"Very well."

The spirit waved its hand, and a long oval mirror in a golden frame appeared on the wall. It was so highly polished that it almost seemed to glow with its own inner light and so manifestly valuable as to appear grossly incongruous in such humble surroundings. Sefris assumed the fiend had summoned the looking glass from its own extradimensional realm.

The arcanaloth used its claws to tear loose a scrap of the offering's flesh, which it then ate. Sefris had the feeling that wasn't part of the conjuring. The fiend was simply peckish. When it was done nibbling, it dipped its forefinger into one of the boy's wounds, coating the digit with blood that it employed to write arcane signs along the curved edge of the mirror. The runes burned with the same purple flame that surrounded the creature's body.

After that, the arcanaloth stared intently into the mirror. Peering past it, Sefris could no longer see anything coherent in the glass, not even their own reflections, just formless shadows that oozed, merged, and divided. But then, she wasn't the scryer. She assumed the fiend was making more sense of the rippling blackness than she could.

Or at least she did until the arcanaloth abruptly barked an incantation in some demonic language and swept its arms through a complex mystic pass. At that moment, its annoyance was unmistakable. The bloody sigils burned brighter, but the vague shapes flowing inside the glass became no clearer.

"What's the matter?" Sefris asked.

"The Dark Goddess's enemies warded their plunder against attempts at divination. They must have anticipated that someone would try to take it back."

Well, Sefris thought, at least that means they can't use magic to find it either, but the notion was precious little consolation.

"Surely you can do something," she said.

"Not necessarily, and the effort would take a great deal out of me. I told you, I have my own responsibilities to-"

"Do it."

The arcanaloth bared its fangs and said, "We may meet again someday, on my own plane, perhaps, in circumstances where I hold the whip. If so, you might be glad you didn't push me too hard."

"Do as I command you, or I'll speak the words of torment," Sefris replied. "By darkness impenetrable and empty-"

"All right! I can't see the treasure itself, but perhaps I can make out something that connects to it in the great web of fate. That might give you a clue to its whereabouts."

The fiend snarled another incantation, and resumed its peering.

Finally, it said, "There."

"What have you found?" Sefris asked.

"The future is never certain," the arcanaloth said. "But find this woman, and chances are good she'll lead you to your goal."

It gestured, and a face took shape amid the drifting shadows.

Once Aeron waded ashore, he followed a circuitous route, sometimes descending to the Underways, sometimes proceeding at street level, and periodically climbing to the Rainspans, a rickety network of bridges connecting the roofs and balconies of certain of the city's towers. By custom, the aerial paths were open to the public even where they linked one private residence or business to another, and a good many folk traversed them daily in blithe disregard of the manner in which they groaned, shuddered, and swayed. At that, it was arguably safer to walk over them than underneath. Every rogue in Oeble knew the 'spans afforded any number of excellent locations from which to throw knives at or drop heavy objects on a victim.

Aeron glanced around frequently, making sure no Red Axe was creeping up on him. Perhaps he was so intent on spotting Kesk's cutthroats that it blinded him to other dangers. Or maybe Selune's departure from the sky, and the deeper darkness she'd left in her wake, were to blame. In any event, he was crossing a Rainspan, one that wound among the decaying spires bordering Laskalar's Square, when two Gray Blades and a goblin seemed to pop up out of nowhere just a few paces ahead of him.

Luckily, the lawmen, one human and one who, judging from his slender frame and pointed ears, might have some elf blood, were too busy questioning the stunted, flat-faced creature they'd accosted to notice Aeron's approach. He turned to slink back the way he'd come, but then he heard the half-elf mention the Paeraddyn. The Blades were asking questions about the robbery.

If Aeron was wise, maybe that should be all the more reason to slip away quickly as he could. But he thought in the long run it might pay him to listen to what the Gray Blades had to say. So he crouched motionless, trusting the darkness to hide him.

As the interrogation proceeded, the lawmen slapped the shrilly protesting goblin around and even threatened to toss it off the bridge. Aeron didn't know the runty, bandy-legged creature. Apparently its tormentors had accosted it at random, simply because it looked shifty. From that fact, and the general tenor of their questions, he inferred that they didn't know who they were looking for.

They had a description, however, flawed but still potentially useful, and they were plainly working hard to track him down. That wasn't good.

The Gray Blades had questioned Aeron on more than one occasion, and thus he knew how to recognize when such a session was winding down. As usual, it ended with a few final threats: if the lawmen found out the goblin had lied to them, they'd make it wish it had never been born, and other remarks in the same vein.

Aeron had nearly lingered too long. If he tried to scurry off quickly, the Rainspan would surely creak and bounce, giving his presence away. Instead, he swung himself over the railing and to the underside of the bridge, where he hung by his hands forty feet above the street

The Blades released the goblin and proceeded on their way, tramping over the spot where Aeron clung. If some folk deemed the Rainspans unsafe, they should have seen that one from his present vantage point. The lawmen's passage shook loose a veritable shower of scraps of rotten wood. The filthy stuff streamed down over Aeron, a goodly portion slipping inside his collar.

First the river and now this, he thought.

Aeron feared his clothes were ruined. It made him glad that, unlike most of the honest jobs for which he qualified, thieving paid well enough that he owned several other outfits.

He waited until the Gray Blades' voices faded away, then pulled himself back up onto the walkway. He skulked on, and in a few more minutes, he reached his home.

As he'd expected, his father had waited up for him. Nicos sat struggling to pluck the strains of a ribald tavern song about a priest and a dancing girl from the strings of his mandolin. He had no real aptitude for the instrument, but with his voice ruined, it was the only music he could make.

He looked Aeron up and down and asked, "What in the name of the black mask happened to you?"

"What didn't?" Aeron replied, stripping off his shirt and tunic.

It gave him a twinge, the result of the two falls he'd taken that day, which had likewise mottled his torso with a livid assortment of bruises.

"Did you talk the tanarukk into a higher price?" his father asked.

"Not exactly."

Aeron poured water from the pitcher into the bowl, picked up the wash rag, and scrubbed the itchy grit from his skin. It felt odd to wash twice in a single day. Some people said too often was unhealthy. He hoped they were wrong.

"What did happen, then?"

"Well…"

He toweled himself dry, sat down opposite his father, dragged off his wet boots, and told the tale.

When he finished, Nicos glowered at him.

"Blood and bone, boy, are you trying to die?"

Aeron grinned and said, "When have the Gray Blades ever come close to catching me?"

"When did they try this hard? Why did you have to steal your cursed box inside the Paeraddyn?"