by Kate Novak
Just to reassure himself, Giogi padded barefoot over to his bedroom window to look out at the carriage house, where Daisyeye was stabled. Giogi could make out the silhouette of the carriage house and see that nothing had burned it down or broken in looking for an equine snack. The moon had set, but the sky was not completely dark. The sun would be up soon.
“Oh, my gosh. I have to be at the crypt,” Giogi remembered aloud.
Thomas was awakened by a thumping noise followed by the clatter and clash of metal on metal, like the sounds made by gladiators battling in an arena. Thomas listened more intently, trying to determine if the noise wasn’t coming from outside the house, created perhaps by a band of drunken adventurers with no respect for the conventions of town living—such as sleeping at night. A second thump and more bashing noises reached his ears. Now he was able to tell for certain that the disturbance came from within the house. The noise originated from his own kitchen.
It was early dawn, the sky just beginning to lighten to iron gray. Presuming the noises had been made by some very careless burglar, the servant picked up the poker from beside his fireplace and carefully eased open his bedroom door. A bright light shone across the hall. A very brazen, as well as careless, burglar, Thomas thought as he tiptoed to the kitchen door and peeked around the doorjamb.
His kitchen was in complete disarray. Serving trays and mixing bowls lay scattered about the table and floor. All the cabinets stood open—most of them emptied of their contents. One stack of plates sat balanced so precariously on the edge of the linen chest that it appeared as if a passing breeze could send them plummeting to the stone floor. In the midst of the chaos stood the intruder—a lean young man who scowled at the tabletop with a long, sharp knife in his hand. Thomas gasped in surprise.
Giogioni looked up from the kitchen table at Thomas, who stood in the doorway with a raised poker clenched in his fist and his mouth hanging open. “Ah, good morning, Thomas,” the young noble greeted him and smiled. “Didn’t mean to wake you. Just getting together some tea. Why are you waving that poker about?”
“I—I—I thought you were a burglar, sir,” Thomas explained, carefully leaning the iron rod against the wall.
“Now why would you think that, Thomas? You know I have scads of money. Why should I become a burglar?”
“No, sir, I meant that I heard a sound, sir, and that I thought at this hour down in the kitchen, it must have been made by a burglar. Couldn’t you sleep, sir?”
Giogi snorted. “With all I had to drink last night?” he replied. “I went out like a snuffed candle.”
“Bad dreams again?” Thomas guessed.
Eager to forget the dream, Giogi denied it with a shake of his head. “I am awake at this ungodly hour,” he explained, “because Aunt Dorath has condemned me to crypt-crawling with Steele and Freffie. They’ve put me in charge of provisions, so I’ve boiled water for tea and now I’m hacking at this cheese for sandwiches. I made a bit of a mess looking for that earthenware tea jug. Sorry. I seem to be having trouble with this knife. Since you are up anyway, would you oblige, please?” The young Wyvernspur waved the knife at the servant, handle first.
Thomas picked his way across the kitchen to the table—carefully pushing the stack of dishes back from the edge of the linen chest on his way. Large crumbs and chunks of cheddar littered the table, but none could be even charitably described as a slice. Thomas took the remnants of the wheel of cheese and carved through it neatly six times. “Will that be sufficient, sir?”
“Excellent,” Giogioni said, stacking the cheese slices between chunks of bread. He lay each sandwich on a piece of oiled paper. “And would you slice them into those cute little triangles like you always do for tea?”
Automatically Thomas quartered the sandwiches, wrapped them in the oily paper, and stuffed them into the waterproof sack Giogi held out. Finding his master not only awake at this hour, but fully dressed, shaved, and alert was enough to confuse Thomas; discovering Giogi also making an attempt at self-sufficiency in the kitchen had left the servant dazed.
“I swiped those leftover tea cakes and some apples. Is that all right?” the nobleman asked.
“Yes, of course, sir.” Thomas replied.
“Oh. I told Bottles you’d stop by the Immer Inn first thing this morning and pay my tab from last night.”
“Very good, sir,” Thomas replied.
Giogi packed the waterproof sack, the earthenware jug, some teacups, teaspoons and a jar of tea leaves into a picnic basket. He strapped on his fencing foil, pulled on his cloak, and unlatched the back door. “By the way,” he said, pausing in the doorway, “I thought I’d take the burro with me to carry my supplies. That won’t be any problem, will it?”
“Of course not, sir,” Thomas said automatically as he nested a set of mixing bowls and stacked them back into a cupboard.
It wasn’t until Giogioni’s servant had finished tidying the kitchen and had his morning cup of tea that he was sufficiently awake to wonder to which burro his master was referring.
The Guardian
“Rise and shine, my pretties,” Giogi called softly as he entered the barn.
Olive stirred awake. Without meaning to, she’d fallen asleep on her feet. She shook herself, feeling her mane tickle her neck and her tail slap against her hindquarters. Still a burro, she realized with annoyance.
Giogi stopped to pat the chestnut mare. “Would you like some apples, Daisyeye?” Olive could hear the horse chomping away on Giogi’s offering.
Then the nobleman entered her enclosure. He looked into her bucket of oats. “Good, you’ve eaten,” he said.
Olive could feel herself blushing beneath her furry hide. After all she had suffered last night, going without dinner would have been unbearable. The oats’ molasses coating had rendered them almost tasty, actually better than some of the things she’d eaten at inns outside of Cormyr. After a few experimental nibbles, Olive had polished the remainder off without thinking.
Now confronted with the empty pail, though, she worried that she might grow too burrolike and forget that her favorite meal was not grain, but roast goose, and that she might come to prefer water to Luiren Rivengut.
“How about a little treat,” Giogi said, holding out a quarter of an apple.
At least that could be considered halfling food, Olive decided. She muzzled the fruit from the nobleman’s hand. Giogi’s other hand slid something up over her ears. The feeling of leather straps about her muzzle caused Olive’s nose to twitch. Nine Hells, she thought. I fell for the apple and the halter trick.
Olive brayed and tried to back away, but Giogi held fast to the halter he’d just slipped on her. “Whoa, girl. Easy, now. We’re just going into the catacombs beneath the old family crypt to look for the thief who stole the wyvern’s spur.”
The wyvern’s spur? Olive thought with astonishment. The Wyvernspur family’s most precious heirloom? It’s been stolen? Olive looked up at Giogi with puzzlement. How can you be so calm about a thing like that, boy? she thought.
As Giogi began brushing her coat, he briefed her in soothing tones. “The catacombs aren’t so bad,” he said, “except for the kobolds, stirges, bugbears, and occasional gargoyles. Of course, first we have to get past the crypt guardian. The guardian shouldn’t bother us, though. I think. We’re old friends. Last time I saw her, she said I was too small—I presumed she meant too small for her to eat. Her idea of a joke, I suppose. You know how perverse those crypt guardians can be.”
Able to distinguish the meaning of his words, Olive had no trouble sensing Giogi’s nervousness as well. A shiver went up her long spine. Giogi patted her reassuringly and laid a blanket over her, then a set of packs. As he pulled the cinch under her belly and knotted it through the buckle, Olive considered trying to get out of the little jaunt by lying down or rolling over, but she decided that the floor was just too dirty. Besides, she thought, I won’t learn anything more about the Wyvernspurs in a horse stall, but if Giogi keeps babbling, I
might pick up quite a bit.
“Actually, she’s probably not as terrible as I remember,” Giogi continued with his reminiscences of the guardian. “It’s just that I was only eight back then. My father had just died, you see, and I inherited his key to the crypt. My Cousin Steele was so jealous that I had a key and he didn’t that he badgered my other cousin, Freffie, and me into sneaking into the crypt. Then he, Steele, that is, swiped the key from me and locked me in there all alone and left with Freffie.
“Freffie had an attack of conscience and told Uncle Drone, but I ran into the catacombs to get away from the guardian. I spent the good part of a day wandering through them and missed supper before Uncle Drone found me.”
There, Olive thought. I have three murder suspects already: jealousy-ridden Steele, guilt-ridden Frefford, and nephew-ridden Uncle Drone. I can rule out Giogi’s father, though—unless he’s undead.
Giogi strapped the picnic basket atop the packs, balancing it on either side with a pair of full water skins. Olive groaned under the weight, but the noise came out as a testy bray.
The water and tea things, however, were only a beginning. Into the packs Giogi loaded oil, torches, a lantern, a tinder box, rope, a rope ladder, spikes, a portable stool, a blanket, a heavy mallet, several sealed vials, a can of white paint, a brush, and a large map. He then added a small sack of feed for the burro. “Can’t have you missing lunch,” Giogi said, patting Olive’s rump.
Don’t worry about me, Olive thought. I’ll collapse from exhaustion long before then. She brayed again in protest.
“You’re a very musical little creature,” Giogi said. “Maybe I should name you Birdie. Come on, Birdie.” Giogi led Olive out of the stall and from the carriage house.
The pair of them clomped through the garden and out into the street. Wagons and carts loaded with hay and seaweed and fish and firewood crammed the road. Servants and field hands and fishermen and foresters edged around each other on the plank walkways. Oblivious to the immediate flow of traffic, Giogi led his burro down the center of the street, while he studied the movement on either side of him with intense curiosity. Olive was hard-pressed to avoid stepping on his feet when he wandered too close to her hooves.
“I had no idea how busy this town was so early,” Giogi muttered.
So why don’t we go back to bed and wait for the traffic to clear? Olive thought, but Giogi guided her westward through the crush.
The sky, which last night had been clear and starry, was blanketed by slate-gray clouds, and the air was no longer crisp, but was moist with impending rain or snow. Olive’s breath steamed from her nostrils, and Giogi puffed vapor from his lips as he strolled along whistling, in tune if not in tempo.
Near the edge of town, the pair turned onto a path heading south up a steep hill. I’m not making this ascent, Olive thought, planting her feet firmly in the road. A swat on her rump from the nobleman got her moving in spite of herself.
The path led to a rocky graveyard bordered by a low wall and surrounded by pine and oak trees. The trees cast dark shadows on the already gloomy setting, and the carpet of pine needles and oak leaves muffled the sounds of their footsteps. Most of the headstones within the yard were weathered and broken with age, reminding Olive of the stumps of an old giant’s teeth.
Very near the entrance stood a large stone mausoleum, as worn-looking as the rest of the graveyard’s monuments but still intact. Thick stalks of ivy ran up its walls. The dead ivy leaves looked black in the shadows and rattled in the breeze. Small, ornately carved stone wyverns perched all along the mausoleum’s roof and looked down on them with glass eyes. Giogi avoided looking at them, knowing all too well their long reptilian bodies, batlike wings, and scorpion tails. He shuddered as he approached the mausoleum’s entrance. The Wyvernspur coat of arms was carved into the walls on either side of the door, and the Wyvernspur name was carved into the lintel.
Smaller markings were cut into the door, lintel, and jamb—invocations to Selune and Mystra to protect the crypt from trespassers. For good measure, magical glyphs were scrawled in a spidery hand on every wall.
This must be the place, Olive thought.
“This is the place,” Giogi said. “It’s so deadly quiet.”
Wonderful choice of words this boy has, Olive thought.
“Giogioni, you’re late,” a woman’s voice snapped behind them.
Olive might have jumped at the sound, but she was too loaded down to do more than jerk her head up. Giogi, not so limited, whirled around.
A beautiful young woman in a dark fur cape popped out from behind a ruined tomb. She tossed her hood back with an ungloved hand, revealing long black hair and sharp, familiar features.
One of the Wyvernspur brood, Olive realized immediately.
“Julia!” Giogi said, “What are you doing here?”
“Steele told me to wait here to tell you about Frefford.”
“What about Freffie?” Giogi asked. His expression clouded with concern.
“Gaylyn’s gone into labor, so he’s still at Redstone. You were late, so Steele entered the crypt without you. He said you could follow him in and try to catch up.”
“Catch up. Right,” Giogi muttered, pulling out a silver key that hung from a chain around his neck.
Olive studied Julia curiously. Something about her, besides her Wyvernspur face, interested the halfling. Olive sniffed the air. She could smell something mingled with Julia’s sweat. The human woman was nervous. She might not be lying, but the halfling could tell she was up to something. An expert herself at the art of deception and guile, Olive could not be fooled, especially not by an amateur like this woman.
Giogi turned toward the mausoleum door.
Julia appeared to be wringing her cold bare hands. Even hampered by the vision of a beast, though, the halfling caught the surreptitious twist Julia gave to one of the rings on her right hand.
As Giogi inserted the silver key in the mausoleum door, his cousin reached toward his neck. Olive saw the gleam of a tiny needle jutting from the cousin’s ring. A drop of something clear dripped from the tip of the needle.
Instinctively Olive lunged forward, butting her forehead against the woman.
“Agh!” Julia cried, leaping backward. She took notice of Olive for the first time. “Giogioni, what sort of creature is that?” she screeched angrily.
“Birdie, cut that out. You’re scaring Cousin Julia,” Giogi said, yanking Olive’s head down with the halter. To his cousin, he said, “It’s just a burro, Julia.”
“A what?” Julia asked.
“A burro. It’s a pack animal. They’re very useful in mines. Haven’t you ever seen one?”
“I should think not,” Julia said with a sniff. “I thought it was an ugly pony.”
Giogi turned his back again to work the lock, and Julia edged forward, her right hand poised in the air as if to swat a fly.
Olive placed a hoof down on the train of Julia’s gown. The woman tripped as she stepped toward Giogi and dropped to her knees on the pine needles. “Damned creature,” she whispered.
Giogi turned around and looked at his kneeling cousin with surprise. Before he could help Julia to her feet, though, Olive managed to tangle her lead rope around the woman and butt her again. Without thinking, Julia slashed at the burro with her right hand. Olive felt a sharp scratch on her neck, then a fire burned through her blood, starting at the wound and racing to her extremities. Her knees wobbled and Olive sank to the ground.
“Birdie!” Giogi gasped. “What’s wrong, girl?”
“That beast attacked me!” Julia cried, untangling herself from Olive’s lead rope, leaping to her feet, and backing away quickly.
“She was probably just playing. Julia, what did you do to her?”
Olive stretched her neck out so Giogi couldn’t miss the small trickle of blood from her wound.
The young noble gasped. He turned toward Julia and snatched at her cloak, yanking her toward him. He caught her by the wrists. All th
e meekness he’d ever felt in his female cousin’s company was dispelled by the alarm he felt for his pet’s safety.
He investigated Julia’s rings with a frown. “What is this?” he demanded, spying the ring with the jabber. “Where did you get this ring? How could you poison such a sweet, little animal?”
“It’s not poison, only sleeping sap,” Julia protested.
Thank Tymora, Olive thought through the fog. That’ll teach me to stick my neck out for anyone.
Barely containing his anger, Giogi yanked the offending ring off Julia’s finger. “I think I’d better hang on to this for you before you hurt someone with it,” the nobleman said, pulling out a handkerchief, wrapping the ring up in it, and stuffing it into a pocket. He thrust Julia away and bent over Olive’s prone body. Pulling two vials out of a pack on her back, he poured the contents of one over Olive’s cut and the other down her throat.
“Why are you wasting potions on that stupid creature?” Julia asked.
“Because she’s not a stupid creature. She’s a perfectly lovely burro.”
“I told you it was only sleeping sap.”
“Sleeping sap can do a lot of damage if you use too much. What were you doing with it, anyway?”
Julia did not reply.
Olive felt suddenly cool and strong as the potions quenched the flame that ran through her body. She stumbled to her feet with Giogi’s help. The young noble made sure the burro was steady, then turned again to face his cousin. Olive could see a spark of comprehension gleaming in his milky brown eyes.
“Julia!” Giogi barked sternly. Olive stood by his side, trying to look as menacing as possible. “You meant that ring for me, didn’t you? This is one of Steele’s ideas, isn’t it?” Giogi asked, grabbing Julia by the shoulders and giving her a firm shake.
“No!” Julia protested. “It’s … just something I carry to protect myself.”
“Attacked by a lot of burros on the streets of Immersea, eh? Don’t bother to lie, Julia. You always did what Steele told you. What did he have in mind?” he asked hotly. “Leave me down there with the guardian again? Hmm?” Giogi gave his cousin another shake.
