Our eyes, you can well imagine, were focused entirely on the snarl. Well, my eyes and Greyboar’s. Angela and Jenny were huddled behind us, pressed close. Although I’m sure they were peeking within seconds. Curiosity always overrode everything else with those two, even outright terror.
The first time I’d ever seen a snarl close up it was lunging at me with its great maw agape, roaring and bellowing with rage. Bit sticky that would have been, even with Greyboar on the scene, if it hadn’t turned out that the wizard Zulkeh’s apprentice—a dwarf kid named Shelyid, I believe I’ve mentioned him before—was a snarl-friend. If you’re wondering what a snarl-friend is, just stick around. You’ll find out soon.
This snarl presented quite a different image. It was lying there—she, to be precise, and it pays to be precise when it comes to snarls—for all the world like a tabby cat. Lying on her side, stretched out, dozing. When we came in, the monster awoke from her snooze, raised her head, eyed us once, yawned (horrible sight, that, really is), and went back to sleep.
“Do come in!” exclaimed Hildegard, looking up from her desk. She was apparently in the middle of writing a letter.
Greyboar coughed. “Wouldn’t want to disturb the snarl, we wouldn’t.”
“What?” asked Hildegard. She looked down at the monster. “Oh, nonsense, you won’t disturb her. Quite difficult to disturb a snarl, actually. Especially Rose, she’s really the most even-tempered snarl I know.”
“I didn’t think they could be tamed,” I mumbled.
The Abbess frowned. “Oh, dear. Gwendolyn told me you were a wicked little man, but I actually got the impression that you were quite bright. I must have misunderstood her.”
She pursed her lips, thinking, then continued:
“Oh, well. I suppose it won’t be much of a problem, having a moron of an agent present. Although I would have thought someone in your occupation would need more brains than a rabbit.”
The odd thing was, I wasn’t even offended. The Abbess had this way of being offensive without—I don’t quite know how to put it—without there being anything personal in it. You got the impression that the fact she thought you were an imbecile wasn’t meant as a slur on you, it was just a fact that had to be taken into account.
Offended or not, I set her straight. “I’m as smart as a whip!” I exclaimed. “And I know snarls can’t be tamed. I should know! Didn’t I have to listen to an endless lecture by the wizard Zulkeh on the subject? Complete with footnotes and bibliographic citations! It’s just that—”
She rose to her feet with excitement. “You’ve met Zulkeh? When? Where? I’ve been trying to reach him for months!”
I shook my head, trying to clear it. The Abbess seemed to have this thing about going off on tangents. Greyboar answered her.
“We met him in Prygg. Last year. After—well, after concluding some business with him there, we traveled together with him for part of our way back to New Sfinctr. He and his apprentice, Shelyid. We parted company with them in Blain. They were headed south to the Mutt.”
“The Mutt?” She frowned, then sighed. “Of course, of course. On his way to see Uncle Manya, I suppose.”
She wasn’t dumb, that was sure. Tangent-brained, maybe, but not dumb.
“That’s right,” rumbled Greyboar.
“Oh, dear. Oh, dear. I suppose it’s too late now, then.”
“Too late for what?” I demanded.
She looked at me for a moment, as if deciding something.
“Well, I suppose there can’t be any harm in telling you. You must already know, anyway. You see, Zulkeh’s gotten himself mixed up in the Joe business.”
I knew it! I knew we should have passed up this job! Anything involves Gwendolyn, it’s going to get you into the Big Soup Pot, sure as sunrise.
“That’s why I was trying to reach him while he was still in Goimr,” continued the Abbess. “I sent him a letter, warning him to steer clear of the thing. I knew if he dug into it, Zulkeh would break open the Joe problem before the world was ready. He’s a terribly talented mage, you know, but without the sense of a chicken. Sorcerous bungling raised to the level of genius.”
She eased herself back into the chair, chuckling rather ruefully. “Not that he probably would have heeded me. He’s as stubborn as he is maladroit. But, it’s all a moot point anyway. The message apparently never reached him. It was returned to me.”
Here she frowned fiercely. “Impudent rascals! Look at this!” She dug into a desk drawer and drew forth a letter. The letter had been torn open, then resealed. A crude outline of a black hand had been drawn on the outside.