“Where do you think he’s leading us?” Caramon asked.
“If I knew that, we wouldn’t be following it!” Raistlin snapped.
The brothers went up street after street, until even the mage became lost in the flow of alleys, avenues, and paths. Every time the twins came within a few feet of the black cat, it would dart off, staying always ahead, always within sight. It never uttered a sound, but gazed back with eyes that held the sunlight as brilliantly as the blue orb on Raistlin’s staff.
Caramon craned his head back, staring into the sky as he walked. “It’s almost noon,” he said. “I hope we arrive at wherever we’re going soon.”
“I think we must be getting closer,” Raistlin said. “The animal has increased its speed.”
“Do you recognize this part of the city?”
“No. I take it you don’t either.”
Caramon shook his head. They were on a boulevard surrounded by buildings, shops, and houses that looked abandoned or unused. Trash filled several alleys that cut through the blocks like great wounds, darkened and dirty. Even the white stones of the city appeared gray, worn, and old.
“This is very odd.” Raistlin pulled his cowl back, staring at the black windows.
“Yeah. This place feels dead.” Caramon spoke softly, uneasily, though it seemed there was no one around.
“A part of the city that died and was never buried. Look, our friend has evidently found what it wanted us to see.”
The black cat was scratching at a sewer cover near the sidewalk on the right. The twins walked warily up to the feline. It did not run away as it had before, but continued scratching, voicing a harsh “meow!”
“It wants us to go down there,” Raistlin realized. Pointing with a long, thin finger, he commanded, “Lift the grating, Caramon.”
The warrior glanced at his brother. “Into a sewer? Are you sure, Raist?”
The cat screeched loudly.
“Do as I say!” Raistlin hissed.
The huge warrior bent down, grasping the metal cover with both hands, and began to lift, his muscles straining. His face turned red with effort, and his expression distorted into one of concentration and exertion. After a few moments, the plate grated and he dragged it aside.
The cat stared at the brothers intently, cocking its head sideways, flicking its eyes toward the street and back up at them. Without warning, the animal leaped down into the hole, disappearing in the darkness.
Caramon wiped sweat from his forehead. He stared down into the impenetrable hole. It was like looking into the Abyss. He fancied he could feel icy talons reach out, grasping to drag him down to the realm of death. He shuddered, standing back.
“Do we really have to go down there?”
Raistlin nodded in confirmation. The mage’s face was rigid. It seemed he was subject to the same impressions as his brother. But he started forward.
“Better let me go first,” said Caramon.
The warrior forced himself to approach the lip of the pit. Kneeling, he took several deep breaths and then lowered himself into the hole. His legs were swallowed by shadow that slowly engulfed his arms and, finally, his head.
Gathering his robes around him, Raistlin prepared to descend beneath Mereklar.
“Hey, you! Either drink or move on.”
Earwig opened his eyes to see the irate face of a tavern owner glaring down at him.
“No loitering.”
“I wasn’t loitering,” said the kender indignantly. “I was napping. Although,” he added, brushing rose petals out of his hair, “I don’t remember having taken a nap since I was a very small kender. But I was up late last night, so maybe that explains it. Now, I wonder where Raistlin and Caramon have got to?”
At first Earwig was terribly worried that he couldn’t find his friends, but then the uncomfortable feeling went away, leaving him more cheerful than he’d felt in days. The small, irritating voice inside of him quit nagging him to do this, do that. And there was no longer the threat that if he didn’t do what the voice said, he’d be dragged off to someplace where there were no locks to pick, no pouches to find, no people to meet. Someplace eternally boring.
Now that he was away from Raistlin and Caramon, Earwig felt carefree and happy again, and he began doing what all kender do best: explore.
Earwig walked up the street, gazing about with interest. Some of the people, associating him with the mage, whispered to each other that the little man with the pointed ears might be a demon. They drew away from him, pushing their children into their houses, closing and barring doors in his face.
“How rude,” said Earwig. Shrugging his shoulders, he walked on, tapping the wooden hoopak on the ground with a steady, hollow rhythm.
“I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” he asked himself aloud. He had come to an intersection and saw a narrow alley that led to an arcade.
“I remember! This is where I went the first night I was here! That’s the inn where the man tried to kill me and the girl kissed me.”
Earwig walked into the market. None of the shops were open, and only a few nervous people walked through the alley, anxious to finish their business and return to the safety of their homes. “Hello, there,” a bright young voice said.
Earwig glanced around.
“Do you remember me? You helped me the other night. I didn’t get a chance to ask your name. Mine’s Catherine. What’s yours?”
“Earwig. Earwig Lockpicker,” the kender said, holding out his small hand. Is this how Caramon greets a girl? he wondered, trying to remember.
“I never got a chance to thank you, either. You ran away before I could say anything. May I buy you a drink? I work right over there,” Catherine said, pointing to the inn. “Our house speciality is Stonewash Surprise.”
“Stonewash Surprise? I’ve never heard of it,” Earwig replied.
“Oh, only the hardiest of adventurers have ever tried it. And lived,” Catherine added, giggling.
The tavern was as large and dirty as the kender remembered; beer and other unmentionable stains darkened the floor. The walls were constructed from ill-fitting planks of wood that were knotted and rotting with age. Catherine walked behind the bar and began to pour liquors into a glass, filling the cup from decanters of red, green, and blue. The drink complete, she pushed it in front of Earwig, who sat at one of the many mismatched stools.
He took a sip, and his eyes widened. “Celebration Punch!” he exclaimed in recognition. “Kind of.”
“Celebration Punch. What’s that?” Catherine asked.
“It’s what kender use to celebrate with, of course.” Earwig looked around. “You’re not doing much business today.”
The bar was, in fact, empty except for the kender and the young woman.
“It’s the murder,” Catherine said matter-of-factly. “Everyone’s scared to death. I say good riddance.”
“Yes, I remember. He was the man who hit you.” Earwig sipped his drink.
“You know, it’s funny. Lord Manion came in here a lot and he generally got drunk, but he was always a gentleman. Many nights I’ve made certain he reached his home safely. But then, just the past few weeks, he changed. He turned”-the girl frowned, thinking-“ugly, cruel. It was when he started wearing that necklace, like the one you’re wearing.”
“What necklace? Oh, this?” said Earwig, glancing down at the silver cat’s skull with the ruby eyes.
“You’re not going to turn mean, are you?”
“Gee, do you think there’s a chance I might?” Earwig asked eagerly.
Catherine began to laugh. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“I didn’t think so.” Earwig sighed. The kender ran through a list of things to say to women as he tugged at the gold ring on his finger. He chose one he thought appropriate and asked, “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
Catherine giggled. “It’s just my job. One of them.”
“How many do you have?”
“Two or three, depending on business. I work at Hyava Tavern, on Westgate Street.”
“I hope it’s not as rough as this place.”