“No, I don’t think so. I was eavesdropping on the conversations in the other room before you came blundering over and distracted me.”
“Sorry. I thought you were sick. I didn’t know—”
Raistlin went on softly, as if he hadn’t heard the interruption, as if talking to himself. “The people are terrified, Caramon.”
“Yeah? What of? Assassins?”
“No. Their cats have disappeared.”
46
Ojapten. 3
twins OesceNOeD f/?e stains fnoM tfjein ROOM on the second floor, Raistlin leaning on both his brother and the staff, the black wood resounding hollowly. Moving around the huge open fire in the main hall, they went to the dining room. But before Caramon could enter, Raistlin stopped him, drawing his hood back to expose one ear.
The fighter recognized this signal— a sign the twins had developed over the years— and quickly ducked back around the corner of the doorway before any of the patrons could notice him. He cocked his ear, listening, hoping to discover what his brother found so interesting.
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DRAQONLANCE Pnelubes
Voices wafted like mist from the room.
“Tis the work of evil, I say!”
“Aye, it’s true!”
“I’ve lived eighty years,” interjected an old man, “and I’ve seen nothing like it! Always we’ve taken care of the cats, as the legend says. And now they’ve left us! Doom will fall on our heads!”
“Probably the work of some foul wizard.”
“Never did trust them.”
“Yeah! Burn ’em all up, I say! Like in the old days.”
“What do you think will happen to Mereklar, then, old man?”
“Mereklar? I fear for the world!”
“I heard there’re no cats at all left in the city,” stated a man, wearing a farmer’s smock and broad-brimmed hat. “Is that true?”
‘There are a few left, a hundred or so, perhaps,” said the old man.
“A hundred where there used to be a thousand,” added another.
“And their numbers dwindle daily.”
Everyone began to talk at once, adding rumors they’d heard. They were beginning to work themselves into a frenzy.
Caramon came out from his hiding place to join his brother. He plucked Raistlin’s sleeve.
“I think we’ve wandered into an asylum,” he whispered loudly. “These people are crazy! To get this worked up over a bunch of cats!”
“Hush, Caramon. You should take this matter seriously. I would guess that this has much to do with the job we are seeking.”
“We’re being hired to look for lost cats?” Caramon began to laugh, his booming baritone roaring through the inn. Everyone fell silent, glaring at the brothers with baleful looks.
48
Majeue
“Remember, Caramon!” Raistlin closed his thin-fingered hand over his brother’s thick arm. “Someone tried to kill us over it, as well.”
Caramon’s laugh sobered quickly. The two entered the room. Their presence was not welcome. They were outsiders, intruding on a fear they could not understand. No one said a word, no one bade them sit down.
“Hey! Raistlin! Caramon! Over here!” Earwig’s shrill voice split the sullen silence.
The twins walked to the back of the room. The inn’s patrons cast furtive glances at the mage, and there was whispering and shaking of heads and glowering scowls. Raistlin ignored them all with a disdainful air and a slight sneering curl of his lips.
Caramon helped his brother sit down and get as comfortable as possible on the hard, wooden bench. The warrior beckoned to one of the barmaids, who — after a nod from Yost— came over to the table.
Caramon sniffed at the air and wrinkled his nose, not liking much what he smelled cooking.
“Rabbit stew,” said the woman. “Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it,” said Caramon, thinking regretfully of Otik’s spiced potatoes at the Inn of the Last Home. He looked at his brother. Raistlin covered his mouth with a cloth and shook his head.
“My brother will have some white wine. Do you want something. Earwig?”
“Oh, no, thanks, Caramon. I ate already. You see, there was this plate of stew, just sitting there. My mother always said it was a sin to waste food. ‘People in Solam-nia are starving,’ she’d say. So, to help the starving people in Solamnia, I ate the stew. Although just how that helps them I’m not certain. Do you know, Caramon?”