Raistlin shook his head. “So much to do. And so little time. Tonight, Caramon. The Great Eye shines tonight. And I’m not ready.…” He sighed, then said, “If you must know, in one of the books, I saw a picture of that man standing in a place that looked familiar to me. I realized this morning that the place was here-Westgate Street.”
“You saw him in a book? What did it say about him?”
“That he was a creature of great evil. But, after meeting him, I’m no longer sure what to believe.”
“I know.” Caramon shuddered. “He’d just as soon rip out your heart as look at you.”
“Perhaps. But-”
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” It was the barmaid. Caramon vaguely remembered that her name was Catherine. “I couldn’t help overhearing you mention Earwig. Do you mean Earwig Lockpicker, the kender?”
“You’ve seen Earwig? Where is he?” Raistlin asked with interest.
“I don’t know. That’s what I’ve come to tell you. I think he’s been abducted.”
“Abducted?” Caramon snorted. “Who in his right mind would run off with a kender?”
“Well, we were talking in the tavern where I work, and I went into the back to get some ale, and when I returned, he was gone!” Catherine stared down at her shoes.
Raistlin’s shrewd eyes watched the girl from the shadows of his hood. “He probably just wandered off.”
“No, he didn’t.” Catherine began to twist and tug at her apron.
Raistlin eyed the girl speculatively, then suddenly the golden skinned hand shot out and grabbed hold of her wrist. “Where have they taken him?”
“Ouch!” Catherine gave a little scream and began to squirm. “Please, sir. I- You’re hurting me!”
“Where have they taken him?” Raistlin tightened his grip. The girl’s face grew deathly pale. She tried to pull away.
“Raist-” Caramon began.
“Come, come, girl!” Raistlin ignored his twin. “You were in on it, weren’t you? You lured him into the trap.”
Catherine snatched her arm away. “It was him who told me to do it.”
“Who?”
“That man. Bast. He said your friend was in danger, because he wore that strange necklace. He said he and his men would protect him. All I had to do was see to it that the kender went with them peacefully. Not make any trouble.” She twisted her apron into a knot. “I never meant any harm! I only wanted to help!”
Tears slid down her cheeks. Lifting her arm, she wiped it across her nose.
“Where did they take him?” Raistlin persisted.
“The … the dead wizard’s cave, I think.”
“Where is it?”
“In the mountains, a half day’s journey from here,” Catherine said, jerking her thumb in a southeasterly direction. “There’s an old path that leads there, marked by black flowers.”
“Black flowers!” Raistlin stared at her. “Don’t lie to me!”
“I’m not!” Catherine rubbed her hands across her eyes. “I’m sorry for what I did. He was nice to me. Just go and find him, will you?”
“Black flowers,” muttered the mage.
“What is it, Raist?”
“Black flowers have a certain meaning among us, my brother. They denote the spot of an evil wizard’s death.” Raistlin rose to his feet. “We must search for Earwig.”
“I didn’t think you cared that much about the kender,” said Caramon, pleased.
“Not him! The magic ring he’s wearing!” Raistlin began moving at a rapid pace down the street.
Caramon, shaking his head, was starting after his brother when he felt a gentle touch on his arm. He turned to see the girl. “Well, what is it now?” he asked gruffly. “Haven’t you done enough?”
Catherine flushed, her eyes lowered. “I just wanted you to … If you see Earwig, tell him”-she shrugged-“tell him that I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, sure!” muttered Caramon and stalked off.
Chapter 19
Earwig entered a long tunnel. The kender sighed. It was the fifth tunnel he’d encountered in his escape, and he was beginning to get tired of them. Even the pictures on the walls, interlaced with the gold, black, and white lines-pictures that had formerly been so fascinating-were starting to lose their charm. His stomach growled.
“I’m hungry, too,” said Earwig, patting his belly sympathetically.
The little torch he held in his hand continued to burn with a soft, yellow glow, the amber at the end of the wood sputtering occasionally. Such torches were the favorite of kender, and no respectable adventurer left home without a few in his pack. Earwig had started with five, and though each would stay lit for a couple of hours, he had already used up one in his wanderings.
“This isn’t fun anymore!” he shouted. “I want out of here, and I want out of here right now. I mean it! No nonsense!”
The sound of his thin voice echoed in the walkways, but not for very long or very far or else the kender would have done little more than stand and yell, listening for his voice repeated hundreds of times against the ancient stones. He heard no answer, however, and was disappointed. He walked off to his right and stepped in a warm puddle of amber.
“I’ve been here before! I’m walking in circles.” He remembered then, what his great-grandfather had always told him. Whenever you’re in a boring situation, turn left and keep turning left. Earwig thought this good advice, and so he decided to follow it now.
He came to more tunnels, with more pictures filling the walls, more gold and black and white lines. The kender ignored them. He went through several more hallways and suddenly noticed that the pictures began to fade. The lines ran together to form a single, great band of gold, black, and white.
“I don’t blame you,” the kender told the unknown artist. “I was getting tired of that other stuff, too.”
Earwig stopped short, dropping his torch and clutching a wall to keep himself from falling forward. He had stumbled into a room-a dome underneath the ground. Set in the bare walls at regular intervals were burning torches whose light did not fully penetrate the gray fog drifting through the air.
“Well, at least this is different from tunnels!” said the kender, feeling cheered.
He walked inside, staring about curiously. The floor was smooth and hard, and in the middle of the chamber sat a huge circular stone dais, taller than the kender.
“And that’s big!” he exclaimed, moving up to the stone, running his hands along its smooth, unmarked surface. “What’s it for? I know! It must be the way out.”
It wasn’t. Earwig moved around the circumference of the disk, using his hoopak as he did in the cell, searching for a secret door or hidden opening. Finding nothing, he looked over the rest of the room.
The torches were held in sconces set into the wall at regular intervals, ten in all. He tried to remove one, but didn’t have the strength to lift the pole out of its holder. The light they cast was yellow, like the sun on a hazy day. They gave off no heat and no smoke.
“Magic,” said the kender knowingly, and was bitterly disappointed that he couldn’t take one with him.
The chamber was small, and there was very little to see and no way out except the way he’d come, and that led to tunnels. His stomach growled more insistently.
“I’m trying to get us out of here, darn it!” said the kender to that unhappy portion of his anatomy. “And I could concentrate a lot better if you’d leave me alone!”
Earwig leaned against the dais, irritably tapping on it with the golden ring on his finger.
“Now what do I do?” he asked aloud.
Who calls? A voice rang in his head, hissing the words as a snake spits venom.
“Wow!” said the kender, awed.
The room began to grow dark. The torches dimmed in their holders. The gray mist turned black.
Who calls? the voice asked again.
“Me!” Earwig yelled in excitement. “My name’s Earwig Lockpicker.” He paused, then asked politely, “What’s yours?”