Over the next few days, Drop gradually became accustomed to the shape and uses of his new body. Learning how to grasp objects took some practice, but soon he could brace things against the hard bandage protecting his broken hand, and was able to fetch most of what the wizard needed. As his natural feline grace of movement emerged, he stopped blundering into things, to Ghost's considerable relief. The owl much preferred a quiet, steady household, without the crash of shattering dishes or items cascading from jostled shelves.
Drop discovered anew that humans were creatures of habit, insisting upon three meals a day, and sleeping most of the night. Fortunately for Drop's cat nature, the wizard tended to indulge in frequent naps during the day, and often worked far into the night. The wizard patiently answered Drop's questions, and encouraged the lad in his efforts to decipher the curious marks called "writing."
"Until your hand heals," the wizard said, "I don't think I shall trouble you with a stylus or quill, but you can learn the shapes of the letters and how words are made from them."
They were somewhat impeded in their activities by the wizard's explosive fits of sneezing.
"I must have become overly chilled the night I brought you inside," Flax remarked, dabbing at his reddened nose. "Bother-most frustrating when one is trying to weigh something small like this mustard seed… a-choo!"
It was late that afternoon when they were startled by a volley of thuds on the front door.
"My hat," complained Flax as he hurried to open the door. "There's no need to batter your way in. Well, what can I do for you?"
A stocky figure enveloped in a black cloak was just raising his cudgel for another thump. "At last!" he exclaimed in a rasping voice. "Am I in the presence of the illustrious Woostrom?"
The wizard sneezed convulsively. "Yes, I am Woostrom, although I prefer being called 'Flax.' Come in, come in, before the draft sets me to… a-choo!"
The unexpected visitor strode past Flax, pausing in the main room to pivot on a burnished boot heel. "A splendid house-for, if I may say so, a splendid wizard. Your fame, Master Woostrom, has spread over considerable distances."
The wizard blinked in surprise. "I can't imagine why," he said. "I exchange a few spells now and then with some colleagues, but chiefly I am occupied here, in this rather isolated cottage."
"You are entirely too modest," declared the visitor. "I have traveled far, and always when potent magic was being discussed, the name of Woostrom arose. But allow me to introduce myself." With a flourish of his cloak, he bowed imperiously. "I am Skarn, a humble apprentice at the noble craft of wizardry."
"Indeed. I am Flax," the wizard asserted, "and this is Drop, my assistant."
Skarn scarcely glanced at the silent lad, who was pondering a growing sense of instant dislike to the stranger. His face seemed unremarkable-he had a rather narrow, pointed nose, long, dark red hair, and beady eyes the color of grimy green bottleglass. But there was something about Skarn… Drop's human nose twitched. Skarn exuded a curiously peppery scent that made Drop's nose tingle. Surely Master Flax was aware of it-but one look at the wizard's swollen nose confirmed that in his congested state, he likely could not distinguish catnip from turnips. There was, however, one other of the cottage's inhabitants who appeared to be disquieted by Skarn's arrival. The humans didn't notice, but from the corner of his eye, Drop saw that Ghost was sidling quietly along his bookshelf toward the corner near an interior door. In a moment, he glided soundlessly away down the hall.
Meanwhile, Skarn was continuing in a wheedling tone, extending a gloved hand importunately toward Flax. "I have searched for you for such a time. Could you permit me to bide here for the night? It would be a great honor to confer with you, at your leisure, of course."
Had Drop been a dog, his mounting distrust would have made him growl; instead, Skarn's pungent scent made him sneeze.
"Bless you," said Flax, instantly concerned. "I do hope that you have not contracted my own difficulty."
Skarn harrumphed loudly, displeased that the wizard's attention had been distracted. "I should not require much room," he persisted. "Any small space where I might roll up in a blanket…"
"Eh? Oh, a place to sleep," said Flax. "We have a number of spare rooms here-no problem at all. Take off your cloak, then, Master Skarn, if you are staying. Drop, put on the kettle, if you will, and we shall offer our guest some herbal tea. He can use the back room two doors down from my study… I believe that its bed is made."
"So warmly hospitable." Skarn grimaced, showing narrow, rather sharp teeth that reminded Drop of a wharf rat he had once chased on a dockside. Unaccountably, the hair stirred at the back of Drop's neck.
Skarn whipped off his cloak, and tossed it at Drop without any word of thanks. Drop hurried to fold the cloak across a chair in the small guest room. Wrongness, he thought-there was something unnatural about Master Skarn, something besides his unmistakable reek of pepper.
During the evening meal, Skarn withdrew an ornamental metal shaker from his vest and liberally dusted his plate of stew. "A weakness of mine," he confided. "I don't invite you to try this spice blend, Master Woostrom, since most folk find it exceedingly strong. I encountered the ingredients in far Druzan years ago, and plain food now seems insipid without it."
Drop and Flax sneezed simultaneously as a faint whiff of the spice mixture reached them.
"I'm sure that would be too lively for my simple tastes," commented the wizard. "Pray tell me, is it true as I have read, that Druzan is much afflicted by sorcerers?"
Skarn airily waved a sharp-nailed hand. "I did not find it so. The Druzanians seemed most willing, even eager to share their knowledge. But doubtless I have bored you with my lengthy traveler's tales." His mouth gaped in a vast yawn. "Forgive me-I find I am wearier than I thought. If I might retire for the night?"
"Of course. Drop, light a lamp for Master Skarn. Thank you. Let me show you to your room. This way." With a final sneeze, Flax bade his guest good night, and shortly afterward, the household settled into peaceful slumber.
It seemed peaceful until Drop roused-sharply, suddenly wide awake. What had caught his ear? Some unusual sound? Not waiting to tug on his slippers, Drop padded barefooted along the twisting hallway toward the wizard's study. Furtive sounds were emanating from that direction, and even Drop's now woefully inadequate night vision could distinguish glimmers of light around the closed study door.
Closed? Master Flax never closed his study door. Drop crept silently to the threshold and listened. Something or someone was definitely moving about inside. Spreading his fingers wide, Drop gently pressed his unbandaged hand against the door. The rough wooden surface eased back until Drop could see into the study. Fitfully illuminated by a yellow-greenish witchlight, Skarn was rummaging through the cubbyholes and drawers of Flax's desk.
A surge of anger swept through Drop. Taking a deep breath, he cried out loudly, "Thief! Flax-Come!"
Skarn spun around at the call, gesturing at the door, which slammed violently open, revealing his accuser. "Be quiet!" Skarn snarled, but both of them could hear the sneezes of the awakened, approaching wizard.
Flax stopped behind Drop, and peered over his head into the study. In a deceptively mild tone, the wizard observed, "Why, Master Skarn… if you couldn't sleep. I would gladly have recommended a soothing spell-although surely a man of your talents could have managed that on his own." With a quiet word, Flax gestured, and the candles in the study kindled. Skarn's witchlight contracted to a point, then vanished.