There wasn’t.
Raistlin sank down on the bed and gave way to a sudden fit of coughing. He fumbled for his pouch of herbs. “It’s gone!”
“What? What’s gone?”
“My herbal mixture! My pouch must have fallen off in the park.”
“I’ll go-” Caramon began.
“No, don’t leave me, brother!” Raistlin clutched his chest. “Besides, you’d never get out of the inn. Not the way it’s locked up!”
“I’ll go!” said Earwig, jumping up and down with excitement. “I can get out!”
“Yes!” Raistlin nodded, sinking down on the bed. “Send the kender.” He shut his eyes.
“Hurry up!” Caramon admonished Earwig sternly. “No stops along the way!”
“Not me!”
Opening the door, the kender darted out. They could hear his light footsteps racing down the hall and clattering down the stairs. Then, silence.
Raistlin, drawing a deep breath, sat up briskly. Rising from the bed, he went to the window. Caramon stared at him.
“Raist? What-”
“Hush, my brother.” The mage drew back the curtain, being careful to keep himself behind it. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “There he goes. Now we may talk freely.”
“You think Earwig’s a spy?” Caramon didn’t know whether to burst into laughter or tears.
“I don’t know what to think,” Raistlin answered gravely. “Except that he wears a magic ring and has no idea how he came by it. Or, at least, so he says. You’ve seen how strangely he’s been acting.”
Caramon sat down heavily in a chair. Leaning his elbows on the table, he let his head sink into his hands. “I don’t like this, any of it! A man murdered-his body ripped apart. No blood. Only a kind of brown dust. The kender wearing a magic ring …”
“It’s going to get worse, my brother, before it gets better.” Reaching into his robes, Raistlin brought out the bag of herbs and regarded it thoughtfully. He was growing stronger. There was no doubt about it. Was it his cure? Or …
“Could you break a tree, Caramon? One of the trees in the park?” he asked abruptly.
“Wha- Why do you want to know?”
“One of the trees near the body of the murdered man had its bark shattered, as if someone had struck it.”
Caramon thought. “I suppose I could, if I were wearing a gauntlet to protect my fist.” He shuddered as the full implications occurred to the warrior. “Whoever did that terrible thing must be strong! Do you … do you think it was a … a big cat? There were all those claw marks-”
“It was either a cat, or we are meant to think it was a cat,” said Raistlin absently, preoccupied with other thoughts. He dragged a chair over to sit directly across from Caramon. “What do you think of Lady Shavas?”
The question took Caramon by surprise.
“I think she’s … attractive.”
“You find her irresistible!”
“What do you mean?” the fighter asked defensively.
“I mean you have feelings for her.”
“How would you know what my feelings are?” Caramon demanded, rising to his feet and pacing about the room.
He and his twin had never before discussed women. It had always been one part of Caramon’s life in which Raistlin had taken no interest. But then, never before had any woman been attracted to the thin and sickly young man. Recalling this, Caramon began to feel a certain amount of remorse. He could have any woman he wanted. It might be good for Raistlin to … well … get to know the lady better. Perhaps that’s what was working this miraculous cure. Love had been known to perform miracles.
“Look, Raist,” said Caramon, sitting down again. “If you want her, I’ll back off-”
“Want her!” Raistlin’s golden eyes flared. He glared at his brother with such contempt that Caramon shrank away from him. “I don’t ‘want’ her, not in the vulgar sense you mean.”
Yet the mage lingered over the word. His fingers stroked the wood of the table, as if caressing smooth skin.
“Why did you bring her up, then?”
“I have been observing you. Ever since the first night we met her, you’ve been acting like a love-struck boy, staring at her with that stupid grin.”
“The lady seems to like it,” retorted Caramon.
“Yes, she does.” Raistlin’s voice dropped.
Caramon cast him an uneasy glance. “What do you mean?”
“Her house contains very ancient, very powerful tomes of magic. I must look at them … alone.”
“I don’t like this, Raist.”
“Oh, but you will, my brother. I’m certain that you will.”
“What if she won’t go out with me?”
“I’ve seen her looking at you,” said Raistlin.
Caramon heard the bitterness in his brother’s voice. “I’ve seen her looking at you, too, Raist,” he said softly.
“Yes, well …” Raistlin let the comment pass.
Caramon could have sworn he saw a faint flush of blood beneath the golden skin. To his surprise, his twin suddenly clenched both fists, the golden eyes glinted.
“The books! The magic! That’s what’s important. All else is fleeting. All else is of the flesh!” A drop of sweat trickled down the mage’s brow. “You will do it?” he demanded hoarsely, not looking at his brother.
“Sure, Raist,” said Caramon. It was what he answered to every request his twin made of him.
“Thank you, my brother.” Raistlin’s tone was cold. “You must be tired. I suggest you go to bed.”
Caramon shrugged. “What about you?”
“I have work to do.”
Raistlin pulled the sextant out from under his robes, along with the datebook to which he had referred earlier. Opening the text, he laid it on the table next to a quill and inkwell. The mage walked to the window and gazed at the heavens through the brass navigation tool. He began to take notes, drawing odd lines and strange curves, parallels of ink and words on parchment.
Caramon, after watching a moment, went to bed.
The mage was working so intently that he didn’t hear the door open.
“Gosh, Raistlin, you’re up late. Feeling better?”
The kender’s voice startled the mage. He glanced up, irritated by the disturbance.
“That was quick,” he muttered, returning to his drawing.
“Oh, the soldier gave me a ride. He didn’t know he gave me a ride, but I guessed he must be going back to the park, so I just jumped on behind the carriage and off we went. It’s a lot more fun than riding inside. When I got to the park there was a big meeting going on. All the ministers were still there and Councillor Shavas-”
“Shavas?” Raistlin looked up again.
“Yes.” Earwig gave a yawn that nearly split his head in two. “I told her you dropped the pouch. She helped look for it, but we couldn’t find it. I did find some others, in case you’re interested.” The kender pulled numerous purses-mostly filled with money-out of his pockets and dumped them on the table. Along with them came a tiny scroll, wrapped tightly in red ribbon.
“What is this?” Raistlin asked, lifting it.
“Oh, that’s from Lady Shavas. She said I was to give it to Caramon.”
Raistlin glanced at the bed where his brother lay sleeping. The mage untied the ribbon and unrolled the scroll.
Dinner. Tomorrow evening. A private place, known only to myself, where we can be alone. I will send my carriage for you at dusk.
It was signed, Shavas.
Raistlin dropped the note, as if it had burned him.
Earwig was unrolling his sleeping mat. “Oh, I found out something else,” he said, yawning again. “The soldier was talking about it with one of his buddies. That man who was murdered. He didn’t have a heart!”
Raistlin sat, staring at the note.
“How fortunate for him,” said the mage.
Caramon awoke to find that his brother had fallen asleep at the table, his head lying on the books, his hand resting protectively over the sextant.