by Kate Novak
The thudding footfalls of her attacker approached her bolt hole, then ceased. Olive held her breath, hoping to determine in which direction he would head. The killer did not move away, however, but stood near the stable wall, muttering to himself. Pick a direction and move away, you murdering fiend, Olive willed silently.
Snake Eyes, her pony, sensed his mistress’s anxiety and moved toward her, nuzzling her ear. Irritated, Olive pushed the animal’s muzzle away. The pony whickered softly in annoyance. Keep quiet, Snake Eyes, Olive willed, there’s a very crazy man outside trying to kill me.
Olive scratched the pony’s back, and it grew calm. Olive calmed as well; her breathing became more regular. She tried to deny she’d seen the murderer’s face so clearly. He could not be who he looked like. She had to be mistaken.
The halfling’s heart skipped a beat as something knocked on the stable wall behind her. Her pursuer had not given up! He was searching for an opening. Olive stumbled backward in panic and knocked over Snake Eyes’s water pail. The man outside began mumbling again, and Olive realized with horror that he must be chanting a spell.
Olive pushed on the stall’s door, but it was bolted on the other side, and she hadn’t the time to use her skills to slip it open. Fortunately the walls to the stall did not go to the ceiling, and, with an effort born of desperation and a great deal of scrabbling, the halfling was able to climb to the top. She dropped down into the stable’s center aisle and dashed for the building’s main entrance. Snake Eyes whinnied in terror as his mistress pushed on the front door—only to discover that it, too, was bolted from without.
Olive whirled around, looking for another place to hide. A pale glow of yellow light and more muttering emanated from Snake Eyes’s stall. He’s inside! Olive thought, terror grabbing her insides and giving them a quarter-turn. He disintegrates, detects secret doors, and walks through walls. How can I hide from him?
The muttering stopped, and Snake Eyes’s stall door rattled. A series of sharp thumps followed, and the stall door’s hinges began to give way.
Stifling a sob, Olive dodged behind a large pile of grain sacks and crouched, cowering miserably in the dark.
There has got to be some way out of this, Olive thought feverishly. I’m too talented to die. Her eyes lit on an empty sack on the ground and she pulled it over her head, hoping to masquerade as a bag of feed. It was only a thirty-pound sack, though, and she was a fifty-pound halfling.
I’ll never stuff myself into this, she realized as she heard the sound of screws ripping out of wood. Uttering the word “stuff” and staring at the useless bag, a fresh idea sprang to the halfling’s mind.
Jade’s magic pouch! she thought. Akabar the mage had once told her a story of a southern prince who kept an elephant in his magic pouch. Jade said the pouch was a miniature one, Olive recalled. I’m hardly an elephant, she reasoned, so the thing ought to accommodate me.
Her sweaty fingers pulled the small sack from her vest. All I need to do is get my head and shoulders in, and the rest should tumble after, she thought. Her hands trembled as she tugged on the purse strings. In her haste, she dropped the bag, and it clunked to the dark floor. Her fingers groped through the straw and grain until they snagged one of the strings. She fumbled with the knot and yanked open the mouth of the sack, ignoring the sound of approaching footsteps rustling through the straw and the light illuminating the wall behind her.
A queasy feeling came over Olive as she opened the pouch. An ancient, dry voice whispered, “He who steals Giogioni Wyvernspur’s purse makes an ass of himself.”
Nine Hells, Olive cursed. I’ve opened the wrong sack. Giogioni’s must have fallen out when I dropped Jade’s. The fop had a magic mouth cast on his purse to warn him if someone else opened it. Usually, Olive knew, those sorts of spells shouted aloud to embarrass and reveal the thief. Why did this one only whisper? the halfling wondered. Lucky for me it did, but why? Stop thinking about stupid things, girl! she snapped to herself. Don’t you realize that you’re about to die?
A beam of light passed through a chink in the pile of grain sacks, reminding Olive of her peril. Dropping Giogi’s gold, she fumbled again in the darkness for Jade’s magic pouch. Her hands felt heavy and awkward, and she was dizzy from the excitement. When she finally touched the pouch it took all her concentration to grasp and lift it.
The footfalls halted right in front of her hiding spot. Automatically Olive slipped Jade’s pouch in her vest pocket and pressed her eye to the chink in the sacks, just as a shadow blocked the light streaming through. The halfling looked up, her eyes wide with terror.
Jade’s murderer looked down at her with anger. His right hand held a translucent ball of light, which limned his face. Despite the cruel, twisted smile, the sharp features were unmistakable. It is the Nameless Bard, Olive thought with anguish. He used to be a Harper. How could he become a murderer? We were allies and friends. How can he murder me?
“Beshaba’s brats,” he cursed.
Olive felt much the same way. The goddess of ill luck seemed to be following her tonight. She tried to stand, but her knees were too weak. She looked up, prepared to deliver what she suspected were her last words. She started to say, “You’ll never get away with this. Alias will find out, and she’ll—” but all that came from her mouth was a hoarse bray.
Nameless turned away from her as if she didn’t exist, and began searching the horse stalls.
He had me dead to rights, Olive thought. How could he miss me? She tried to scratch her head in puzzlement, but all she could manage was a twitch of her fuzzy muzzle, a swish of her bushy tail, and a pricking of her long, pointed ears. In panic, the halfling looked down at herself. Instead of her black vest, breeches, and furry feet, Olive discovered she was covered with short brown fur and had four delicate hooves.
Sweet Selune, Olive thought, I’m an ass!
Night on the Town
The Immer Inn catered to an exclusive clientele. It was patronized by only those travelers and members of Immersea society who were able and willing to pay exorbitant prices for board, drink, and lodging. Giogi, who had on occasion slept off one too many drinks at the inn, could attest that the guest rooms were very nice. As a local resident, though, he was generally more familiar with the board and drink aspects of the inn.
The decor of the dining hall was the inn’s biggest attraction, though. The floor was covered with plush carpeting, the walls lined with elaborate tapestries, and the ceiling hung with crystal chandeliers. The room was warm and dry and furnished with tables covered with elegant linen and surrounded by the most comfortably cushioned chairs in Cormyr.
Giogi had patronized the Immer Inn since he’d come of age six years before, but, after being away nearly a year, he thought the dining room seemed as strange as his own home had felt. He thought that perhaps it was because the inn was nearly empty this evening, but his friends were there, and their company was strange, too.
They’d welcomed him back heartily enough, but they had cut short the tale of his travels with their pointed lack of interest, insisted his yellow crystal must be ordinary quartz, and teased him about his boots. In addition, he no longer understood half the things to which they alluded in their conversations and jokes. So, though he was not really keen on it, he’d accepted their offer to play a game of Elemental Empires. The game, at least, was familiar.
Giogi began drinking too much and losing lots of money, habits that also were familiar. With a roll of a pair of ivory dice on a felt-covered gaming table, Chancy Lluth had just vanquished all Shaver Cormaeril’s troops. In response, Shaver sacrificed all his leaders to protect a hidden card.
“Primary of flames—that’s a guarded assassin,” Giogi announced when Shaver revealed the card to Chancy. Giogi grinned. One could always count on Shaver to do something vindictive just before he lost.
With a scowl, Chancy tossed one of his knights into the discard pile. Shaver surrendered his unused cards to Chancy and signaled a servant to bring him a fres
h drink.
Shaver drew a priest from Chancy’s unused cards to replace his murdered knight.
“How many cards do you want, Giogi?” Lambsie Danae asked. Lambsie had folded much earlier, as usual, unwilling to risk as much money as the others. Lambsie’s father, while one of the wealthiest farmers in Immersea, kept Lambsie on a strict gambling allowance, and Lambsie never exceeded his limit.
Giogi stared at the crystal chandelier hanging over the game table and tried to calculate the odds of his drawing a card he could use. His element was earth, and there weren’t too many stone cards left in the deck. Nor were there too many major cards he could use without the minor stone suit cards to act as armies to protect them. Each unused card he held doubled the price of a new card, but he could not afford to discard those he held—they were mostly wave cards, which Chancy, whose element was water, would snatch up and use against him.
“First card will cost you sixty-four, and if you can’t play it, the second one will cost a hundred twenty-eight,” Lambsie said.
“I can multiply by two, thank you, Lambsie,” Giogi said with an insulted sniff, though after the last brandy he’d downed, he probably couldn’t.
Giogi counted out sixty-four points’ worth of his yellow scoring sticks. Lambsie dealt him a card, a jester—nearly useless, but playable. Giogi turned it over and sifted it into his single army line.
“You’ve got a two-strength army stacked with a sorceress, a bard, and a jester, Giogi,” Chancy said. “Are they leading your troops or entertaining them?”
Ignoring Chancy’s taunt, Giogi paid another sixty-four points. “Another card, please,” he asked Lambsie.
Lambsie dealt him a four of winds, unplayable, but safe to discard, except, once he discarded, Giogi could buy no more cards. He slid the card into his unused pile. “One more,” he said sliding one hundred twenty-eight points’ worth of sticks across the table to Lambsie.
Lambsie dealt him a third card.
Giogi drew a priest out from his unused stack and played it with the new card.
“The moon!” Shaver exclaimed. “How lucky can you get?”
“You know what they say,” Lambsie said, “Tymora looks out for fools.”
“The tide goes out, wave troops retreat,” Giogi said.
Visibly annoyed, Chancy picked all his minor Talis cards off the table and slipped them into his unused stack of cards.
“I think my leaders will challenge yours to personal combat,” Giogi said. “My sorceress against your priest and my rogue against your warrior.”
“That doesn’t leave anyone to command your troops,” Chancy pointed out.
“Jesters can command troops when the moon is in play,” Giogi said.
“That’s right,” Lambsie agreed.
Confronted with the possibility of losing big, Chancy asked. “What kind of surrender terms are you offering?” he asked.
“Half your debt,” Giogi offered magnanimously.
“Accepted,” Chancy said, offering his knight and priest to Giogi.
“Earth wins,” Shaver declared. “You let him off too easy, Giogi.”
“It’s getting late,” Giogi said. “I have to be going.”
“So soon?”
Giogi nodded, signaling a servant for his check.
His friends counted up their scoring sticks. Lambsie paid out his eight silver pieces’ worth of debt while Shaver and Chancy wrote out IOUs. Shaver would be good for his before a day had passed. As head of the second noble family in Immersea, Shaver’s father was always keen to prove to any Wyvernspur that the Cormaerils had no problem meeting their obligations. It would take some time before he could wheedle Chancy’s money out of him, though. Chancy’s father, like Lambsie’s was a very wealthy farmer, as well as a successful merchant. He lavished his money on Chancy, but Chancy had more gambling debts than Cormyr had trees, or so people said.
Bottles, the inn’s owner, came up to their table and presented the tab without a word. People didn’t generally argue over a check presented by Bottles. The retired soldier’s massive physique discouraged the timid, and his gruff, unsophisticated manner indicated to his haughtiest customers that he was not a man one could intimidate.
Giogi glanced at the check for the total and reached for his purse. Then he began patting down his pockets frantically while Bottles cleared away their glasses.
Chancy smacked him on the back and asked, “Something wrong, Giogi?”
Giogi turned to his drinking buddies and muttered, “I seem to have mislaid my purse.”
“Oh, dear. We’ll have to call out the sheriff now,” Shaver announced in a deadpan voice. “Bottles doesn’t take anyone’s chits. Cash and carry only.”
Giogi swallowed hard. When Bottles had married the inn’s previous owner’s widow, the inn had been debt-ridden. The business thrived under Bottles’s management, not just because he kept the same staff as had his predecessor, but because he had a shrewd head for business—in other words—no credit. His policy was renowned throughout Immersea, as were the two youths he kept on retainer for dealing with deadbeats and other heavy lifting.
The young Wyvernspur rummaged through his pockets again, then checked his boots for good measure. He pulled out the yellow crystal, which glittered in the chandelier light.
It would be impossibly hard to let the stone out of his hand, let alone out of his sight, but he had announced he was hosting the evening’s revelries, and the humiliation of reneging on friends would be even more unbearable.
Giogi laid the crystal on the table. “Will you take this as collateral, Bottles? I haven’t had it appraised, but I’m sure it’s worth a great deal. It is to me, anyway. I’ll ransom it back tomorrow.”
“No, Bottles,” Lambsie cried, “hold out for those boots. They’re the most comfortable pair in the Realms.”
Giogi flushed. Why doesn’t anyone like these boots? he wondered. They’re so sensible.
“Already got a pair of them kind,” Bottles said.
Shaver, Lambsie, and Chancy broke into laughter.
Bottles eyed the three “gentlemen” with disdain. He pushed the yellow crystal away. “Keep your stone, milord. Your credit’s good here.”
“Whoa!” Shaver exclaimed. “Is that the breaking of a tradition I hear?”
“How come my credit isn’t good here?” Chancy demanded.
“ ’E feels bad about it. You don’t,” Bottles replied.
Giogi smiled gratefully. “Thanks, awfully, Bottles. I’ll have Thomas stop by to settle up first thing in the morning.”
“See that you do,” Bottles said, and walked off.
“First thing in the morning for Giogi, isn’t that somewhere around noon?” Shaver joked.
“For your information,” Giogi replied with a haughty tone, too inebriated to consider what he was saying, “I’ll be up before the crack of dawn tomorrow, crawling through the family crypt.”
“Whatever for?” Chancy asked.
“Someone’s stole the spur and he’s trapped down there,” Giogi explained in a conspiratorial whisper. “Or not,” he added, still confused by Uncle Drone’s mysterious confidence to the contrary.
“Not really?” Shaver gasped.
Lambsie and Chancy looked up with horror.
Too late Giogi recalled that Aunt Dorath hadn’t wanted outsiders to know about the theft.
“But the spur’s supposed to ensure your family’s success,” Chancy said.
“No,” Shaver corrected, “his family succession. Right, Giogi?”
“That’s just a superstition. Look, do you think you might keep this between the four of us?” Giogi asked. “It’s best if it doesn’t get around.”
“Of course,” Shaver said. Lambsie and Chancy nodded in agreement.
Looking at his friends’ faces, Giogi did not feel reassured. They were all too blank. One of Uncle Drone’s little sayings popped into his head: Nothing flutters so frantically when caged like a secret, nor flies so fast when released
.
Giogi didn’t like to imagine Aunt Dorath’s reaction if, when she sat down to breakfast tomorrow, she were to find a letter of condolence from Lady Dina Cormaeril, Shaver’s mother. At least I’ll be in the catacombs by then, Giogi thought. Maybe Aunt Dorath will have calmed down by the time I come out. No, he realized, Aunt Dorath could stew for hours and still be boiling mad by sunset.
With a feeling of doom, Giogi took leave of his friends and wove his way out of the Immer Inn. He headed west, toward the Wyvernwater. “A bracing sea breeze would fit the bill,” he said aloud, though there was no one present to hear him, nor did it matter to him at that moment that the Wyvernwater was a freshwater lake, not a salty sea.
He grew less anxious walking in the fresh, cold air, and by the time he’d turned south on the main road, he’d reasoned himself out of his fear. If Aunt Dorath finds out I babbled about the theft, he thought, I can always go abroad again. Maybe, though, if I find the spur, she’ll forgive me and I can stay home.
A stiff gust of wind off the lake blew right through his cloak. He shivered and suddenly felt very tired. What am I doing walking around in this cold? I could be home sleeping in my warm bed.
He quickened his stride, but before he turned down the road leading home he remembered the duties facing him in the morning. His desire to sleep vanished, and he slowed his pace. If he stayed awake, it would be hours before he had to go into the crypt with Freffie and Steele and face the guardian.
Somewhere nearby Giogi heard the strumming of a yarting and the jangle of a tantan. He turned toward the music to find the door to the Five Fine Fish standing open as a crowd of travelers squeezed its way in.
“Sudacar,” Giogi whispered, suddenly remembering the local lord’s invitation to stop by the Fish to talk about Cole.
The Fish was renowned for its ale and very popular as a meeting place among adventurers who passed through Immersea. Giogi’s friends all patronized the Immer Inn, so Giogi, who had never felt very comfortable among strangers, had not been in the Five Fine Fish very often. It would be full of strangers tonight, but Sudacar, while not exactly a friend, could hardly be considered a stranger—not if he knew things about Cole that Uncle Drone hadn’t even spoken of.