by Kate Novak
“Some fresh water, more grain, and hay.” Giogi pointed out all the provisions he’d brought in for the burro. “You should try the hay, Birdie. It’s very good. Just ask Daisyeye.”
Daisyeye can have my share, Olive thought.
After shutting the burro in, Giogi took a few moments to stroke the chestnut mare. Finally he picked up the picnic basket and turned to Cat. “Shall we go?”
Cat held out her hand. Hastily Giogi transferred the basket to his left hand to help Cat down with his right. The mage leaned on him heavily as she dismounted and landed very near him, so that her forehead brushed against his chin.
“Excuse me,” Cat whispered. “It’s just that I’m so tired. I was afraid to sleep in that awful place.”
Giogi stood, momentarily stunned. A feeling came over him even more odd than the one he’d felt offering Cat his liquor flask. He’d never stood this close to a woman before, not even Minda. It took him a moment before he could collect himself enough to step back and say, “You poor thing. I think right after lunch we should tuck you up in the guest room for a nap.” Then he blushed, aware that his words could be misinterpreted.
In the dim lamplight, Cat seemed not to notice his embarrassment, nor did she object to his offer. “You’ve been so kind,” she said.
“Not at all,” Giogi replied.
Giogi offered Cat his arm as he led her to the door and blew out the lantern.
“We could share this cloak,” Cat suggested before he opened the door.
Through a knothole in her stall wall Olive watched as Giogi slid his arm around the mage’s shoulder, beneath the fabric of his cloak. The two humans dashed from the carriage house, slamming the door behind them.
Olive’s burro eyes squinted suspiciously. That woman is up to no good, she insisted to herself, and, while Giogi is a nice boy, he’s no match for the machinations of a mage. What’s a burro to do?
Keep up my strength for one thing, the halfling thought, sniffing daintily at her bucket of sweetened oats.
“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable by the fire while I go see about lunch,” Giogi suggested as he ushered Cat into the townhouse parlor.
Cat sat on a satin-covered chair, carefully keeping the muddy hem of her robes from the expensive fabric, and kicked off her dirty slippers. She curled her feet beneath her and closed her eyes to slits. The noble scurried out with the picnic basket and headed back for Servant Land.
Thomas looked up from his lunch with astonishment. Giogi, as wet as a river rat, stood in the door, looking very apologetic.
“Sorry to disturb you, Thomas,” his master said, setting the picnic basket down on the table, “but the catacombs jaunt didn’t quite go over as expected. Do you think you could manage lunch for myself and a guest—just a little nourishment, preferably something warm?”
“Of course, sir,” the servant replied, rising from the table. “Um, sir. You have heard the news about your Uncle Drone?”
“Yes,” Giogi said. “Lord Frefford told me.”
“My condolences, sir.”
His voice cracking with emotion, Giogi replied, “Thank you, Thomas.” Giogi turned, about to leave, then, remembering that his lunch guest’s stay was to be more permanent, turned again. “One more thing, Thomas. When you’ve finished your lunch, could you spark up the lilac room fire and turn down the bed?”
“The lilac room, sir?” Thomas replied with confusion.
“Yes. My lunch guest will be staying with us for a while, and will need to rest immediately after lunch.”
“You wouldn’t want to offer anyone the lilac room, sir,” Thomas replied. The servant actually looked a little alarmed, though Giogi could hardly tell why, it wasn’t as if Thomas didn’t keep the lilac room in pristine condition. “The red room would be far superior,” Thomas said.
“I thought the lilac room would be—well, it’s more suitable for a lady, don’t you think?”
“A lady, sir?” Thomas asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his bangs.
“Um, yes, a lady.” Giogi’s voice quavered slightly and he felt a trace of alarm. He had forgotten how provincial people were in Immersea, especially the servants. “I know it’s irregular, but it’s an irregular situation—not one we need mention, though, to Aunt Dorath.”
“I would imagine not, sir,” Thomas agreed. “Still, the linen in the red room is in better condition. Your guest would be much more comfortable there.”
“Very well,” Giogi agreed, dissatisfied but not wanting to antagonize the man on whose discretion he must depend. “The red room. The lady’s name, by the way, is Cat. She’s a magic-user. She may be able to help me find the wyvern’s spur.”
“Ah, I see.” Thomas nodded. “Oh, sir. About two hours ago, a servant from Redstone delivered a package for you. I left it on your writing table in the parlor.”
“A package? Hmm,” Giogi mused, wondering what sort of package would be sent down from Redstone. “Well, thank you, Thomas. We’ll be in the parlor until you announce lunch.”
“Very good, sir.”
Giogi turned about again and nearly ran over a large, fat black-and-white tomcat, which meowed up at him with annoyance.
“Thomas, is that Spot?” Giogi asked.
“Yes, sir,” Thomas said. “He appeared on the doorstep about an hour ago. I didn’t have the heart to turn him away.”
“No. You were quite right,” Giogi said. “He’ll need looking after now that Uncle Drone is gone. Aunt Dorath always threatened to turn him into a muff someday. Can’t have that, can we, boy?” Giogi bent over and picked up the heavy feline.
Cradling Spot in his arms, Giogi returned to the parlor and his guest. Spot leaped from the noble’s arms, sat by the fireplace, and began washing himself.
Giogi looked over at Cat. Her eyes were closed, and her head rested against the overstuffed wing of the chair. Her face was relaxed now that her fear and pride had drained away in sleep. Actually, Giogi thought, she’s much prettier than Alias of Westgate.
Giogi crept quietly over to his desk so as not to disturb the young woman. A bundle of red velvet cloth wrapped with twine lay upon the blotter. The noble sat at his desk and picked up the parcel. Something hard, nearly two feet long, eight inches around, and quite heavy lay within the cloth. Giogi picked away the knot in the string.
Giogi unwound the velvet cloth carefully, revealing a gleaming black statue of a beautiful woman. Her lithe and scantily clad form was slightly arched, and her shapely arms were swept up over her head in a circle. Her face was round and pretty. Her lips were parted slightly, and her eyes were closed, like a woman waiting to be surprised. The rest of her physical features Uncle Drone had once described as ample, though Aunt Dorath had argued they were scandalous.
“Sweet Selune,” Giogi whispered, recognizing the statue immediately.
“What’s wrong?” Cat asked sleepily.
Giogi started and turned in his chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“That’s all right,” the mage said, rising from her chair. “I was just napping. Oh! What a beautiful statue,” she said, padding over to Giogi’s side. “Where did you get it?”
“It’s Uncle Drone’s—well, it was Uncle Drone’s. Thomas says a servant brought it over this morning. It’s a carving of Selune by Cledwyll.”
“Really? I’ve never seen a Cledwyll before. It must be worth a fortune.”
“I suppose. Not that we’d ever sell it. It was a gift from the artist to Paton Wyvernspur, the founder of our family line.” Giogi set the statue on the writing table and idly stroked the glistening black stream of hair that flowed down its back.
Why did Uncle Drone send me this? the nobleman wondered. I wouldn’t have thought he’d have ever parted with it. Unless he had some premonition of his death and was afraid Aunt Dorath would lock it away from sight. Giogi took his hand off the statue to search the cloth wrapping for a note of explanation.
“Down, Spot. Naughty boy,” a wheezy
voice suddenly chided.
Giogi sat up and stared at the statue. The lovely lips of the carving of Selune moved, and from them issued an old man’s voice—Uncle Drone’s voice. The voice spoke again, saying, “Giogi, listen. The wyvern’s spur is your destiny. Steele mustn’t get it. You must find it first. Search for the thief.”
The statue’s mouth froze back into its normal alluring shape and was silent. The room was quiet, except for the wind and rain on the windows. Spot jumped up on the desk and sniffed at the statue.
Cat’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. There was something very unusual about the magical message. She did a quick mental calculation. Yes, she realized, something’s missing. “Who’s voice was that?” she asked.
“Uncle Drone’s,” Giogi replied. An ache settled in his heart. That’s the last time I’ll ever hear his voice, he realized.
“And who’s Spot?” the mage asked.
“His cat. This beast,” Giogi explained, reaching out to stroke Spot’s fur. Spot pushed Giogi’s quill pen off the desk to the floor and leaped down after it.
“What did your Uncle Drone mean,” Cat asked, “by the wyvern’s spur being your destiny?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose it has something to do with my father. He used the spur somehow. I guess Uncle Drone expects me to, as well.”
“How can the spur be used?” the mage asked curiously.
Giogi shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Cat sank down onto the thick Calimsham carpeting and sat cross-legged beside the writing table. “Do you think your uncle was telling the truth when he told your aunt he didn’t have the spur or know where it was?”
“Oh, Uncle Drone would never lie,” Giogi said.
“But he told your family the thief was in the catacombs,” Cat pointed out with a skeptical smile.
“Actually, what he said was the would-be thief was stuck in the catacombs. He was right, wasn’t he?” the nobleman asked. He meant the question to be a chastisement, but he couldn’t help grinning at the mage.
Cat blushed with embarrassment and stared down at her lap.
“It’s possible,” Giogi admitted, “that Uncle Drone knew more about the real thief than he let on. I don’t see how he expected me to find the spur without telling me more about the thief, though,” he added irritably.
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 wyvern’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 off his tongue before he could hold them back.
“Do you dream about those things?” Cat asked in an awed whisper. Her eyes 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 Wyvernspur 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.”
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.”
