Giogi stopped in front of a large, well-kept townhouse surrounded by a high iron fence. The noble hummed to himself as he fumbled with the gate latch and pushed his way into the front yard. Before the gate could close, Olive nudged her way through, right behind the oblivious Giogioni. The gate swung shut behind her, its latch engaging with a sharp clang.
Olive found herself in a small, formal garden. Straw mulch covered the square, raised beds and dormant vine stalks clung to wooden trellises along the path to the front door. The sight of the dead garden in the moonlight gave Olive the shivers.
It’s time, she decided, to announce myself.
Olive opened her mouth so Giogi’s sack of coins fell with a clink, and she gave a loud, annoyed bray.
Giogi whirled around with a shriek of terror. Upon spotting the beast that had been stalking him, though, he gave a cry of delight.
“What an adorable burro,” he said with a smile. He put his hand out to pet her, but Olive backed out of reach. With a forefoot, she kicked Giogi’s purse forward.
“What’s this?” Giogi bent over. “My purse!” he cried, picking it up and brushing the dirt off it. “It wasn’t stolen at all. It must have fallen out of my pocket before I even got to the street.” Giogi pocketed the sack of coins, once more leaving the strings dangling in full view.
No! Olive thought with alarm. I just brought it to you, you idiot. You have to change me back to a halfling. She tried to snatch at the purse strings with her teeth, but Giogi gave her a swat on the muzzle, and she missed.
“Silly creature. Mustn’t chew on them,” he said tucking the strings all the way into his cloak pocket. “They’re not good for you, you know. Now, what are you doing roaming loose in my garden? Hmm?”
Olive glared at the nobleman in frustration.
“Thomas must have had a reason for procuring you,” Giogi said. “Not the sentimental type, ol’ Thomas. Very responsible. Always spends my money wisely.”
Olive tried to protest that Thomas had not bought her, but, of course, she could only bray angrily. This she did, at a volume that would put a banshee to shame.
“Shh. You’ll wake the neighbors. Thomas wouldn’t have left you untied. He’s responsible, you know. You must have chewed through the rope, eh? Maybe we’d better tuck you in the carriage house.” With those words, he unclipped the buckle fastening his belt and slid his belt from his waist with a whiplike snap.
Olive’s eyes widened, and she backed away from the nobleman. She brayed now with fear. Her tail and hindquarters banged against the iron gate, which rattled but remained securely fastened, blocking her escape. She dodged to the right, but before she could maneuver around him, Giogi had fashioned his belt into a noose and slipped it neatly over her head.
Olive jumped away, hoping to jerk the noose free of Giogi’s grip, but the noble’s grasp was too firm. The sudden choking sensation broke her spirit immediately.
This had been the worst night of her life. Watching her best friend murdered had been awful. Recognizing the murderer had been a shock. Fleeing for her life had been terrifying. Being mistaken for a beast was completely humiliating. More miserable than she’d ever been in her life, Olive walked docilely alongside Giogi as he led her to the carriage house.
“Daisyeye,” Giogi called out softly as he opened the smaller of the carriage house’s two doors and led Olive inside. “I’ve brought you some company, Daisyeye.”
Giogi lit an oil lamp beside the door. In the light, the carriage house looked warm and cheery. From her burro’s-eye-view, Olive could see a buggy painted vibrant yellow and green and two horse stalls, one occupied by a chestnut mare.
The other stall was empty, and Giogi led Olive into it. He fussed about her—the perfect host trying to make his guest comfortable. Olive realized he meant well, but she could have wished he weren’t trying so much in his drunken state. He laid only half the amount of bedding straw she needed, but left her with twice as much hay as a horse could eat in a day and sloshed more water on the floor than in her water trough. Ignoring the hay, Olive dipped her muzzle in the water and gulped thirstily, thinking how much she really needed something stronger to drink. When she finally came up for air, her gaze wandered idly around the walls of her stall.
Hanging on the outer wall was a portrait of a man with birdlike features, silky black hair, arid piercing blue eyes. His powerful hands rested on a seven-stringed yarting. A silver brooch glistened on his tabard. The eyes in the portrait seemed to stare right at Olive, boring into her soul, so that she imagined the man was watching her, undeceived by her magical disguise. Instinctively Olive backed away, braying with alarm.
Giogi looked up at the wall where the burro’s gaze was fixed. He seemed startled by the portrait, too, for a moment, at least. Then he laughed, reached up, and took the painting down.
“Nothing to worry about,” he murmured soothingly. “Look, silly,” he said, holding the frame up to her muzzle so she could sniff at the painting. “It’s only the picture of some old, dead ancestor. Completely harmless.”
Wrong, Olive thought. He’s not dead, and he’s not just some old ancestor, and he’s not harmless. He’s the Nameless Bard, and he’s a mad murderer.
“His name should be on the back somewhere,” Giogi muttered, searching the canvas. “How odd. The name’s been blotted out.”
Naturally, Olive thought. The Harpers went to a great deal of trouble wiping his name from the Realms.
“Doesn’t matter,” Giogi said. “He could be any Wyvernspur. Wyvernspurs all look alike. Except me, of course. I take after my mother, you see.”
Giogi hung the picture back up and offered Olive a handful of oats, sweetened with molasses, from a wooden bucket. “See what I have? Num-nums,” he said.
The halfling-turned-burro declined to even sniff at the grain.
“Not hungry, eh? Well, we’ll leave them for you as a midnight snack, in case you get peckish.”
Giogi dumped the oats back into the bucket and left it against the wall. “Nighty night,” he said, scratching Olive between her ears before she had a chance to dodge away. He slipped his belt off her and left the stall, closing and latching its door behind him. Before he left the stable, he blew out the lamp.
Left alone in the dark, Olive tried to make plans. I have to think of a way to get out of here, she thought. I have to get someone to turn me back the way I belong. I have to avenge Jade’s death. All she could think about, though, was Jade.
Olive had benefited from her association with Jade, as with no other person. Of course, there had been the practical benefits. Like Alias, Jade could not be detected magically, and this protection extended to her companions. Jade had also been an appreciative audience for all Olive’s songs—unlike Alias, whose habit of performing better songs had constantly pricked Olive’s jealousy. Most importantly, though, Jade had simply been the best friend Olive had ever had.
Jade had been a perfect companion. She had enjoyed all the things Olive did: practicing her craft, celebrating with food and drink, gossiping, traveling—but only in fair weather—and meeting new people. Olive had once wondered if, instead of getting a spirit and soul from a paladin, as Alias had, Jade’s spirit and soul had been cleft from the halfling’s own. That would have explained why Olive felt so drawn to the human. Whether it was true or not, Olive knew for a fact that the last six days without Jade had been the loneliest she could recall in her lifetime.