“If this is what I think it is,” he said to Lucy. “I want you to have it.” He held up a dirty, faded strip of cloth about three feet long.
Lucy and the others eyed it askance. “You’re kidding, right?” Challie asked.
“No, no. I found it in a clutter of old stuff in my laboratory. It must have belonged to Toede’s wizard. I don’t think it’s just a rag. It’s disguising itself, but it will only respond to a magic-wielder.” He thrust it forward. “Take it, Lucy.”
In the brief moment that Lucy hesitated to touch the dirty thing, Ulin almost snatched it out of Notwen’s hands. He suspected what the rag was, and every fiber of his being itched to touch the cloth and feel it respond to his power. Biting his lip, he laced his fingers behind his back and controlled his desire to claim it. It was too late for him. Besides, Notwen had brought the cloth to Lucy, and if it proved to be what Ulin suspected, she would need it more than he would.
“Take it, Lucy,” Ulin said softly. “You might be surprised.”
She gave Notwen a hesitant nod of thanks and gingerly took the cloth from his hands.
Everyone stared at it as if they expected it to grow wings and fly away, but nothing happened. The cloth lay in her hands, unchanged and unresponsive. She held it up in her hand and shook it. Still, nothing happened.
Notwen looked distressed. “I thought for sure …”
“Try casting a spell, Lucy,” Ulin suggested, “Just a small one.”
“Do you know what this is supposed to be?” she asked him.
“I think it is more than just cloth, but it may be dormant. You need to wake it up.”
Lucy’s eyes grew large. “ ‘Wake it up?’ ” she repeated dubiously. She held it out at arm’s length. The change in distance did nothing to improve its worn and tattered appearance. She might have wadded it up and shoved it in her belt if Notwen hadn’t looked up at her with those imploring blue eyes and Ulin hadn’t shifted from foot to foot like a child drawn by a new toy. “A spell, huh?” she muttered. “What if it doesn’t work?”
Saorsha and Aylesworthy looked on with interest. “What do you have to lose?” the councilwoman pointed out.
Good point. Lucy studied the old rag while she searched her memory for a simple spell, one of the easy ones she learned as an apprentice perhaps. There was an old cleaning spell she remembered that could be used for removing stains from fine fabrics. This cloth could hardly qualify as fine fabric, but if it was something else-something sentient? — maybe it would appreciate a cleaning. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the words of the spell and began the familiar process of drawing the power to her. A breeze wafted gently by, and she felt the cloth stir in her hand. Her eyes still closed, she hummed the words of her enchantment in her soft alto voice.
There was a sudden gasp as everyone took a gulp of air at the same time. Startled voices cried in amazement. Lucy opened her eyes and gasped herself. Two brilliant jewel-like eyes gazed up at her from the length of cloth that was no longer dirty, tattered, and faded. Instead the fabric had transformed to a glowing shade of emerald green and shimmered in her hands like silk shot with silver.
“I don’t think my spell did that!” she exclaimed in raw surprise.
Notwen capered around her. “I was right. It is. It is!”
“It is what?” Challie asked, her eyes huge. She reached out a tentative finger and touched the cloth. Its diamond eyes turned to stare unblinking at her, but it wrapped its trailing end protectively around Lucy’s arm.
The movement startled Lucy more than the color change, and she held the thing on her outstretched arm as if it were a large, poisonous spider. “What is this?”
The cloth immediately turned yellow.
Ulin smiled, pleased for her. “It’s a Vizier’s Turban. They’re extremely rare and totally harmless. Put it on your head.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very. They love to be worn as hats, or veils, turbans, scarves … what have you. They’re symbiotic creatures. They attach themselves to wizards and sustain themselves on the power used to summon magic.”
Lucy almost balked in spite of Ulin’s calm words, for the thought of putting a strange living creature on her head to feed off her magic powers was rather frightening. “Will it do anything to me?” she asked cautiously.
“No,” Notwen said, his face full of delight, “in fact, it will help you. That’s why I brought it. Vizier’s Turbans give their partners a greater resistance to magic and an enhanced ability to cast spells.”
Pease jumped up and down, trying to see around the humans. “Put it on, Lucy, put it on!” he clamored. His cry was taken up by the spectators still crowded around the steps. Soon everyone was shouting, “Put it on! Put it on!”
The look in Ulin’s eyes finally made up Lucy’s mind. If he approved of this thing so much, it could not be that dangerous-she hoped. She would have given it to him, but she didn’t want to hurt the gnome’s feelings. Slowly she lifted her arm and let the creature slide down her upper arm to her shoulder. Once there, it slid around her head, curled over her brown braid, and took the shape of a small, feminine looking turban pinned together with two oval jewels. Happily, it settled in place and gazed down on the world around it. Its yellow color faded to a peaceful blue that matched the color of Lucy’s tunic.
A smile spread over her face. “It told me it is pleased!” she said, her tone rich with wonder. “This creature’s telepathic.”
Ulin held out his hand to Notwen. “Thank you,” he said.
The gnome took the mage’s hand in his own small one. “My pleasure. I brought something for you, too,” he said, and he pulled out a small parcel hastily wrapped in a shred of old linen.
Ulin took the small object and carefully unwrapped it. A pair of wire-rimmed spectacles fell shining into his fingers. “Pink lenses?” he asked dubiously.
“Rose, actually,” Notwen said. “They are Truth-seers. They are spelled to see through magic disguises and deceptions. I thought they might be handy when we go look for Kethril.”
Ulin stiffened. “We?” he repeated, his eyes narrowed.
The gnome pointed proudly toward the boat. “Dead Pirate’s Cove seems like a good place to start. It’s just across the bay. It takes two days if you ride a horse, but it only takes a day if you ride in my boat.”
Challie snorted in disbelief. “That thing goes in open water?”
“I haven’t tried it in the sea yet, but I’ve crossed the bay a time or two,” Notwen answered.
“When could we leave?” Ulin asked. He stared thoughtfully beyond the harbor entrance to the wide bay glittering in the afternoon sun. Although he’d had little time to give any thought to how he would find Kethril Torkay, he began to see some merit in Notwen’s offer.
The gnome lifted his slight shoulders in a shrug, “Now?”
“How about tomorrow?” Lucy suggested firmly. “You need time to pack, to collect supplies, to talk to Lysandros about this Dead Pirate’s Cove, and to pick some men to go with you.”
“Tomorrow it is,” Ulin agreed. That would have been his answer anyway. He wanted to stay in Flotsam long enough to see Lucy settled into her new job. “But,” he added, “I don’t think we need extra men. Too many people might scare off your father before we can get close. Who would be suspicious of a fisherman and a gnome?”
Lucy eyed him while she debated the usefulness of arguing with him, then she nodded once. “All right. If you two try the Cove, I’ll ask Lysandros to check some the outer-lying areas. And Mayor,” she rounded on Mayor Efrim, “if anyone in this town knows or hears anything about Kethril, they’d better tell me. Offer a reward.”
The mayor blanched but nodded. The city could ill afford a reward, but what difference would it make if Flotsam vanished into ashes?
The excitement over, the crowd dispersed, most going back to their work or pleasure. Some stayed and formed a line in front of the group on the steps. Many of them were the same people who had come to the inn at daybreak, and the looks of determination on their faces told Lucy that these would not leave so easily this time.