"Yes, you can be our provisions officer," Steele said. "But leave the land urchins behind—and don't forget your key. It'll remind the guardian that you are a Wyvernspur after all."
Giogi began breathing a little too deeply, and the room seemed to tilt. Steele's taunts were wasted on him—he was too busy fighting off a rising panic. Frefford moved to his side and clamped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It'll be fine, Giogi. We'll all be down there together"
"You can't possibly still be affected by that scare you had as a boy," Aunt Dorath insisted.
Giogi did not answer. His mouth moved, but no words escaped.
"Well, that's settled, then," Aunt Dorath said. "I suggest you all get a good night's sleep so you can get an early start. That includes you, Giogioni. Don't spend the rest of the evening carousing in town. You must be at the crypt at dawn. This is not a duty any of you dare take lightly. Until that spur is back in the crypt where it belongs, none of us are safe. You may scoff all you want, but I know for a fact that the spur's curse is no silly superstition. Its absence will bring evil upon us."
Giogi shuddered, anticipating meeting the guardian again. Gaylyn lay her hand nervously on her belly. Frefford returned to his wife's side to comfort her. Julia watched Steele, who fidgeted with impatience. Uncle Drone studied the stain on his robe.
Everyone remained speechless for several moments until Drone said, "I'll see you to the door, Giogi," and held an arm out for help in rising.
Still in shock, Giogi stood automatically and helped Drone to his feet. He held the parlor door open as the old man shuffled through, and he followed his uncle out.
After the door had closed behind them, the old man patted Giogi's arm and said softly, "Dory's right, you know. It's time you were over that fright you had as a child."
"Aunt Dorath wasn't locked down there," Giogi objected as they descended a staircase to the main entrance hall.
"Well, actually she was once, but that's neither here nor there. Listen, my boy, I have something very important to tell you, something I couldn't tell you in front of the others."
Suddenly reminded of Sudacar's revelation, Giogi shook off his anxiety over the coming expedition. "And I have a question for you that I couldn't ask in front of the others. Why didn't you ever tell me rnv father was an adventurer?"
"Found that out, did you? Who let it slip?"
"It makes no difference," Giogi retorted. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Your Aunt Dorath made me swear not to."
"How could you agree to something like that?" Giogi demanded. "I thought vou liked my father."
"I loved your father," Drone whispered angrily. "I had my reasons. Now hush up and listen."
When they'd reached the bottom of the staircase, the new footman popped out of an alcove and asked, "Shall I fetch Master Giogioni's things, sir?"
"Yes, yes," Uncle Drone snapped, annoyed at the interruption. He watched the footman's back until the servant disappeared from sight. Drone swiveled his neck in all four cardinal points, making sure he and Giogi were alone in the hall before he spoke again. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes. The spur and the thief aren't in the catacombs."
"What! Then why did you tell us all—?"
"Shh! Keep your voice down. I had good reasons, but Dory would never understand. You must go down into the catacombs anyway to keep up the charade, and tell me everything that happens there."
From the hallway upstairs they could hear Aunt Dorath bellow, "Drone!"
"Look, I'll explain it to you tomorrow night when you return. In the meantime—"
The footman returned with Giogi's cloak. Drone took the cloak and waved the servant away. As the old wizard wrapped Giogi up in the garment, he whispered, "In the meantime, watch your step. Your life could possibly, just possibly, be in danger." He opened the front door, and cold air rushed into the hallway.
"Because of the spur, you mean?" Giogi asked.
"Not because of the spur—well, maybe because of it, but not the way you might think—"
"Drone!" Aunt Dorath called out a second time.
Uncle Drone pushed Giogi out the door, saying, "I'll explain tomorrow. Remember—watch your step." The wizard closed the door on Giogi before he could protest further.
My life could possibly, just possibly, be in danger, Giogi thought. He shuddered, not just from the cold. A wizard such as Drone said "just possibly" only in cases where anyone else in the Realms would say, "most definitely."
A hearty spring wind, fresh off the Wyvernwater, danced around the side of the castle and tore through Giogi's cloak. He shuddered again and wished that he'd stayed in Westgate, where all he'd had to worry about were dragons, earthquakes, and power struggles. They really were insignificant compared to these family crises.
3
Olive and Jade
The halfling hid in the shadows—even though there was no one presently on the streets for her to hide from. Hiding in shadows was an art, and the halfling's mother had always warned her, "Never neglect your art, Olive-girl," so Olive hid in the shadows. Besides, sooner or later someone would come along the street.
That's what makes the natives of Cormyr a great people, Olive thought fondly. While citizens of other nations would cower indoors on a cold spring night like this, Cormytes will brave anything to visit the taverns of their choice. At this hour, there were usually just enough pedestrians to offer her a selection, but not so many that she need worry about any witnesses to her light-fingered larceny.
While she watched the street, Olive twiddled a platinum coin across the tips of her slender, dexterous fingers. A gust of wind from off the lake swirled around the corner and into the alley, blowing a strand of her long, russet hair into her green eyes. Olive pocketed the coin and pushed the strand up into her wool cap. She was bundled against the cold in a pair of breeches, a knee-length tunic, a bulky quilted vest, and the hat.
Besides keeping her warm, all the extra clothing hid her slim waist and curvaceous figure, so that she looked almost as plump as a typical town-living halfling. She was shorter than most adult halflings, though—well under three feet. She might have been mistaken for a human toddler, except for her fur-covered bare feet with their tough, leathery soles.
She would never even consider stuffing her feet into a pair of shoes and disguising her race, though. For one thing, there was always someone who made it his or her business to discover what a human child was doing wandering the streets alone, especially in Cormyr; or worse, there were people, even in Cormyr, who were ready to accost such children. For another thing, Olive found shoes just too uncomfortable, not to mention exceedingly awkward for running in, and she never knew when she might need to run. Most important of all, Olive felt that conducting business by passing as a human child was demeaning. Only a very untalented or very desperate halfling would resort to such a measure.
Down the street, a tavern door opened and sounds of laughter spilled out into the lane. Olive tensed for action. A fat youth in an apron came puffing along, carrying a jug of ale. A servant, Olive guessed, sent to fetch ale for a guest. Probably charged the ale to his master's tab, so he won't have any money on him. She stood motionless.
A minute later, two older men in heavy, dusty jackets shuffled by, arguing over whether or not it was too soon to plant peas. Farmers, Olive conjectured, no doubt carrying nothing but copper coins—and only enough copper at that to buy three rounds of ale. She remained motionless.
A skinny fop, attired in bright-colored raiment and wearing the most unusually large boots, strode down the center of the street. Dressed as he was, he might have been an adventurer or a merchant, but from the way he hadn't bothered to conceal the bulging coin purse in his cloak pocket. Olive judged him to be a noble. He looked sober and pretty alert, which made him just the sort of challenge Olive had been waiting for. She took her hands out of her pockets, intent on following him. As he passed the alley, though, a feeling of recognition tickled at the back of Olive's brain, and she held back.
"Are you watching a parade, Olive, or are you just screwing up your courage to make a grab?" someone behind her whispered.
Olive's heart pounded in her chest, but no visible sign betrayed how startled she was. She did not turn to look at her taunter; she did not need to. She could picture the person in her mind: a human woman, nearly six feet tall, slender, with a mop of short hair the rust-red color of bugbear fur, bright green eyes twinkling with merriment, and a face identical to one of Olive's previous companions—Alias of Westgate.
Olive kept her attention on the fop and whispered, "Jade, where in the Nine Hells have you been for the past ride? I've missed you, girl."
"It hasn't been ten days, only six," Jade whispered back. "I've been visiting family," she explained. Olive could hear the playful smile in her voice.
Olive furrowed her brow in puzzlement. For six months Jade had been her protegee, her partner, and her friend, and Olive knew things about Jade that not even Jade knew. Furthermore, as far as the halfling knew, Jade had no family. Jade herself had told the halfling she was an orphan. "What family?" Olive whispered, her eyes following the fop's progress down the street.
"It's a long story. Look, are you going to pluck this pigeon?" Jade asked, indicating, with a toss of her head. the dandyish noble now moving away from them. "If not, I'd like a crack at him. He looks ripe."
"Wait your turn, girl," Olive replied. "Age before beauty, and I win on both counts," the halfling added with a smirk. She then slipped away from her partner and padded silently down the street after the fop. She swiveled her head nonchalantly to the right and left to make sure she and her target were alone on the street.
He's not only a fat pigeon, Olive thought, once again focusing on the nobleman, but an easy pluck, too. You'd think someone would warn him about letting his purse strings dangle out of his pocket.
Ordinarily Olive would have offered such an easy job to Jade The human woman was just getting started in business and really depended on it for her living. Olive, on the other hand, didn't need the money; her adventures the previous year had left her almost as wealthy as her wildest dreams. She had to have a closer look at her mark, though. Where have I seen him before? she wondered.
As she closed the gap between herself and her target, her furry feet as silent as cat paws, Olive could hear the fop half singing, half humming softly to himself. Good sense of pitch, Olive critiqued silently, but no sense of rhythm.
"Oh, listen to the story, of the scandal of the wyrms, red Mistinarhm-hmm-hm-hmm, rumored mad and quite infirm—"
Olive stopped dead in her tracks. He's singing one of my songs! she realized. That piece I composed on the spur of the moment to distract the old red dragon and save Alias's life.
A small flower of pride blossomed within Olive, and for half a moment she thought of just walking up, tapping the fop on the shoulder, and introducing herself as the song's creator.
Then she remembered that Jade was watching from the shadows. If she backed out, the younger thief would never let her hear the end of it. Olive prodded herself forward again. After all, she thought, in a few more years, everyone will be singing my songs.
Now the fop was muttering something to himself and motioning with his arms outward, palms upward. He forced his voice into a lower, more resonant range, added a slight burr, and said, "My Cormytes. My people. Harumph." He cleared his throat and dropped his voice another half-octave. "My Cormytes. My people. As your king, as King Azoun, and as King Azoun the Fourth—" He returned his voice to it's normal pitch and congratulated himself, "Yes, that's it. Haven't lost the old skills."
Olive stopped dead again as the feeling of recognition stopped tickling at the back of her brain and hit her with the force of a runaway cart. Could it really be him, she wondered. Out of all the pigeons in the world, I pick Giogioni Wyvernspur, infamous imitator of royalty?
Olive had sung at the wedding reception of one of Giogioni's relatives. During her performance, the young Wyvernspur noble gave an impromptu imitation of the king of Cormyr, and Alias of Westgate had tried to murder him. It wasn't that Alias had felt any loyalty to the crown, nor had she been offended that the youth had interrupted Olive's singing. With her body controlled by sinister forces desiring Azoun's death, Alias had been unable to stop herself, even though she could see that Giogi was not the king of Cormyr.
He's a little scrawnier and shaggier than he was last spring, but it's Giogioni all right, Olive decided. Not that surprising really. This is Immersea, after all, the Wvvernspurs' home. Poor boy, Olive thought with a sympathetic smile as she resumed stalking her prey. First Alias tried to commit regicide on his decidedly unregal person, and now, here I am, about to steal his purse.
Some people are just born unlucky, the halfling thought with a grin. Giogi halted at the door of the Immer Inn. Olive passed within inches of the young noble, and with a deft snatch she tugged the sack of coins from his cloak pocket. She gave the bag a flamboyant spin by its string as she hurried off. Centrifugal force kept the coins secure and unclinking.
Unaware of his loss, the nobleman pushed open the door to his favorite tavern and burst inside, crying, "What ho!" There were hearty cries of greetings from within, to which Giogioni responded with the voice of King Azoun IV, "My Cormytes. My people ..."
Three buildings beyond the Immer Inn, Olive ducked into an alley, circled around the block, and sneaked behind Jade.
Jade turned and smiled, though, before Olive could surprise her. For a human, she had good hearing and excellent night vision. "You hesitated before the snatch, Olive," Jade noted. "Were you having trouble sneaking up on him, or were you having pangs of conscience?" she taunted.
