Chapter 12
Caramon walked the corridors of the councillor’s house, becoming increasingly nervous with each step, though he could not imagine why. Nothing in the estate had been any more menacing than an inanimate suit of armor in the library. He rubbed at the muscles in his right leg, a very slight bruise rising blue on his flesh.
“How did that happen?” he asked himself. “I don’t remember bumping into anything.”
The hall led him from the library to the middle of the house. Here the corridor was dimly lit with a strange color, vaguely purple or lavender. Brass oil lamps, spaced at regular intervals and mounted directly to the wall, gave only a faint glow, the frosted glass covering the wicks and diffusing the yellow-white flames into almost nothing.
“Why the devil does she keep it so dark in here?” Caramon said to himself, wondering which of the many doors the kender might be behind. “Earwig! Earwig! Where are you?”
He wandered the house calling, waiting for an answer and finally, after what seemed like hours, heard one.
“Caramon? Is that you?”
“Of course, it’s me! Where are you?”
“In here!”
Caramon walked a few paces to a door in the middle of the hall. He twisted the knob, walked in, and stopped dead. “Shavas’s bedroom,” he said.
He knew he should leave, he knew what he was doing was highly improper. But he couldn’t help himself. The beauty and alluring mystery of the room seemed to beckon him forward. Besides, he told himself, he’d heard the kender’s voice and the last thing the lady would want would be the kender in amid her personal belongings.
“I’ll just slip in and take a quick look around for Earwig,” Caramon said softly, entering the room. Without quite knowing what he was doing or why, he shut the door behind him.
The councillor’s bedroom was comfortably lit, much brighter than the hallway. An abundance of candles burned in holders, each a different shape from the other, each some type of animal or creature: griffons, dragons, and other wondrous or grotesque creatures. The melting wax gave off a faint perfume that reminded Caramon of the woman herself. Desire made him tingle, and he found himself standing next to her bed.
The bed frame was made of brass, decorated with the same bizarre creatures who held the candles. It dominated the back of the room. Curtains and drapes of gray silk hung from the ceiling and metal supports. Dressers and drawers were scattered about, lacquered black and red and orange, with pictures of odd birds and twisted trees and weird flowers. There were six chairs of the same design. Small boxes of gold and silver and other precious metals, their intricate detail and textures belaying a hint of great age, covered three tables. Though he was no expert in metalworking, the fighter could tell that the boxes were built by a master craftsmen.
The floors were embellished by a rich carpet, filled with swirls and ribbons and circles, the same colors as everything else in the room. Several mirrors were mounted to the walls, and a full-size mirror, held by a frame of gold, stood in one corner, reflecting Caramon’s image. The warrior noticed that his reflection in the mirror seemed to be coming from farther away than he actually was.
“How long have I been standing here?” he asked out loud, blinking, the sound of his voice lifting the fascinating, lascivious spell of the room. “And where’s Earwig?” Glancing about nervously, the fighter searched the room. He found nothing, no sign of a kender.
“I should leave,” he said, leaning on a smooth, black-stained table painted with orange flowers and green leaves. The wood felt surprisingly warm under his palms. Without thinking, he took hold of a piece of cloth that had been thrown casually on the table, his fingers caressing it. Moving to sit on the bed, he held the cloth without noticing what he was doing, working his hands over the cool, smooth fabric.
“The councillor is the most magnificent woman I’ve ever seen,” he murmured. The cloth was growing warm beneath his fingers. “I wonder what she’s like?” Caramon said very softly.
Rising to his feet, he walked over to the full mirror again, studying his face-a face many considered handsome. His body was scarred from numerous battles, his muscles held unmatched strength. Drawing a deep breath, the fighter watched his huge chest expand, his arms grow firm.
Then he saw what he held in his hand.
“What am I doing?” Face burning in embarrassment, he moved swiftly back to the table, starting to replace the black-silk shawl he had been fondling, when a high-pitched voice shrilled behind him.
“What have you got in your hand, Caramon?”
“Nothing!” he yelled, spinning to face the kender, who was gazing up and smiling at the fighter.
“What’s that?” Earwig asked, reaching around Caramon to the table.
“Don’t touch it!” the warrior said quickly. “Just something of … of the councillor’s.”
“Oh,” the kender said, shrugging.
“Come on, Earwig! We shouldn’t be in here,” said Caramon severely, feeling guilty and taking it out on the kender.
The warrior headed hurriedly for the door. Earwig started to follow when he noticed a small box sitting on one of the tables.
Pick me up! Pick me up!
“What?” said Earwig, pausing, staring at the box in delight.
“I didn’t say anything!” snapped Caramon. Bumbling into a large, hand-painted screen, he almost knocked it over and was grappling with it, trying to keep it from falling.
Pick me up! Pick me up!
“You bet!” cried the kender. Grabbing the box, he thrust it quickly into one his pouches.
“Earwig!”
Caramon, having righted the screen, was standing near the door. He was using That Voice again. Earwig caught up with him and they left the room, the warrior carefully shutting the door behind them.
“What’s the matter, Caramon?” the kender asked, noting that the big man’s face was red and he appeared to be breathing more rapidly than normal.
“Nothing! Just leave me alone!” Caramon ordered, tromping down the hall.
Open me! Open me!
“This is truly remarkable,” said Earwig happily as he reached into his pouch for the box. There was really no reason why he shouldn’t open it in front of Caramon, but the kender felt a sudden need to keep the marvelous box hidden from his friend. Letting the warrior get ahead of him, Earwig flicked the catch with his finger. The lid of the box flew open. Inside was a single ring-a plain, gold band without stone or engraving, nestled in red velvet. Earwig frowned in disappointment, having hoped to find something more interesting. After all, the box had talked to him.
“So, where were you?” Caramon demanded, stopping dead in his tracks to confront the kender. “Hiding behind a curtain?”
Earwig thrust the box beneath his tunic. “Curtain? I wasn’t behind any curtain!”
“I heard you call my name from that room! You must have been somewhere? One of the dressers?”
Earwig shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Caramon. I came into that room looking for you!”
The warrior glared at the kender skeptically. Then, shrugging, he shook his head and sighed. “It’s this weird house. It’s got me hearing things. So, where have you been?”
“Well, I’ve been to Solace and Thelgaard and Southern Ergoth and-”
“I mean where in the house!” Caramon shouted, exasperated.
“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?” Earwig said, slapping himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand, raising his eyes to heaven. “There’s a really fantastic room that’s filled with plants, and they’re all growing indoors.”
“Plants?” Caramon repeated. “Are you sure there’s a room with plants in it?”