The Wyvern's Spur - Kate Novak [73]
12
The Ass's Pocket
Olive stamped her hoof and cursed Cat for the twentieth time. Why do mages always have to be so damned efficient? she wondered. As if it's not bad enough she's going to betray good ol' Giogi, she's got to go and leave me locked in the carriage house so I can't get out to stop her. I knew that woman was trouble from the moment I set eyes on her.
With some effort, Olive had gotten her burro mouth around the door handle and turned it, but found that Cat had taken the precaution of sliding the bolt on the outside of the door. Ordinarily, given sufficient time, Olive could have worked the bolt over with a wire or something, but hooves severely limited her dexterity. I'd give a small fortune for a thumb, she thought, rattling the door handle with her teeth.
The burro paced the carriage house like a nervous cat. I may never make Giogi understand I'm not a burro. I've got to get out of here and find someone a little brighter than he and powerful enough to change me back into a halfling. Then I have to get back here and warn Giogi that Flattery is one of his relatives, as well as a murdering lunatic, and that Cat is really a viper.
Olive made a mental list of the few halfling adventurers in town who might be trusted with the secret of her awful and embarrassing transformation, and began thinking up ways to communicate with them. She found that with some effort she could scratch her own name in the dirt with a forehoof.
Now, if I could just get out of this carriage house, corner one of my people, and make them hold still for an hour while I demonstrate my abilities, I'm all set, Olive thought.
After an hour of planning, though, she grew tired of anticipating her escape and the heroics that would follow. Each version she imagined ended in a spine-tingling tale of derring-do and last-minute rescues, but all ignored the problem of getting out of the carriage house.
With nothing better to do, she began exploring the carriage house more fully. The last rays of the setting sun broke through the clouds and streamed through the windows, so there was enough light for her to make out her surroundings.
On the other side of the buggy was quite an organized assortment of adventuring gear. Not the kind of stuff one would expect to find in the carriage house of a man-about-town, Olive mused. This was where all the things that Giogi loaded on me this morning came from.
Everything Olive had carted into the catacombs was stashed neatly in a long line of open chests and crates, which also held sacks and backpacks, tents, blankets, saddlebags, chains, knives and whetstones, camp dishes, a beat-up shield, a Talis deck, dice, a backgammon board, mirrors, snares, nets, magnifying glasses, a few bottles of wine, and even lockpicks. In the loft overhead Olive could spy a few more chests, but she was unable to navigate the ladder to the loft. Gardening tools hung from the back wall, beside varying sizes of tack and saddles.
The halfling studied everything. Most of the equipment was old and worn, though well maintained. In the end, however, her interest in the carriage house's trove waned. A burro had limited options with human tools.
I'm going to die of boredom, Olive thought, walking back into her stall. Cat had left Nameless's portrait leaning against the wall, presumably to prevent a repeat of Flattery's flame-flinging at their next rendezvous. The sun had set, but in the gray twilight within the building Olive could see the splotch of black paint on the portrait's back, which blotted out the bard's given name. The paint had begun peeling from the heat of Flattery's outburst.
Let's have a closer look, shall we? Olive thought. She brushed against the back of the canvas with her muzzle, and paint flaked away. She had to step back to focus both her eyes.
Nameless, you aren't nameless anymore, she thought excitedly. Your name is…