The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers, Deluxe Illustrated Edition (24 page)

Chapter 32. Final
Warning

We are told that wyverns protect us from
wizards and shape-shifters, but where are these monsters? They
appear as nothing but legends in old ballads. No living person has
seen such a creature, because they do not exist.

—Gwain,
The Truth About Wyverns

Gerard woke with the answer. He sat straight
up, knocking his chin against Alsair’s beak. “Clothes or
books!”

Alsair growled and pricked Gerard with his
claws, but Gerard shoved the paw off his chest and got up. “Mance
is famous for books. Gwain and Silveo both like books. I don’t know
why I didn’t see it earlier.”

He strode out of the cabin rubbing his eyes
and running his fingers through his hair. The sun had just risen,
and the harbor was a sea of mist. Gerard had been on Mance several
times briefly when he was a watch master. He’d been here a little
longer on his coming-of-age tour, and he had a vague memory of
Scrivener’s Way—the area of Solamade best known for books. It was
on the far side of town, a long walk from the docks. He had to ask
several shelts how to get there, but he did arrive about
midmorning. The district was large, full of bookshops and items
related to the making and maintenance of books.

Gerard bought some food from a street vendor,
consumed it in a few bites, and started looking through the shops.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that he would know
when he found it. About noon, he stepped into a shop that
specialized in old books. Gerard walked along the shelves, scanning
the authors and titles. When he came to the back of the store, he
turned and saw something in a chink between the wall and a
bookcase. It was just a glimmer of metal, but Gerard had sharp
eyes. After glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he
unsheathed his sword and used it to lever the item out of its
crevice.

It was a throwing knife—a very plain
specimen. Gerard had no way of proving that it belonged to Silveo,
except that his gut told him it did. Silveo owned every conceivable
kind of throwing knife, and he lost and replaced them regularly. He
had a few “shiny” knives, but he only pulled them out when he was
seeking to impress. Gerard re-sheathed his sword and tucked the
knife into his boot sheath.

He looked again at the chink. In order to
have landed there, the knife had to have been thrown from the very
back wall.
Did someone corner you here, Silveo?

He stalked around the bookshop several times.
He thought he saw scratches on one wall that could have come from a
knife glancing off, and he found stains on the stone in one place
that could have been blood. Of course, the scratches could have
come from a piece of furniture, and the stains could have come from
almost anything.
I wish I had your nose, Silveo.

A grishnard clerk sat at the desk near the
bookstore’s entrance, reading. She looked up as Gerard leaned over
the desk. “Was there a foxling in here any time in the last few
days?”

The clerk shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve
only been here today.”

“Who was here yesterday? And the day
before?”

She inched away from him. “Just another girl.
We don’t own the bookstore. We just work here.”

“Who owns it?” asked Gerard. He realized he
was being menacing, and he didn’t care.

“Marsh and Fin,” said the clerk. “They own
all the stores on this block.” She stood and took a step back. “Now
I have to close for the afternoon. Please leave.”

Gerard leaned over the desk and collared her
with one hand. “What have you done with him?” he snarled.

The girl looked truly frightened. “I-I-I
don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. Please let go of me.
I’ll scream.”

Gerard released her in disgust and stalked
out of the bookstore. None of the others were closing. He proceeded
down the entire block, asking every clerk whether they’d seen a
foxling. One admitted that he might have seen him two days ago. “He
has silver-white fur and hair,” said Gerard in annoyance. “How many
silver foxlings do you get through these shops?” Several shop
owners on other streets positively admitted to having seen Silveo.
One said he’d sold Silveo a book—something about Maijha Minor.

Gerard stopped in the late afternoon to eat.
Silveo is probably dead. They’ve probably dumped him in the
harbor by now. I’ll be lucky to even find his body.

A half watch later, most of the shops started
closing. Lanterns were lit in the streets. Gerard had noticed a few
urchins and vagrants during the day, but with nightfall, he began
to see more.
This is not a good part of town after dark. I
should go back to the ship. Maybe he’s even there.

But he kept walking up and down the streets.
Once or twice, he thought someone was following him, but when he
turned to confront the culprits, they disappeared. Gerard wished
he’d brought Alsair. He was just thinking that he
really
should go back to the ship when he saw a shadow drop from the roof
of a building and duck into a stairwell. The shape had been black
without a hint of white, but the profile had seemed familiar.
Gerard picked up his pace and almost ran to the spot where the
shadow had vanished.

Gerard peered into the recess of the alcove.
At first he saw nothing but then he thought he saw a shape huddled
in the far corner. “Silveo?”

Nothing. Gerard wondered whether his
straining eyes had deceived him. He also thought that if it really
was Silveo and he was frightened, he might try to kill any
intruder. Gerard would make an easy target, outlined against the
lantern light from the street.

Still, he came on into the small space. He
crouched down a few paces from whatever was huddled in the corner.
The creature opened its eyes, and Gerard saw the light reflected
off them—pale blue. He gave a sigh of relief. “Silveo. What
happened to you?”

Silveo coughed. “Gerard,” he grated with
every sign of annoyance. “I would have thought you’d have taken
over the
Fang
and sailed for Maijha Minor by now.”

Surely you know me better than that.
Watching him, Gerard guessed two things: he was unarmed and hurt.
Gerard doubted that Silveo trusted anyone under those
circumstances.

“I’ve been looking through these shops all
day,” said Gerard. “I thought my friend might have gotten himself
into trouble.”

Silveo closed his eyes. “Then you’d better go
find him.”

“Can you walk?”

“Of course, I can walk,” said Silveo without
moving.

“What can I do to help?”

“You can shut up and go back to the
Fang,”
snarled Silveo, pulling himself up against the
wall.

Gerard said nothing.

“The correct answer, Gerard, is ‘Yes,
sir.’”

“Yes, sir,” said Gerard and waited.

Silveo stood there for a moment and caught
his breath. Finally, he turned a little unsteadily and made his way
out of the alcove, one hand on the wall. Gerard stood to let him
pass and then came out behind him. He realized then why Silveo was
black. He was covered in soot.

“Were you up a chimney?” asked Gerard.

“No,” he snapped, “I thought if a little kohl
is good, why not bathe in it?”

They proceeded for a distance in silence.
Periodically Silveo would stop and crouch down against the side of
a building. Gerard watched to make sure they were not attacked. The
third time it happened, he heard a soft whimper.

“Silveo, what’s wrong? Please, let me
help.”

Silveo shook his head. He got to his feet
again, carefully, as though he were treading on shards of glass.
“Thirsty,” he said softly.

Gerard handed him his half-empty water skin.
Silveo drank it as though he’d never seen water before and then sat
down on a doorstep. He buried his face in his arms and rocked back
and forth. Finally, he raised his head, his pale eyes almost white
in the moonlight. “Gerard, you should not have come looking for
me.”

Gerard sat down beside him. “You’re probably
right. You usually are. Do you want me to find some more
water?”

Silveo shook his head. “I’m going to say this
slowly so that you can follow along: don’t trust me. Please.”

“Are we back to this again?”

“Yes!” Silveo seemed to be searching for
words. “I have been living with myself for quite a while, and I
know me better than you do.”

Gerard flicked his tail—an impatient,
cat-like gesture. “Oh, so you have some plan to dispose of me? Been
working on it, have you?”

“No! I don’t. But I’ve killed shelts before
whom I liked because they were in my way or I thought they
jeopardized my survival. I
survive,
Gerard; that’s what I
do.”

“And you’re doing such a good job of it this
evening.”

Silveo ignored that. “You are just not
vicious enough to do the job you’ve been hired for. The Priestess
is…” He bit back whatever he’d been going to say. “There is still
time. Take Thessalyn and get out of here. Go anywhere—out of
Wefrivain, to the Lawless Lands, to the Pendalons—away from her,
away from me.”

Gerard crouched down in front of him.
“Silveo, you’re tired. You’re hungry. And no matter what you say, I
think you’re hurt. You’re babbling, and that’s really not like
you.”

Silveo looked at him, then gave a great sigh.
He started to say something else and then didn’t.

“At this pace, we’ll be all night getting
back to the ship,” continued Gerard. “I think whoever tried to kill
you may still be looking. If you would let me carry you, we could
cover ground a lot faster.”

The idea was practical, and Silveo was
pragmatic if he was anything. Still, he had a collection of very
impractical phobias. On impulse, Gerard reached into his boot and
pulled out the throwing knife. He handed it to Silveo. “There.
You’re armed. You’re not helpless. You can stab me if you need to.
Now will you let me pick you up?”

Silveo looked at the knife. For one second,
Gerard thought he might actually cry. “I’ll ruin your coat,” he
said faintly.

You
would
think of the coat!
Gerard bent forward and scooped him up. Silveo trembled once and
then he was still. Gerard shifted him so that Silveo’s head was
against his shoulder. It was like carrying Alsair as a cub; he
weighed less than Thessalyn. Gerard had to loop his tail over one
arm to keep it from dragging. Then he started off at a brisk
pace.

“Don’t carry me onto the ship,” whispered
Silveo.

“I won’t.” Silveo might lose respect with the
sailors if they thought Gerard had gone out and rescued him.
It
wouldn’t even be true. I’m almost sure he would have made it back
without me.

“Poisoned,” said Silveo after a moment.
“Muscles keep cramping.”

“I figured. You’re not bleeding, though?”

Silveo shook his head.

They walked for a long time in silence, and
at last Gerard realized that he’d gone to sleep.
Do you feel
safe now, Silveo?
Every now and then, he’d twitch and whimper,
but he never really woke until they were back to the docks. Gerard
considered wrapping Silveo in his coat and carrying him onto the
ship that way, but he knew the sailors would figure that out unless
he was very lucky about who was on duty.

While he was trying to decide, Silveo stirred
and raised his head. He sniffed the air. “Put me down, Gerard.”

Gerard did, but he thought for a moment
Silveo wouldn’t let go of him. Then Silveo straightened up and
walked away. Gerard peered around the side of the building. Silveo
didn’t flinch or crouch as he approached the
Fang,
and he
called a greeting in a normal voice to the sailor on watch. He must
have made a joke as he came up the gangplank, because Gerard heard
the sailor laugh—a relieved sound.

Gerard waited a quarter watch. He took his
coat off so that no one would see the soot on it and then went
aboard just before dawn. Later, he would remember the incident as
the last time Silveo tried to warn him, and he wished bitterly that
he had listened.

THE END

This story is continued in The Guild of the Cowry Catchers,
Book 2: Flames. Check your electronic bookstore or the website
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