“A bargain,” the shopkeeper assured them, but the mage handed it back.
“Can’t you use Lady Shavas’s scroll to get it?” Caramon asked.
“No. It only allows for ‘minor expenses.’ I doubt if a sextant counts as that.”
The brothers walked up the street, never noticing that the kender was missing until he rejoined them.
“Raistlin,” Earwig said, tugging at the mage’s robes.
A look of anger flared in the strange, black pupils. “Don’t you dare touch me! Ever!” The mage shoved the kender back.
“But I’ve got something for you!” Earwig said. Reaching into his pouch, he pulled out the sextant.
The mage brought his hand up over his mouth quickly, putting his fingers over his twitching lips.
“Earwig. Where did you get that?” Caramon tried to sound severe.
“From the shop, of course,” the kender said, nodding his head. “The owner said you could have it if you promised to return it when you were done.”
“Really? And the owner actually said this to you?”
“Well, he didn’t actually say it, but I’m sure he would have if he had been in the room.”
Raistlin averted his head. His thin shoulders shook, and Caramon could have sworn that his brother was laughing.
“Uh, Raist, don’t you think we should return it?”
“What, and spoil Earwig’s gift? Never!” Raistlin said. He took the tool from the kender’s hand and tucked it under his flowing robes to hide it from sight. “Thank you, Earwig,” he said solemnly. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
“You’re welcome,” the kender said, beaming, and looking much more like the old Earwig.
The travelers found another carriage. Raistlin directed the driver to take them to Westgate Street. By the time they reached their destination, the day was rapidly fading. The last portcullis was the same as the others, metal untouched by the elements, with the same indecipherable network of plates and shields on the bars.
Next, they went to another hyava house, ordered the same drinks and food that they had ordered at the last one, with exactly the same results. Earwig tried to take Caramon’s scone, and when the fighter slapped the kender’s hand, the pastry broke and fell to the ground, only to be eaten by several cats sitting in front of the shop.
“I have to get my own table next time, or I’ll starve,” the warrior muttered.
Caramon glanced into a shop across the way-a store displaying a variety of marvelous swords-and saw a dark-skinned man staring out the window, directly at them.
Boldly meeting the gaze of the mysterious watcher, Caramon shivered with cold, though the sun shone gently on his shoulders. There was something very strange about the man. Strange, yet familiar.
The fighter turned to his brother, who was attempting to feed one of the cats a piece of his own scone. Caramon had never seen Raistlin show any affection toward animals. One of the cats nibbled at the offered crumb and bumped up against the golden, outstretched hand, but soon backed away.
The mage sighed, leaning on the Staff of Magius, gripping it tightly, an expression of enraged bafflement on his face.
Caramon hated to disrupt his brother’s thoughts, but this was important. “Raistlin, we’re being watched.”
The mage barely glanced at him. “The man across the street in the weapons shop? Yes, I know. He’s been there the past ten minutes.”
Caramon half-rose. “You knew? He might be the one who tried to kill us-”
“Sit, brother. Assassins do not watch their prey so openly. This man wants us to know that he is watching us.”
Caramon, confused, reluctantly sat back down.
Earwig turned to look. “Hey! That’s the man who wanted my necklace!”
“What? When?” Raistlin pounced on the startled kender.
“Wh-why …” Earwig stammered, “it was … let me see … I remember. Back at the Black Cat Inn.”
“Why didn’t you say anything to me then?” Raistlin practically frothed at the mouth. He began to cough, clutching at his chest.
“Hey, Raist. Calm down,” said Caramon.
“Gosh, I forgot, I guess,” Earwig said, shrugging. “It wasn’t anything important. He just asked me where I got the necklace, and I said it had been in my family. He seemed to want it pretty badly, and I didn’t need it so I tried to give it to him, but it wouldn’t come off. Then a man who was with him said something about ‘dragging out my guts,’ but they decided not to.” Earwig sounded slightly disappointed. “Then they left.
“I kind of like this necklace,” the kender added, looking at it proudly. “I meet lots of entertaining people because of it. Another man at a tavern here in town tried to kill me to get it.”
“I may kill you!” gasped Raistlin when he could breathe again.
“When did this happen?” Caramon asked.
“Let’s see. It was the night before the morning that I got in trouble with the woman in the inn. I was walking around the town when I heard men laughing. I looked into a window to see what was so funny, and I saw this man hit one of the barmaids. They threw him out, and he stood in the doorway and saw my necklace and said it was his, and he came at me with a knife. So I popped him with my hoopak, and the barmaid kissed me.”
“Was it the same man who wanted your necklace the first time?”
“Of course not! That man was nice. This man wasn’t.”
“A name?” Raistlin mouthed. “Did you hear a name?”
“No.” The kender frowned, looking back in time. “But I think the girl called him ‘my lord.’ ”
Raistlin drew a deep breath. Caramon started to go fetch hot water, but the mage shook his head. The spasm was over. Deep in thought, he stared at his gold-skinned hands. Caramon turned his head to see if they were still under observation.
“He’s gone,” Raistlin said.
Caramon shivered. “It was like he could see right through me. Maybe he’s a mage?”
“I don’t think so.” Raistlin shook his head. “There are certain … feelings … shared among wizards. It’s a feeling of”-he searched for a word-“power. Our watcher did not give me that feeling.”
“But he did give you some sort of feeling,” Caramon said, hearing doubt in his brother’s voice.
“Yes, that’s true. But whatever it was, I don’t think it was the feeling I would get if I met another wizard.”
Caramon would have liked to ask why Raistlin emphasized ‘think,’ but the mage’s cold expression cut off further conversation. The warrior was about to suggest that they get a full meal they all could enjoy.
“It is time to go back to Southgate Street.” Raistlin forestalled him. “I want to meet again with Councillor Shavas.”
Chapter 14
“We have decided to take the assignment,” Raistlin said.
The councillor looked at each of the companions with an expression of extreme pleasure. “Thank you,” she said. “Somehow, I knew you would.”
With a graceful movement, she seated herself in a chair in front of a suit of armor; one of its gauntleted hands held a flamberge that was taller than the kender. Gesturing, Shavas invited the others to join her. It seemed to Caramon that the woman gazed at him with a knowing expression.
She knows that I was in her room, he said to himself, flushing in embarrassment. She knows I … handled her shawl. To conceal his confusion, he turned to the bookshelves and grabbed up the first volume he found.
Raistlin was talking with the councillor, discussing the terms of their arrangement, asking questions about the carvings on the walls. Caramon didn’t pay any attention. He was thinking about the beautiful woman. Rich, educated, well-born-she was far above him, out of his reach, like the moon and the stars.
I’m making a fool of myself, Caramon thought. A woman like that could never love me. I’ll stick to women like Maggie … But he couldn’t keep his hungry gaze from her face.