Giogi watched her race away for a minute. He closed his eyes and imagined a deer springing through the forest. The sensation of pounding blood overwhelmed him more quickly this time. He beat the air with his wings and ran through the graveyard.
A gust of chill wind caught under the leathery canopies and lifted him over the trees. He flapped the wings faster and propelled himself over the edge of the graveyard hillside, catching an updraft. He soared over the valley. In less than a minute, he was circling over Spring Hill. He could make out Mother Lleddew far below, beside the rented carriage full of provisions for Uncle Drone’s memorial service.
He resisted the temptation to fly over Redstone. There was no sense in disturbing Aunt Dorath. Besides, he wasn’t sure how well he would land, and he knew it wasn’t something he should try after dark. He was also growing very hungry. With any luck, Giogi thought, Thomas is roasting a slab of venison or a side of pork. He banked eastward toward the townhouse, his shadow flying far ahead of him and his stomach growling all the way.
Olive stood propped up against the closet wall like a walking stick. “Are you sure you don’t want me to tie her up, sir?” the treacherous Thomas had asked the wizard before closing the door and leaving the halfling in the pitch dark.
Flattery had said it wasn’t necessary. After that, Thomas had excused himself so he could get started on cleaning out the bedroom fireplaces.
For the longest time there was no sound in the attic but that of the wizard turning pages in a book. Finally, an interminable twenty minutes later, the wizard’s spell faded and Olive could move again. She collapsed to the floor. Her legs and arms were all pins and needles from having been stuck in the same position so long. She stumbled against a box on the floor and banged her shin.
“Keep it down in there, Ruskettle,” the wizard ordered, “or I shall turn you into a newt.”
Only a newt? Olive thought. Is he serious?
Not wanting to find out, Olive kept silent. Very quietly, she began working on the closet lock.
“Put the lockpicks away, Ruskettle,” the wizard ordered in a calm, distracted voice, “or I’ll firetrap the door.”
Olive slipped the picks back into her pocket. He’s watching me through the walls, she thought.
Why doesn’t Flattery just kill me? she wondered. If Thomas is his agent, then he must know I’ve been plotting against him. Perhaps he doesn’t consider me a serious enough threat. Well, I’ll show him. The halfling sat quietly on the floor, thinking of ways to warn the young noble. Tapping coded messages on support beams was supposed to be good. Tying messages to mice had worked in some stories. Neither support beams nor mice seemed to be in ready supply, though.
The stairs creaked, and Thomas returned. “He’s gone to speak to the guardian, sir, fifteen minutes ago,” the servant reported.
“Excellent,” the wizard said. “And Cat?”
“She’s offered to return Lord Frefford’s horse to Redstone for me. I would imagine she wants another crack at the lab.”
“Resourceful girl.”
Thomas began collecting the tea things. Olive took advantage of the clattering noise to renew her attack on the closet door lock. The click of the lock was covered by the rattle of the silver tea pot on the tray.
Thomas went back down the stairs.
Olive opened the door just a crack. The black-and-white spotted cat sat right in front of the door jamb, blocking the door. Olive pulled out her spool of string and wrapped a bit of it up into a ball. She tossed the ball so it rolled away from the cat.
The animal watched it travel across the floor and yawned.
How can you ignore a ball of string? Olive thought at the cat. Haven’t you got any self-respect? What kind of cat are you, anyway?
“Mystra’s minions,” the wizard cursed softly.
Olive heard the spell-caster rise and walk toward the closet. He pushed the closet door shut. “Thank you, Spot. Good kitty.”
Of course, Olive chided herself, that kind of cat. A wizard’s familiar.
“Mistress Ruskettle,” Flattery said through the door, “I have tried to be a polite host, but you have tried my patience once too often. Incendiary. There, now I’ve firetrapped the door.”
The wizard’s footsteps stomped away. Olive heard him flipping through pages of another book. She sat in the back corner of the closet and fumed. Then she began testing the floorboards. They were nailed solidly. She pulled out her dagger and began working on digging the nails out of the wood.
Olive had just worked out her first nail when she heard Thomas climbing the attic stairs again.
“I think you’ll want to see this, sir,” the servant said.
“What?”
“At the window.”
The wizard stood and pushed open a window. “It’s Giogi! He’s flying! He’s circling overhead. Quickly! The other window!”
Olive heard the two men scurry across the attic and push open a second window. “Mystra’s minions,” the wizard chuckled. “I’ll bet he doesn’t know how to land.”
Giogi! Olive thought. I have to warn him! I can signal him from the window. She scraped furiously at a second nail.
This will never do. Olive pictured Giogi flying by, with Flattery pointing at him, waiting for the right moment to reduce him to dust.
I have to risk the firetrap! she decided recklessly. With her body pressed against the wall, Olive reached out, turned the handle, and pushed!
The door swung outward silently.
He lied! Olive thought, indignant. She slipped out the door. The wizard and the servant were looking out a southern window, closer to the stairs than she was. Olive dashed for the north side of the attic. She scrambled up to the window sill and slid out onto the roof.
Behind her she heard Spot hiss.
“Thomas! The halfling! Grab her!” the wizard shouted.
Olive crawled away from the window, deliberately ripping up half a shingle as she went. When Thomas poked his head out the window, the halfling whipped the curved piece of wood at the servant’s temple. Before falling back into the attic, Thomas said a word Olive bet he’d never said in Giogi’s parlor.
Olive began climbing to the roof’s peak. The wizard hung out the window and shouted up to her, “Come back here this instant before you get yourself killed!”
Olive looked up in the sky. A red wyvern circled the house. Wyverns are supposed to be brown and gray, Olive thought. Leave it to Giogi to turn into a red one. The halfling stood and waved in the beast’s direction. “Giogi! Help! Flattery’s trapped me up here!” she shouted in the chill air.
“Would you stop shouting that!” the wizard in the window hollered. “I am not Flattery!”
Olive looked down at the window. There couldn’t possibly be any more Wyvernspurs I don’t know about, could there? “If you’re not Flattery,” she shouted back, “who are you?”
“I’m Drone.”
“Drone is dead.”
“If I were dead, wouldn’t I be buried in the crypt?” the wizard insisted.
“They’re holding the memorial service tonight,” Olive said.
“They are. Did Dorath fork out a big spread for it?” he asked with interest.
“Giogi!” Olive shouted again, waving more frantically. The wizard was not going to fool her with any more lies.
“See here, Ruskettle,” the wizard called out, “I am Drone. You just don’t recognize me because I shaved yesterday.”
“Aha. I’ve never met you,” Olive said. “You didn’t know that. Giogi! Giogi! Help!” she screamed again, waving her dagger.
“You haven’t? No, I suppose you haven’t. I forgot. I felt like I knew you. Jade talked so much about you.”
Olive looked down at the wizard so quickly that she lost her footing and slid three feet down the roof. “What do you mean Jade talked about me?” she demanded.