The mage went to his bed. When he heard Caramon snoring, his breathing deep and regular, Raistlin allowed himself to drift into sleep.
Earwig. What are you doing?
“I’m sleeping. What does it look like I’m doing?” the kender retorted.
Huge claws, black claws, the claws of a gigantic cat, made a swipe at him. Earwig just barely managed to dodge out of the way.
What are your friends doing?
“They’re sleeping, too.”
Both of them? Safe? Unharmed?
“Yes! Now leave me alone. I have to get out of the way of this monster!” The kender jumped over something that resembled a metal box with teeth.
I’ll be back, Earwig … I’ll be back … I’ll be back …
The next day, Caramon, after the night’s sleep, felt as invigorated as ever. No trace of yesterday’s sickness remained. Earwig, however, was cross and out-of-sorts.
“What’s the matter with you?” Caramon asked over breakfast.
“Nothing,” said the kender. “I didn’t sleep well, all right?”
“Sure,” said the astonished Caramon. “I was just asking. What are we going to do today, Raist?”
Two more days until the Festival of the Eye. There isn’t much time. I wish I knew for what, thought Raistlin. Aloud he said, “I think we should explore the rest of the city.”
“What? Why? What are you looking for?” Earwig asked sharply.
The mage stared at the kender. “Nothing in particular.”
“Well, I’m coming, too,” Earwig announced. “Where are we going?”
“To the other two city gates, and then we’ll work our way back into the center.”
“The innkeeper says those black carriages are ‘public conveyances,’ ” said Caramon, repeating the unfamiliar words carefully. “You pay to ride in ’em.”
“Councillor Shavas will pay for us to ride in them,” said Raistlin. “Go find one.”
The companions took the carriage around the outer road to Eastgate. Three major thoroughfares in Mereklar led from the gates to the center of town. The road they traveled cut across the lines of the city, making access to other neighborhoods fast and efficient. The trip took a little more than an hour on the warm day.
Cats were everywhere-lying on sidewalks or sitting in the laps of people. Some of the more adventurous felines padded into the shops to browse with the few customers out in the streets, or climbed to rooftops to gaze down at the world below.
It was Earwig who first noticed that some of the cats were following their carriage, maintaining a distance of ten feet. When the coach slowed to move around people or a cart crossing the street, the felines slowed as well.
“Look!” said the kender, entranced.
When Raistlin turned to investigate, the cats fled. All except one.
“That’s the black cat. The one we found near the councillor’s house.”
“I don’t know how you can tell, Raist,” Caramon said. “All black cats look alike to me.”
“Except that there are no other black cats in the city.” The carriage rolled off. “It’s following us.”
Caramon, his face unusually serious, leaned forward on the carriage seat. “Raist, I don’t like this. Any of this. I don’t like the way that cat looks at us. I don’t like people trying to murder us. I don’t like the way the kender’s acting-”
“I’m not acting any sort of way!” protested Earwig.
Caramon ignored him. “It’s not worth ten thousand steel pieces, Raist. Let’s leave-go find some nice, safe war.”
Raistlin didn’t answer at first, but stared out the back of the carriage at the cat who was following behind. Then, nodding, he said, “You’re right, my brother. It isn’t worth ten thousand steel pieces.” He said nothing more. Caramon, heaving a sigh, sat back in the carriage.
Eventually they reached the gate. Like the portcullis in the southern wall, it was also made from metal decorated with strange plates and sheets, each inscribed with the head of a cat.
“What do you call this street?” the mage asked the driver.
“This, sir? This is called Eastgate Street, sir.”
“Councillor Shavas will pay your fare,” Raistlin said, climbing down out of the carriage. “No need to wait.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The driver whipped up his horses and left as quickly as he could, nearly running over Caramon and Earwig.
“Now that we’re here, what do we do?” Caramon asked.
“We get a drink,” Raistlin said, heading toward the first hyava house he found.
“Huh? This time of morning? Since when-”
“Hush, my brother. I’m thirsty.”
The fighter stared after his twin, wondering what had come over him. Shrugging, he grabbed the kender and followed.
The hyava shop was similar to all of the other shops the companions had passed, offering tiny cups of the liquor with equally tiny saucers, and chairs and tables for sitting outside. Earwig and Caramon both ordered straight hyava with scones. Raistlin bought a small glass of brandy. The three relaxed in the warm sun.
“Why did you get that?” Caramon asked. “I thought you wanted hyava.”
Raistlin sipped at his brandy. Caramon sat, brooding. Earwig ate his scone in one bite. Seeing that his large friend was not going to eat his scone, the kender snatched the pastry off the plate, lifting it to his mouth.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Caramon yelled, batting at the kender’s hand.
“Watch it!” Earwig yelled in return, trying to hang on to the scone. It broke apart in his hands and fell to the ground. “Now see what you’ve done. You’ve ruined my snack!”
“Your snack?” the warrior said in disbelief. “What do you mean, your snack?”
“You weren’t going to eat it, so I assumed you wanted to give it to me.”
“How do you know I wasn’t going to eat it? I- Oh, never mind. At least it won’t go to waste.”
Several cats had wandered by and, assuming that neither the kender nor the fighter wanted the scone, took it upon themselves to resolve the argument. The warrior cheered at the sight, bent down to pet one of the animals. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a figure, dressed in black, crouched in the shadows.
“Earwig!” Caramon whispered. “Do you see someone standing in that alley? No, don’t look up!”
“What?” the kender said loudly, looking up. “Where?”
Caramon gritted his teeth. There were times, he realized, when a kender’s companionship was not worth the effort. “I said not to look!”
“Well, how am I supposed to see if I don’t look?”
“Never mind. It’s too late, now. Do you see somebody standing in that alley across the street?”
“No, not anymore,” Earwig said.
Caramon sat up and turned around, staring directly into the alley. No one was there. In fact, looking closer, the fighter saw that he must have been mistaken. What he had taken for a figure in black was a water barrel.
“Well?” demanded Raistlin.
“Nothing. I guess I’m just spooked from last night,” Caramon muttered. Raising up from petting the cat, he saw-in astonishment-tears streaming down his twin’s golden-skinned face.
“Raistlin! What’s the mat-”
“Nothing, Caramon,” the mage interrupted. “In fact, quite the opposite. I’m beginning to understand something about this city.” Raistlin clenched his hand around his wooden staff to control his mounting excitement.
There are two lines, the mage concluded. They both cut through the center of the two main streets. This one must also lead directly to the councillor’s house! And I’ll wager my staff that a third line runs down the west street. Lines of power, stretching across the world, perhaps; shining more brightly every moment. Lines that end here! In this city. “The city that stands before the first gods.”
“Caramon,” said Raistlin aloud. “I must have a sextant.”
The companions walked to the third section of the city, looking into several shops for the navigational tool. When they finally found one-a small brass sextant with an extremely accurate lens and even more accurate gradations-it was far too expensive.