“Why don’t you know?” Kilisha demanded.
“Just don’t,” the spriggan said unhappily. “Don’t smell it, don’t feel it.”
Kilisha hesitated, and threw a glance down the slope. That guardsman was still approaching, striding toward her quickly, and it did look like Kelder. The bench was probably farther up the hillside, and she ought to pursue it-but she couldn’t be sure it had gone that way, rather than ducking into a shop or alley, or dodging around a corner somewhere.
And she was so far behind it now that another moment’s delay could scarcely matter; she waited for the soldier where she was.
Chapter Sixteen
“What happened?” Kelder demanded as he came within earshot. “How did you get the door open?”
“The spriggan did it,” Kilisha shouted back, struggling to be heard over the pounding of the surf. “They can pick locks with their fingers!”
Kilisha did not hear Kelder’s reply to that, but she was fairly certain she wasn’t meant to; he appeared to be cursing vigorously. When he had finished he called to her, “Well, that explains a few things, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” she agreed, “it certainly does.”
“So the furniture got out, and you chased after it and caught it?”
She started to nod, then realized what he had said. “I caught the chair,” she said. “The bench is still missing.”
“Oh, for...,” He began cursing under his breath again, and by the time he had completed this round he had reached her side. He looked along the rope to where the chair was pacing back and forth across the bottom two steps of Steep Street, then asked, “Do you know which way it went?”
“I think it went up that way,” she said, pointing. “I followed it up Shipyard Street and down Steep Street, but I lost its trail. If you didn’t see it go back down toward the shipyards, then it must have gone up.”
“So it would seem,” Kelder said. “Now what? Do you have some magic we can use to track it and capture it?”
“I didn’t bring any magic,” Kilisha admitted.
This was not literally true; she had her athame, and the pouch on her belt, much smaller than the elaborate one Kelder wore, held the ingredients for a lew very minor spells. However, it was quite true that she had not brought any magic that would help in their present situation. She could see no way to use Fendel’s Spectacular Illusion or Thrindle’s Combustion in finding an escaped bench.
Kelder looked at her. “I thought wizards always carried magic,” he said.
“I’m just an apprentice,” Kilisha said, annoyed.
“Still...”
“Fine, I should have brought a few useful spells, but I didn’t, all right? I do have some magic, but nothing that will help.”
“All right, all right.” He looked around. “You think it went that way?”
“I think so, yes.” She looked at the spriggan on her shoulder. “Do you think so?”
“Don’t know,” the spriggan said.
“You can’t tell?”
“Can’t tell,” it confirmed.
“You’re asking spriggans?” Kelder said. “How would it know?”
Kilisha turned to him angrily. “They can sense magic,” she retorted.
“Can they? Well, why don’t we ask that one, then? Maybe it’s got a more sensitive nose.” He pointed up Steep Street.
Kilisha turned, and saw that indeed another spriggan was descending Steep Street, apparently headed directly for the enchanted chair.
“Where’d you come from?” Kilisha said. Then a thought struck her. “Maybe it’s one of the ones that was on the bench!”
“There were spriggans on the bench?” Kelder asked.
Kilisha had been about to run up the steps toward the spriggan, but then she thought better of it; that might scare the newcomer away. Instead she gave the rope a gentle tug.
The chair clambered down a step so that two legs rested on Old Seagate Street and two on the bottom step of Steep Street.
The spriggan came bounding down the steps happily, ignoring the two humans who were maneuvering into position on either side of the chair. It jumped from the steps onto the chair seat- and Kilisha jerked the rope, tipping the chair up so that it wobbled wildly on one leg.
The spriggan slid from the polished wood and landed facedown on the hard-packed dirt. Kelder dove for it, and managed to grab one splayed foot before it could scramble away.
The guardsman sat up on the street, the front of his tunic smeared with dirt, his tax collector’s pouch twisted around to his left hip, and the spriggan dangling from his hand, squirming wildly.
Kilisha hurried over and demanded, “Were you riding our bench?”
“Let go let go let go let go!” the spriggan yelped, still struggling, “Answer the lady’s question!” Kelder rumbled.
The spriggan stopped wriggling and turned to look at him, then decided to cooperate. “Rode bench, yes!” it said. “Fun ride. Bouncy, fast, bouncy, and fast, then got bounced off.”
“Where’d the bench go?” Kilisha asked.
The spriggan twisted its head to stare solemnly at her. “Don’t know names,” it said.
“Point.”
The spriggan hung down from Kelder’s hand and slowly turned its head back and forth, taking in the scenery.
“World upside-down,” it said. “Makes head hurt, thinking directions this way up.”
Kelder grabbed the creature around the chest with his other hand and turned it over, releasing his hold on its foot.
“Better!” the spriggan squeaked, as it looked around again. “Came that way!” It pointed back up Steep Street. “Around corner.”
“You mean the bench was on Straight Street?”
“Street was straight,” the spriggan said uncertainly.
“Did it go up the street, or down?” Kilisha asked. Kelder tightened his grip warningly.
“Up!” It was plainly relieved to be able to answer this one.
“Good,” Kelder said. He lowered his hand.
“Don’t let it-” Kilisha began, but it was too late; Kelder had released the spriggan, and it had promptly dashed away, down and across Old Seagate Street, toward the rocky shoreline.
“-go,” she finished. She sighed, then beckoned to Kelder. “Come on.”
Kelder got to his feet and looked around for the spriggan, but it had vanished from sight. He brushed off his tunic, straightened his belt, and followed Kilisha as she climbed back up Steep Street, tugging the chair behind her.
Ten minutes later they had crossed Fortress Street and the dry moat and neared the top of Straight Street; the huge red doors of the Fortress loomed before them, tightly shut, a spear-wielding guardsman to either side. The chair seemed reluctant to go anywhere near these two men, and hung back at the end of its rope.
There was no bench in sight.
The soldiers were looking at them with interest; Kilisha supposed they were wondering what a tax collector and fellow guardsman was doing here, and how he had managed to get his clothes so dirty.
And, she supposed, they could sec the chair. People out walking a chair on a leash were not a common sight in Ethshar of the Rocks.
“Hai!” she called. “Have you seen an animated bench running loose? Seats two, with a humped back?”
