There must have been at least a dozen bandits surrounding the carriage, which was now vacant, its doors hanging open on their hinges. The poor horse was panting with agitation, its eyes rolling every which direction as the men converged on the carriage. Catarina could see now that they were illuminated by the light of several torches in the bandit's hands. The wavering fiery glow made their features leering and ghoulish, revealing bushy beards, straggly, unkept hair, dirty faces, and glinting eyes. They all seemed improbably big, with broad shoulders and bulging muscles concealed by frayed, oddly mismatched articles of clothing—some fine and new-looking and others tattered and brown, most likely stolen from various different unfortunate travelers. Worst of all, several clutched clubs in their thick fists, and one—the scarred man who had grabbed her by the collar—had a long, gleaming knife tucked, unsheathed, into his belt.

Catarina could make out a diminutive figure slumped against one side of the carriage and recognized the snowy shine of his hair in the swaying torchlight as Henry's. She had the horrible thought that he might be dead.

The bandit with the scar appeared to be the leader. He ordered the others to empty the carriage and search the passengers, gesturing with the point of his long knife. Catarina and the others could do nothing but stand helplessly on the side of the road in the cold night air, surrounded by the dark, trailing shadows of tree branches, and watch. The bandits unloaded the merchant's trunks and boxes from the carriage, even relieving the benches of their tasseled cushions. Catarina saw a young red-haired bandit make away with Frankfurt's satin pillow and winced. He appeared to have fainted inside the folds of her skirt, but when he came to, he would not be pleased to find his royal pillow missing.

Last of all, one of the bandits unhitched the trembling horse from the carriage and led it, in fits and starts, away into the woods. Now, the leader himself turned to personally attend to the passengers, who were all shivering and numb-fingered from the chill of the night. Following Catarina's gaze to Henry's motionless form, the bandit's face split into a half-toothless grin.

"No worries, my lady. I won't harm none of you here, at least not irreversibly," he chuckled, "as long as y'all do as yer said and don't give us any trouble. Now, let's see." With shrewd, stony eyes, he appraised all three of them. "Stay still," he grunted when Peter began to shake uncontrollably, as much from fear as from cold.

With thick, grubby fingers, he peeled off both merchants' blue jackets and snapped the chain of a locket hanging around John's neck. Then he waved two other bandits over to finish stripping down the two men.

Catarina had only her satchel slung over her shoulder and Frankfurt hidden in the skirts of her traveling dress. The traveling dress was too cheap and plain to warrant any of the bandit's interest, but he flicked two fingers against her satchel. "Check the girl's bag for valuables, and don't let any of 'em try to get away." He shambled over to the carriage to inspect the rest of the bandits' work.

One of his men immediately hurried forward to snatch up Catarina's satchel. It was the young red-haired bandit who'd stolen the horse away into the woods. Catarina watched him rifle through the contents of the satchel. Much to her relief, the faded blue-and-gold blanket didn't seem to interest him. He had dug down to the very last item in the bag when, with a gurgle of surprise, he produced a packet of green mush. The scarred bandit took notice and approached again. "What's this?" He said, indicating the packet of green goo in the younger man's hand.

"Nothing," Catarina said.

He stared at her with narrowed eyes, looking her up and down. "Who're you? You certainly aren't a merchant, not by the looks of you."

"I'm nobody," Catarina said, rather truthfully. Frankfurt must have revived, because he clawed her leg in warning.

"She's the merchants' cook!" The young bandit crowed triumphantly, brandishing the packet of green mush as evidence.

The leader's expression became keenly interested.

"I am not!" Catarina cried, but the red-haired bandit forged onward, looking convinced by the sludge-y package in his hands.

"Look at this mysterious, food-like green substance. It's clearly inedible, but I betcha once she's done frying it or boiling it, or doing whatever she does to prepare it, it tastes fine!"

The leader's interest seemed to intensify. "It gets tiring, it does," he remarked thoughtfully, "eating food raw or poorly done all the time. We haven't got any women to cook for us, and none of the men know how. It would be handy having a cook." After a pause, he pointed at her. "Take her an' leave the rest."

"Don't worry 'bout leaving yer little friends behind," he grinned unpleasantly as two hulking bandits stepped forward to lead her away from the carriage and into the woods. "We'll let them be perfectly safe and fine. We've got everything we wanted from them. Their biggest concern's gonna be how to get outta these woods with no horse." Chuckling, he stomped off the road into the tangled trees. The rest of the bandits trailed after him, their torches throwing leaping light-shadows on the trunks as they passed.

The two bandits guided Catarina by her elbows, one on either side. Frankfurt had slipped off into the woods, but Catarina trusted he was still close at hand. Every now and then, she thought she glimpsed the yellow gleam of his eyes in the torchlight. Twigs snapped underfoot and branches cracked over their heads as they plunged deeper between the trees. Catarina's face was numb with cold, and she did not appreciate the bandits' rough grip or heavy breathing down the back of her neck. Her satchel was returned to her at some point along the walk; its familiar weight provided a small comfort. She tried to keep a mental compass of where the road was, but it was impossible to maintain her bearings when the darkness made every tree in the woods look the same and the bandits didn't appear to be following any particular path. She was hopelessly disoriented by the time they emerged into a grassy clearing spattered with makeshift tents. A fire was smoking in the center of the clearing, and, high above it, the night sky was visible, black as velvet and glimmering with strands of starlight.

The bandits plopped her down unceremoniously in front of the fire, where a pot of an unnameable gray-brown substance was already simmering. "Get to work," the scarred bandit ordered her from across the fire. He was watching her in such a way that made it clear she wouldn't make it three steps if she tried to dash away.

Well, this is quite the pickle, Catarina thought to herself. Gingerly, she picked up the ladle-sized stick beside the pot and stirred the sludge. She added the green mush from her satchel for good measure and watched the sludge take on a sickly greenish tint. She was considering whether or not the unspeakable concoction would be improved by a handful of the grass she was sitting on when a gray blur caught her eye. It was Frankfurt, stealthily creeping into the clearing. He paused at the edge of the fire's ring of light and assumed his most innocent "ordinary cat" act before slinking towards her. The scarred bandit spotted him and growled. Frankfurt's eyes widened in alarm, and Catarina hurriedly said, "It's only my cat. He must have followed me from the carriage. He means no harm." This was not strictly true.

Frankfurt sat himself as far away from the questionable pot cooking over the fire as possible and bent his head under the pretense of licking his paw. As he did so, he spat a mouthful of spindly green leaves onto the grass at her feet. Mouth curled as if the taste of the leaves offended him, his voice hissed in her head, "It's sleeping sage. They'll be snoring like over-sized babies in minutes."

Not daring to thank him aloud, Catarina motioned her hand frantically in a way she hoped conveyed that she needed him to create a distraction. The scarred bandit's hard, watchful stare hadn't turned away from her for a second. With a long-suffering sigh, Frankfurt stood up with great dignity, threw back his head in a theatrical yowl, and flung himself towards the nearest bandit's nest of ratty, un-brushed hair in a blur of gray fur. During the commotion that ensued, Catarina furtively scraped up the sleeping sage leaves and sprinkled them into the pot. Stirring vigorously, she began ladling out the sulfurous-smelling mixture into as many of the bandits' bowls as she could get her hands on while Frankfurt fled for his life.

For a moment, Catarina was concerned that the brownish-green stew was too vile for any of the bandits to swallow. But after watching the first one gulp his serving down with gusto, her fears vanished. Indeed, as Frankfurt had predicted, within minutes the clearing was full of bandits, lolling about and snoring like over-sized babies, upturned bowls of stew spilling into the grass.

Catarina crept towards the edge of the clearing. Just as she reached where the first trees began, stepping lightly past the large, shapeless form of a slumbering bandit, a loud crack of thunder pierced the night air, rumbling off in the near distance. Startled, Catarina jumped and then looked up. Laced at the edges by the shadowy tendrils of tree branches, the view of the sky above the clearing had transformed since the last time she looked up. The velvet black of the sky had descended into thick roils of storm clouds, the color of charcoal and ash, and not a single star was visible to glow like an ember among the burnt darkness. The boom of thunder roused the bandit at her feet, and he lurched upward, seizing her ankle. With a shriek, Catarina kicked viciously until the man's grip loosened. Tearing free, she bolted blindly into the dark clutches of the woods.

Branches snagged on the fabric of her dress, and several times she nearly ran face-first into a tree trunk. Finally, gasping in great lungfuls of the heavy, moisture-laden air, she slowed to a walk. The storm brewing overhead extinguished any moonlight that had been falling through the tree branches, forcing her to stumble along, groping with unseeing hands in front of her. But she was almost too relieved to care. The woods were silent behind her. The bandits hadn't set out after her in vengeful pursuit. Most likely, they were still snoozing peacefully through the cracks of thunder echoing overhead. The booming rumbles rattled Catarina's teeth, promising rain and making the night seem like a foreign, hostile thing around her. She felt Frankfurt brush against her legs.

"We're lost," he declared helpfully, before shooting off into the trees at a sudden roar of thunder.

He was right; they were completely, utterly, and, quite possibly, irreversibly lost. But there was nothing to be done about it but keep on walking. Catarina told herself this over and over again as she continued, clumsy and tripping, through the woods, hoping in vain to stumble upon the road. She was shivering and exhausted and hungry. It was bitingly cold, and very soon it began to rain. Seeking her fortune was beginning to look like a terrible mistake.

The rain started out as a drizzle and then fell harder and harder. Catarina made a makeshift shawl of the blue-and-gold blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders in a feeble attempt to shield herself. Wet strands of hair clung to her face. The woods filled up with the rushing sound of gusting wind and pounding rain, rising to a crescendo as more thunder tore at the night sky. She was drenched to the skin. Every now and then, Frankfurt let out a piteous, mewling howl that rose above the noise of the storm.

Just when Catarina thought she would collapse among the leaf litter and roots, a warm light twinkled up ahead, dancing through the tree branches and dipping in and out of view as they drew closer. Catarina plunged towards the faint glow, afraid it was nothing more than a cruel illusion conjured by her weary and muddled mind. Much to her elation, she burst out onto the curve of a flat, muddy road. Up ahead, the inviting golden glow of an inn's windows winked through the rain—the only light in the smothering darkness of the storm.

Frankfurt streaked towards it, Catarina close on his heels. As they drew near, she saw that it was the only building in sight.

"Thank the Holy Cat," Frankfurt said as they finally reached the inn. He huddled under its eaves, sopping wet, his fur dark and plastered to his flanks with rain.

Besides the small, cheerfully lit inn, the only other structure visible was the stables off to one side. Catarina and Frankfurt wasted no time dawdling about. They tumbled in through the inn's front door, dripping puddles of rainwater onto the wood floor.

The room had a low-beamed ceiling and a merry fire crackling in the fireplace. The innkeeper was a short, round woman in an apron behind the front desk. She took in their bedraggled state with a sympathetic expression. "How can I help you, miss?"

"One room, please," Catarina gasped, still breathing heavily from her dash up the road. It was deliciously warm and dry inside, and some of the numbness was already beginning to fade from her fingertips.

"Of course." The innkeeper clucked her tongue and rummaged around under the desk for the keys to the room. She had just produced the key ring when the door suddenly burst open behind them, letting in a gust of cold air and rain. Catarina whirled around to find a young boy who must have been the innkeeper's son leading in another storm-tossed traveler. The traveler was a very tall and fair young man, about Catarina's age. His hair was darkened to honey blond by the rain, and the fabric of his worn clothes was soaked through. He looked extraordinarily pale and weary, and, upon entering the inn, he greeted the rush of warmth with the same relieved gratitude as Catarina had only moments before.

The boy piped up. "I just finished putting this man's horse in the stable. He wants a warm, dry room with a soft bed, thick sheets, and lots of logs in the fire."

The innkeeper frowned, her hand with the key ring hovering hesitantly over the desk. "We only have one room left," she said. "The storm's driven lots of travelers to seek shelter for the night."

Catarina doubted that whatever the other traveler had been through could compare to her ordeal. She held out her hand for the keys to the room, but the innkeeper was staring at the young man with an odd expression on her face. He was shivering rather violently, and his eyes, which were a crystal-clear, summer-sky blue, shone strangely bright in the firelight, glazed with a feverish exhaustion.

A spark of recognition seemed to flicker across the innkeeper's face. Brow furrowed, she opened her mouth to speak. "Aren't you-?"

But the young man silenced her with a wave of his hand. "Please, I'm in desperate need of a room." Water dripped from the frayed hem of his shirt as he spoke.

The innkeeper hesitated for the slimmest fraction of a second, looking uncertain, as if playing something over in her head, but then she nodded. "Of course." With an apologetic glance at Catarina, she bustled over and handed the young man the key to the room. "Show him to his room," she instructed her son, who led the young man up a flight of stairs beside the desk.

Catarina gaped in disbelief. She was so numb and shaken from the storm that it took a moment for the outrage to sink in. She flushed and spluttered, momentarily speechless, while Frankfurt echoed a low, mournful meow. "But I was here first," she finally managed to appeal to the innkeeper, but the older woman only shook her head decisively.

"I'm sorry, miss. There was only one room."

"But-"

"I wouldn't turn any poor souls out in a storm like this. You're welcome to stay here by the fire, charge-free." The innkeeper turned and bustled away, murmuring one last time, "I'm sorry, miss."

Seeing the older woman would not be swayed by her arguments, Catarina turned and stomped up the staircase beside the desk, clutching her blanket-shawl furiously. Frankfurt followed, looking alarmed. "Let's not do anything too hasty," he said, but Catarina wasn't listening. She was hungry, cold, tired, and, on top of everything else, angry. Being forced to stumble through the woods in pitch darkness and endure a thunderstorm had not put her in the best of moods to have a room stolen out from under her, particularly not a warm, comfortable room.

She passed the innkeeper's son on the stairs and caught the young man just as he was entering the room at the end of the hallway. "Don't you dare take another step into that room!" She shouted, reaching for the nearest item she could use as a club to knock the keys from his hands, which just so happened to be one of the soggy books in her satchel. "That's my room!"

He spun around, looking very surprised to see her charging at him down the hallway, brandishing the rain-soaked book in one hand.

"I believe you're mistaken; this room is mine." He ducked just in the nick of time to avoid the book as she brought it down in an attempt to keep him from further entering the room.

"You beastly good for nothing...!" In her fury, words failed her. "It's mine! You stole it from me. Give it back to me at once."

"I'm afraid that's out of the question." Looking very pale, the young man began to retreat inside.

"I asked for it first. It's rightfully mine. Give it back to me," she demanded.

The young man refused to budge. His eyes looked slightly unfocused, blurred with fatigue, and he hardly spared her more than a glance. "I paid for it, fair and square. It's mine, and I'm sleeping in it tonight. God knows I need some sleep." With that, he shut the door in her face, which was a rather prudent move on his part, considering her current state.

Defeated, Catarina collapsed into a heap outside his door and resolved herself to sleeping on the floor in the hallway. At least it was dry and warm. The thin carpet covering the length of the hallway did nothing to make the floor less hard, but it scarcely mattered at this point. Frankfurt curled up beside her, too exhausted to complain. Rain drummed on the roof, accompanied by the occasional deep rumble of thunder. Catarina could feel the dampness seeping out of her hair and clothes, the fabric growing lighter against her skin. Her eyes fluttered closed, and a moment later, she'd fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.