"How recently?"

"Did you see the body hanging on the tree outside the Ease last night?" The Shou nodded. "That was one of them." He pushed open the door and ushered Li inside, stepped through himself, and closed the door behind them. A whisper of song put a soft magical glow around the key. He flashed it around briefly so Li could see their surroundings. Nets in need of mending. The tools to do it. Lines and reels. Coils of rope. Pitch and caulking. All the equipment fishing folk might need. The shed wasn't big, two paces in one direction, maybe four in another. It was cold-a gap ran across the top of the front and back walls just below the roof line so air could flow through and dry the nets. A tight mesh tacked over it kept out birds and vermin. The water of the Sea of Fallen Stars was close; the sound of the surf was constant. Tycho went to the chest where Ardo and Ton had kept a stash of blankets, water, and smoked fish. The water and blankets he shared out with Li. The fish he left. He couldn't quite handle the thought of eating at the moment. Shielding the glowing key so that only a trace of light leaked through, he dropped down onto a coil of rope and looked hard at Li.

"You can't tell me you're just a clerk now," he said. "I've never seen a clerk fight like that. What exactly does the Department of Lost Treasures do? "

Li shrugged off the small armory of weapons that he wore or carried-scimitar, butterfly swords, and saber fell onto a folded net. He retrieved the saber, slid it out of the scabbard, and held it up in the light to inspect the blade. "The Emperor formed the Department of Lost Treasures as part of an effort to reclaim knowledge and great works lost by the more foolish of his imperial predecessors over the centuries. The Department of Lost Treasures searches out the fabulous artifacts and relics of old."

Tycho's look turned to open-mouthed wonder. "Bind me!" he spat. "You're a treasure hunter?" Li shot him a scowl.

"I'm not a treasure hunter." He thrust the saber back into its scabbard. "My responsibility is to look after the more senior clerks and scholars and keep them safe."

"And those bolts of light? You're not a mage, too, are you?"

Li hesitated then opened his shirt and slipped his left arm free. The wound that Lander had inflicted on him was a sharp red line across his forearm, but twisted around his arm above the bicep was the dirty old rag Tycho had noticed before. The bard's eyes narrowed. "When I healed you last night, I tried to look at that to see if there was another wound underneath. Even half-unconscious, you fought back like it was the most important thing in the world." He leaned forward, taking a closer look at the rag.

In spite of its filthy and worn condition, it was clear that it had once been a piece of very fine silk. "What is it? A lost treasure from your department?"

"It has never been lost. It's a family heirloom entrusted to me by my father to help me in my search for Yu Mao." Li tugged at one edge of the rag, pulling free a clean fold. Tycho gasped-the dirt of the rag was only on the outside. Its true color exposed, the silk was…

Gold. No, buttercups. Saffron. Lemons. It was yellow, but a yellow so pure and exquisite that to call it that was demeaning. And yet there was no other word that could come close to describing it. It shimmered with light and warmth, that tiny exposed fold casting a glow that put his spell of light to shame. The very edge of the fold was ragged, however, and frayed, lycho drew a breath. "Those bolts?"

"Threads of the Yellow Silk of Kuang, drawn forth and hurled at enemies," he said reverently. "I think the same magic kept me just warm enough to endure the snowbank after Lander left me for dead last night." Li folded the edge of the silk back over and its radiance vanished. "Keelung silks are famous for a yellow dye that the Kuang invented. The legends of my family say, however, that the first dyers and weavers of Kuang achieved even more." He brushed his hand over the dirty rag. "They captured the power of the sun in a magical banner."

"That's a banner?" lycho asked in disbelief.

"Fine silk folds very small," Li said. "The Yellow Silk is bigger than it looks. Its power has also been called on many times over the centuries. It isn't as big as it once was. Even the finest silk wears and becomes threadbare with use."

Tycho looked at him narrowly. "With use?" He sucked in an angry breath. "You couldn't have used it earlier? You couldn't have used it last night against Lander and his men?"

Li snarled back just as hotly, dropping into Shou in his anger. "The Yellow Silk isn't some common mage's wand, Tycho! It's the symbol of my family's strength and prosperity. Its power is not used lightly. It hasn't been unfurled in public in more than a hundred years. Even many members of my family believe it to be only a legend and outside of Kuang, it's less than a myth." He folded his arms. "You are the first in three generations aside from the head of Kuang and his heir to see the Yellow Silk and certainly the first non-Shou to have ever even heard of it!" He looked down his nose at Tycho. "I thought you might appreciate that more, considering you seem to collect stories-and considering that the Yellow Silk kept Black Scratch from tearing into your hairy backside."

"I-" Tycho gritted his teeth, reining in his temper. "I do." He blew out his breath. "I'm sorry, Li. Thank you." He held out his hand. After a moment, Li took it and gripped it tight. Tycho patted their clenched hands. "We're in this together now, though. You haven't made a friend of Brin tonight. I don't think he's going to want to talk to either of us now." He released Li's hand and sat back.

"What about his beljurils, then?" Li asked as he slipped his arm back into his sleeve. "How are you going to convince Brin that Jacerryl was the one who stole them if you can't talk to him?"

Tycho blew out his breath and pushed his hands through his hair. Plans tumbled in and out of his mind. He couldn't run-he couldn't leave Veseene and she was in no condition to travel. Make a hostage of someone or something Brin valued… no, that was just a joke. Brin valued no one and nothing with the possible exception of Black Scratch and the thought of capturing the boar was ludicrous. Go to the guard? That thought made him snort out loud.

Carry the fight back to Brin? Stand up to the halfling? His snort turned into a shudder. He'd already done enough of that already. Tycho grimaced. This was how Brin always managed to trap his victims, wasn't it? A net of violence and desperation that struggling only pulled tighter. The only reasonable way out was not to struggle at all, to simply give in to Brin.

"Bind me," growled Tycho. He stood up and whirled out his blankets, spreading them across the ground. Li stared at him. "Go to sleep," Tycho told him. "We're going beljuril hunting tomorrow. If Brin wants the beljurils, we need to get them for him."

"But you said the Hooded-"

"Bitch Queen's wrath, I know what I said." Tycho flung himself down and stretched out. "I've lost track of how many balls we're juggling and which ones are burning. All we can do is try to keep as many as we can in the air until the fire goes out!"

Li sat down on his own blankets, his saber close to hand, and raised an eyebrow. "Tycho," he said seriously, "can we really trust Brin? If we get him the beljurils, is he really going to let me talk to him and let you go in peace?"

"I don't know." The bard looked up at the net-draped ceiling. "Brin has a kind of twisted honor. When he says he's going to do something, for better or worse you know he's going to do it."

"He said you had until tomorrow to get him the beljurils, but he came after you tonight." Li spread out his blankets and crawled between them. "That doesn't sound like any kind of honor to me."