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  The cat in his arms suddenly began to wriggle and squirm. Jumping out of Caramon’s grasp, it landed on the floor and sat there, staring at him for a moment. Then, tail stuck straight up in the air, the cat wandered off, heading for the kitchen.

  The proprietor began bolting the door, chained it securely. Raistlin climbed the stairs to their room. Caramon came after him, dragging Earwig, who was staring with professional interest at the numerous locks on the door.

  Arriving outside their room, Raistlin held up a warning hand. Caramon kept hold of Earwig, who would have charged heedlessly ahead.

  “Wait,” said the warrior.

  “Why?” Earwig asked, staring at Raistlin.

  “Shirak!” The mage held the beaming orb to the floor, stared intently underneath the door.

  “What’s he doing, checking for dust?” asked the kender.

  “Yeah, sort of,” said Caramon.

  “It’s all right,” said Raistlin, standing up. He held a rose petal in his hand. “This was where I left it. No one has passed.”

  “You better let me go first, just in case,” said Caramon, drawing his sword.

  The mage unlocked the door, and the warrior pushed it aside with his hand, both of them keeping well out of the way. Nothing happened. Carefully, Caramon entered the room. Raistlin came after him, holding the light of his staff high. Earwig bounded in, hoping the rose petal had been wrong and that there might be something interesting inside.

  There wasn’t.

  Raistlin sank down on the bed and gave way to a sudden fit of coughing. He fumbled for his pouch of herbs. “It’s gone!”

  “What? What’s gone?”

  “My herbal mixture! My pouch must have fallen off in the park.”

  “I’ll go—” Caramon began.

  “No, don’t leave me, brother!” Raistlin clutched his chest. “Besides, you’d never get out of the inn. Not the way it’s locked up!”

  “I’ll go!” said Earwig, jumping up and down with excitement. “I can get out!”

  “Yes!” Raistlin nodded, sinking down on the bed. “Send the kender.” He shut his eyes.

  “Hurry up!” Caramon admonished Earwig sternly. “No stops along the way!”

  “Not me!”

  Opening the door, the kender darted out. They could hear his light footsteps racing down the hall and clattering down the stairs. Then, silence.

  Raistlin, drawing a deep breath, sat up briskly. Rising from the bed, he went to the window. Caramon stared at him.

  “Raist? What—”

  “Hush, my brother.” The mage drew back the curtain, being careful to keep himself behind it. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “There he goes. Now we may talk freely.”

  “You think Earwig’s a spy?” Caramon didn’t know whether to burst into laughter or tears.

  “I don’t know what to think,” Raistlin answered gravely. “Except that he wears a magic ring and has no idea how he came by it. Or, at least, so he says. You’ve seen how strangely he’s been acting.”

  Caramon sat down heavily in a chair. Leaning his elbows on the table, he let his head sink into his hands. “I don’t like this, any of it! A man murdered—his body ripped apart. No blood. Only a kind of brown dust. The kender wearing a magic ring …”

  “It’s going to get worse, my brother, before it gets better.” Reaching into his robes, Raistlin brought out the bag of herbs and regarded it thoughtfully. He was growing stronger. There was no doubt about it. Was it his cure? Or …

  “Could you break a tree, Caramon? One of the trees in the park?” he asked abruptly.

  “Wha— Why do you want to know?”

  “One of the trees near the body of the murdered man had its bark shattered, as if someone had struck it.”

  Caramon thought. “I suppose I could, if I were wearing a gauntlet to protect my fist.” He shuddered as the full implications occurred to the warrior. “Whoever did that terrible thing must be strong! Do you … do you think it was a … a big cat? There were all those claw marks—”

  “It was either a cat, or we are meant to think it was a cat,” said Raistlin absently, preoccupied with other thoughts. He dragged a chair over to sit directly across from Caramon. “What do you think of Lady Shavas?”

  The question took Caramon by surprise.

  “I think she’s … attractive.”

  “You find her irresistible!”

  “What do you mean?” the fighter asked defensively.

  “I mean you have feelings for her.”

  “How would you know what my feelings are?” Caramon demanded, rising to his feet and pacing about the room.

  He and his twin had never before discussed women. It had always been one part of Caramon’s life in which Raistlin had taken no interest. But then, never before had any woman been attracted to the thin and sickly young man. Recalling this, Caramon began to feel a certain amount of remorse. He could have any woman he wanted. It might be good for Raistlin to … well … get to know the lady better. Perhaps that’s what was working this miraculous cure. Love had been known to perform miracles.

  “Look, Raist,” said Caramon, sitting down again. “If you want her, I’ll back off—”

  “Want her!” Raistlin’s golden eyes flared. He glared at his brother with such contempt that Caramon shrank away from him. “I don’t ‘want’ her, not in the vulgar sense you mean.”

  Yet the mage lingered over the word. His fingers stroked the wood of the table, as if caressing smooth skin.

  “Why did you bring her up, then?”

  “I have been observing you. Ever since the first night we met her, you’ve been acting like a love-struck boy, staring at her with that stupid grin.”

  “The lady seems to like it,” retorted Caramon.

  “Yes, she does.” Raistlin’s voice dropped.

  Caramon cast him an uneasy glance. “What do you mean?”

  “Her house contains very ancient, very powerful tomes of magic. I must look at them … alone.”

  “I don’t like this, Raist.”

  “Oh, but you will, my brother. I’m certain that you will.”

  “What if she won’t go out with me?”

  “I’ve seen her looking at you,” said Raistlin.

  Caramon heard the bitterness in his brother’s voice. “I’ve seen her looking at you, too, Raist,” he said softly.

  “Yes, well …” Raistlin let the comment pass.

  Caramon could have sworn he saw a faint flush of blood beneath the golden skin. To his surprise, his twin suddenly clenched both fists, the golden eyes glinted.

  “The books! The magic! That’s what’s important. All else is fleeting. All else is of the flesh!” A drop of sweat trickled down the mage’s brow. “You will do it?” he demanded hoarsely, not looking at his brother.

  “Sure, Raist,” said Caramon. It was what he answered to every request his twin made of him.

  “Thank you, my brother.” Raistlin’s tone was cold. “You must be tired. I suggest you go to bed.”

  Caramon shrugged. “What about you?”

  “I have work to do.”

  Raistlin pulled the sextant out from under his robes, along with the datebook to which he had referred earlier. Opening the text, he laid it on the table next to a quill and inkwell. The mage walked to the window and gazed at the heavens through the brass navigation tool. He began to take notes, drawing odd lines and strange curves, parallels of ink and words on parchment.

  Caramon, after watching a moment, went to bed.

  The mage was working so intently that he didn’t hear the door open.

  “Gosh, Raistlin, you’re up late. Feeling better?”

  The kender’s voice startled the mage. He glanced up, irritated by the disturbance.

  “That was quick,” he muttered, returning to his drawing.

  “Oh, the soldier gave me a ride. He didn’t know he gave me a ride, but I guessed he must be going back to the park, so I just jumped on behind the carriage and off
we went. It’s a lot more fun than riding inside. When I got to the park there was a big meeting going on. All the ministers were still there and Councillor Shavas—”

  “Shavas?” Raistlin looked up again.

  “Yes.” Earwig gave a yawn that nearly split his head in two. “I told her you dropped the pouch. She helped look for it, but we couldn’t find it. I did find some others, in case you’re interested.” The kender pulled numerous purses—mostly filled with money—out of his pockets and dumped them on the table. Along with them came a tiny scroll, wrapped tightly in red ribbon.

  “What is this?” Raistlin asked, lifting it.

  “Oh, that’s from Lady Shavas. She said I was to give it to Caramon.”

  Raistlin glanced at the bed where his brother lay sleeping. The mage untied the ribbon and unrolled the scroll.

  Dinner. Tomorrow evening. A private place, known only to myself, where we can be alone. I will send my carriage for you at dusk.

  It was signed, Shavas.

  Raistlin dropped the note, as if it had burned him.

  Earwig was unrolling his sleeping mat. “Oh, I found out something else,” he said, yawning again. “The soldier was talking about it with one of his buddies. That man who was murdered. He didn’t have a heart!”

  Raistlin sat, staring at the note.

  “How fortunate for him,” said the mage.

  Caramon awoke to find that his brother had fallen asleep at the table, his head lying on the books, his hand resting protectively over the sextant.

  “Raist?” said Caramon, shaking him.

  The mage started and sat up swiftly. “Not yet! Now is not the time! I must be stronger.…”

  “Raist!” said Caramon.

  The mage blinked and stared around, wondering where he was. Then, recognizing the room and his twin, he closed his eyes and sighed.

  “Are you all right? Did you get any sleep last night?”

  “Not much,” Raistlin conceded. “But that is not important. I now know the exact time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “For when the three moons converge.” Raistlin spoke in hollow tones. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. “We have exactly one day, one night, and another day. Tomorrow night, when the darkness is deepest, it will be lit by the Great Eye.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Now we look for the cats. I can’t believe they have simply vanished off the face of Krynn. Once we find them, we will hold the key to the mystery.”

  “And tonight …”

  Caramon spoke reluctantly, hoping Raistlin had either forgotten his instructions of the previous evening or had changed his mind. The big warrior just couldn’t envision himself asking that lovely, regal woman to accompany him on an evening’s romantic tryst. He had no doubt she would laugh at him.

  His twin pointed to a scroll rolled up and wrapped with red ribbon. “The kender brought that for you last night after you were asleep. It is from Lady Shavas.”

  Caramon felt the blood rush to his face. He reached for the scroll, opened it, and glanced at it. There was no need to read it to his twin. He knew Raistlin would have looked at it last night.

  The warrior cleared his throat. He should feel elated, but he didn’t. He felt cold all over. “It’s like … she’s reading our minds.”

  “Isn’t it?” said Raistlin, rising to his feet. “Wake Earwig. I need him.”

  “You do?” Caramon stared, astonished.

  “Yes.” Raistlin gave his brother a shrewd look. “Or, let us say, I need to know where he is … and where he is not.”

  Caramon, not understanding, shrugged, and went to wake the kender.

  The warrior had absolutely no idea how to begin searching for missing cats, other than by dragging a string around and shouting, “Here, puss! Here, puss!” He had other, more important worries. The streets, previously so empty, were today crowded with people, talking about last night’s murder. Their voices stopped whenever the red-robed mage came into view. Soon they started up again, this time finding a focus for their fear.

  “It was magic killed our lord.… No one ever died until a wizard came to town! … Likely killed our cats, too!”

  Caramon stalked the streets, hand on the hilt of his sword, glaring balefully at any who might have the nerve to speak too loudly or take a step toward Raistlin. Whether it was the aura of mystery and power surrounding the magic-user or the threat of the strong arm and sharp blade of the warrior beside him, nobody came close. The people melted away, sidling into alleys or ducking into dark doorways. But Caramon heard the muttered threats and saw the hatred on the faces as he, his twin, and the kender passed.

  They’d walked about half a mile from Barnstoke Hall, traveling on one of the three main thoroughfares of Mereklar, when Raistlin came to a stop.

  “Now, instructions. Earwig, I have a spell that will lead us to the cats, but in order to cast it, I need a bagful of a certain herb—nepeta cataria. When you find it, meet us back at Barnstoke Hall.”

  Earwig leaped at Raistlin, clutching at him, nearly knocking him over. “No! Please don’t make me leave you. I really want to stay with you! I feel … afraid if I’m not with you.”

  “Hey, let go!” Caramon said, dragging the kender off his brother. “What’s got into you? Kender aren’t afraid of anything!”

  “Don’t make me leave you, Caramon!” Earwig was clinging to the big man’s arm, despite all Caramon’s efforts to shake him loose. “Please! I’ll behave …”

  Raistlin’s hand slipped into his pouch. He drew out a handful of rose petals and slowly sifted them over the kender’s head.

  “Ast tasarak sinuralan krynawi,” he murmured.

  Earwig suddenly yawned and began to rub his eyes.

  “I’ll be goooo.…” The kender’s fingers slipped off Caramon’s arm. Earwig crumpled over in a heap on the sidewalk.

  “What happened?” Caramon knelt down beside his little friend.

  “He’s all right, my brother,” said Raistlin. “He’s asleep.”

  Earwig had begun to snore softly.

  “Lift him up onto that bench so that no one steps on him,” Raistlin instructed. “Now, you and I can proceed with our search alone.” The mage’s gaze went to the ring on the kender’s hand.

  Caramon did as he was told. They left Earwig, blissfully snoring, in a hyava shop.

  “What was that stuff you wanted him to get? Some kind of herb?”

  “Nepeta cataria.” The mage smiled slightly. “Catnip.”

  The brothers continued up the street, appearing to do nothing more than look in shop and store windows. But all the stores were empty, the houses had their windows shuttered. People roamed the streets, sharing their own fear and panic.

  “It’s like a town under siege,” Caramon remarked.

  “Precisely. And for much the same reason. Fear. Terror. And notice,” added Raistlin. “No cats. Anywhere.”

  Caramon glanced around. “You’re right! I haven’t seen one! Have they all disappeared?”

  “I don’t think so. I think they’re in hiding. They, too, are afraid.”

  Caramon wondered at their destination. Raistlin seemed to have an exact idea of where he was going and walked without hesitation. The warrior thought he understood when he saw the park, the same park Lord Manion had been killed in the night before. No one was around, the townspeople avoiding the place as if it were infected with the plague.

  “What are we doing here?” Caramon asked uncomfortably, having much the same impression himself.

  His brother did not answer. The mage stopped near a bench. Leaning on his staff, he stared at the trampled grass.

  Caramon, growing increasingly nervous, pulled out the yellow ball Maggie had given him and began to play with it, trying to distract his gloomy thoughts. But thinking of Maggie made him think of Shavas. He knew he should be looking forward to tonight—what man wouldn’t, being alone with a beautiful, desirable woman? But there was the knowledge in the back of Caramon�
�s mind that he was using the woman, deceiving her. He was a diversion, nothing more. He didn’t like it and he had about decided to tell Raistlin he wasn’t going when he felt a light tugging at his hand.

  Caramon looked down. The black cat, sitting on its hind legs, was batting at the ball.

  “Hello,” Caramon said, bending over to pick up the cat.

  The feline bounded sideways, ears and tail twitching. The warrior shrugged his shoulders and sat down on the bench, shutting his eyes against the morning glare. The cat brushed up against his legs.

  “All right, I’ll pet you,” he said, leaning down.

  The cat turned and walked away, craning its head back to regard the fighter with reflecting eyes. Caramon shook his head. “What a strange animal.”

  Raistlin seemed to wake from a dream. He stared at the cat intently.

  “Isn’t that the same cat who came with us last night, the one you had on your shoulder?”

  “I guess so. It’s the only black cat I’ve seen in town.”

  Raistlin watched it. “He wanted us to follow.”

  “How can you tell?”

  The cat dashed off, then dashed up to Caramon again. The warrior took a step after it and it ran off again.

  “Let’s see where it takes us,” said Raistlin.

  The cat raced ahead of them about twenty feet, heading around the park to the western portion of the city. Just when it seemed that they would lose the animal, it stopped, waiting for them, sitting on the ground patiently. When the twins were within arm’s reach, the cat darted off again, moving in the same direction.

  “Where do you think he’s leading us?” Caramon asked.

  “If I knew that, we wouldn’t be following it!” Raistlin snapped.

  The brothers went up street after street, until even the mage became lost in the flow of alleys, avenues, and paths. Every time the twins came within a few feet of the black cat, it would dart off, staying always ahead, always within sight. It never uttered a sound, but gazed back with eyes that held the sunlight as brilliantly as the blue orb on Raistlin’s staff.