"Thank you as well," Sefris continued. "You protected my back as much as I protected yours."

"Maybe," Miri replied, stooping to wipe her bloody broadsword on a dead serpent-man's tunic. "But you didn't have to jump in and help me in the first place."

"Oh, but I did. I have my vows, as I imagine you rangers have yours."

"We have a code." The scout sheathed her sword, then headed toward her fallen bow as she said, "Believe me, I'm not complaining, but what were you doing in these miserable warrens, anyway?"

Sefris tried to judge if her companion was suspicious, and decided she was merely curious.

"We Broken Ones sometimes wander far from our sanctuaries, seeking to learn the lessons only the bustling world can teach. My travels brought me to Oeble, and into the Underways. I heard the sounds of strife, and I rushed to see what was happening. I would have arrived sooner, except that much of the path was dark, and I had to grope my way."

In reality, Sefris had waited to burst onto the scene until Miri truly needed her. Presumably that would ensure the fool was grateful for her intervention. The delay had given the monastic the opportunity to assess the ranger's archery and swordplay. As it turned out, she was reasonably accomplished, though nothing that would inconvenience a daughter of the Dark Moon when the time came.

"Well, bless you for it," Miri said. "I'll make an offering to the Crying God the first chance I get."

"May I ask," Sefris said, "what business brings you 'below,' as the locals say? I would have expected to meet a warrior like you in a forest glade or along a mountain trail, not rubbing shoulders with city orcs, smugglers, and kidnappers."

"I wish you had," Miri said. She picked up her bow, inspected it for signs of damage, and evidently satisfied that it was unscathed, she dangled it casually in her hand. "I've never much liked any town, and this one's the nastiest I've ever seen. But…"

She hesitated as if realizing she was speaking too freely.

Sefris inclined her head and replied, "I understand. Your business is your own. I shouldn't have pried."

"Oh, to Fury's Heart with it. It's all right, I trust you. Anyway, by now, everybody else in Oeble knows, or at least part of it. The rangers of my guild hire themselves out, if it's honest work performed for decent folk. I undertook to carry a treasure from Ormath to Oeble, and just as I was about to deliver it, a robber stole it. Obviously, it's my responsibility to get it back. It'll be a great misfortune to any number of people if I don't."

"I understand," Sefris said. "May I help you find it?"

Miri's eyes narrowed and she asked, "Why would you want to do that?"

"I told you, I'm sworn to aid others, and I seek the wisdom that only comes from immersing oneself in worldly affairs."

"It could be dangerous."

"And I confess, I'm scarcely the ablest fighter my order has produced. Others are far more competent But I did manage to help you against the yuan-ti."

"I can't argue with that," said the ranger.

"Then let me watch your back for a while longer."

"All right, gladly, if you're sure it's what you want. Why not?" Miri smiled crookedly and added, "We can't fare any worse together than I've done nosing about on my own."

"What tactics have you used?"

"I've offered to pay for information, provided it turned out to be true. But as you've just seen, these rogues would rather cheat, rob, or enslave an outsider than earn her coin honestly."

"Perhaps it's time for a different approach," Sefris said. She found one of her chakrams, pulled it from the wound it had inflicted, wiped it clean, and stowed it away in her robe. Later, when she had the leisure, she'd take a hone to the edge. "If you aren't squeamish, we could ask questions in a less gentle fashion."

"Surely the creed of Ilmater doesn't allow for torture," Miri said, peering at her quizzically.

"We Broken Ones are more practical than people give us credit for. Of course, we would never torture a prisoner in the truest sense of the word. We are, however, allowed to intimidate him and cause some brief discomfort, when it's absolutely necessary to further a worthy cause. But perhaps your own code doesn't allow for such tactics."

"It's a gray area. I've never liked it much, but… I'm sick of these Oeblaun vermin trying to swindle me and sniggering behind my back. By the Hornblade, this lot are yuan-ti, and they meant to enslave me. I think I could rough up one of them, and live with my conscience afterward."

So, gentle Mielikki's servant had a streak of ruthlessness. The implicit hypocrisy stirred the contempt that was central to Sefris's nature, but she made sure no hint of a sneer showed on her face.

"So be it, then," the monastic said.

"The problem may be," Miri said as she surveyed the fallen reptile-men, "that none of them is capable of answering questions."

Sefris smiled.

"That's one advantage fists have over blades and arrows," she said. "Often, they merely stun instead of kill." To be precise, they stunned when she wanted them to, and in the fight just concluded, intuition had prompted her to leave a couple of the yuan-ti alive. "We just need to wake somebody up."

Aeron met the Dead Cart on Balamonthar's Street. As he would have expected by late afternoon, the mule-drawn wagon carried several corpses, which were starting to smell, and was heading to dump them in the garbage-middens southeast of town.

Hairy and dirty, his limbs twisted out of true by illness or an accident of birth, Hulm Draeridge leered down at Aeron from the seat.

"Hop in the back," he said. "Save me the trouble of lifting you up and chucking you in."

Aeron snorted and said, "I'm not ready to take that ride just yet."

"That's not the way I hear it."

"It doesn't matter if people are looking for me, tanglebones, not as long as my wits are sharper than theirs. It's all part of the sport. Speaking of which, if anybody asks, you haven't seen me."

He tossed the driver a silver bit, and Hulm snatched it from the air.

"I've already forgotten you," the driver said, "as completely as will everyone else ten minutes after you're dead."

Keeping an eye out for Red Axes, Gray Blades, and female rangers, carrying the saddlebag hidden beneath his cape, Aeron strode on into a little cul-de-sac crammed with various commercial endeavors. A tinker's grindstone whined and spewed sparks as he sharpened a hoe. A small-time slave trader cried the virtues of his half dozen shackled human and goblin wares, who sat around his feet in apathetic misery. Hooded falcons stood on their perches, the bells on their feet chiming when they shifted position. The Whistlers, one of the city's smaller and less successful gangs, had stolen the birds at midsummer and were still trying to dispose of them at bargain prices. Unfortunately, the average citizen of Oeble didn't know how to hawk and had no interest in learning.

Aeron, who likewise lacked any experience with the fierce-looking raptors, playthings of noblemen and merchants with lordly pretensions, crept past the perches a little warily, slipped into a tower, and climbed a corkscrew flight of stairs. Somewhere in one of the apartments, a baby cried. In another, bread was baking. The appetizing aroma filled the shaft and made Aeron's mouth water.

Burgell Whitehorn lived on the third floor. Aeron tapped on the gnome's door, then positioned himself in front of the peephole. After a while, three latches clinked in turn as someone unfastened them. The door swung open, and Burgell frowned up at his caller.

Skinny and flaxen-haired, his skin walnut brown and his eyes a startling turquoise, Burgell stood half as tall as Aeron and had to climb up on a stool to look out the peephole. Like most habitations in Oeble, that particular tenement had been built for humans, and smaller residents coped with the resulting awkwardness as best they could.