"It's a danse macabre," Mr. Saffron said, studying the engraving. "A dance of death. Revealed with powdered dragon's blood and cavernlight. Yar, it's a good one, Grey."

        "Is it unlocked, then?" Mr. Pink asked briskly.

        "Never was locked," the goblin replied. "We just had to know where to grasp. Feel free to do the honors, Mr. Pink."

        The tall, bearded man approached the slab, careful not to block the greenish light. He reached forward and wrapped his hand around the outstretched fist of the skeletal engraving. He turned it, producing a low, grinding click. The engraved shape of the door swung inwards, revealing a large, dark space and a sound of distant, dripping water. Cold air pushed out of the opening, filling the corridor and ruffling Mr. Saffron's black shirt. Mr. Grey shivered as the sweat on his forehead went cold.

        "Where's that go to? That space isn't even here, if you know what I mean."

"Of course it isn't," Mr. Saffron replied tersely, but he was clearly shaken as well. "It's the hidden depository. We was told about it, just like everything else. That's where the chest is. Come now, we haven't much time."

        Mr. Pink led them through the doorway, ducking to fit through. It became apparent by the smell and the echo of their footsteps that they were in a deep cavern. Mr. Pink produced his wand and illuminated it, but it revealed little more than the shiny, wet rock beneath their feet. The blackness sucked at the light, and Mr. Grey had the sense that they were in a place so deep that it had never known sunlight. Raw, musty cold pressed onto their skin, chilling them after the warmth of the corridor. Mr. Grey glanced back once and could just see the shape of the door leading back. It glowed like a pillar of silvery light, almost as if it were a mirage.

        "Wh-where do you think we are?" he asked.

        "Air pocket in a cavern under the Atlantic ocean," Mr. Pink replied, still walking.

        "Under…" Mr. Grey said faintly, then swallowed. "I got a bad sense about this. Really bad. I want to go back, Bistle."

        "Don't call me Bistle," the goblin said automatically.

        "What's in this chest, anyway?" Mr. Grey moaned. "It better be worth a lot. I can't think of anything worth coming to a place like this."

        "Never yeh mind that," Mr. Saffron said gruffly. "It's more than yeh've ever dreamed of. We'll never have to work like this again. No more petty cons and midnight holdups for us. Once we get the chest, we'll be set for good."

        "But what is it?" Mr. Grey insisted. "What's in the chest?"

        "Well, yeh'll just wait and see, won't yeh?"

       Mr. Grey stopped walking. "You don't know, do you?"

        Mr. Saffron sputtered. "It doesn't matter what it is, yeh great dummy. We was told it was more than we could ever dream of, wasn't we? Alls we have to do is nick the box and gives a twenty percent share to our inside informer. They'd hardly help us break into the Ministry of Magic if they didn't have a prize bit of swag in mind, would they? Mr. Pink knows what it is, anyway. Why don't yeh arsk him?"

        "I don't know either," Mr. Pink said thoughtfully.

        There was a long moment of silence. Mr. Grey heard the steady drip of water echoing out of the darkness.

       Finally Mr. Saffron said, "Yeh don't know neither?"

       Mr. Pink shook his head slowly, barely visible in his own wand light.

       The goblin frowned. "Each of us only knows what we needs to know, aye?"

        "All we need to know is where to go," Mr. Pink said. "Once we get there, we'll know what to do."

       The goblin nodded, remembering. "All right, then. Let's go, Mr. Pink. You're the mapper."

        "We're there," Mr. Pink replied. "It's Grey's job from here." He turned and shone his wand ahead of them. A horrible, monstrous face loomed out of the blackness, lit in the feeble silvery light. Mr. Grey's knees went watery.

        "It's jest a statue, yeh ninny," Mr. Saffron growled. "It's the dragon's head we were tol' about. Go on and open it. Earn your share, Mr. Grey."

        "I hate that name," Mr. Grey said, walking toward the dragon's head statue. It was taller than he was, formed eerily from the stalactites and stalagmites of the cavern wall. "I wanted to be Mr. Purple. I like purple."

        He crouched and slipped his hands between the snaggle teeth of the dragon's upper jaw. Mr. Grey was unusually strong, but lifting the dragon's jaw required every ounce of his formidable power. Sweat streamed down his face and neck as he strained, but the statue wouldn't budge. Finally, just as Mr. Grey was certain he would tear his muscles loose from his bones, there was a glassy shattering sound and the jaw jarred loose. The stalactites that formed the hinge of the jaw had broken. Mr. Grey heaved the jaw upwards until it was high enough for the others to scramble through.

        "Hurry!" he ordered through gritted teeth.

        "Just don't drop the blasted thing on us," Mr. Saffron whined as he and Mr. Pink ducked into the gaping dragon's jaw.

        The opening behind the dragon's head was low and almost perfectly round. Stalactites and stalagmites surrounded the space like pillars supporting a smooth, domed ceiling. The stone floor was terraced, leading down to the center where a strange shape sat in the darkness.

        "It's not a chest," Mr. Pink stated flatly.

        "Nar," Mr. Saffron agreed. "But it's the only thing here, isn't it? Think we can lug it between us?"

        Mr. Pink descended the terraces, leaving the goblin to scramble after him. They studied the object for a moment, and then Mr. Pink placed his wand between his teeth. He bent down, grasping the object, and nodded for the goblin to grasp the other side. It was surprisingly light, though crusted with calcium and mineral. Clumsily, they carried the object between them, hefting it up the terraces. Mr. Pink's wand light bobbed and jerked, making their shadows leap wildly on the pillared walls.

Finally, they heaved the object through the open jaw of the dragon's head statue. Mr. Grey was sweating profusely, his knees trembling. When he saw that his companions were out of the way, he released the upper jaw. It slammed down and shattered, producing a cloud of gritty dust and a deafening crash. Mr. Grey collapsed backward onto the stony floor of the cavern, faint with exertion.