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  Caramon craned his head back, staring into the sky as he walked. “It’s almost noon,” he said. “I hope we arrive at wherever we’re going soon.”

  “I think we must be getting closer,” Raistlin said. “The animal has increased its speed.”

  “Do you recognize this part of the city?”

  “No. I take it you don’t either.”

  Caramon shook his head. They were on a boulevard surrounded by buildings, shops, and houses that looked abandoned or unused. Trash filled several alleys that cut through the blocks like great wounds, darkened and dirty. Even the white stones of the city appeared gray, worn, and old.

  “This is very odd.” Raistlin pulled his cowl back, staring at the black windows.

  “Yeah. This place feels dead.” Caramon spoke softly, uneasily, though it seemed there was no one around.

  “A part of the city that died and was never buried. Look, our friend has evidently found what it wanted us to see.”

  The black cat was scratching at a sewer cover near the sidewalk on the right. The twins walked warily up to the feline. It did not run away as it had before, but continued scratching, voicing a harsh “meow!”

  “It wants us to go down there,” Raistlin realized. Pointing with a long, thin finger, he commanded, “Lift the grating, Caramon.”

  The warrior glanced at his brother. “Into a sewer? Are you sure, Raist?”

  The cat screeched loudly.

  “Do as I say!” Raistlin hissed.

  The huge warrior bent down, grasping the metal cover with both hands, and began to lift, his muscles straining. His face turned red with effort, and his expression distorted into one of concentration and exertion. After a few moments, the plate grated and he dragged it aside.

  The cat stared at the brothers intently, cocking its head sideways, flicking its eyes toward the street and back up at them. Without warning, the animal leaped down into the hole, disappearing in the darkness.

  Caramon wiped sweat from his forehead. He stared down into the impenetrable hole. It was like looking into the Abyss. He fancied he could feel icy talons reach out, grasping to drag him down to the realm of death. He shuddered, standing back.

  “Do we really have to go down there?”

  Raistlin nodded in confirmation. The mage’s face was rigid. It seemed he was subject to the same impressions as his brother. But he started forward.

  “Better let me go first,” said Caramon.

  The warrior forced himself to approach the lip of the pit. Kneeling, he took several deep breaths and then lowered himself into the hole. His legs were swallowed by shadow that slowly engulfed his arms and, finally, his head.

  Gathering his robes around him, Raistlin prepared to descend beneath Mereklar.

  “Hey, you! Either drink or move on.”

  Earwig opened his eyes to see the irate face of a tavern owner glaring down at him.

  “No loitering.”

  “I wasn’t loitering,” said the kender indignantly. “I was napping. Although,” he added, brushing rose petals out of his hair, “I don’t remember having taken a nap since I was a very small kender. But I was up late last night, so maybe that explains it. Now, I wonder where Raistlin and Caramon have got to?”

  At first Earwig was terribly worried that he couldn’t find his friends, but then the uncomfortable feeling went away, leaving him more cheerful than he’d felt in days. The small, irritating voice inside of him quit nagging him to do this, do that. And there was no longer the threat that if he didn’t do what the voice said, he’d be dragged off to someplace where there were no locks to pick, no pouches to find, no people to meet. Someplace eternally boring.

  Now that he was away from Raistlin and Caramon, Earwig felt carefree and happy again, and he began doing what all kender do best: explore.

  Earwig walked up the street, gazing about with interest. Some of the people, associating him with the mage, whispered to each other that the little man with the pointed ears might be a demon. They drew away from him, pushing their children into their houses, closing and barring doors in his face.

  “How rude,” said Earwig. Shrugging his shoulders, he walked on, tapping the wooden hoopak on the ground with a steady, hollow rhythm.

  “I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” he asked himself aloud. He had come to an intersection and saw a narrow alley that led to an arcade.

  “I remember! This is where I went the first night I was here! That’s the inn where the man tried to kill me and the girl kissed me.”

  Earwig walked into the market. None of the shops were open, and only a few nervous people walked through the alley, anxious to finish their business and return to the safety of their homes. “Hello, there,” a bright young voice said.

  Earwig glanced around.

  “Do you remember me? You helped me the other night. I didn’t get a chance to ask your name. Mine’s Catherine. What’s yours?”

  “Earwig. Earwig Lockpicker,” the kender said, holding out his small hand. Is this how Caramon greets a girl? he wondered, trying to remember.

  “I never got a chance to thank you, either. You ran away before I could say anything. May I buy you a drink? I work right over there,” Catherine said, pointing to the inn. “Our house speciality is Stonewash Surprise.”

  “Stonewash Surprise? I’ve never heard of it,” Earwig replied.

  “Oh, only the hardiest of adventurers have ever tried it. And lived,” Catherine added, giggling.

  The tavern was as large and dirty as the kender remembered; beer and other unmentionable stains darkened the floor. The walls were constructed from ill-fitting planks of wood that were knotted and rotting with age. Catherine walked behind the bar and began to pour liquors into a glass, filling the cup from decanters of red, green, and blue. The drink complete, she pushed it in front of Earwig, who sat at one of the many mismatched stools.

  He took a sip, and his eyes widened. “Celebration Punch!” he exclaimed in recognition. “Kind of.”

  “Celebration Punch. What’s that?” Catherine asked.

  “It’s what kender use to celebrate with, of course.” Earwig looked around. “You’re not doing much business today.”

  The bar was, in fact, empty except for the kender and the young woman.

  “It’s the murder,” Catherine said matter-of-factly. “Everyone’s scared to death. I say good riddance.”

  “Yes, I remember. He was the man who hit you.” Earwig sipped his drink.

  “You know, it’s funny. Lord Manion came in here a lot and he generally got drunk, but he was always a gentleman. Many nights I’ve made certain he reached his home safely. But then, just the past few weeks, he changed. He turned”—the girl frowned, thinking—“ugly, cruel. It was when he started wearing that necklace, like the one you’re wearing.”

  “What necklace? Oh, this?” said Earwig, glancing down at the silver cat’s skull with the ruby eyes.

  “You’re not going to turn mean, are you?”

  “Gee, do you think there’s a chance I might?” Earwig asked eagerly.

  Catherine began to laugh. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Earwig sighed. The kender ran through a list of things to say to women as he tugged at the gold ring on his finger. He chose one he thought appropriate and asked, “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

  Catherine giggled. “It’s just my job. One of them.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Two or three, depending on business. I work at Hyava Tavern, on Westgate Street.”

  “I hope it’s not as rough as this place.”

  “Pooh! I can take care of myself. I’ll bet you’ve been to a lot of places,” Catherine said wistfully.

  “Oh, my, yes. All around Krynn. Southern Ergoth, Northern Ergoth, Solamnia—”

  “I’ve never been anywhere but here.”

  Earwig looked intently at the woman across the bar from him. She stood straight and strong,
her arms well-muscled. He believed that she could handle herself in almost any situation.

  “You remind me a little of someone I know. Her name’s Kitiara.”

  “Really? What’s she like?”

  “She’s a fierce and cunning warrior,” said the kender.

  Catherine looked a little shocked. “Wh—why thank you, Earwig. I think.…”

  “You sound like you want to leave this place.” The kender took several gulps of his drink. “Why don’t you just pick up and go?”

  “I don’t have the steel yet.”

  “You don’t need money to travel! All you need is a hoopak and a good walking tune.” Earwig laughed, swinging his hoopak into the air. He was feeling really good. He couldn’t remember ever having felt this good before.

  Catherine shrugged and frowned. She leaned back from her guest, propping her elbows against a shelf.

  “I’m sorry, Catherine. I didn’t mean to make you unhappy.” Earwig rummaged through his pockets, pulling out the first thing he came to—the tangle of wire with the bead in it. “Here. I want you to have this.”

  The barmaid, smiling in spite of herself, reached over to take the gift. Holding the wire up to the light, she stared at it in fascination. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. I got it when I was on some adventure with my friends. We go adventuring a lot together, my friends and I. One of them is a magic-user,” the kender added importantly.

  “This is really amazing, Earwig.” Catherine was still staring at the wire. “If you look closely, it appears that the bead has writing on it!”

  Earwig heard the door open behind him, but he didn’t turn around. He was trying to remember how Caramon got girls to kiss him. Catherine glanced up and hurriedly tucked the wire away in a pocket. She nodded once, and then leaned over the bar, her face close to the kender’s.

  “Tell me about your friends,” she said. “Tell me about the mage. I’d love to meet him.”

  “Raistlin and Caramon? They were born in a place called Solace, to the east of here. Caramon is a great and powerful warrior. His muscles are as big as … as that,” Earwig said pointing to a beer barrel in the corner. “I’ve seen him cut twenty men in two with one stroke!”

  “No! Really?” Catherine appeared nervous. She seemed to have to force her eyes to remain on the kender.

  Earwig blinked. Leaning over, he said confidentially, “Don’t look now, Cather … Cather … whatever. But your walls are spinning around and around.”

  “You need another drink. That’s all. Tell me about your other friend.”

  “My other friend’s name is … Raishlin. He has shkin that shines like gold, and eyes the shape of hourglasses. He sees death,” the kender said solemnly, sticking his nose in his drink. “But, as frightening as that shounds, even more frightening are the spells he casts and powers he can call down to deshtroy an enemy.”

  “There used to be a wizard who lived in the hills to the east,” Catherine said, darting a swift glance behind the kender.

  “Whatsh his name?”

  “Nobody knows, but it’s rumored that his cave is still there. It’s built around a series of stones that look like an animal’s paw.”

  The walls were spinning more rapidly, and now the ceiling had joined in, much to Earwig’s fascination. He sat on the stool, watching them revolve around and around and then the stool joined the wild dance, spinning the kender around and around until Earwig suddenly discovered that he was lying on the floor.

  A man dressed in black leather armor loomed over him, knelt beside him. Strong hands lifted the kender and flung him over a massive shoulder.

  “You won’t hurt him?” Catherine’s voice floated around the kender like a lovely cloud.

  “No,” said a harsh voice in reply. “Like our lord told you. The little fellow’s in danger, wearing that necklace around in the open. We want to protect him, that’s all. Thanks for your help.”

  Earwig, bobbing up and down against the man’s back, started to feel incredibly dizzy. He stared, bleary-eyed, at Catherine, who seemed to be growing smaller and smaller and smaller.

  “One Celebration Punch … for the … road!” cried the kender, and passed out.

  “Ack! Ugh!”

  “What is it, Caramon?”

  “There’s a stream running through here! It’s as cold as ice. You better let me carry you.”

  Raistlin climbed down the stairs and plunged into the water. “Nonsense! Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

  Caramon peered into the darkness, trying to locate his twin.

  “Are you sure. I mean, I know how much you hate getting wet and cold.”

  “As I said, I am fine,” the mage snapped irritably. “If the cold bothers you so much, perhaps you would like me to carry you?”

  “No, of course not!” Caramon felt foolish.

  “Shirak.”

  The soft white light of the Staff of Magius filled the tunnel. A long, dark, passage extended ahead of them, far beyond the summoned field of magical light. The walls glistened wetly.

  “It smells bad,” said Caramon. “But not quite what I expected from a sewer. It smells like … iron.” He sounded disbelieving.

  “Or blood,” said Raistlin softly.

  “Yeah.”

  There was no room to swing a sword. Caramon drew a dagger from its sheath. Its blade gleamed in the light of the staff.

  “We must therefore assume that this is not a sewer, but a connection to a waterway,” Raistlin added.

  The cat meowed impatiently, and the mage walked forward, moving past his brother. Caramon started to protest—he always took the point when the two walked into danger together. But he remembered, then, that Raistlin carried the light. He kept close behind him.

  The cat moved slowly, ensuring that his followers would not become lost in what Caramon soon discovered was a maze of tunnels. The feline didn’t appear to like the water any better than the warrior, for it shook its paw with each step and seemed to grimace at setting a foot back into the stream.

  They walked for what seemed like miles, though something in the back of Caramon’s mind insisted that they had not gone any great distance at all.

  “What are you saying, Caramon?”

  “I said we could use a dwarf now,” the warrior replied. “I wish I could see better! Anything could jump out at us.”

  “I don’t sense any threat to ourselves down here. The only feeling I get from this place is that it is old … very, very old.”

  “Old and forgotten.”

  “I agree, my brother. It is most unusual.”

  They walked and walked. The chill water seeped through Caramon’s boots. He was shivering and he worried about his twin, knowing that Raistlin’s robes must be soaked through. The warrior knew better, however, than to ask. The cat made a sudden turn, darting down another passage that angled off from the first. The new passage was equally as black as the old. Caramon hesitated, but the cat meowed, urging them to come forward.

  Without hesitation, Raistlin walked on, holding the staff at eye-level, able to raise it no higher because of the low roof.

  “Come, Caramon. Don’t fall behind!”

  They came to an intersection, and the black cat skipped on, moving to the left, beginning to run, splashing through the water. The brothers increased their pace, both prompted by curiosity.

  “—which killed the cat,” Caramon said, but under his breath.

  The tunnels became a dizzying maze, a labyrinth created for some unknown purpose. Raistlin held the Staff of Magius forward, a lance of light piercing the dark. Caramon sloshed along behind. He noticed that the walls were beginning to change, becoming drier.

  “Look at that!” Raistlin breathed, holding up the staff.

  The wall was covered with paintings and engravings, showing sights neither brother could identify. They moved swiftly on, left and right, straight and back, a curving tunnel leading to a crooked passage leading to a sloping floor.

 
The cat moved faster. The twins rounded a corner behind it and stopped suddenly, staring wide-eyed.

  “Name of the Abyss!” Caramon cried aloud, steadying himself against the cavern entrance with his hand.

  Raistlin said nothing, but simply stared in the staff’s soft radiance. The black cat turned to face them, eyes red in the staff’s light.

  The chamber in which they stood was huge—hundreds of feet long. Numerous passages led in and out, black gashes in the rock. Small rivers collected in ponds that glittered with an oily reflection. And everywhere they looked they saw the cats of Mereklar. Thousands of cats lay resting on their sides without sound, without motion. Raistlin knelt down, holding the staff close.

  “Look,” he said, pointing.

  From every mouth and nose poured a small stream of blood.

  “They’re all … dead!” Caramon gasped.

  Raistlin examined one of the small bodies. Putting a thin, golden hand on tiger-striped fur, he stroked it gently. He moved to another body, then another, lifting heads and peering into shining eyes.

  “I don’t understand,” Caramon said softly, “What could have killed them all? Poison?”

  “They’re not dead.”

  “They sure look dead to me.”

  “I assure you they are quite alive. However, their minds are gone.”

  Caramon went to the nearest cat and touched its fur. He felt warmth under his hand, a tiny heart still beating, breath barely entering and leaving.

  The black cat leaped in front of him, hunching down on its forepaws. It spat at him.

  “All right.” Caramon rose to his feet and backed away. “I’m not going to hurt them. You’re right, Raist. They are alive!”

  “In answer to your first question, they were not poisoned. There is no poison I know of that could do this.”

  “What do you think it was?”

  “The only answer I have is magic, though a spell that could cause this kind of destruction is beyond my means.”

  Caramon paused, considering the implications. “Then you think this is the work of a wizard?”