The Wyvern's Spur

7 Cat

Giogi stood up straight and took a few deep breaths to compose himself. He was over the worst of it. While the catacombs were no doubt more deadly, they did not hold the same terror for him as the crypt. “Come on, Birdie,” he said, heading down the next flight of steps.

Olive let out her breath in relief and followed.

The passage descending into the catacombs was hewn out of the rock. No marble or cut and fitted stone lined it, and the bare rock was rough and dirty. Water dripped from the ceiling, seeped from the walls, and trickled down the stairs. The steps were crumbling in places and were slick with mud and slimy fungus. Someone heading down the stairs had left large, deep boot impressions in the muck.

“Steele’s footprints,” Giogi muttered unhappily as he plodded down the stairs alongside them. He didn’t really want to join his cousin. Steele didn’t want his company, and if, as Uncle Drone had said, the thief wasn’t down here, Steele was very likely to lose his temper with Giogi. He had to join Steele, anyway, because Uncle Drone had insisted on it. Giogi was just now beginning to suspect why—considering the old wizard’s confession last night and Julia’s revelation this morning.

It looks as if Uncle Drone has been up to skullduggery on my behalf, Giogi thought uneasily. He wants me to pretend to look for the thief so no one blames me for the theft.

Giogi sighed, and the sound echoed up and down the stairway. “Have you ever noticed, Birdie,” he asked philosophically, “that as soon as one’s life has settled down, when there’s nothing but clear sailing ahead, one’s relatives steer one into the shoals, so to speak?”

Olive, whose concentration was riveted on descending the broken, slippery stairs while carrying enough provisions for an adventuring party of twelve, naturally did not reply.

“Take Freffie, for instance,” Giogi said. “Two years ago, he decided I needed a career, and he talked me into joining the army. Me, a purple dragoon. Imagine! Fortunately, I was dismissed from service after accidentally releasing Aunt Dorath’s pet land urchin into the provisions wagon.” Giogi broke off detailing his family’s interference in his life to concentrate on climbing down an especially crumbled section of stairs. He took care that the burro had sure footing each step before pulling on her lead rope.

After they’d overcome that obstacle, the nobleman continued his monologue. “Then last year, Aunt Dorath decided Minda Lluth was just the girl for me. Minda talked me into all sorts of foolish things, then abandoned me while I struggled to extricate myself from the trouble she’d gotten me into. She convinced me to do my impersonation of Azoun at Freffie’s wedding, then, after I nearly got killed, she went and married someone else,” Giogi griped sullenly. He kicked a chunk of stairs down ahead of them.

Unable to ignore Giogi’s last comment, Olive suddenly realized, That’s the wedding I sang at last year. Giogi’s Cousin Freffie must be Lord Frefford Wyvernspur. Olive had sat right in front of the wedding party table, but for the life of her, she could not remember the groom’s features. The man had been eclipsed by his bride, three hundred wedding guests, and the excitement of watching Alias try to assassinate his Cousin Giogi. I’ll have to get another look at Frefford, Olive decided, before I can rule him out as Jade’s murderer.

It took Giogi a few minutes to overcome his disappointment with Minda and focus on his current problem. “Now, Julia tells me that Uncle Drone has been trying to arrange for me to use the wyvern’s spur,” he said.

I know. I heard her, Olive thought. I was there, remember?

“Did I ask him to do this?” Giogi asked the burro, annoyance creeping into his voice. He answered his own question with an indignant tone. “I most certainly did not. Did he ask me if I’d mind him acting on my behalf? He most certainly did not!”

More calmly, Giogi stated, “I love my family,” then he shouted, “but why can’t they all just leave me alone?”

“Alone, alone, alone,” the stairway echoed up and down.

Disturbed by the sound of his own voice reverberating through the dank corridors, Giogi continued his descent in silence.

Finally given the quiet to think, Olive tried to analyze the possibility that Steele could be Jade’s murderer—based on all that Giogi and Julia had said about him. Steele Wyvernspur possessed a streak of cruelty and ruthlessness. That matched the murderer. Steel was supposed to be competent with a sword. The murderer could cast powerful spells, and, while it was unlikely he would also wield a sword well, it wasn’t impossible. Every now and then, one came across a wizard proficient with a weapon besides a dagger. Steele wouldn’t be too old, but he might be too young. If his sister, Julia, is anything to go by, he’ll have the Wyvernspur face, Olive thought, but I won’t know anything for sure until I get a good look at him.

It was at this point that Olive noticed a second set of footprints. They were smaller and less deep, apparently made by a woman or a small man wearing soft-soled slippers. The prints went up toward the crypt and back down to the catacombs. The thief’s? Olive wondered excitedly.

Curious now to see this thief and eager to get a look at Giogi’s cousin, Olive clomped down the stairs with more speed. Before she reached the bottom, the burro was walking ahead of Giogi and the lead rope, like a bloodhound on the hunt.

Finally, man and burro reached the bottom of the stairs. They stood in a small anteroom paved with rough stones. The light of the finder’s stone revealed corridors leading away in three directions. Two of the corridors were heavily webbed over, but strands of torn spider silk wafted in the subterranean breeze of the third tunnel. Scattered at the tunnel’s entrance was the hacked-up remains of a large spider. A heavy boot heel had left its imprint in the smeared spider ichor.

“Easy to see where Steele’s been,” Giogi said matter-of-factly. The noble unsheathed his foil for the first time. “At least he’s brushed all the cobwebs away for us.”

No, Olive thought. The thief would have done that. Steele’s just following the culprit’s trail.

Giogi led the way cautiously down the web-cleared corridor. There was nothing outstanding about the passage. Water had created it, and Giogi’s ancestors had widened it. No jewels or precious metals glittered in the walls, no delicately carved stone columns towered over them. The surfaces all about them consisted of well-packed dirt, pockets of sand, pebbles, and rocks, and magically hewn stone. The corridor had been excavated for utility, not for show.

The sound of dripping water and their own footsteps echoed around Giogi and Olive. The air was moist and cold. Large, ugly spiders, chittering like angry squirrels, scrambled away from the light of the finder’s stone.

The corridor continued straight for almost a thousand feet. The spiders and torn cobwebs ended abruptly. A short distance farther, the corridor began to twist and branch. In the absence of broken webs, Steele’s route was no longer obvious.

At the branching, Giogi halted, sheathed his foil, and began rummaging through Olive’s packs. He lightened her load by the weight of the portable stool, the picnic basket, the blanket, the sack of grain, and the map. After sprinkling a little grain on the blanket, he set up the stool, sat down, and poured himself tea in a tin mug.

This boy can really rough it, Olive thought sarcastically. No linen, no china, no butler.

Steele will have headed for the outer door, to see if the thief is sitting by it, Giogi decided. As he munched some old tea cakes, he examined his map for the quickest route to the door. When he looked up, his burro had its nose buried in his picnic basket. “Bad Birdie,” he said, pushing Olive’s muzzle away. “That’s your food over there.” He pointed to the grain on the blanket.

Olive pleaded with her eyes.

“Oh, very well,” Giogi sighed. He drew out a cheese sandwich and fed it to her in pieces, then spoiled her with another slice of apple.

I wonder if I can get him to pour me some tea, too, Olive thought with a mental chuckle.

“No more, Birdie,” Giogi said, rising suddenly to his feet. He packed up everything in a flurry and loaded it back on Olive. Before they continued, the nobleman drew out from the packs a jar of paint and a paint brush.

At every intersection, the nobleman consulted the map and painted a number on the wall. Several times, he had to turn the map or turn himself to get his bearings. Twice they retraced their steps to check a previous number. Their progress slowed to a crawl.

With their tedious pace and the sound of dripping water percolating through the stonework, Olive felt as if she were being tortured. She fought her irritability by reminding herself, You need the boy to get you out of this pit, Olive-girl. You can’t afford for him to get confused.

They were halted in an intersection when Olive detected something flutter softly past her long ears. Giogi, intent on his map and paints, seemed not to notice it. Olive felt a prick near her haunches. She swished her tail automatically. She was just thinking, Useful things, tails, when a bloated crow-sized shape swooped down behind Giogi’s head.

For a moment, Olive thought it was just a bat, but as it hovered by Giogi’s neck, she saw it had feathery wings. Then she caught sight of its mosquitolike proboscis.

Olive brayed in terror, suddenly realizing what the prick she’d felt earlier had been.

Giogi whirled around at the sound. The light from the finder’s stone flared, outlining a stirge nearly as large as a tomcat. Giogi leaped backward with a shriek, dropping the map, the paint can, and paint brush. Recovering his nerve quickly, though, he drew his foil and lunged at the creature. Too fat to gain altitude quickly, the startled creature swooped down and away, and Giogi’s foil stabbed at empty air. The flying monster disappeared into the darkness.

Meanwhile, Olive was smashing her haunches against the uneven rock walls, trying to squash the bloodsucker she knew must be attached to her. She felt something solid catch between her body and the wall and rupture. Something wet seeped through the blanket between the packs and her back.

Was that the stirge or a water bag? she wondered. Not taking any chances, she kept on swinging her back half against the stone. The tea basket tumbled to the ground and things in the packs clattered against one another.

“Take it easy, Birdie,” Giogi said. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Take it easy, he says, while something’s sucking my lifeblood away. In her mind Olive imagined a swarm of stirges hanging from her fuzzy belly like bats did from the ceilings of caves.

With a look of grim concern, Giogi raised his foil and lunged at the burro. Olive closed her eyes and held her breath.

She never felt the prick of the foil, but in less than a few seconds, Giogi was patting her back, whispering soothing words.

“It’s all over now, girl. I got the lot.”

The lot! Then there was more than one, Olive thought queasily. She opened her eyes. Skewered on the nobleman’s sword, like cornish hens on a spit, were half a dozen stirges, the largest no bigger than a squirrel.

Mercifully the finder’s stone’s light had dimmed back to its normal soft glow, so she didn’t get a good look at them. Nonetheless, Olive had to fight back her nausea.

“Disgusting creatures, aren’t they?” Giogi commented as he slid the bloodsuckers off his weapon and kicked the corpses against the wall. From the pallor of Giogi’s face, Olive could tell he was not inured to battle. The young noble wiped his foil clean with a silk handkerchief, grimaced at the gore and stains on the fabric, and dropped the cloth over his kills.

He wasn’t boasting after all, Olive thought with relief. He is competent with that foil. He managed to skewer the enemy without harming a hair on my head—or the other end, for that matter. We may live through this little jaunt yet.

After sheathing his foil, Giogi bent over to retrieve the supplies he’d dropped. He salvaged as much of the spilled paint as he could by mopping it up with the brush. Murmuring reassuring words to the burro, he reattached the picnic basket to Olive’s packs and checked the security of the other supplies. He took another few moments to consult the map, picked up Olive’s lead rope, and led her down the left-hand passageway.

They hadn’t gone five paces when Giogi seemed to stumble. He toppled sideways, slumped against the wall, and slid to the floor. The map, paint brush, and jar tumbled out of his hands again, but his fingers remained clasped about the finder’s stone.

Olive was at his side at once. Frantically she searched over his body, nuzzling and pawing at his cloak, looking for a stirge that might have attached itself to the nobleman without his knowing it. Her search yielded neither bloodsucking monster nor wound. Moreover, Giogi did not appear in any shock. He was breathing quite naturally and snoring softly. How can he fall asleep at a time like this! Olive thought.

A tongue clicked behind her to attract her attention. Olive whirled about. Her eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of the human woman who stepped from the shadows.

“Nice burro,” the woman whispered, taking a cautious step toward Olive with her hand out for the burro to sniff.

The woman’s bright hair hung freely about her shoulders like burnished copper wire. She was dressed in a shimmering, flowing robe smeared all about the hem with muck, and the cloth slippers on her feet were equally grimed. Ordinarily, Olive’s first thought would have been that the slippers must have made the smaller footprints going up to the crypt, but it was the woman’s face that held her attention and excited her.

She has Alias’s face! Olive thought while her heart raced. She’s another copy of Alias!

“Don’t fret, little one,” the woman said soothingly. “I put him to sleep with magic. We’ll just get his key before he wakes up, and we’ll be out of here in no time.”

Ordinarily, Olive might have found the offer irresistible, but the woman set Olive’s nerves on edge and brought to the half-ling’s mind Cassana, the sadistic, vain sorceress in whose image Alias had been created. Cassana had often addressed the halfling as “little one” in the same condescending tone and had put her into a magical sleep. There’s nothing to guarantee, Olive realized, that just because she looks like Alias, she isn’t as evil as that witch, Cassana, had been.

Then, of course, there was Giogi to consider. She couldn’t leave the nobleman in the foul place, unprotected while he slept, prey to stirges and gods knew what else. Even if he lived to awaken, he wouldn’t be able to escape unless he found his Cousin Steele. She had to stay with him, and she had to protect his key. Olive positioned herself fully between the woman and Giogi, bracing her legs against possible assault.

“My, but aren’t you fierce,” the woman said with a nervous laugh—not as cruel a laugh as Cassana’s had been, but taunting enough to get Olive’s blood boiling. “I will have that key,” the sorceress growled, reaching down and picking up a fist-sized rock.

The halfling burro charged. The load on her back pitched and threw off her balance. The human woman sidestepped her with remarkable ease. Burdened by the weight of all Giogi’s equipment, Olive hit a wall before she could skid to a halt.

As Olive turned around, she saw the woman kneeling over Giogi’s prone body, reaching for the key chain about his neck.

As it had earlier when the stirge attacked, the finder’s stone light flared again. It filled the corridor with a radiant brilliance centered on Giogi. The woman fell back with an anguished cry. Olive rushed to Giogi’s side and nipped at his arms and legs.

“Not now, Thomas,” the nobleman muttered, rolling over on his side. “I’m having the nicest dream.”

No time for subtlety, the halfling realized. She turned and gave him a sharp kick in his rear end.

“I’m awake, Aunt Dorath! Really!” Giogi exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. He looked around in confusion at the burro hovering impatiently over him and the strange woman whimpering on her knees a few feet away. He rose shakily to his feet, still clutching the finder’s stone.

Giogi bent over the woman and touched her shoulder gently. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Of course I’m not all right,” she snapped, squinting up at him with watery eyes. “Your damn light-rock nearly blinded me.”

“You!” Giogi gasped, instantly recognizing the woman’s resemblance to Alias of Westgate. “No,” he said after a moment, “you’re not Alias. Your hair’s all wrong.”

“Would you turn that dratted light down?” the woman growled, shielding her eyes with an outstretched hand.

“Um, I’m not sure I know how,” Giogi said, examining the finder’s stone with confusion. “If you just give your eyes a minute to adjust, I’m sure they’ll get used to it.”

“I’ve cast a spell so I could see in this dark pit,” the woman snapped. “Any light is annoying.”

“Oh.” Giogi tucked the stone in his cloak and allowed just a little light to peek out. “You can’t be Cassana of Westgate, either,” he mused. “You’re too young. She’s dead, anyway. Just who are you?”

“I’m Cat of Ordulin,” she said, lowering her hand from her eyes. “I’m sorry my age and my eyes and my hair don’t suit you,” she continued, her tone dripping with sarcasm, “but you might at least thank me for saving your life from a stirge.” She held out her hand imperiously, expecting assistance to stand.

Giogi helped her to her feet. “I didn’t intend any insult,” he said. “It’s rather nice hair, and your eyes look fine now that you’ve stopped squinting, and, of course, it’s none of my business how old you are. Really, though, you do have the most remarkable resemblance to Alias of Westgate. Is she a relative of yours? Or Cassana of Westgate?”

“I’ve never heard of either of them,” Cat declared.

“Oh.” Giogi tilted his head in puzzlement. Cat had the same green eyes, pert nose, shapely mouth, high cheekbones, and pointed chin as Alias. It was strange enough that two apparently unrelated women should have the exact same beautiful face. It was just incredible that he should meet both of them. Finally, remembering his manners, Giogi said, “Well, thank you for rescuing me. Funny, though, I don’t remember any stirge.”

“Stirge saliva numbs the flesh around the bite,” Cat explained. “If you don’t notice the prick when it attaches to you, it can drain all your blood without you feeling a thing. It had drained nearly all the life from you. I only brought you back to consciousness with a potion. It was an especially powerful potion, so you shouldn’t be feeling any weakness.”

“You’re right. I don’t feel weak,” Giogi said with surprise. “Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome,” Cat said, her tone softening pleasantly. She smiled at Giogi.

Olive tried to sneer, but it wasn’t in the burro’s repertoire. She didn’t know which annoyed her more, the female mage’s bald-faced lies about rescuing Giogi or Giogi’s gullibility.

“Really, though,” Giogi said, “I must ask what you’re doing here.”

Good thinking, Giogi, Olive thought. A little slow, but good thinking.

Cat’s manner became suddenly formal. “I don’t know that it’s any of your business,” she replied haughtily. “Who are you, anyway?”

Giogi drew himself to his full height. While his gaunt frame was not very imposing, he did tower a good six inches over the woman. “I am Giogioni Wyvernspur,” he declared, bowing slightly as he spoke, “of the Wyvernspurs of Immersea. These catacombs lie beneath my family’s crypt. They’re our catacombs.”

“Do you have a deed for them?” Cat asked coolly.

“Well, no, but the only way into them is through our family crypt and—”

“And the secret, magical door, just outside the graveyard, that opens once every fifty years,” Cat concluded impatiently. “I used that secret door to get in here. I was going to use it to get out, but some idiot blocked it while I was still inside the catacombs. I’ve been stuck here for days.”

“Uncle Drone just sealed that door yesterday morning, so you can’t have been in here for that long,” Giogi objected.

“All right. I’ve been stuck here for hours,” Cat amended her story with annoyance. “I’m starving just the same. You wouldn’t happen to have brought food, would you?”

Giogi stared at Cat with considerable perplexity as he reached inside the picnic basket and produced a cheese sandwich.

“Wonderful,” Cat said, snatching it out of Giogi’s hand. She unwrapped it halfway, sniffed at it once, shrugged, and took a large bite.

Olive stared at the nobleman in amazement. Don’t you realize she’s got to be the thief who stole the spur? Olive berated Giogi mentally. How can you stand there calmly feeding her cheese sandwiches? “I don’t understand,” Giogi said. “Uncle Drone said I wouldn’t find the thief or the spur down here.”

Olive huffed, wishing she could tell Giogi, Shake this woman down for the spur and turn her over to Lord Sudacar. Uncle Drone’s made a mistake.

Cat held up her finger, chewed faster, and swallowed. Then she said with a grin, “Your uncle was right. You didn’t find the thief or the spur.”

“What are you doing in the catacombs if you aren’t the thief?” Giogi demanded.

Cat took another large bite, chewed, and swallowed before answering. “Wishing I were the thief. You see, my master sent me here after the spur, but when I got up to your stupid family crypt, the thing was gone. Someone else took it. The door from the crypt to the upper mausoleum was locked, so I had to come back through the catacombs, and, like I said, some idiot—that’d be your uncle—blocked the stupid door to the outside.”

“He’s not my uncle, really,” Giogi said. “He’s, well, he was my grandfather’s cousin, so that makes him my first cousin twice removed. We all call him uncle, though, because he’s so very old.” The young noble frowned suddenly. “You have a lot of nerve, you know, admitting you came to steal my family’s most precious heirloom, and then insulting my relatives to boot.”

“Well, I didn’t steal your heirloom, now did I?” Cat pointed out defensively. “And if your uncle knew the thief with the spur wasn’t in the catacombs, it was pretty idiotic to seal me up in here, wasn’t it?” she asked before popping the remainder of the sandwich in her mouth.

“Uncle Drone is a sweet, gentle old man,” Giogi declared with indignation.

“If you say so,” Cat mumbled with her mouth still full. When she’d managed to swallow, she asked, “Do you have anything to wash this sandwich down?”

“There’s tea,” Giogi offered. He began reaching into the picnic basket for the tea jug but stopped short upon noting the disgusted look on Cat’s face.

“Would you prefer water?” the nobleman asked.

“Haven’t you got anything stronger?” the sorceress asked with a sly grin.

Feeling rather odd, Giogi drew a silver hip flask from his back pocket and held it out. He’d never offered hard liquor to a woman before. “It’s Rivengut,” he warned. “Quite strong. Would you like me to water it down for you?”

Cat took the flask, unscrewed the lid, and took a long swallow. “No, thank you,” she said with a cheerful smile. “It’s just right.”

Giogi blinked twice in astonishment, then he shook himself mentally. “Why did your master send you after the spur?” he asked.

Cat shrugged. “I have no idea. I just follow his orders. One doesn’t ask men like Flattery to explain themselves. It’s a good way to get oneself killed.”

“But you could have been killed, anyway. The catacombs are full of dangerous creatures, and the guardian is supposed to slay anyone in the crypt who isn’t a Wyvernspur. Did you really go into the crypt?”

“How else could I know the spur was missing? I never saw hide nor hair of any guardian. Are you sure your guardian’s not a myth your family uses to frighten would-be thieves?”

Giogi shook his head. “She’s not,” he insisted. “If she didn’t kill you, that must mean you’re a Wyvernspur. We’ve always suspected there were missing members. What branch of the family are you from?”

“I’m a mage, not a family historian,” Cat said with a sniff.

You’re too proud to admit that you don’t know, aren’t you, girl? Olive thought slyly. You think you’re an orphan, just like Alias and Jade. Somehow, though, the guardian must have realized that you’re connected to the Nameless Bard, who is a Wyvernspur.

“If your master, this Flattery person,” Giogi said, “told you that the guardian wouldn’t bother you, then he must have known you were a Wyvernspur.”

Cat’s brow furrowed with some thought. She looked down at her hands, as if to examine them for proof. “You could be right,” she admitted softly.

Giogi lifted the mage’s chin so that her eyes met his own. “Why do you serve him if he sends you out to steal for him?”

“I was just beginning to wonder about that myself,” Cat said, smiling weakly.

Giogi dropped his hand from the mage’s chin to her shoulder. “You should leave his service,” he advised.

“I may have to,” Cat said, lowering her green eyes again. So softly that Giogi could barely hear her, she whispered, “Flattery will be furious with me for failing my mission.”

“Don’t go back to him,” the noble suggested, giving her shoulder a friendly squeeze.

“I wouldn’t,” Cat said, looking up at Giogi through her long red eyelashes, “except—” Cat looked down and hesitated. Then, as if she could barely contain her misery, she looked back up at Giogi and burst out, “except I have nowhere else to go, and he’s sure to find me, and when he does he’ll be even angrier that I tried to leave.” Her voice quavered slightly with fear.

Bravo! Olive thought cynically. Excellent performance.

“I see,” Giogi said solemnly.

Don’t be a fool, Giogi, Olive thought.

“I shall offer you my protection, then,” Giogi said.

What a sap, Olive thought, shaking her burro head.

“That’s very kind of you, Master Giogioni, but I can’t accept your offer. Flattery is a very powerful mage with a violent temper. I don’t dare risk your life as well.”

Think about it, Giogi, Olive pleaded silently. She’s just vying for your sympathy, old boy. Make it backfire. Accept her refusal. You don’t really want to interfere with the business of powerful mages with violent tempers.

“I insist,” Giogi replied staunchly.

I knew he’d say that, Olive thought.

“After all, you saved my life. You must come with me,” Giogi continued. “Uncle Drone is a powerful mage, too. He can help protect you. He’ll probably want to know all about this Flattery, anyway.”

Olive pricked up her ears. Giogi might consider his Uncle Drone a sweet, gentle old man, but if he was a powerful mage, he was another suspect for the man who’d disintegrated Jade. Except, according to Giogi, he was very old. Wizards could disguise their age, though, Olive knew.

“I should accompany you out now, before Steele sees you,” Giogi said. “He’s my second cousin. He’ll think you’re the real thief, because Uncle Drone told him the thief was down here.”

“That really won’t be necessary—” Cat began, but she was interrupted by a crash.

“What was that?” Giogi asked.

“They’re your catacombs. You tell me,” Cat challenged.

From the same direction as the crash came a blood-curdling scream. A human scream.

“Steele!” Giogi exclaimed. “You wait here with Birdie,” he ordered Cat. He drew his foil and ran off in the direction of the scream.