Murder in Cormyr - Chet Williamson [17]
So I told him of the ghost, of my flight, of my visit to the farmer ("that would be Pygmont Kardath," Benelaius said), and of my meeting with the stranger but no further ghosts on the way home.
"Well, well, well," he said when I had concluded. "It's been quite a full evening for you, Jasper. I suggest you get to bed on the instant, for you must be up at dawn to go into Ghars and meet Lindavar. His coach travels through the night, and should arrive at half past the hour of seven. Sleep well."
I crawled up the dark stairs, circumnavigating the cats sleeping on nearly every one. All of them, that is, save for Razor, who was well named. A coal black cat with yellow eyes, he was notoriously testy, and when I trod, quite by accident, on the end of his tail, he erupted into a spitting, clawing, biting tornado. His fangs sank deeply into my ankle, and with that final bon mot he scurried down the stairs to seek a less hazardous berth.
I barely managed to restrain a painful scream, but I made my way to my room, put a poultice on the wound, and quickly fell into an exhausted sleep, disturbed frequently by dreams of giant black cats spitting fire, glowing green, and swinging axes whose blades were rows of fangs. I'd far rather have dreamed of Mayella or Kendra or even Sunfirth, but no. I had to dream about cats with axes.
9
The morning came faster than a werejaguar with a fire under it. My ankle ached, my eyes were stuck shut with sleep sand, and my stomach was queasy, I feared, from Shortshanks's cod pie.
But when you're a servant you don't let little things like that get in the way of your duty. After a quick breakfast of a poached egg on black bread, I hitched the two horses to the carriage and started off for Ghars. Stubbins fell in quickly enough, but Jenkus was quite put out about being made to work so soon after his service of the night before. Me, too, for all the good it did us.
Actually, it almost felt like the night before. The sun had not yet come over the horizon, but its light bathed the landscape in a pinkish glow. As the carriage rattled along, the egg and bread in my stomach churned a bit. My stomach wasn't helped by the fact that Jenkus's reluctance to pull kept getting the coach off course, requiring a firm hand on the reins. At last Jenkus seemed to accept his fate, and we went on a relatively straight path toward Ghars.
As we passed the spot where I had seen the apparition, I tried to avert my eyes, which wasn't too difficult, since they were closed in half-sleep for most of the ride. But I thought that from the corner of my eye I glimpsed a shape on the ground, out near the swamp, and a dull sheen on it not found in nature.
Did I conquer my fears of seeing a hideous wight or zombie or measles or even a gibbering mouther rise up out of the swamp to capture and devour me? Did I turn and look fully into what I prayed was only a mound of swamp muck with a wet sheen?
I did not. I buried my head down into my cloak like the coward I sometimes am, and shook the reins in the fruitless hope that Stubbins and Jenkus would increase their speed.
But nothing came after me, and a ways down the road I turned and looked back uneasily, half expecting to be pounced upon from behind by some stealthy pursuer. The mound was discernible, far back in the distance, and the rising sun glinted off something. But now was not the time for investigation. On the way back would be best, in the company of a War Wizard with a good many combat spells at his disposal.
That War Wizard, however, turned out to be a pretty unassuming sort. He was sitting on a bench outside the Sheaf of Wheat, his nose in a book and several small satchels at his feet. He wore a slouch hat, and a dusty brown cloak covered his thin body. When he stood, I could see that he was of only medium height, though half a head taller than me.
"Sir, are you Lindavar, the wizard Benelaius's guest?" He looked as though he had to think about it for a minute, but answered,