The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers, Deluxe Illustrated Edition by Abigail Hilton Page A

something of a reputation, yes. And
you’re hard to miss.”
    Gerard sat back. It was true that his height
set him apart in a crowd, but usually only to shelts who’d met him
before. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
    The ocelon shrugged. “I was on Holovarus
once—just a ship’s clerk. I doubt you remember me.”
    Gerard didn’t, but he would not make the
mistake again. “Can you read?” he asked with interest.
    For answer, the ocelon showed him the book in
his hand. Not only read, thought Gerard with a jolt. Write. The book was a blank of vellum sheets produced for
scribes who copied manuscripts. Gerard spied an inkwell and pen at
the ocelon’s elbow. A moment later, his surprise turned to
puzzlement. The characters on the page were not grishnard. They
were the strange, spidery script of the ocelons.
    “It’s the phonetic,” said the ocelon as
Gerard examined the book. “Bookkeeping for a merchant vessel.”
    The owner of the teahouse appeared at that
moment and asked Gerard what he wanted. She spoke haltingly, with
downcast eyes. Gerard was still looking at the book. “Whatever he’s
having.”
    He stared at the dense lines of script. They
didn’t look like any bookkeeping he had ever seen, but Gerard had
no experience with the phonetic. He returned the book. “Do you read
and write grishnard also?”
    “Not as well, but, yes, I can.”
    “And other languages? Hunti? Mountain
grishnard? Maijhan?”
    The ocelon smiled, his lenses flashing in the
censor’s light. “I speak a little of everything.”
    Gerard drew a deep breath. As far as he knew,
what he was about to suggest had never been done before. Still,
the Priestess has a foxling leading her Watch. I don’t see why she
should object to an ocelon in the Police. “Would you like a
job?” he asked.
    The ocelon nearly choked on his tea. Gerard
took a moment to realize he was laughing. “Forgive me,” he said
after a moment. “I was only thinking of what my master would say. I
have debts I cannot abandon, but thank you for your offer. I
realize it’s a high compliment.”
    The mistress of the teahouse had brought
Gerard’s drink. She passed it to the ocelon, who handed it to
Gerard. “I could arrange for payment of your debts,” Gerard
persisted. “I’m in need of a shelt who speaks Maijhan.”
    “I’m sure you are,” said the ocelon,
gathering his supplies into a bag. “But I’m not the one to help
you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go.”
    “At least tell me your name and the name of
your ship.”
    The ocelon hesitated in the doorway. “Flag,”
he said, “and my ship is the Defiance . Good-bye,
Captain.”
    Gerard frowned. Defiance was a strange
name for a merchant ship. Something was tickling at the back of his
brain. Almost, he got up and went after the ocelon, but he couldn’t
think of a way to detain him except by force. He didn’t have a good
reason, just a gut-level sense of wrongness. At that moment, he
remembered Montpir’s list. Tea cups—tea leaves?
    Gerard glanced down at his cup. It was
ordinary clay. He reached across the table and picked up Flag’s
empty cup, but the sodden leaves told him nothing. He sniffed at
them, then sniffed at his own cup. I thought I told her to give
us the same kind of tea. He was fairly certain that the teas
were not, in fact, identical, but he couldn’t be sure.
    Grishnards and griffins did not possess a
keen sense of smell, a trait they shared with fauns. However, other
panauns did have extraordinary noses, including foxlings. On an
impulse, Gerard tipped out his tea onto the dirt floor, keeping the
leaves. As he did so, he noticed something under the ocelon’s chair
and picked it up—a scrap of downy, blue-gray feather. It could
have come from anywhere, but… Gerard stood up all at once. He
picked up both of the small cups and put one in each pocket. The
owner was still nowhere in sight, so he deposited several cowries
on the table—more than enough to pay for both his