The Wyvern's Spur

13 Olive’s Investigation

Giogi leaped out of bed, burst from his room, and dashed down the dark corridor to the door of the lilac room. Before he got there, the shrieking had stopped. Bursting into a lady’s room could prove awkward, but the silence coming from the room seemed even more ominous to Giogi. He flung open the door without knocking.

Cat had lit a fire in the fireplace, but a few glowing embers were all that remained. Dressed only in his nightshirt, Giogi shivered with cold. Moonlight streaming through the windows silhouetted everything in the room. The mage, looking pale and shaken, sat up in her bed.

“Are you all right? What’s wrong?” Giogi asked.

“There was someone in here!” Cat gasped. “He tried to smother me with a pillow!”

“Where did he go?”

“Through the wall!” Cat cried, pointing to a spot next to the fireplace. “Like a ghost!” The woman’s cool, analytical manner had crumbled. She sounded terror-stricken.

Giogi turned up the wick in the lamp on the dressing table, and lit it with a bit of burning straw from the fireplace. He drew aside a silk wall hanging, but there was nothing behind it but wall. He tapped it. It sounded solid.

“I’ve never heard of a ghost in this room before,” Giogi said.

“What did he look like?”

“Like Flattery,” Cat said with a sob. “But that’s impossible.”

“Is it?” Giogi asked, uncertain.

“If Flattery were trying to kill me, he wouldn’t leave the job half-finished,” Cat insisted. “He wouldn’t have needed a pillow, either.”

Giogi positioned himself prudently at the foot of Cat’s bed. She now wore one of his mother’s nightgowns, and though it was a prim flannel thing, it was, after all, only a nightgown. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Cat lowered her head and nodded. Her long, loose hair veiled her face, but from the way her shoulders shook, Giogi could tell she was crying.

Damn propriety! the nobleman thought as he rushed to her side. “It’s all right,” he insisted, sitting beside her on the bed and wrapping his arms around her. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Cat laid her head against Giogi’s chest and hugged him close. It was a full minute before her sobbing subsided. Then she sniffed and pulled gently away from his arms. “I’m sorry to be such a coward, but I’ve cast all the magic I can for the day. I’m helpless until I’ve slept and studied.” Her voice quivered, and Giogi was afraid she would go to pieces again.

“Anyone would be upset by what you’ve just been through,” Giogi replied. He stood up. “I think you should wait here,” he said.

“Where are you going?” Cat asked with alarm, grabbing at his arm but stopping herself.

“I’m going to get Thomas and search the house,” Giogi said. He lit a second lamp and carried it with him out into the hallway. Halfway down the stairs, he met Thomas hurrying up in the darkness.

“Sir! I thought I heard a scream! Is something wrong?” the servant asked.

“Yes, Thomas,” Giogi explained. “Someone attacked Mistress Cat in her room. We may have a burglar or worse.”

“In the red room, sir? Are you sure?” Thomas asked.

“No. Someone in the lilac room. Mistress Cat preferred it to the red room, just as I thought she might, so I invited her to use it instead. Someone tried to smother her, but fled when she screamed. She says her attacker went through the wall, but she may have been confused or the attacker capable of magic. In any case, we ought to search the house.”

Thomas nodded and moved up the stairs toward Giogi. “Perhaps we should start in the lady’s room,” the servant suggested.

“I was just in there, Thomas. I told you, the intruder fled when Mistress Cat screamed.”

“There may be, um, footprints, or some other evidence, sir,” Thomas offered.

“Hmmm. You’re right,” Giogi agreed. He turned around and marched back to the lilac room with Thomas right behind him. The door stood open. Cat had risen from the bed and wrapped herself in a robe. She stood staring out the window at the grounds below.

Giogi knocked on the door frame to announce his presence. The mage whirled around, brandishing a small crystal dagger.

“It’s just me, with Thomas,” Giogi said.

Cat gave a relieved sigh. She crossed the room to stand at Giogi’s side and lean against him.

Thomas nodded politely to Cat before entering the room. “Perhaps I could use that lamp, sir,” he suggested.

Giogi handed him the light. As the nobleman stood beside Cat, watching his servant investigate the windows, something brushed against his legs. Giogi let out a cry and jumped aside.

A large black-and-white cat looked up at him and meowed with annoyance.

“Spot! Thomas, it’s Spot.” Giogi said, picking up the large tomcat and brushing its face fur. The cat began purring immediately.

“Is it possible, Mistress Cat,” Thomas asked with an exaggerated patience, “that Spot tried lying on your face and you mistook him for a smothering pillow? When you screamed, he would have jumped away. His shadow in the moonlight could have been mistaken for a larger figure. When he landed, he would have disappeared from your sight and perhaps slunk beneath a piece of furniture.”

“It was not a cat,” Cat insisted.

“Someone must have sneaked in somehow, Thomas,” Giogi said.

“I will check all the doors and windows, sir, though it is also possible that someone broke in magically, in which case, they would undoubtedly have left by that way as well.”

“Well, Thomas, we’d better have a look around, just in case.”

Master and servant went through every room in the house but turned up no forced or broken windows or doors, nor any house-breakers. Giogi dismissed Thomas and trudged back upstairs to the lilac room.

“Nothing,” he reported to Cat. “Is it possible Flattery might have sent someone else to do his dirty work, someone less competent than he would be?”

Cat paled. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Perhaps.”

“I think, just to be safe, you had better sleep in my bed. I’ll stay in here.”

Cat nodded. Giogi escorted her to his room. He checked behind all the curtains and wall hangings and under the bed. “All clear,” he said.

“I don’t know if I can sleep,” Cat said.

“You must try. I’ll be right next door if you need me.” Feeling a little more confident, Giogi bent over and kissed Cat on the forehead before he turned and left the room.

Back in the lilac room, Giogi sat on the edge of the bed, wondering if Thomas could be right about Cat mistaking Spot as her attacker. The nobleman certainly hoped so, for the lady’s sake. But suppose Thomas had been wrong. Who but Flattery would want to harm the mage? Cat felt sure that Flattery wouldn’t have failed if he meant to kill her, but suppose the wizard had meant his attack as a warning? Suppose Flattery were trying to frighten Cat into returning to his side?

I have to find some way to protect her from him, Giogi thought with determination. He lay in bed debating whether or not to tell Sudacar about Cat and Flattery. Before he came to a decision, though, he fell asleep. Despite the nobleman’s anxieties, no more screams or dreams disturbed his rest.

Maela’s boarding house, where Olive had taken a room for the winter, catered to an exclusive clientele. While Maela’s rates were reasonable, and her home clean and comfortable, not everyone would consider crossing her doorstep. Maela was a halfling, and she kept a halfling-sized townhouse in the heart of Immersea.

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 Wyvernspur 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 Selûne! 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.

A staccato knock at the front door forced Thomas to focus on his more conventional duties. Slipping off his apron, he hurried out to the front hall, and, regathering his composure, opened the door.

A very small figure dressed in a fur-trimmed cape stood on the stoop. At first, Thomas assumed it was a young child, noble-born he would have guessed, based on the cape and the well-groomed russet hair flowing from beneath the hood.

The figure looked up at him with a very grim expression, and Thomas could see that it was no child, but an adult female halfling. “I must speak with Giogioni Wyvernspur,” the halfling declared. She slipped past Thomas’s legs and through the doorway.

“Master Giogioni has not yet dressed or had breakfast,” Thomas argued, still holding the door open, hoping the little creature would take the hint and leave.

“I can wait,” Olive said. “Thomas, isn’t it?” she asked, pulling off her gloves.

“Yes,” the servant admitted.

“Is the mage known as Cat still here?” the halfling interrogated the servant.

“Uh, yes,” Thomas said, closing the front door in surprise. It was a little startling to be confronted with someone who seemed to know the household’s goings-on.

“Time may be of the essence. Would you be so good as to tell your master that Olive Ruskettle requests an interview with him?” Olive said, swinging her cape from her shoulders and holding it and her gloves out in Thomas’s general direction.

“Of course,” Thomas said, accepting the halfling woman’s items. Trying to regain some marginal control of the situation, he suggested, “Perhaps you would care to wait in the parlor.”

“That will be fine,” Olive replied.

Thomas ushered the halfling into the next room, where she sat on a low footstool. Her posture, so perfectly straight and still, reminded Thomas of Giogi’s Aunt Dorath, and her tone and demeanor were so solemn that Thomas grew more than concerned; he became alarmed.

This Olive Ruskettle was nothing like any of the halflings Thomas had ever met before. What sort of awful business could she possibly have with my master? he wondered as he hurried from the parlor.

Without rising, Olive surveyed the plush room around her. The boy has money, all right, she decided. And taste, too, she added upon catching sight of a marble statue of Selûne. I do believe that’s an original Cledwyll. Overly endowed and scantily clad. Yes, definitely a Cledwyll. How extraordinary.

Olive looked down at her dress. The pin was still firmly in place, as was her determination. She had to throw herself into this role, she thought. How does one play a Harper? Should she act certain and serious, like all the archetypal, snooty paladins she’d known as a child, or did she dare model herself after the Saurial paladin Dragonbait, who’d befriended Alias, and add a touch of concern and self-effacing humor?

What would Dragonbait do in this situation? she wondered. Probably track Flattery down and run him through with a sword, she answered sternly.

All right, but what would he do if he were me? He wouldn’t say much, she thought, allowing herself a slight grin. Dragonbait was mute, which was part of his charm and mystique, Olive realized. He didn’t babble. Try not to babble, Olive-girl, she ordered herself. Get to the point.

Then again, it might not be a good idea to fire on Giogi suddenly. Might spook him. Try a little polite conversation first. Hello. So sorry to hear about good old Drone. How’s the rest of your family? Then let Giogi know his houseguest is married to a murdering dog who happens to be a relative.

Giogioni did not keep Olive waiting long, and the genuine smile he wore as he entered the parlor did a lot to bolster Olive’s confidence.

“Mistress Ruskettle, what an honor! I’d heard you were in Immersea,” the young man said.

“I’m so pleased you remember me, Master Giogioni. Our last meeting, at your cousin’s wedding, was so brief,” Olive replied, holding out her hand.

Giogioni took the tiny fingers in his own and bowed low over the half ling’s hand. He released her and stepped back. “It would be impossible to forget a songstress with your talent, and, of course, the day was, um, memorable for other reasons.”

“Yes,” Olive said, nodding. “There was that unfortunate attack on your life.”

“Well, Sage Dimswart did explain that your friend, Alias, was under a curse. I don’t blame her.”

“That’s very civil of you, Master Giogioni. I’m pleased to say that we did manage to find a cure for Alias.”

“Oh, that’s marvelous,” Giogi said, seating himself across from the bard. “Tell me, is she in Immersea as well?” he asked, testing his theory that Alias had stolen the spur.

Olive shook her head. “No. She’s wintering in Shadowdale.”

“Oh.” Giogi’s brow furrowed for a moment, but he recovered from his disappointment quickly.

Olive went on to a new topic. “I heard that your grandfather’s cousin, Drone Wyvernspur, has passed on. May I extend my condolences,” she said. “I understand you were very close to him.”

“Thank you,” Giogi replied. He looked away from Olive and stared into the flames in the fireplace. Olive could see moisture sparkling in his eyes. After a few moments, the nobleman turned to face his guest once again. “It came as quite a shock. He was more than a cousin to me. He and my Aunt Dorath raised me after both my parents died. I always called him Uncle Drone. He was a little absentminded but always very kind.”

“Your family is in the midst of another tragedy as well, I understand,” Olive commented.

“An heirloom is missing, which, according to legend, is supposed to ensure that our line never dies out. The family’s a bit on edge, what with its disappearance and Drone’s death. You know, Mistress Ruskettle, it’s really most extraordinary that you should have come to visit me this morning. You see, I was planning to come speak with you about the spur.”

Olive managed to hide her surprise. There would be time enough to find out what Giogi thought she knew.

“Perhaps my coming isn’t as extraordinary as you might think,” the halfling said with a knowing smile. She raised her right hand to the Harper’s pin and fiddled with it, seemingly absentmindedly. Then she let her hand rest back in her lap. “Perhaps you are already aware, Master Giogioni, that the wyvern’s spur has attracted the attention of a certain powerful and dangerous wizard.”

Giogi gulped. “You mean Flattery?” he squeaked. “Precisely,” Olive replied, leaning forward in her chair. Without realizing it, Giogi leaned forward in response.

“Perhaps it’s time I got to the point, Master Giogioni. This Flattery murdered my partner, and my organization cannot let his crime go unpunished.”

“Your organization—excuse me, but I couldn’t help noticing; that is a Harper’s pin you’re wearing, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Master Giogioni, it is.”

“I hadn’t realized … You weren’t wearing one at Freffie’s wedding last spring.”

Olive sighed and smiled. “Those were less fateful days.”

The door to the parlor opened, and Cat breezed in. She wore a cream-colored morning dress replete with pink ribbon-roses and white beadwork ferns. She wore her copper-colored hair in an elaborate five-strand Sembian braid that hung halfway down her back.

She slipped behind Giogi and took up the braided lock of his hair. It was obvious from her behavior that she did not notice the halfling visitor on the footstool across from Giogi’s chair. She held out three small green beads. “I found these in my bed,” she said with a smile, then began sliding them into the nobleman’s hair.

Giogi colored visibly. He rose and turned Cat to face Olive. “We have company, my dear. Mistress Ruskettle, may I present to you—”

“Cat the mage, apprentice to the wizard Flattery,” Olive finished for him, her tone chill.

Cat was taken aback at discovering that her flirtation not only had an audience, but one who knew too much about her. Nervously she slipped one of her hands into Giogi’s.

“Um, well, she’s decided to leave Flattery,” Giogi reported. “She’s here under my protection.”

“A wise decision, Mistress Cat,” the halfling said, nodding sagely. “And not a moment too soon,” she added.

Even as she spoke, Olive realized she would have to handle Cat without any help from Giogi. From what the mage had just said to the nobleman, it was obvious that he had offered Cat more than his protection. He’s not likely to welcome any suggestions that the woman might betray him, Olive thought. Human men are funny that way. It’s a pity I can’t let him know that I’m sure of her disloyalty because I eavesdropped on her in his carriage house.

“Cat,” Giogi said, finishing the introductions smoothly, “this is the bard, Olive Ruskettle. We were just discussing Flattery when you came in.”

Cat made a curtsy to Olive, not oblivious to the fact that Giogi had chosen to present her to Olive and not the other way around.

“It seems,” Giogi gulped, “that Flattery killed Mistress Ruskettle’s partner,” Giogi explained to the mage.

Cat did not look surprised in the least. She merely blinked once and asked, “Why?”

Olive was struck by an inspiration. She smiled knowingly. “An interesting question, Mistress Cat,” she said. “One that I suddenly realize you might be able to answer better than I.”

“Me?” Cat paled, no longer so collected.

“You,” Olive replied. “My story is a little complicated,” the halfling said. “Please, won’t you both sit down?”

Giogi sat on the sofa and drew Cat down beside him, still holding her hand in his own. She looked as though she needed his strength.

Maybe this will bring you to your senses, Cat, Olive thought. Perhaps we can make you more afraid of going back to Flattery than of leaving him.

“You have no doubt noticed, Master Giogioni,” the halfling began, “that Mistress Cat bears a strong resemblance to Alias of Westgate.”

“Well, actually, yes, I have,” Giogi said, “but Cat said—”

“She’s never met anyone named Alias,” Olive supplied. “That she is from Ordulin. Mistress Cat comes from a branch of Alias’s family separated by … hard times. Yet her relatives all show a striking family resemblance to one another, much like in the Wyvernspur family. In addition, all of the women in Alias’s clan inherit an unusual marking on their right arm. It appears overnight without explanation, and cannot be dispelled magically.”

Cat touched her right sleeve with her left hand. Giogi looked at her questioningly, and the mage nodded her head.

Olive continued her story. “My partner, Jade, was also a member of this family. She, too, resembled Alias of Westgate, as well as you, Mistress Cat. At any rate, two nights ago, we sighted Flattery in the streets of Immersea. We followed him, as we were aware that he had unscrupulous reasons for visiting your town.

“Jade has been specially trained in picking pockets—in the line of duty, you understand,” the halfling explained. “We thought it likely that Flattery had stolen the wyvern’s spur, so Jade closed in on him to investigate the contents of his pockets. Jade liberated an unusual item from the wizard right off: a crystal as big as my fist and as dark as a new moon. I know, because she held it up for me to see before she continued stalking Flattery.”

Olive took a deep breath. “Jade was just reaching for Flattery’s pocket again when he turned around. He seemed to mistake Jade for someone he knew. He cried out, and I quote, ‘So, you treacherous witch, you’ve escaped, and now you try to steal what you have not earned.’ Then he … he killed my partner—disintegrated her with a vile magic spell.”

Olive paused. She did not need to feign grief and rage; they came naturally. Giogi was rapt with the bard’s tale. His mouth hung slightly open, and his eyes were wide. The cool and rational Cat clutched Giogi’s hand tightly, and her gaze seemed to bore holes into Olive.

It was some moments before the halfling could bring herself to finish, and when she did, her voice was no longer as steady as it had been. “I think Flattery mistook my partner for you, Mistress Cat,” she explained. “The question I have for you is: Is it possible your former master would kill you if he thought you were trying to steal something from him?”

Cat turned even paler. She nodded wordlessly.

Olive nodded at her admission. “After seeing Jade murdered, I’m afraid I lost my head,” Olive said. “I screamed, and Flattery spotted me, got a good look at me. I managed to escape his pursuit with some magic of my own, but I was witness to his crime, and he has no love for Harpers.”

Olive gave a shuddering sigh. “If I were farther north, I would have greater resources to draw upon to bring him to justice—companions with discretion. As it stands now, I am alone and far from home. I could use your help.”

“I’m honored that you would come to me, Mistress Ruskettle,” Giogi said, feeling a little astounded. “I will do all I can to help. But why did you come to me? Surely, in all of Immersea, you could find more powerful allies than myself.”

“But not as discrete, I fear, and I thought you would wish to keep this in the family. Of course, I might have gone to your Cousin Frefford, but he has a young wife and new baby, and this may be a hazardous mission. As for your Cousin Steele, he is, I’m afraid, unsuitable.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t quite follow you,” Giogi said, “about keeping it in the family.”

“As Flattery is one of your own, I thought you might wish to bring him to justice, to help avoid a scandal, as it were.”

“Flattery is … You don’t mean to say that he’s a Wyvernspur?” Giogi gasped.

“Yes. You didn’t know? I thought Mistress Cat would have explained that,” Olive said, though of course, she’d thought no such thing and would have been surprised to learn that Cat had told Giogi anything useful about her master.

Giogi turned to the mage beside him and waited silently for a denial, an explanation, an excuse. Anything.

Cat looked down at her hands. “I didn’t know for certain. I just began to suspect it yesterday. He looks just like your cousins, Steele and Frefford. I was afraid that if you realized he was a relative, you might not take my side against him and let me remain in your protection.”

Not very good at making up lies, are you? Olive thought.

Giogi looked wounded. “How could you even think such a thing?” he asked.

“You’re always talking about how important your family is to you,” Cat whispered. “ ‘Wyvernspurs look out for one another,’ you said.”

“But, you’re family, too,” Giogi protested.

“Suppose I weren’t,” Cat said.

“But you are,” the nobleman insisted. “The guardian let you past, so you must be.”

And I’m willing to bet, Olive thought, that that’s not just because of your marriage to Flattery.

“But suppose I weren’t in your family?” Cat insisted.

“It would make no difference,” Giogi replied coldly, offended that Cat did not think more highly of his honor. “I’m not the sort of man who leaves young women in the hands of murdering wizards.”

Cat looked down at her lap, unable to explain her anxiety. Giogi sat stiffly beside her, no longer holding her hand.

You’ve made a miscalculation, woman, Olive chided Cat mentally. You knew you couldn’t tell Giogi that he’s fallen in love with another man’s wife. He might have accepted your not confiding in him, but, by suggesting he might turn you out, you’ve wounded his pride.

He’s not suspicious of her, but at least she’s on the defensive, Olive thought triumphantly.

“Anyway, you are a member of the family,” Giogi insisted as if reminding himself he still had a duty toward her. “As a Wyvernspur himself, Flattery must have a record of the missing branches of our family tree. That’s how he knew it would be safe to send you in after the spur.”

Olive nodded, then caught herself. She wasn’t supposed to know Cat had been in the crypt. “Do you mean to say Flattery had Mistress Cat steal the spur?” she asked, acting surprised.

Giogi flushed, realizing he’d just betrayed Cat. “Well, yes and no.”

“My former master sent me after the spur, but it was gone when I got there,” Cat explained hurriedly. “You see, their family crypt has a secret door, which opens—”

“Every fifty years,” Olive concluded with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Yes, we know about that as well. What I don’t understand is why Flattery sent you after the spur.”

The question that had plagued Olive occurred to Giogi in a flash. “Yes! If Flattery is a Wyvernspur, why didn’t he just go after the spur himself?” Giogi asked.

“If we knew the answer to that question, Master Giogioni,” Olive announced, “we might just know how to defeat Flattery.”