Olive could have stayed at a room in the Five Fine Fish. The Fish was at the center of Immersea night life and where Jade had chosen to stay. The attractions of the Fish could not compete with the comfort of living at Maela's, though. At Maela's, a halfling didn't need to scramble onto the furniture or use her hands to scale the staircases or stand on tiptoes to see out the windows or climb upon chairs to slide door bolts shut. Maela's low ceilings were enough to make Olive feel safe and cozy. The nicest thing about Maela's house was its larder, which Maela kept well stocked and unlocked.
Olive's first action upon returning home to Maela's the night before had been to visit that larder. The remainders of that raid lay on a plate on the dressing table in Olive's bedroom. Olive popped another piece of ham into her mouth and licked her fingertips clean before turning back to the mirror at her vanity table.
Last night she'd soaked and scrubbed at her hands and feet for half and hour before she was satisfied they revealed no trace of the catacomb muck she'd been through the day before. Upon waking this morning, she'd inspected her best gown carefully, stitched up a tear in the lace, and rubbed away a spot of extra spicy mustard before she slipped it over her head. Now she brushed her auburn hair until it gleamed and every stray bit of straw had been removed.
With a disgusted crinkle of her nose, the halfling rummaged through the pile of dirty, smelly clothing at the foot of her bed until she had fished out her quilted vest. Holding the vest on her lap, she turned out an inner pocket and unclasped the pin fastened there for security.
The pin, a miniature harp and crescent moon, had been a gift from the Nameless Bard—Finder Wyvernspur, Olive reminded herself. Tossing the vest aside, she reached for the jar of silver polish she'd borrowed from the larder. She removed every trace of tarnish from the jewelry and buffed it to a brilliant luster. Finally, taking a deep breath, Olive pinned it to her dress, right over her heart.
She had never actually displayed the Harper's symbol before, which some people would have found remarkable, considering the potential for exploitation the pin presented her. Though little was known of the Harpers, rumors regarding their power and good works were widespread enough that their symbol of membership could gain a person instant respect—though not necessarily safety.
Olive understood, however, that possession of the symbol alone did not make her a Harper, even if another Harper, Nameless, had given it to her. Nameless was a renegade, after all. Olive was shrewd enough to realize that another Harper might not look favorably on someone impersonating one of their number, and the farther north she traveled, the greater the likelihood that she would run into a real Harper. So, even though it lent credence to her claim of bardhood—since most Harpers were either bards or rangers—common sense outweighed ego and she had always kept it hidden.
Until now. This is an emergency, Olive thought, and no snooty, goody-goody Harper is going to keep me from seeing justice done. Besides, I'm only planning on doing what a real Harper should be doing—eliminating a menace.
Years of dealing with human prejudices had left Olive unwilling to leave justice in the hands of authorities. She doubted that any of them, even Harpers, ever felt any concern for people like her and Jade. She couldn't trust them to believe her story about Flattery or do anything about him.
She knew Giogi Wvvernspur was different, though. She would take Giogi into her confidence. Giogi, she figured, will be flattered if he thinks I'm a Harper, and it would never occur to him to check into my credentials. As far as he knows, I'm a bard of some renown, and Cat's already prejudiced him against Flattery. It won't be hard to convince him of the truth.
Besides, how can he deny assistance to the woman who restored the wyvern's spur to his family? Olive thought, tossing her hair and watching it shimmer in the mirror. The halfling couldn't help but realize that once Flattery was dealt with, the gratitude of a Cormyrian noble, even one as minor as Giogi, could be extremely useful.
I won't need to explain to Giogi all the details of how I recovered his family's heirloom, of course; he can assume I'm just extraordinarily clever, which is fairly close to the truth.
"Time to arm myself for battle," Olive muttered. One at a time, over her bed, the halfling emptied the pockets of each item of her wardrobe that she'd worn the evening before. She had pockets in her pants, pockets in her tunic, pockets in her vest, pockets in her cloak, and pockets in her belt. Soon a pile of debris collected on the bedspread.
A job long overdue, she thought, appalled by all the clutter she found. Some of it was organized—capital and basic equipment—but most of it was junk she'd been unable to part with because she'd convinced herself that eventually it would prove useful.
Her own purse held plenty of coins: ten platinum tri-crowns, thirty-two gold lions, plus change—sixteen silver and twelve copper coins. Much more lay stashed beneath the floorboards of her rented room. A smaller sack contained twenty glass "rubies" for emergencies and four real rubies for real emergencies. She set both sack and purse aside.
Her lockpicks and wires were nestled neatly in their leather case, though in the corner of the case, wrapped in rags, were twenty-some unsorted picks—some she'd found in her travels; others were broken tools she'd been meaning to replace. More than fifty odd-sized keys jangled from her iron key ring. A few were made to open more than their share of locks; others were rendered useless by distance from, or destruction of, the locks they'd once fit. A spool of sturdy string, a penknife, and a flint with striker completed her "absolutely necessary" pile.
Olive made a separate pile of four more balls of sturdy string, two corks, a fishhook and sinker, hair ties and fasteners, a comb, chalk, three empty glass vials—one missing a stopper-six mismatched buttons, a bag of raisins, two dirty handkerchiefs, a candle, a stick of charcoal, spectacle frames without the spectacles, a yarting thumb pick she'd been searching for all week, last week's shopping list, nut shells, peas, and enough biscuit crumbs to keep a pigeon happy for a month. It was mostly stuff she would throw out—eventually.
"And last but not least," Olive said, pulling Jade's magical pouch out of her vest and untying the strings, "the wyvern's spur," she announced, dumping the contents of the miniature bag of holding on her bed.
"She's as bad as me," the halfling said, astonished by the assortment and number of things that tumbled from the enchanted leather sack. Two handfuls of coins—mostly copper and silver—a purple silk scarf, a brass shot glass, a minty-smelling potion in a crystal vial, a very nice pearl necklace, six keys, a silver spoon, a pair of gloves, a ball of string, a button hook, some regular dice, some loaded dice, a yard of lace, an apple, some chunks of cured, dried meat, and several pieces of hard candy covered in lint.
"Yech," Olive muttered. She shook the pouch some more, but nothing else fell out. "Damn!" she said. "Where is it?"
Olive sat on the bed and picked through the debris. "It has to be here," she insisted. "I'm the only ass in Immersea. Steele said so." Face it, Olive-girl, she told herself, trying to overcome her disappointment at not finding the spur. Steele must have been wrong, as usual.
But Jade being the thief had made so much sense. If the guardian accepted her as a daughter of Finder, the Nameless Bard, Jade could have entered the crypt. Flattery had told Cat that twice his magic had failed to detect the spur. Jade, just like Alias, had been proofed against magical detection and scrying. Jade would have thwarted Flattery's attempts at magical detection.
Then a more unsettling thought occurred to Olive. Suppose Jade did steal the spur and it was on her when Flattery disintegrated her? Wouldn't that be ironic?
But, then, would Steele's divination reveal that the spur was in the little ass's pocket? Could Steele's god have lied to him? Or was there another little ass that Steele had missed somewhere? Giogi might be considered a bit of an ass, but he was far from little; he was taller than Jade had been. Cat was an ass for sticking with Flattery, but if she had the spur, she'd have turned it over to the evil wizard. There could be other Wyvernspurs who were fools, or, for that matter, any one of them could have secretly wed some fool to steal the spur for them, as Flattery had.
Olive wondered idly, Had Flattery really married Cat just to make her a Wyvernspur, or was he just trying to bind her to him? Even if the evil wizard hadn't any idea that Cat was already a Wyvernspur, he still didn't need to marry her to get past the guardian. He could have gone in the crypt himself. Why hadn't he? What had he been afraid of?
Olive wished Finder were there now. If Flattery hated him so much, there was a good chance Finder knew Flattery and could tell her something useful about the evil mage. Finder was far off in Shadowdale, though. This time of year it would take more than a month to ride up to Shadowdale and back. Olive and Giogi needed each other's help now. Even if they didn't have the spur, they still had Cat to use against her master.
The problem is how to convince Cat that Flattery can't do anything to her and that he has nothing to offer her. The first part's easy enough, the halfling thought. Just use the old amulet of protection scam.
Olive looked down at the junk lying on her bed. What do we have here that's uglier than a monkey's paw? she pondered. She scooped up the chunks of cured meat from Jade's purse and tied them tightly in Jade's silk scarf. That'll do for now, she thought, scooping all of Jade's things along with the homemade "amulet of protection" back into Jade's magic pouch.
Olive sighed. The sun had risen. It was time to join forces with Giogioni Wyvernspur—right after a light breakfast.
*****
About an hour after Olive had gone down to eat at Maela's, back at Giogi's townhouse, the Wyvernspur noble knocked softly on the door to his own room.
"Come in," Cat called sleepily.
Giogi peeked in the doorway. "Just need to get some clothes," he said.
"Fine," Cat mumbled, pulling up the thick down comforter to her chest and rolling over.
Giogi crossed the room and removed an ensemble from his winter clothes chest. He was searching for matching stockings when there was a soft knock on the door. Giogi shot a quick glance from his search to see Thomas entering with his morning tea tray. The servant crossed to the bed and set the tray on the nightstand by his master's bed, as had been his custom every morning for years. Giogi returned to pawing through the chest.
"I say, Thomas," Giogi said, examining a worn patch in the heel of a stocking, "I'm going to need some more warm footgear. And this one will need darning." Giogi held the stocking out in Thomas's direction, his head still buried in his clothing chest. When several seconds passed without Thomas taking the piece, Giogi looked up. "I say, Thomas . . ." he began, but Thomas was not present.
From the bed, Cat giggled. "He took one look at me and bolted," she explained as she sat up in bed and pushed her hair out of her eyes.
"Why would he do ... Oh, I say! He couldn't have thought. . . Oh, dear. I'd better go have a word with him."
"Why?" Cat asked, now grinning from ear to ear.
"Well, to clear your honor, for starters," Giogi replied, amazed that she didn't understand.
Cat laughed. "What about your honor?" she asked.
"Well, um . . ." Giogi flushed. "I'll be back," he said, hurrying after his manservant.
Giogi had to track Thomas all the way down to the kitchen. The manservant was polishing tableware with the furious gusto of a man who expected a finicky demon to dine with them.
"I say, Thomas," Giogi began, "I think we need to have a chat."
"That won't be necessary, sir," Thomas responded quickly and primly. "If you shan't be requiring my services as a gentleman's gentleman, two weeks notice will be more than sufficient for me to find myself other employment. Master Cormaeril has already given me to understand he could use the services of someone like myself."
"Shaver Cormaeril's been trying to pinch my servants? By Selune! Some friend. I ought to skin him alive. Now, see here, Thomas, Mistress Cat spent the night in my bed," Giogi explained, then added hastily, "and I spent the night in her bed. That is, I spent the night in the lilac room, in case whoever attacked her returned."
"I see, sir," Thomas replied. His tone had become less formal, though not exactly apologetic. He did, however, put aside the polishing and look at his master.
"My relationship with Mistress Cat is completely professional," Giogi added.
"Yes, sir." Thomas said.
"Naturally, I am not blind to the fact that she is an incredibly beautiful woman, but my intentions where she is concerned are completely honorable." The young noble began to pace the kitchen as he spoke.
"Of course, sir," Thomas said, though he suspected that perhaps Cat's intentions might not be as pure as his master's.
"So let's have no more of this nonsense about giving notice or that scurrilous cove, Shaver Cormaeril."
"No, sir," Thomas agreed.
"You know, Thomas," Giogi confided, "I have noticed that Mistress Cat does seem a little taken with me."
"I do not imagine, however, that your Aunt Dorath would feel the same way about her, sir."
"Well, dash it, Thomas," Giogi replied hotly, "I can't spend the rest of my life trying to please Aunt Dorath, can I?" With that, he spun around and marched out of the kitchen.
Thomas gulped nervously. He suddenly realized that the situation was much more serious than before.
Late last night, after the unpleasantness in the lilac room, Thomas had consulted with his advisor about Giogi and his "professional" relationship with the mage Cat. Thomas had laid out his concerns, but his advisor had assured him there was nothing to worry about. The servant wondered what his advisor would say if he'd just heard Giogi's declaration.
