Suddenly, he tossed the orb to me with careless disdain. «Hold onto that, honored Cavendish. Umbrals sell souls to the highest bidder… so can we. It's justice.»

And then he urged Yasmin to carry him to the next body.

Nine orbs, glowing purple. Nine umbral souls, housed inside these strange gems. «A good haul,» Kiripao said approvingly.

«You know something about the soul trade?» I asked.

«Some,» he nodded. «It is a popular form of commerce here in Carceri.»

«You think we're in Carceri?»

Kiripao pointed to the thorn-shooting bushes. «Those plants are called Tooth-Storms. I have never seen one before, but I have heard tales of how they… make their own fertilizer. They are found only in Carceri, on the swampy layer known as Othrys.»

«Wonderful,» I growled.

«What's Carceri?» Hezekiah piped up.

«One of the Lower Planes,» Miriam told him. «A place of utter evil, with a dash of chaos to make things cozy.»

«So how do we get out?» the boy asked.

«First, we must find an umbral village.» That answer came from Wheezle, who lay on the chest of the last fiend and rolled one of the soul-gems between his palms. «As the honored Kiripao has observed, every such village is built around a portal of some kind. With luck, the gate can take us somewhere less hostile.»

«Walking into an umbral village will surely provide all the hostility we can handle,» I said. «This bunch wanted to steal our souls the moment they saw us… and their families won't be pleased we've scragged a load of their cousins.»

«Umbrals have hard hearts,» Wheezle replied. «They feel no fondness for others of their kind, and will not grieve over those who have died. The one thing they do feel is greed: greed for…» He held up the glowing soul-gem.

«So the second we walk into a village,» Miriam growled, «they'll put us in the dead-book so they can bob our gems.»

«Not true, honored ruffian. Umbrals respect few rules, but the trade in souls occupies the center of their lives. If we present ourselves as merchants with goods for sale,» he held up the soul-gem again, «they will treat us as respected guests. We will embark upon a formalized process of negotiation, and during the time it takes to strike a bargain, they will provide us with free lodging, food, and clean water.»

The moment he said the word food, I could feel my stomach rumble. It had not been so long since my last meal – astonishing though it was, we had only left Sigil three hours earlier – but I was definitely growing peckish for a feed. Was there anything edible out here in the swamps of Othrys? Probably, but it would be sheer luck if we found it. None of us had any wilderness experience. Kiripao showed some small familiarity with this plane, but he hadn't recognized the Tooth-Storm bushes till they started shooting their thorns. That didn't bode well for stumbling around the swamp, trying to find food without getting eaten ourselves.

«Are you sure the umbrals won't kill us?» I asked Wheezle.

«They will rip out our throats the moment we conclude negotiations,» he answered, «but until then, they will show meticulous hospitality. It is their way. Umbrals have no honor as we recognize it, but while there is business to be conducted, they make every show of friendship.»

«Like half the merchants in the Great Bazaar,» Miriam muttered.

I was beginning to like her.

We continued along the muddy trail in the direction we had been traveling. There was no guarantee it would lead to an umbral village, but we could see it was a well-used path. It was also heading for the river far ahead of us, and that was another good sign; even in the Lower Planes, it's practical to build your village close to a waterway, for the convenience of transportation and drinking.

An hour later, however, when we finally reached the river, it became apparent that drinking this particular water would be risky. It was not just black; the water had an oily obsidian gloss to it, as if it could immediately squash the color out of anything that touched its surface. The smell of sulphur tainted the air, possibly from the water, or possibly from the curling clumps of mist that hung above the river at random points along its length.

As we watched, a dark skiff emerged from one of the banks of cloud. It moved slowly, giving us plenty of time to examine the ornate illustrations painted on the prow – row upon row of faces, some humanoid, some not, and all consumed with a quiet, ineffable sadness.

In time, the skiff emerged far enough from the mist for us to see the boatman: skeletally thin, clad in a hooded robe that didn't quite hide the fleshless face. A human woman sat passenger on the wooden seat behind, her eyes sewn shut with coarse black thread. Her hands lay folded in her lap, and no matter how the boat rocked on the river's current, the woman remained immobile… as if she weren't really sitting in the skiff at all, but gliding forward on the strength of some unknown destiny.

The woman was Oonah DeVail. Her soul. Her dead spirit.

She took no notice of us as the skiff silently floated by; but the boatman turned to look at us briefly, pale eyes in a face of bone. Then the skiff entered another pillar of mist and disappeared without leaving a ripple.

«This is the River Styx,» Kiripao said.

None of us spoke for some time.

Our muddy trail led along the Styx for the better part of a mile. Then as we rounded a bend in the river, we saw a gathering of black huts ahead, tucked beneath a grove of moss-laden trees. The huts seemed to be sculpted from solid darkness, as if they had congealed from the gloom of shadows that permeated the grove.

«Each of us will carry a gem,» Wheezle said softly, handing around the glowing purple orbs. «We must all present ourselves as soul-merchants.»

Hezekiah wore a pained expression. «I don't think Uncle Toby would approve of me —»

«Do not worry, honored Clueless,» Wheezle interrupted. «The umbrals voluntarily chose to enter these gems. It is how they always expected to end their lives: as objects of trade. And we must remember the treasure you carry.» He pointed to the grinder, still trickling out white dust. «We have a responsibility to keep that out of the wrong hands.»

Hezekiah nodded gravely… as if he found it obvious what the right hands would be. To me, the issue was not so clear-cut. I was inclined to pass on the grinder to Lady Erin as fast as possible; but I knew Wheezle would want to turn it over to the Dustmen, Yasmin to the Doomguard, and Kiripao either to the Ciphers or to whatever power he worshipped. When the time came, there would be a sodding huge argument. Still, we tacitly agreed we didn't want the grinder taken by Rivi or the umbrals, so the question could be postponed a while.

With each of us prominently displaying a soul-gem, we walked toward the village. I almost missed the sentry fiend, posted beside the path; it stood under the hood of a willow-like tree, glaring at us from the shadows. When it saw I had noticed it, the umbral took to its wings immediately, staying low to the ground but swinging its flight-path over the Styx, getting an unobstructed route to the huts. Since we were still on foot it took us longer to cover the remaining distance, forced to clamber over fallen logs and detour around spots where the muddy bank had crumbled into the river; so by the time we reached the umbral village, a sizable welcoming party had assembled along the path.

Every pair of hollow eye sockets pinned a yearning gaze on the soul-gems we carried, as if the villagers were deciding which gem they would claim as their own. Yasmin's free hand strayed to the hilt of her longsword; but the fiends made no motion toward us. They watched in silence, shadows among shadows, each sepulchral face lit by the purple glow of the gems.