“Your mother piqued my curiosity. Tara had all sorts of interesting stories. She told me tales of what the mortal world is truly like, for of course I normally only catch a glimpse of it when I pass through.” He ran a hand along the curve of the cauldron, tracing the figure meant to be him. Like a cat, he rather relished himself. “So besides wanting to get hold of this cauldron, I had a hankering, a curiosity if you will, to make one grand tour.”

I laughed.

“Why does that amuse you? I do not understand your jests, little cat.”

He was not like me or any human. When the river floods and drowns, it does not regret its victims. When a storm lays waste, it does not ponder the uses of power. Fire consumes and does not grieve. The ice gives no thought to what it crushes as it works its way over the land.

But I did not have to like him. “That my mother told you tales, that’s all.”

We turned the corner into a commercial district on the road leading out of town, lined with taverns and inns whose windows were ablaze with Hallows candles. These flames went out one by one as we rumbled along the cobblestones. The buzz of voluble conversation ceased, too, fading to an anxious silence that draped the street with its fear.

The luscious aroma of coffee drifted to my nose.

“Did you try coffee, Sire?”

“No.” He sniffed. “Is that smell coffee? I wondered what that was but I didn’t know how to go about getting it.”

I stuck my head out the window. “Stop here! Sire, do you have any money?”

“Money? Oh! Yes, the stamped metal roundels.”

He passed over a huge cloth bag so weighted with coins I had to set it on the floor, for it was too heavy for me to easily hold. I picked out a denarius by feel, hopped out, and dashed into a benighted coffee shop where men whispered in frightened voices about the suddenly extinguished lights. With so much confusion it was easy to place the denarius on the counter and take four full mugs back to the coach, one for each of us. I wanted to be wide-awake.

As the horses stamped we stood on the street and drank our coffee.

“My thanks,” said the coachman.

“Sharp and nutty,” said the eru, “with a taste of sun.”

When I had drained my cup, I wiped a finger along the bottom and let the latch lick the last drops off my skin.

“Mmm,” murmured the latch. “I like that!”

“What do you think?” I asked my sire.

An owl swooped down out of the night and landed atop the coach, golden eyes unblinking.

“I think it is time to go,” he said. “The courts are waiting.”