“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—”
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“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,
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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.
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“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.