Excerpt from Journey into the Mists of Zaerl (sequel to The Independent Magician):
Feeling more than a little tired, the tiger took to his favourite chair, next to the empty, unlit fireplace. He yawned into his paw and leant his head against the ornate, high back of his seat.
The next thing that he knew, Bill was back in the room, shaking his arm.
‘Wake up! Wake up!’
He snapped awake with a startled snort, which might have started life as a snore (only it couldn’t possibly have done, because Sherman knew that he never snored) and stared at the bird in confusion.
‘I had trouble sleeping, so I went out to stretch my wings,’ the bird explained in a rush. ‘It’s a good thing I did, believe me!’
‘Calm down, Billy Bird. You’re going to wake Alfie.’
He shrugged his wings. ‘We might need him! Belle, too. We’re in trouble, Magician! Terrible trouble.’
‘Billy, calm down. I’m going to make us some tea. Compose yourself.’
‘No time! This is important. There’s extra police on the gates of Puenta. I saw them at one, so I flew around to see if they were on the others and they are!’
‘Is it Mead Season already?’
‘It’s not about crowd control! It’s definitely not about a sport, either. There were hooded creatures in the shadows by every gate and the police were checking the creatures leaving, not just the ones coming in. If they didn’t believe a creature’s reasons for wanting to leave or enter the city, they searched ‘em!’
Sherman shivered. ‘What are we to do?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘My shadow cloak will help me to blend in,’ the tiger said. ‘Only the very psychically inclined will see the magic in my energy signature and such. All the same, it should disguise my being a living spirit and make me appear as everybeast else.’
‘That’s good. Is it warm? Cool? Waterproof?’
‘It is rather like silk — warm when it is cold, cool when it is hot. Not very waterproof, but we seem to be entering into a heatwave, anyway. Besides, I have my waterproof fur.’
‘Fair point. Where is it, then?’
The tiger snapped his claws and it appeared on the back of his chair. ‘Ha ha! Here it is.’
‘Wish I could do that,’ the bird mumbled. ‘I’d love to be a great magician. Or even a passable one.’
‘It doesn’t solve all of life’s problems, but it helps,’ Sherman chuckled and then frowned. ‘When it isn’t adding new ones, of course. Now…’ he groaned, ‘what am I to do?’
‘Well, you can’t get caught with anything magical on you,’ the bird told him. ‘You’d be in real trouble — both of you. Back go the potions, spellbooks and all the other stuff, then. You’ll have to leave that staff, too.’
‘Ha! Oh no, I won’t. I can turn it into a walking stick! Who would suspect?’
‘Won’t somebeast be able to tell it’s magic?’
He shook his head. ‘The shadow cloak will stop magic from being sensed or spotted.'
