‘Reasons can always be found to bind a slave,’ said Mogget sulkily. He turned away to plonk down in the middle of the table, addressing Clariel over his shoulder. ‘You have found some for yourself, after all.’

‘I suppose I have,’ whispered Clariel. She was thinking about that, and what she might do with Aziminil after she had freed Aunt Lemmin and set matters to rights. The creature had been in Belisaere for months without killing people and causing trouble, surely there would be some way to set her free, somewhere she could exist without being hunted by Charter Mages and, at the same time, offer no threat to ordinary people?

‘Where is –’ Clariel started to ask Mogget, but she stopped as the cowled sending stepped off the top of the stair and slid over to her side, offering several cloths, a dish of water and a small bottle of hartshorn.

Clariel scrubbed slowly at her hands and wondered how she could distract the sending again. But as she scrubbed, Mogget got up and came over to her, and jumped into her lap. She flinched, but he felt just like any normal cat, even to the extent of him shifting around to get comfortable, not bothering that his claws were doing the precise opposite to Clariel.

When he was settled, Mogget leaned forward and dipped one extended claw in the inkwell. Then he wrote on the paper, in very small, perfectly formed letters.

You must act soon in case Tyriel does recall his duty and put Aziminil under the waterfall. Tonight is best, at midnight. I will distract sendings first and meet you in kitchen store. We go down from there.

Clariel read over his shoulder as the cat wrote. He hesitated at the end, and she felt him wriggle, as if struggling with something. The marks on his collar grew brighter, some spell there coming to the fore. Mogget hissed, and then wrote again, the marks growing brighter still as he did so.

Garments not whole protection. You must remember to order Aziminil not to touch you and –

With that last word, Mogget yowled and sprang out of Clariel’s lap as if he had been singed on the tail. Rampaging across the table, he overset the ink. A great tide of it spread across the paper, blacking out his words. Trailing inky paw-prints, he leaped from the table and shot down the stairs.

Clariel watched the cat go, over the back of the sending who had bent to mop up the spilled ink. She almost got up, but stayed where she was and thought for a moment. It was always advisable when going into the wilds to let someone know your intentions, the path you planned to take …