Olive’s burro eyes squinted suspiciously. That woman is up to no good, she insisted to herself, and, while Giogi is a nice boy, he’s no match for the machinations of a mage. What’s a burro to do?
Keep up my strength for one thing, the halfling thought, sniffing daintily at her bucket of sweetened oats.
“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable by the fire while I go see about lunch,” Giogi suggested as he ushered Cat into the townhouse parlor.
Cat sat on a satin-covered chair, carefully keeping the muddy hem of her robes from the expensive fabric, and kicked off her dirty slippers. She curled her feet beneath her and closed her eyes to slits. The noble scurried out with the picnic basket and headed back for Servant Land.
Thomas looked up from his lunch with astonishment. Giogi, as wet as a river rat, stood in the door, looking very apologetic.
“Sorry to disturb you, Thomas,” his master said, setting the picnic basket down on the table, “but the catacombs jaunt didn’t quite go over as expected. Do you think you could manage lunch for myself and a guest—just a little nourishment, preferably something warm?”
“Of course, sir,” the servant replied, rising from the table. “Um, sir. You have heard the news about your Uncle Drone?”
“Yes,” Giogi said. “Lord Frefford told me.”
“My condolences, sir.”
His voice cracking with emotion, Giogi replied, “Thank you, Thomas.” Giogi turned, about to leave, then, remembering that his lunch guest’s stay was to be more permanent, turned again. “One more thing, Thomas. When you’ve finished your lunch, could you spark up the lilac room fire and turn down the bed?”
“The lilac room, sir?” Thomas replied with confusion.
“Yes. My lunch guest will be staying with us for a while, and will need to rest immediately after lunch.”
“You wouldn’t want to offer anyone the lilac room, sir,” Thomas replied. The servant actually looked a little alarmed, though Giogi could hardly tell why, it wasn’t as if Thomas didn’t keep the lilac room in pristine condition. “The red room would be far superior,” Thomas said.
“I thought the lilac room would be—well, it’s more suitable for a lady, don’t you think?”
“A lady, sir?” Thomas asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his bangs.
“Um, yes, a lady.” Giogi’s voice quavered slightly and he felt a trace of alarm. He had forgotten how provincial people were in Immersea, especially the servants. “I know it’s irregular, but it’s an irregular situation—not one we need mention, though, to Aunt Dorath.”
“I would imagine not, sir,” Thomas agreed. “Still, the linen in the red room is in better condition. Your guest would be much more comfortable there.”
“Very well,” Giogi agreed, dissatisfied but not wanting to antagonize the man on whose discretion he must depend. “The red room. The lady’s name, by the way, is Cat. She’s a magic-user. She may be able to help me find the wyvern’s spur.”
“Ah, I see.” Thomas nodded. “Oh, sir. About two hours ago, a servant from Redstone delivered a package for you. I left it on your writing table in the parlor.”
“A package? Hmm,” Giogi mused, wondering what sort of package would be sent down from Redstone. “Well, thank you, Thomas. We’ll be in the parlor until you announce lunch.”
“Very good, sir.”
Giogi turned about again and nearly ran over a large, fat black-and-white tomcat, which meowed up at him with annoyance.
“Thomas, is that Spot?” Giogi asked.
“Yes, sir,” Thomas said. “He appeared on the doorstep about an hour ago. I didn’t have the heart to turn him away.”
“No. You were quite right,” Giogi said. “He’ll need looking after now that Uncle Drone is gone. Aunt Dorath always threatened to turn him into a muff someday. Can’t have that, can we, boy?” Giogi bent over and picked up the heavy feline.
Cradling Spot in his arms, Giogi returned to the parlor and his guest. Spot leaped from the noble’s arms, sat by the fireplace, and began washing himself.
Giogi looked over at Cat. Her eyes were closed, and her head rested against the overstuffed wing of the chair. Her face was relaxed now that her fear and pride had drained away in sleep. Actually, Giogi thought, she’s much prettier than Alias of Westgate.
Giogi crept quietly over to his desk so as not to disturb the young woman. A bundle of red velvet cloth wrapped with twine lay upon the blotter. The noble sat at his desk and picked up the parcel. Something hard, nearly two feet long, eight inches around, and quite heavy lay within the cloth. Giogi picked away the knot in the string.
Giogi unwound the velvet cloth carefully, revealing a gleaming black statue of a beautiful woman. Her lithe and scantily clad form was slightly arched, and her shapely arms were swept up over her head in a circle. Her face was round and pretty. Her lips were parted slightly, and her eyes were closed, like a woman waiting to be surprised. The rest of her physical features Uncle Drone had once described as ample, though Aunt Dorath had argued they were scandalous.
“Sweet Selûne,” Giogi whispered, recognizing the statue immediately.
“What’s wrong?” Cat asked sleepily.
Giogi started and turned in his chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“That’s all right,” the mage said, rising from her chair. “I was just napping. Oh! What a beautiful statue,” she said, padding over to Giogi’s side. “Where did you get it?”
“It’s Uncle Drone’s—well, it was Uncle Drone’s. Thomas says a servant brought it over this morning. It’s a carving of Selûne by Cledwyll.”
“Really? I’ve never seen a Cledwyll before. It must be worth a fortune.”
“I suppose. Not that we’d ever sell it. It was a gift from the artist to Paton Wyvernspur, the founder of our family line.” Giogi set the statue on the writing table and idly stroked the glistening black stream of hair that flowed down its back.
Why did Uncle Drone send me this? the nobleman wondered. I wouldn’t have thought he’d have ever parted with it. Unless he had some premonition of his death and was afraid Aunt Dorath would lock it away from sight. Giogi took his hand off the statue to search the cloth wrapping for a note of explanation.
“Down, Spot. Naughty boy,” a wheezy voice suddenly chided.
Giogi sat up and stared at the statue. The lovely lips of the carving of Selûne moved, and from them issued an old man’s voice—Uncle Drone’s voice. The voice spoke again, saying, “Giogi, listen. The wyvern’s spur is your destiny. Steele mustn’t get it. You must find it first. Search for the thief.”
The statue’s mouth froze back into its normal alluring shape and was silent. The room was quiet, except for the wind and rain on the windows. Spot jumped up on the desk and sniffed at the statue.
Cat’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. There was something very unusual about the magical message. She did a quick mental calculation. Yes, she realized, something’s missing. “Who’s voice was that?” she asked.
“Uncle Drone’s,” Giogi replied. An ache settled in his heart. That’s the last time I’ll ever hear his voice, he realized.
“And who’s Spot?” the mage asked.
“His cat. This beast,” Giogi explained, reaching out to stroke Spot’s fur. Spot pushed Giogi’s quill pen off the desk to the floor and leaped down after it.
“What did your Uncle Drone mean,” Cat asked, “by the wyvern’s spur being your destiny?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose it has something to do with my father. He used the spur somehow. I guess Uncle Drone expects me to, as well.”
“How can the spur be used?” the mage asked curiously.
Giogi shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Cat sank down onto the thick Calimsham carpeting and sat cross-legged beside the writing table. “Do you think your uncle was telling the truth when he told your aunt he didn’t have the spur or know where it was?”