Two shadowed figures stood in the entranceway, both carrying cocked crossbows. They relaxed slowly as they scanned the room. «I told you,» whispered one of them, «I saw the old basher light out with some halfling. Right through the floor, she went.»

The other only grunted. «Where do you think she keeps it?»

«Try the desk first.»

The one who just spoke stepped farther into the room, crossbow still at the ready. In the light from the oil lamp on the Guvner's desk, the intruder was tall and thin, with raggedly pointed ears and cat-like yellow eyes – a githzerai, and one that looked fiercer than usual, if that was possible. Sigil has a sizable population of githzerai, but I didn't know any personally. Their race prides itself on severity, and never spends its gold on indulgences like art; therefore, githzerai and I don't move in the same circles.

As the githzerai moved toward DeVail's desk, the other intruder entered the spill of light from the lamp. I gulped hard to stop myself from gasping. This one had a face much like his githzerai companion, but his skin was as yellow as corn and his eyes like black marbles. Unless I was hallucinating, this was a githyanki: closely related to the githzerai race, but its bitter blood enemy.

A githzerai and githyanki working together? That was like a fire sprite inviting a water elemental to dance the minuet. The two gith races hated each other with the purest of passions, killing one another on sight whenever they happened to meet. The only time the githzerai and githyanki had ever agreed on anything was when they declared genocidal war on each other.

This had to be an illusion – a shapeshifting disguise. For all I knew these two might be gnome sorcerer-thieves, wearing an enchantment so they couldn't be identified as they looted this office. At least that made sense.

The two laid their crossbows on the Guvner's desk and began rummaging through the drawers. From my angle I could only see the githzerai, and his body blocked my view of most of the desk. Still, I caught the occasional glimpse of him lifting up one scroll after another, unrolling a length to skim the contents, then discarding the parchment into a growing pile on the floor. The nonchalance of his actions made me wince – not just because of his disdain for scrolls that might carry priceless ancient knowledge, but at his lack of concern for magical consequences. Some scrolls don't allow themselves to be read and tossed away. They can have curses or booby-traps, even imprisoned monsters who leap forth to shred unwary pilferers. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't care if two thieves got themselves eaten; but I didn't want to be nabbed for dessert.

Finally, the githyanki said, «This looks like it.»

The githzerai dropped the scroll he was holding. «Dust?» he asked.

«Yeah. She's even drawn a map.»

«How convenient. Let's go.»

The githyanki refolded the scroll he had found and tucked it inside his vest. Meanwhile, the githzerai picked up the oil lamp from DeVail's desk and held it above the mound of scrolls they had thrown on the floor. «By the time the old basher returns,» he said, «this place'll be burning as bright as downstairs. They'll think it's all part of the same blaze.»

«Maybe,» his partner replied. «But Her Nibs told me to torch a few more offices so the Guvs aren't suspicious about this one. I've got a list of rooms that're empty.»

The githzerai sniffed the air. «Once people smell smoke, they'll empty the whole building.»

He picked up his crossbow and headed for the exit. In his hand, he still carried the lighted oil lamp. At the door, he waited while his partner peered out to check that the hall was clear. After a moment, the githyanki nodded. «Let's go.»

The one with the lamp turned around in the doorway for one last look at the room. Then, curling his lip with disdain, he threw the lamp onto the stack of scrolls and slammed the door behind him.

Both Hezekiah and I dove instantly from our hiding places to snuff out the flames. It was a close call – the parchments were old and dry, and paraffin oil had splashed about liberally as the lamp struck the floor. Fortunately, the glass lamp cracked but didn't break; and with the help of the cloaks from the coat-tree, we smothered the blaze before it got out of hand.

«Who were those guys?» Hezekiah panted as we eased back from the mound of crispy-edged scrolls.

«How should I know?» I replied. «Do you think I recognize every thug in Sigil?»

«Just asking,» he shrugged. «What do we do now?»

«Well, we could cool our heels chatting and see if the building burns down around us; or we could pike it out of here before we singe off our eyebrows. Do you have a preference?»

Clueless though he was, Hezekiah opted for the sensible choice; and soon, we were blundering our way through the corridors of the court building, trying to find a way out.

This wing was taken up with private offices for high-level Guvners, all of whom appeared to be elsewhere. While I had visited the public areas of the courts a few times, I had never come to this part of the building; and Hezekiah was no help in figuring out where we were, because he admitted he had teleported out of the rotunda, completely blind. It was sheer luck we hadn't materialized inside a solid wall.

In time, we rounded a corner and saw a doorway down the hall, pouring out roils of black smoke. We approached cautiously, worried about bumping into our arsonist thieves, but reluctant to turn tail if someone inside needed our help. The door opened into a large room filled with row upon row of bookracks; and one shelf of the rack closest to us had been pierced by a flaming crossbow bolt.

«Our friends from the office have been here,» I muttered, pointing at the arrow.

«They're setting fire to a library?» Hezekiah cried in outrage. «That's criminal!»

Despite the smoke, he charged forward, shouting, «We can still save most of the books!» Never mind that the rack where the fire-arrow had landed was almost completely ablaze. Never mind the stupidity of running into a room full of paper just before flames make it impossible to get back out the door. Hezekiah ran straight into the library like some duty-brained knight.

«What do you think you're doing?» I yelled at him.

«Only one set of shelves are burning,» he called, stepping into the gap between the blazing rack and the one behind it. «If we can separate these from the rest of the books…» His voice broke off as he inhaled a lungful of smoke and buckled over coughing.

«Damn it, Hezekiah!» I took a step into the room, then stopped to ask myself what I was doing. If a Clueless nobody wanted to die playing hero, why should I risk my own hide to save him? I'd only known him for ten minutes, and they had been ten solid minutes of annoyance and terror. Granted, Hezekiah hadn't been responsible for the terror part; in fact, his teleport spell had saved my life…

«Damn it,» I said again, and ran in after him, keeping low to stay out of the smoke.

When I reached his side, he had struggled to his feet and was pushing weakly against the blazing bookrack. «Shove this rack forward against the wall,» he choked out, «then we shove the other racks back as far away as we can, so they don't catch fire.»

«You're barmy!» I told him. «These shelves are loaded with books. They must weigh tons.» I hiked my hands under his armpits to steady him on his feet – the lungful of smoke had hit him hard. «The only thing we can do,» I said, «is run.»

«No, we can save the books.» He squirmed away from me and planted his palms on one shelf of the bookrack – a strip of wood that had yet to catch fire. «I'm not going till we save the books.»

He shoved the rack feebly, with no discernible effect. «Come on,» he gasped at me. «Help!»

«Sure,» I replied. «Help. Well, I've never set myself on fire before. The other Sensates will be green with envy.»