Thomas slipped into the room and began gathering up Giogi's dripping clothes, surveying the damage to each article. He made a special point to keep his eyes averted from the bed.
Last year, when his master's aunt had tried her best to match Giogi with Minda Lluth, Thomas had not approved. The lady had been far too frivolous, but at least she had been a lady. He wasn't sure where he would classify this Cat person, but he knew ladies did not sit on gentleman's beds, wrapped in nothing but bed sheets.
"I'm afraid these boots may be beyond cleaning, sir," Thomas reported, trying to sound regretful about it.
"Oh, no. We can't lose the boots," Cat said with mock alarm. She jumped from the bed and took the dodders from Thomas She set them down before the fireplace and whispered an incantation. A small whirlwind of steam began to rise from inside each boot and danced up the flue. After a minute, the steam dissipated. Cat brought them to Giogi's bedside. "There you are, Master Giogioni. As good as new."
"I say. What a neat trick. Wasn't that a neat trick, Thomas?"
"Most entertaining, sir," Thomas replied coolly, holding the other soaked articles. "I've been keeping dinner warm. Will you be down to dine shortly, sir, or shall I bring up trays?"
Something in Thomas's tone warned Giogi that it would be unwise to choose the more amusing course. "We will be down as soon as we've dressed," the nobleman replied, trying to sound cool and undaunted by his servant's disapproval.
"Very good, sir." Thomas bowed and exited.
"Trays would have been just fine with me," Cat said.
"Perhaps, but not with Thomas. Dinner tends to be formal when we have guests. We'll have to do him proud and dress to the nines, or he'll be—disappointed."
Cat looked down at the carpeting. "I washed out my robes, but they're still wet. I'm afraid they didn't get too clean in any case."
Giogi struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Oh, of course. Forgive me. I should have thought of it before. We'll dig something up from the chest in the lilac room."
Giogi picked up a lamp and led his guest out into the hall. He opened the door to the lilac room.
"How lovely," the mage whispered, stepping inside. She ran her fingers along the delicate silk wall hangings, the crepe bed curtains, the intricately carved dressing table, and the mother-of-pearl jewelry box. "This was your mother's room, wasn't it?" she whispered.
"Yes. Do you like it?" Giogi asked hopefully.
"I've never seen any place so lovely," Cat said softly.
"Thomas thought you might be more comfortable in the red room for some reason. Shall I tell him to light a fire and turn down this bed for you, instead?" Giogi offered.
"Oh, you needn't bother him about it. I can do that myself," Cat insisted.
"All right, then. There are scads of pretty things in that chest there. Several years out of fashion, I'm afraid."
"I'm sure it's all perfect," Cat said, smiling gratefully at the young nobleman.
"I'll leave you to it, then," Giogi said, backing out of the room.
He returned to his own room to dress. Pulling on his breeches, he caught sight of his bare-chested reflection in the leaded window glass. The nobleman posed menacingly, half shutting his eyes, trying to imagine campfires burning instead of a cozy fireplace, and nervous horses staked to ropes instead of comfortable chairs. At length he grimaced and turned away.
"I do look like a sailor," he said with a sigh. He tugged the window drapes closed to avoid catching another glimpse of his scrawny, unheroic figure.
Had Giogi looked out the window instead of at his reflection, he would have seen two furtive figures slipping into his carriage house. The young noble's mind was on his wardrobe, though, and far from the machinations of his relatives.
12
The Ass's Pocket
Olive stamped her hoof and cursed Cat for the twentieth time. Why do mages always have to be so damned efficient? she wondered. As if it's not bad enough she's going to betray good ol' Giogi, she's got to go and leave me locked in the carriage house so I can't get out to stop her. I knew that woman was trouble from the moment I set eyes on her.
With some effort, Olive had gotten her burro mouth around the door handle and turned it, but found that Cat had taken the precaution of sliding the bolt on the outside of the door. Ordinarily, given sufficient time, Olive could have worked the bolt over with a wire or something, but hooves severely limited her dexterity. I'd give a small fortune for a thumb, she thought, rattling the door handle with her teeth.
The burro paced the carriage house like a nervous cat. I may never make Giogi understand I'm not a burro. I've got to get out of here and find someone a little brighter than he and powerful enough to change me back into a halfling. Then I have to get back here and warn Giogi that Flattery is one of his relatives, as well as a murdering lunatic, and that Cat is really a viper.
Olive made a mental list of the few halfling adventurers in town who might be trusted with the secret of her awful and embarrassing transformation, and began thinking up ways to communicate with them. She found that with some effort she could scratch her own name in the dirt with a forehoof.
Now, if I could just get out of this carriage house, corner one of my people, and make them hold still for an hour while I demonstrate my abilities, I'm all set, Olive thought.
After an hour of planning, though, she grew tired of anticipating her escape and the heroics that would follow. Each version she imagined ended in a spine-tingling tale of derring-do and last-minute rescues, but all ignored the problem of getting out of the carriage house.
With nothing better to do, she began exploring the carriage house more fully. The last rays of the setting sun broke through the clouds and streamed through the windows, so there was enough light for her to make out her surroundings.
On the other side of the buggy was quite an organized assortment of adventuring gear. Not the kind of stuff one would expect to find in the carriage house of a man-about-town, Olive mused. This was where all the things that Giogi loaded on me this morning came from.
Everything Olive had carted into the catacombs was stashed neatly in a long line of open chests and crates, which also held sacks and backpacks, tents, blankets, saddlebags, chains, knives and whetstones, camp dishes, a beat-up shield, a Talis deck, dice, a backgammon board, mirrors, snares, nets, magnifying glasses, a few bottles of wine, and even lockpicks. In the loft overhead Olive could spy a few more chests, but she was unable to navigate the ladder to the loft. Gardening tools hung from the back wall, beside varying sizes of tack and saddles.
The halfling studied everything. Most of the equipment was old and worn, though well maintained. In the end, however, her interest in the carriage house's trove waned. A burro had limited options with human tools.
I'm going to die of boredom, Olive thought, walking back into her stall. Cat had left Nameless's portrait leaning against the wall, presumably to prevent a repeat of Flattery's flame-flinging at their next rendezvous. The sun had set, but in the gray twilight within the building Olive could see the splotch of black paint on the portrait's back, which blotted out the bard's given name. The paint had begun peeling from the heat of Flattery's outburst.
Let's have a closer look, shall we? Olive thought. She brushed against the back of the canvas with her muzzle, and paint flaked away. She had to step back to focus both her eyes.
Nameless, you aren't nameless anymore, she thought excitedly. Your name is ... Finder? Finder Wyvernspur. That's a peculiar sort of name. Sounds like a—like the finder's stone!
Could the stone have been the Nameless Bard's? Olive wondered. Is that why Elminster gave it to Alias? Is it only coincidence that it's fallen into the hands of another Wyvernspur?
Olive's nostrils twitched at the smell of the charred painting. Was Flattery's violent reaction to the painting merely a reflection of his hatred for his entire family? No, Olive realized. Flattery's first words upon flaming the portrait were "curse him." His anger had been directed most specifically at Finder. Finder's been in magical exile for nearly two hundred years, though. How could Flattery have recognized him? Has Flattery lived that long and remained as young as he looks by using magic?
Well, I'm never going to answer all these questions by just thinking about them, Olive sighed. I need to get out of here.
She left the stall to stand next to the outside door: she planned to try to slip out the next time someone opened it. I have to be ready to spring into action. I have to be as vigilant as a spider in a web, able to strike with the speed of a snake, as fierce and as wild as a panther, she thought.
As she waited for her chance, Olive fell asleep on her feet.
Voices out in the garden woke her. Darkness had fallen completely. Olive stiffened with alertness. The carriage house door opened a crack. Olive waited for her chance.
"All clear," a male voice whispered.
The door opened farther, but it was blocked by two bodies. A man and a woman slipped in quickly and closed the door behind them. I could get that door open with my teeth if they would just move away from it, Olive thought.
"Steele, this is crazy," the woman hissed. Olive recognized Julia's voice. The man unshuttered his lantern, and its glow illuminated Julia's lovely features. She looked less haughty at the moment. Her face was drawn with exhaustion, and her eyes were glazed with confusion.
The halfling stepped back into the shadow of the ruined buggy. Olive wouldn't put it past the little witch to exact revenge on the burro for foiling her plan to drug Giogi.
"Sister, dear," the man hissed, "would you stop whining and try to show some spine?"
Interesting advice, Olive thought, from a man who tortures kobolds and nearly had his own spine crushed in one of their traps.
Steele held his lantern up to survey the interior of the carriage house.
There's a simple way, Olive realized, to tell Steele apart from Frefford, Nameless, and Flattery, aside from his age and the birthmark by his lip. Frefford had a sympathetic, pleasant smile, which would be impossible for the others to imitate. Nameless's years of exile and subsequent tortures had taken a lot out of him, so he generally stared into space with a stern, thoughtful look—void of haughtiness, unlike Steele's face.
Steele's demeanor most resembled Flattery's. They had the same cold, calculating look, and, Olive suspected, the same icy laugh. Except for that moment when he'd been burning down the barn—and had resembled a mad dog—Flattery's coolness seemed imperturbable. Steele, on the other hand, was unable to hide a desperation that lay just beneath the surface. And, while Olive doubted he was half as powerful as the mage Flattery, Steele managed to look twice as arrogant.
"You still haven't told me why, in the worst possible weather, we've come all the way out here from Redstone just to sneak into this awful barn," Julia said, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
"It's a carriage house, not a barn," Steel corrected, "and we're here because it's unthinkable that our weak-willed, idiot Cousin Giogi should have the spur. It should be in the hands of someone who knows how to wield power. Someone who knows how to make the best use of it. Someone of strength and valor."
Olive recalled how Alias had once called Nameless a man with overweening vanity. No doubt it runs in the family, the halfling thought. Compared to Steele and Flattery, though, Nameless is downright modest.
"Steele, would you get to the point," Julia snapped.
"You said Giogi had a burro," Steele said.
"Yes," Julia replied. "A vicious little creature that I would rather not run into again." She looked around the interior of the carriage house nervously.
The feeling is mutual, I'm sure, Olive thought.
"I need to find that burro," Steele said.
Olive backed deeper into the shadows. She didn't especially want to be found by a known torturer of kobolds. If only Julia would move away from that door, Olive thought.
"What's so special about the burro?" Julia asked, leaning wearily against the door.
"It cost me a small fortune," Steele told her, "but I paid the priest at the church of Waukeen to perform a divination for me. I asked where the spur was. He told me: 'In the little ass's pocket.'"
"If it's in Giogi's pocket, why are we out here?" Julia complained.
"It's not in Giogi's pocket," Steele replied with exasperation. "It's in the little ass's pocket." Very slowly, as if talking to a child, he explained to his sister, "A burro is a little ass."
Wherever I go, Olive whined silently, people are always blaming me when something goes missing. It's not fair. I've never even laid eyes on this stupid spur. Besides—
"Asses don't have pockets," Julia snapped.
Took the words right out of my mouth, Olive thought.
"Obviously it's some sort of riddle," Steele said. Feigning patience, Steele continued to explain to Julia in a slow, steady voice, "The spur could be in the burro's saddlebags, or maybe Giogi made it a little jacket—that's the sort of fool thing he's always doing. Maybe the spur is inside the burro. Then I'll have to skin it."
Olive's heart thudded in her chest as she looked around for some place safer to hide than the shadows. This isn't fair, she thought again. I haven't got the spur in my pocket. Unless— unless it's in Jade's magic purse, she realized.
Steele stepped into the stall that had been Olive's. "Waukeen's wits," he snarled, "what a mess."
"What is it?" Julia asked, too nervous to stray from her post by the door.
"Looks like there's been a fire in here," Steele said. "Maybe Giogi had an accident with a lamp."
"Look at his carriage," Julia said. "He told Aunt Dorath last night that there was nothing wrong with it."
