Nobody had.
Earwig replaced the tool in its pouch, and replaced the pouch back into his bags. He was about to proceed down the stairs when he remembered the large and unfriendly servant sitting at the front door.
“He’s probably fallen asleep. I won’t disturb him,” said the thoughtful kender as he turned and went the opposite direction.
A locked window didn’t even require the use of his tools, much to Earwig’s disappointment. Climbing out, he crawled down a trellis and landed on the street behind the inn.
Barnstoke Hall stood in the middle of a long block of houses and shops on Southgate Street, one of the three main roads, each several miles in length, that apparently led from the gates to the center of Mereklar. The building was very long, paneled with light-colored wood on the floor and walls, though the ceiling was left uncovered, revealing the white foundation used for every building in the city.
The lights of Mereklar lit the street brightly, whatever magic they used for fuel apparently inexhaustible. Earwig stared up at one of the magical lights, hovering far above his short reach. He thought about using the rope he had at his waist to ensnare one of the miniature suns, but decided to wait until later. Right now he had a very important mission-finding Raistlin’s staff. The kender turned to the right, then stopped, looking behind him, craning his head. Changing his mind, he turned to the left, but suddenly looked behind him again.
“Mmmm,” Earwig murmured. “Which way should I go? Let me think. If I were a wizard’s staff, where would I be?”
The kender tried to imagine himself a staff, but found that distinctly unhelpful. Reaching behind into his backpack, Earwig withdrew a velvet pouch that rattled with a hollow sound. He opened the drawstrings, revealing a multitude of game pieces: glass dice, ivory chessmen, colored sticks-anything used for chance, fortune, or skill. Jamming his hand into the bag, the kender fished around inside for a while, spilling dice and knights everywhere. Eventually, he pulled out a small, square board, about a fingerspan to a side, with a metal arrow pinioned through the center. Leaving the dropped pieces on the street, Earwig sat down on the ground and set the spinner on the white stone road in front of him.
“Now let’s see which way the staff went,” he said, the index finger of his right hand going to the spinner.
Taking a deep breath, Earwig gave the spinner a whirl. The arrow stopped, pointing straight back into Barnstoke Hall.
“Pooh! You’ve made a mistake. It can’t be in there!”
Earwig spun again, only to have the arrow point back at the inn.
“Are you broken?”
The kender gave the needle a wrench, bending it. Putting the spinner back on the ground, he flicked the arrow another time with his finger. It pointed directly into the heart of the city.
“What a coincidence. That’s just where I wanted to go!” Earwig said happily, stuffing the spinner into one of the pockets in his scruffy, baggy trousers. He started walking north up Southgate Street, his hoopak in his hand.
Raistlin thrashed in his bed. His back arched, his face contorted horribly, a mask of gold found only in theatrical grotesques. His mouth opened wide to scream, but the agony ripped his body. He could utter no sound, the air stolen from his chest.
Lightning engulfed the mage, covering him with sheets of blue and white that threatened to sear his flesh. Caramon, standing as near to his brother as possible, was forced to shield his eyes against the brilliant glow. Love for his brother overcame his fear. He edged nearer and nearer to the bed, moving inches at a time.
Caramon could no longer look at his twin. The light had grown so intense that it penetrated his eyelids, causing him to see flashes and phantoms, yellow images that floated across his vision. But still he moved forward, determined to give what help he could. Reaching out, he caught hold of Raistlin’s hand.
The pain started at the front of Caramon’s body, licked around his sides, and scored his back with harsh, blue-lightning claws. Every nerve was aflame, burning so that his flesh lost all sensation, numbed beyond feeling. Shafts of fire speared his lungs and stung his heart till he thought it would burst from the strain.
He lost his balance and fell to one knee, but he held fast to his brother’s stiff hand.
And then, suddenly, the blinding light was gone. Caramon was plunged into darkness. He felt Raistlin’s hand close firmly over his.
“It is over, my brother,” the mage said, his breath coming quick and labored.
Earwig walked for hours, taking in the sights of Mereklar and remembering, occasionally, to search for the staff. He had never been in a city that was so quiet. Nobody else was in the streets. Not a sound could be heard, not even the calls of cats he had so eagerly expected. Earwig felt as if the city belonged to him-a vast, enclosed town whose magical lights burned brightly for him, the only wanderer.
He paused, looking around, finding himself at another intersection.
“Which way should I go this time?” he said aloud, then snapped his mouth shut quickly. He hadn’t meant to disturb the silence.
A cat appeared, glanced at him tentatively, then darted off into the night. After a few moments, more cats ran into the middle of the road.
“Hi!” Earwig said, starting forward, but the cats scattered in all directions. The kender watched them with fascination.
“Wow! And to think there used to be thousands of cats around here! I wonder where these were going? I’ll find out.”
Shrugging and digging deep in his pocket, Earwig brought out the spinner again, flicking it with his finger. The arrow pointed backward, toward the inn.
“Stupid thing!” the kender muttered, placing the game piece back in his pocket.
He turned in the direction opposite the one the spinner had indicated-an alley that sloped slightly downward, a narrow corridor without light.
“That looks interesting. If I were a staff or a cat, I think I’d definitely be down there.”
The kender walked into the alley. He started to whistle a favorite marching tune, but stopped, thinking better of it. After all, he didn’t want to disturb anybody who might be asleep.
The walls of the passage looked gray and rough, the normally white, near-sparkling stone hidden from the light. Earwig had the feeling that there was something different about this place, but he couldn’t decide what it was.
Noise. That was it. This part of the city was awake!
The kender heard the sounds of people singing and laughing. His sharp eyes could now detect the red of a fire’s glow somewhere to the left of an open square-an area he could not see clearly yet.
Earwig reached the end of the alley and looked around in amazement, stopping so suddenly that he almost fell over. He had entered an arcade filled with small storefronts and shops. His gaze darted from place to place, each dark and deserted store calling him to come forward, to come inside and see what it had to offer.
One shop was filled with brightly colored gems and jewelry that gleamed in the moonlight. Another sold cloth, dyed with beautiful patterns, and another offered weapons. Earwig danced forward into the middle of the marketplace, wondering where he should look first.
The sound of a scream and shatters of pottery made Earwig jump and glance around. He saw the source of the red glow-firelight streamed out the window of an inn. He heard another scream, coming from the same place.
“This is one fight I won’t miss!” cried the kender in excitement, and peered inside a dirty window to see what the commotion was about.
Twenty men were seated at tables and booths in the room. They were all dressed in black armor of a type that looked familiar to the kender, though he couldn’t recall why. Flagons of ale and beer sloshed over onto the floor as they talked, their voices muffled by the window. Barmaids walked between the patrons, nimbly avoiding groping hands.