“Giogioni,” Julia continued, “Frefford has the family title. You have all your mother’s money. Why shouldn’t Steele get the spur?”
Giogi turned around thoughtfully. It wasn’t hard to come up with an answer to that question. “Julia,” he said, “do you know what Steele said to me when Uncle Drone gave me my father’s key to the crypt? He said he wished your father would hurry and die so he could have his own key. Steele was a jealous, mean little boy, and as far as I can tell, he’s grown into a jealous, cruel man. Did it ever occur to you that he doesn’t deserve the spur?”
“What have you done to deserve it?” Julia asked with venom.
“Julia, I don’t want the spur. I just want to return it to the crypt, where it belongs.”
“Then why has Uncle Drone been secretly nagging Aunt Dorath all winter to let you have it?”
“Listening at keyholes again, are we?” Giogi asked, using the question to hide his own surprise.
“I have servants to do that for me now,” Julia said coolly.
Too lazy to do your own dirty work, eh? Olive thought.
Giogi sighed again. “Look, this whole argument is moot if we don’t find the spur. I’m going into the crypt after Steele. You should be back helping Aunt Dorath and Frefford with Gaylyn.”
“Steele will find the thief before you do. He’s an hour ahead of you, and he knows how to use his weapon. He isn’t bogged down by some overgrown pack rat, either.”
Olive brayed loudly, jerked her halter from Giogi’s hand, and charged at Julia.
Not used to being charged upon by burros, the noblewoman retreated with a yell and almost toppled over a headstone. Olive herded Julia out of the graveyard and waited at the entrance until the woman had fled down the path.
Giogi grinned as the little burro trotted back to his side. He scratched behind her ears. “Don’t you pay any attention to her, Birdie. Julia’s too foolish to see what a superior burro you are. She doesn’t even realize I’m better with a foil than Steele is. Steele only used to win by thwacking at me with the flat of the blade. That’s cheating, you know.”
Giogi picked Olive’s lead rope off the ground and pulled her through the door into the family mausoleum. He closed and locked the door behind them. Olive shivered. It was colder inside than out, and, naturally, as dark as a tomb.
Giogi drew a shining crystal from his boot. Olive stared at it with astonishment. It was a finder’s stone, just like the one Elminster had given Alias. Olive had spent many hours guessing at its value before it was lost near Westgate. Olive remembered now that Alias had run into Giogi again, outside of Westgate. If this is the same stone, Olive thought, then there are more coincidences in my life than in one of those bad operas in Raven’s Bluff, the Living City.
Whatever its origins, the finder’s stone filled the mausoleum with a warm, rich glow. The twinkle of precious metal attracted Olive’s attention to the tomb itself. Giogi was busy lighting torches set in gold-plated sconces. The flames’ reflections danced on every surface around them. The floor was checkered with black and white squares of polished marble, and the walls and ceiling were covered with solid plates of a dull gray metal, which Olive presumed was lead. Two white marble benches, inlaid with runes of gold and platinum, were the only other decor in the room. The husks of long-dead flowers lay on one bench. Olive could see no other exit besides the one Giogi had just locked.
Giogi finished with the torches and began hopping like a child along the squares of marble laid out on the floor. Right foot on white, left foot on black, two jumps diagonally on white with the left, then back one jump with both feet.
Olive was just thinking how Uncle Drone might not be the only Wyvernspur “not all together upstairs,” when a large section of the floor at the far end dropped a foot and slid silently beneath the rest of the floor. A narrow staircase led down into the dark hole revealed by the secret door. Nice workmanship, Olive thought. Invisible, quiet, no vibrations.
“Come on, Birdie,” Giogi said, taking Olive’s lead rope. “The secret door doesn’t stay open very long.”
Olive grudgingly followed the nobleman down the steps. Giogi used the finder’s stone to light their way. The walls on either side were of rough-cut stone fitted together by expert masons. The stone was cool but dry. The air was less chill than in the mausoleum and grew even warmer as they descended.
Olive tried counting the number of steps, but she got confused by her extra feet. There were three landings where the staircase turned, but the steps were all even and not too steep or narrow for her hooves. Olive caught glimpses of shimmering lines on the walls, but whenever she looked directly at them, the lines disappeared. More magical glyphs, she realized. I must be immune to their power because I’m in Giogi’s company. Or because I’m just an ass, she added.
Finally they reached the bottom. Their way was blocked by another door plated with the same gray metal used in the mausoleum. Emblazoned across the door was a painting of a great red wyvern. The words, “None but Wyvernspurs shall pass this door and live,” were inscribed in the Common tongue over the door.
Once again Giogi pulled out his silver key. He stared at it for a moment, took a deep breath, then exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. “Now, don’t be frightened, Birdie,” Giogi said as he turned the key in the lock. “I’ll protect you from the guardian.”
Much obliged, Olive thought, but who’s going to protect you? The halfling burro could smell fear on the nobleman.
Giogi took another deep breath, gathered his courage, and pushed open the door. He took a step into the room, then another. Olive followed alongside him, which Giogi took as an indication that the little burro was a fearless creature. In reality, Olive was simply anxious to stay within the finder’s stone sphere of light.
“Hello, hello,” Giogi said, at first softly, then with more volume. “Steele, are you here?” the nobleman called out. His voice echoed back, but there was no living response. Giogi pushed the door closed behind them and locked it.
They stood in the Wyvernspur family crypt—a vast tunneled chamber with straight walls and a vaulted ceiling. Both walls and ceiling were lined, as the staircase had been, with fitted, cut stone. Every so many feet, in place of a stone, was a block of marble engraved with the name of a Wyvernspur, with—so Olive presumed—the remains of a Wyvernspur buried behind it.
In the center of the crypt was a single cylindrical pedestal ringed with concentric circles of letters carved into the floor. Each circle repeated the same warning in a different language. Olive couldn’t read all the tongues, but the outer and most prominent warning was written in Common. The words, “painful, lingering death,” stood out clearly in the finder’s stone light. Olive did not feel compelled to read any more.
The pedestal stood higher than Olive’s line of sight. She could see only the swatch of black velvet draped over the top of the pedestal and which hung down about a foot all around.
Giogi, from his adult human height, looked down on the top of the pedestal. “It’s missing, all right,” he muttered.
“Giogioni,” a voice whispered from the other end of the hall. The echo repeated the whisper.
Olive shivered. She was willing to bet that that wasn’t Giogi’s Cousin Steele. The voice had a sensuous, husky quality, but it also conveyed to Olive the unpleasant sensation of something sawing at her bones. The voice had to belong to the guardian. Olive understood immediately Giogi’s childhood terror of the creature.
Giogi froze, like a man held by magic. He moved his mouth, wetted his lips, and moved his mouth again, but no words came out.
Patches of darkness broke through the edges of the light cast by the finder’s stone and swirled together until they coalesced into one large shadow, which sprouted legs, a serpentine neck and head, a sinuous tail, and huge reptilian wings. The shadow spread out against the far wall, covering the detail of the stonework in an inky pool.