“I’m sorry, sirs,” Yost said to the twins. “We’re not usually this unfriendly, but there are some bad things happening in Mereklar.”
Bnotrjens Majene
“What happened to the barroom brawl?” Earwig demanded.
“Shut up.” Caramon grabbed the kender and stuffed him into his seat.
“Bad things — such as the cats disappearing?” asked Raistlin.
Yost stared at the mage in awe. “How did you know, sir?”
Raistlin shrugged.
“But then, you’re a wizard, after all,” continued the innkeeper with a sidelong glance . “I guess you know a lot of things the rest of us don’t.”
“And that’s why everyone’s ready to leap down our throats?” asked Caramon, pointing over his shoulder with his right thumb at the others in the inn.
“It’s just that our cats mean as much to us as his word of honor means to a Knight of Solomnia.”
Thinking back to his friend Sturm, Caramon was impressed. The Knights of Solomnia would willingly die to uphold their honor.
“Sit down, sir — ”
“Yost. Everyone just calls me Yost.”
“Sit down . . . um, Yost,” said Raistlin in his soft voice, “and tell us about the cats.”
Nervously, glancing back again at the other patrons, Yost took a seat opposite Earwig.
Caramon reached for his ale, only to discover that the kender had finished it.
“I’ll have the girl bring you something else to drink,” Yost said.
Caramon looked at his brother, who shook his head, reminding the warrior of the depleted state of their funds. The warrior heaved a sigh, “No, thanks. I’m not thirsty.”
DRAQONLANCE Pnelubes
Smiling, the innkeeper gestured at the barmaid. “On the house,” he said. “Maggie, bring us glasses and my own private stock.”
The barmaid returned, bearing a dust-covered brown bottle that Caramon recognized as distilled spirits. Yost poured a glass for himself and one for the warrior. Raist-lin declined.
“You want some?” Yost asked the kender. “It’ll curl your hair.”
“It will?” Earwig asked, gazing at the mixture in wonder. The kender ran a hand over his topknot of hair, his pride and joy. “Uh, I guess not, then. I like my hair the way it is.”
Yost continued, “In Mereklar and the area around the city, we believe that our cats will one day save the world.”
Caramon sniffed at the drink he had just been offered and gingerly took a small sip. He grimaced at the taste, then his eyes widened with delight at the pleasant burning sensation warming his insides. He belched and took a larger gulp.
“How?” asked Raistlin, glancing at his brother and frowning.
“Nobody knows for sure, but we all believe it will happen. Our heritage is based on it.” Yost rolled the liquor on his tongue and swallowed. “That’s why cats are always welcome in any home in Mereklar. It’s against the law to harm a cat, punishable by death. Not that anyone would.” The innkeeper gazed around sadly. “I used to have thirty or so here, myself. They’d be walking around, jumping on your shoulder, curling up in your lap. The choicest bits on everyone’s plates were theirs. The sound of their purring was so soothing-like. And now”—he shook his head—”they’re gone.”
“And you’ve no idea where?” Raistlin persisted.
“No, sir. We’ve looked. And there’s not a trace of ’em.
Bnotrjens Majene
Another drink, friend?” Yost held up the bottle. “I can see you enjoy this.”
“I do!” said Caramon, tears in his eyes and a huskiness in his throat. “What’s it called?”
“Dwarf spirits. Hard to come by these days, since the dwarfs have closed up Thorbardin.” Yost turned to Raistlin. “You seem unusually interested in our business, wizard. May I ask why?”
“Show him the paper, Caramon.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Fumbling beneath his leather harness, the warrior brought out the parchment they’d found at the crossroads and exhibited it to Yost.
“Ah, yes! The council voted to offer a reward to anyone who could find our cats—”
“It doesn’t say so,” Caramon pointed out.
“No, well.” Yost flushed, embarrassed. “We know that to the world outside, our love for our cats seems kind of strange. We didn’t figure outsiders would understand until they got here.”
“If they got here,” murmured Raistlin, with an unpleasant smile.