“Must be getting old,” he muttered, swinging off the bed to retrieve both missiles. Pacing back to the bed, he whirled and threw. The flat, hiltless and guardless knife appeared in the hub. Tired of the violent nonsense, Notable said “rrawwrr!” and pounced.
“Ouch! How’d you like to become my favorite target, Notable you dam’ cat?”
A couple of hours later he rose again and stripped, to change into his blacks; his work clothes. Notable seemed already to understand this rit- ual, whether or not cats saw colors: the big red animal pounced up onto the shelf under the window and looked from it to his human.
“You’re right,” Shadowspawn said, double checking the lock on his door. “That’s the way we go out tonight, m’friend.”
They did.
An hour later, both of them had easily gained silent-entry to the large house formerly occupied by one Lastel/One-Thumb and now the lair of a young mage many thought dead. Hanse was sure they were wrong, al- though by now he had heard tales of the legions of walking and indeed wandering dead who had plagued Sanctuary’s streets during his absence. No. Marype was alive. A look in the kitchen provided evidence of occu- pancy and recent cooking. A bed on the second floor had been used recently. In fact that bed looked as if Marype had lately entertained company. The tall cabinet-like press contained clothing. Not that of the departed Lastel, surely; expert eyes found membranous black gloves and noted that the thumbs of both were expanded by wear. On the point of keeping those nice thin gloves, the silent intruder decided against it. He’d steal nothing from the lair of a sorcerer; only that property of another which he was here to retrieve. He departed the bedroom without search- ing further, remembering the spellwright’s words that he would know when he was nigh Nadeesh’s earring.