dream about those things?" Cat asked in an awed whisper. Her eves widened with excitement.
"No," Giogi said, then he amended, "not often."
"How interesting," the mage said. "What kind of prey?"
Giogi shuddered, a little shocked by Cat's reaction. There was a knock at the parlor door. Giogi felt a flash of relief that the conversation was interrupted. "Come in," the noble called.
Thomas stepped one pace into the room. "Luncheon is served, sir," he announced, then he retreated hastily. The sight of the beautiful woman seated at his master's feet flustered him. He withdrew from the parlor hurriedly.
Giogi rose and bent to help Cat stand. She placed her hand in his own and used it to steady herself as she stood. Her thankful smile warmed the young noble. He led her from the parlor and into the dining room.
Thomas had whipped up a simple meal: cheese fondue, venison broth with noodles, fish poached in wine, and crepes with boysenberry jam. Cat seemed delighted with each course, which pleased Giogi, but the young man didn't feel very hungry.
When I was younger, he thought, I had no trouble devouring a meal this size and asking how soon until tea. What's happened to my appetite? he wondered.
Conversation was suspended briefly while they ate, but Cat resumed her questions as they finished off the lemon tea. "If I must be a Wvvernspur because the guardian let me pass, then the spur's thief must be a Wyvernspur, too. right?" she asked.
Giogi nodded.
"How many of you are there?"
"Well, there's me and Aunt Dorath and Uncle Drone and Frefford and Steele and Julia, oh, and Frefford's wife and new baby daughter. That's all that's left of Gerrin Wyvernspur's line— that's old Paton's grandson. There must be other lines of the family. Gerrin had a brother. I can't remember his name, but, anyway, none of his descendants have kept in touch with the Immersea branch. We didn't even know if there were any, but the real thief must be one of them. You must be one of them, too," Giogi explained.
"I wouldn't know," Cat said with a disinterested shrug. "I'm an orphan," she explained.
Giogi gave the mage a sympathetic look. "I'm so sorry," he said.
"Why should you be?" Cat asked sharply, annoyed by what she thought was pity.
"Well, it's pretty awful being an orphan," Giogi replied sincerely. "I know. I'm one myself. My father died when I was eight. My mother died a year later, of a broken heart, they say. I miss them both."
The nobleman's tenderheartedness disturbed the mage. She explained hastily, "I don't remember my parents." She stifled a yawn.
"I shouldn't be keeping you from your nap," Giogi said. "I'll show you to your room."
"What will you be doing this afternoon?" the mage asked.
"Well, I'd like to visit Frefford's new daughter. Then—" Giogi hesitated, trying to decide what he could do. "I think I need to speak to someone who knows more about the spur."
"Who's that?" Cat asked, stifling another yawn.
"I don't know," Giogi replied. "There has to be somebody."
10
Cat's Master
From the journal of Giogioni Wyvernspur:
The 20th of Ches, in the Year of the Shadows
My Uncle Drone died this morning, apparently a victim of his own magic. No one will mourn his passing more deeply than I. Yet, I can't help feeling cross with him at the same time. It seems apparent he was involved somehow in the theft of the wyvern's spur. Since his very last message to me enjoined me to find the thief, however, I must assume he did not steal the spur himself.
It would have been an easy matter, though, for Uncle Drone to disengage the magical alarms that warn of intruders in the crypt, giving his accomplice the opportunity to sneak in.
The theft might have gone undiscovered for some time had it not been for the presence of a second thief, who did set off an alarm.
Since Uncle Drone was desperate enough to cast a dangerous spell to locate the spur, it's probable that his accomplice betrayed him. A disturbing idea, that, since the thief must have been another Wyvernspur.
Besides the problem of discovering the thief, I'm also left with the worry that my life still "might possibly be in danger," as Uncle Drone warned me last evening. That danger might be past now that I've returned safely from the crypt, but, somehow, I doubt it. I've just taken into my protection a young woman. Cat, whose former master, Flattery, is, according to Cat, "a powerful mage with a violent temper."
Flattery also wishes to obtain the spur.
I can't help thinking that to find the spur, I'll need to find out about its alleged powers. The guardian spirit in the family crypt might know, though I don't relish the idea of asking her. Aunt Dorath might know, too. I'm not certain I relish the idea of asking her, either.
Giogi leaned back in his chair and waved his quill idly in the air. Having settled his guest in her room, he'd returned to the parlor to make a quick entry in his journal before heading off to Redstone.
As usual when he wrote in his journal, there were things he thought it best not to record. Aside from keeping secret his Cousin Julia's scandalous behavior in the graveyard, he couldn't bring himself to reveal that Cat was the second thief. She hadn't actually stolen anything, after all, and she'd apparently left Flattery's evil influence.
Giogi realized he could not mention that he knew Cat to be a Wyvernspur, either, since that would put her under suspicion of the theft. That meant he could not mention a speculation he'd formed regarding the identity of the thief.
As he'd been writing in his journal, it had seemed an awfully unusual coincidence that both Flattery and Uncle Drone had found unknown Wyvernspurs to enter the crypt for them. This had reminded him of how unusual it was that he'd run into two women who looked like Alias of Westgate. That's when it had struck him. Perhaps Alias was a Wyvernspur, too.
If that were the case, the swordswoman could be the thief. Last night, Sudacar had said she was supposed to be in Shadowdale working for Elminster the sage, but perhaps Sudacar was mistaken. There was one person who might know for sure: Alias's friend and patron, Olive Ruskettle, who happened to be in town.
Giogi laid his quill down. He would go see Frefford's new baby first, he decided, then speak with Aunt Dorath about the spur. There was no point, he realized, in trying to get in touch with Mistress Ruskettle before sunset. All entertainers slept in the day. After supper, he could stop in at the Fish to see if the famous bard was in.
*****
Mistress Ruskettle, the famous bard, stirred uneasily in her sleep. She was plagued by nightmares of Cassana, the evil sorceress who'd created and tried to enslave Alias. In the current dream, Cassana was not destroyed, but had transformed into a lich, an undead magic-user. Cassana wore, as she had in life, the most expensive clothing and jewelry. All her finery could not hide her emaciated form, nor distract Olive's gaze from her withered skeletal face, which had once resembled Alias's.
In Olive's dream, the Cassana lich had captured Jade, but Olive, in her halfling form, was too frightened to rescue her. Instead, she fled from Cassana. As often happened in dreams, though, no matter how fast Olive tried to run, she seemed to stand still. She heard a horse whickering. If I could just find the horse, catch it, and mount it, Olive thought, I could ride to safety.
The horse whickered again. Olive started awake. She was back in Immersea, in Giogi's carriage house, still a burro.
"Silly mare. Here, have some oats," a familiar voice said.
Olive peered through a gap in her stall wall. Cat stood outside Daisyeye's stall with her hand extended out to the mare. The mage had successfully routed the horse's instinct to raise an alarm by bribing it with more of the sweetened grain. The beast sniffed curiously, nuzzled up the treat, and lost its distrust of the woman.
Sleet still splashed and skittered on the roof overhead, but some gray daylight trickled into the carriage house from a window. Late afternoon, Olive guessed.
What's she doing here? the halfling wondered. Maybe she's decided to leave Giogi, after all, Olive thought, and she's here to steal Daisyeye to escape. It occurred to Olive again that Giogi's Uncle Drone might have been wrong about Giogi not finding the spur's real thief in the catacombs. Cat could have had the spur all along and been only waiting for the most opportune moment to run off with it.
Instead of saddling the horse, though, Cat drew out a sheet of white paper from a pocket of her muddy robes. She began folding the paper, over and over, pulling and tucking corners until it resembled a long-winged bird.
She held the bird up to her face and stared at it angrily. With a sudden motion, she' crumbled the figure and tossed it into Olive's stall.
Olive watched Cat walk to the outside door, but the mage hesitated with her hand around the door handle. She turned about and walked back to Olive's stall.
Unlatching the door, Cat slipped in beside the burro. She fished about the straw on the floor until she'd found the crushed paper bird. She smoothed the paper out against her thigh and folded it back into shape.
Holding the figure to her lips, she whispered, "Master Flattery, your Cat has information about the spur. She begs thee to come swiftly to her. She waits alone in Giogioni Wvvernspur's carriage house."
The mage walked out of Olive's stall so preoccupied with her paper bird that she left the door open. She walked back to the outside door, opened the upper half, and held the rumpled figure in her palm. The bird twitched, then fluttered its wings. "Fly to my master's throne," Cat instructed. The paper bird sped from the carriage house and disappeared into the sleet.
Cat left the upper half of the door open, climbed up into the unharnessed, open buggy, and settled onto the cushioned seat. She sighed once and sat very still with her hands folded in her lap. She closed her eyes, but not completely, and from her posture, the halfling could tell she was still alert and aware.
Olive trembled with anger. The treacherous witch didn't waste any time, the halfling thought. As quietly as she could, the burro tiptoed out of the stall and slipped into the shadows at the rear of the carriage house. How long, she wondered, would it take for Cat's master to arrive from his throne? Cassana and ol' Zrie Prakis sat on thrones. Mages who sit on thrones always mean trouble, Olive-girl. They take themselves too seriously.
Either Cat's little paper bird had the speed of a dragon, or her master's throne was just on the other side of town. Whichever it was, the woman didn't have too long to wait. In less time than it took to hard-cook an egg, something arrived.
A huge black raven swooped through the open upper door and landed on the buggy's lantern pole. The bird shook its feathers dry and fluttered to the buggy seat beside Cat. At first, Olive thought the bird was some sort of magical messenger, perhaps Flattery's familiar. Then the raven grew monstrously. Its feathers became cloth and hair, its wings turned into arms, and its claws into legs. Cat remained still and silent throughout the transformation.
