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

tea and the
cups—and ducked out of the tent.
    He had not gone far when he ran into Silveo’s
party returning from the warehouse. Gerard fell in with them. His eyes! he realized suddenly. I don’t think they were
slitted. I was so busy looking at his lenses that I didn’t
notice. Of course, the teahouse had been dim, and any shelt’s
eyes would have been dilated. Even a slit-eyed shelt’s pupil might
look round in that light, but Gerard thought he was right.
    He picked up his pace and reached the front
of the group. “Silveo, are these teas different?”
    Silveo leapt back as though Gerard had tried
to hand him a live snake. In his excitement, Gerard realized he’d
been over-familiar. He was also asking Silveo to do in public
something that set him apart as a non-grishnard. It might make him
angry, but at the moment Gerard didn’t care. “Teacups,” he said
impatiently, waving them in the air. “Different—yes or no? It’s important.”
    For a moment, Gerard thought Silveo would
refuse, might even spit in his face. Then he took the teacups,
moving with deliberate slowness. “Has anyone ever introduced you to
the concept of verbal communication, Holovar? Sentences,
perhaps?”
    Gerard was thinking again. The face spots
could have been paint or kohl. And he was wearing boots. Normally, only panauns wore boots. They were unnecessary and
uncomfortable for fauns, but a faun wishing to disguise himself as
a panaun could construct padded and reinforced boots. Did he
have a tail? Gerard didn’t remember seeing one. Of course,
long-tailed shelts sometimes tucked their tails into their pants to
keep them out of the way, and a tail could be amputated in an
accident. Picturing the shelt standing up made Gerard think of
something else. His height! Flag had been tall for an
ocelon, but he was about the right height for a shavier faun.
    Silveo broke into his thoughts. “You could
say they’re different, yes. Did you actually drink any of this,
Holovar?” He was holding out Gerard’s cup.
    “No.”
    Silveo clicked his tongue. “A pity. It’s
poisoned.”
    Gerard started to laugh.
    Silveo raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea you
would find the idea so entertaining. This is really crude work; I
can do much better. Priestess knows I’ve exercised self-restraint
in the matter of your food.”
    Gerard hardly heard him. “I think I just met
Gwain.”

Chapter 14. Flirtation and
Chocolate
    In many cases, minstrels are essentially the
priestesses of the courts they serve. However, a few minstrels
choose to dig deeper than their basic training. Their school houses
the oldest library in Wefrivain. Some of the old ballads and epics
contain kernels of truth that make our High Priestess and her
dragons uneasy.
    —Gwain, The Truth About Wyverns
    Silveo stopped his banter at once. “You met
whom?”
    “Gwain.” Gerard started away. “In a
teahouse.”
    Silveo had to trot to keep up. “Which
teahouse? Where?”
    “You know who Gwain is?” asked Gerard.
    “Of course, I know who he is. He’s a
nuisance. I’d love to carpet my library with his pelt.”
    “Arundel didn’t seem to think he’s a real
person.”
    “Arundel doesn’t think anyone but himself is
a real person,” retorted Silveo, and then he seemed to remember who
he was talking to and that his command was listening. “Holovar, I
demand that you stop and explain yourself. That’s an order. Then,
you’re going to lead us to this teahouse.”
    Gerard stopped walking. He realized belatedly
that the price of Silveo’s help was Silveo’s interference. “Listen:
they think they’ve poisoned me. They don’t know that I know. Let’s
not kick the hornet’s nest yet. I think we can learn a little
more.”
    “What you’ll learn,” growled Silveo, “is that
the whole arrangement is up and gone by tomorrow. You don’t poison
a Captain of Police and then stay in town to see what happens.” His
eyes lit up. “We could burn Ocelon Town for this. It’s been a