"It's a relic of the great Dawnbreaker. Isn't that enough?"

Pinch searched through his royal tutor's lessons for what he might know about a Dawnbreaker. There was nothing.

"Depends. Who or what is the Dawnbreaker?"

Lissa slid naturally into the role of patient missionary. With so many gods, so many martyrs, every priest became accustomed to explaining the myths and icons of his faith.

"The Dawnbreaker was a great prophet who served the Morninglord."

"Of course." They were all great prophets-or profits. Temples without prophets or seers tended to be poor, miserly things. This Pinch knew from experience.

"He was. He predicted the Wintry Summer and the razing of the Unshadowed Palace of the Night Queen."

"Never heard of it."

"It's very ancient history. The gospel is that when the Dawnbreaker died, the Morninglord burned away the impurity of his flesh and commanded an amulet be made from the bones of his skull."

Pinch arched an eyebrow at this.

"So this bauble is really a skull? Is that what I'm looking for? 'Struth why my examinations have failed. I was looking for a mere trinket, not some old prophet's pate!"

"No, it's only a piece of his bone bound inside an amulet of rare metals."

Pinch nodded and pursed his lips as though he were imagining the relic, though that was hardly necessary since he wore the thing beneath his shirt. He hesitantly asked, as if shy at intruding into the secrets of her sect, "It wouldn't have any special powers, would it? Things that might reveal its presence?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well-and this may sound folly-curiosities have plagued me at the palace. Voices, witchlights, and the like. That wasn't…?"

Lissa cocked her head, letting her curly hair spill from the edge of her hood. "The scriptures do say the Upholder of Light called on its might against the Sun-Devourer."

"Upholder of Light?"

"The Dawnbreaker. It is another sign of our respect for the great prophet."

"Upholder, Dawnbreaker-what does it mean he 'called on its might'? What did it do?" Pinch leaned against the stuccoed wall of the first building across from the necropolis gate. It was a smoke-blackened ordinary with a very grim signboard overhead: The Shroud. Nonetheless, it sounded festive enough inside. Their conversation had steered her well away from her assigned post.

"The scriptures are very vague on all that. They just refer to some great power without really describing much. Not everyone could use it either; only the faithful are described as being able to use it."

" 'Tis not me, for certain, to gain from such a thing," Pinch lied. "I never knew about the Morninglord until I came to Elturel."

The truth was that Pinch's gain would have been all in coin. He'd spent weeks casing the Elturel temple, working out its wards, guard schedules, and even just where to make the break in the roof. The plan had been to filch the amulet and then pass it off to Therin. The Gur was to carry it west in the next caravan until he found a good broker on the Sword Coast to take it off his hands.

Cleedis had ruined all that.

Now the rogue felt like he was stuck with the thing. True, there were more than enough brokers in Ankhapur who would pay for an artifact of mysterious power, but Pinch knew his chances of getting good coin were very slim. The hue and cry embodied in Lissa's presence made matters all the worse. Every broker in the city would know where the object came from and probably who had stolen it. That knowledge could be a powerful threat to Pinch's freedom. The rogue had no ambition to discover the pleasantries of Ankhapur's prisons.

"So many questions. Maybe you've heard news?" The quick tones of Lissa's curiosity intruded on Pinch's reverie. She spoke with allegro phrasing in tones and shades that carried more meaning than her words. Pinch could imagine her in the ranks of the temple choir, a place that better suited her than the slop-strewn stews that surrounded them now.

"Maybe." The rogue kept his answer short. Talk killed thieves.

"I think the Dawnbreaker's amulet is here, in Ankhapur."

"How can you be sure?" Pinch really wanted to know her reasons, but he had to take care not to sound too intrigued. If she suspected someone, he had to include the possibility she suspected him.

"The patriarchs in Elturel have divined that the amulet is not within that city. They've sent word."

Pinch scratched at his stubbly beard. He'd not had time for grooming since some moment yesterday. "That hardly places the proof here."

Lissa lowered her voice as a drunk ambled out of the Shroud, a hairy brute whose naked chest barely fit beneath the scarred leather apron he wore as a shirt. The man strutted past them, arrogantly challenging these well-dressed strangers who ventured onto his turf.

"The amulet is in Ankhapur. Believe me on this."

"An informer? Someone's given you word, or tried to sell it. You think I have it? Or another?"

The musical pleasantry of her voice suddenly disappeared. "If it were one of your friends, would you reveal them?"

"Sprite, Maeve, Therin-you think it's one of them?" ."I meant hypothetically. Someone brought it from Elturel. I can feel it."

"You think I consort with this thief." Pinch straightened himself in indignation.

"I've said too much already. It is here, though, and I will find it." Her tone was unabashed by his accusation.

Pinch assumed an air of almost theatrical injury. "I've known rogues and thieves most of my life, priestess, but do not mistake me for one. I like their company. They drink better and they're more honest than the snakes of the court. Just because a man's company is not to your taste, don't impute on his friends. Yes, Sprite is an imp and Maeve drinks a bit, but they're good people. As for me, I'm only seeking to recover what you've lost. If you're not pleased with this, then I shall cease."

Perhaps he just pressed too hard, perhaps she was just wary, or perhaps he had always been the target of her suspicion. Whatever the reasoning, if there was any reasoning to it at all, the priestess suddenly withdrew even as she rejected his offer. She pulled her things about her with the urge to go, although the rogue noted his words at least caused her to keep one hand at her dagger.

"I meant no affront, Master Janol, but I will find this thief, no matter who he-or she-is." With that the priestess broke away as if afraid that Pinch could somehow charm her to think otherwise.

Pinch let her go, watching her carefully pick her path around the turgid puddles of slops. There was no breaking the frost of cold courtesy that had settled on her.

Pinch looked up to the Shroud, with its wooden drapery creaking from the signboard overhead. There was work to be done, and a drink was as good enough a place as any to start. Alcohol keened his plotter's mind, perversely laying bare the twisted paths of a multitude of schemes. Besides, he was thirsty.

Pinch sat at a dark table in a dark corner the way he always preferred. From the dawn light until now, he reviewed the day's events. Too much was happening that he didn't control: strange voices, stranger hands in the dark, Manferic returned, and Lissa retreating. Everything about it was the design of fates beyond his control, and that Pinch could not abide. For fifteen years he had fought to be the master of his own life, and now in the span of a few days, everything was conspiring to take that apart.

One by one the drinks came, and as part of the ritual his mind followed in its cunning, Pinch dedicated each mug to a threat to future well-being.

"Here's to Manferic," the rogue toasted to no one in particular on his first blackjack of heady wine. "Were the bastard's memory truly dead." It was a toast to more than just bitter memories. The undead king was the first and foremost problem. There was little doubt what Pinch's reward would be when his job was done. King Manferic had always been brutally efficient at removing useless pawns. The rogue drained the mug in one long gulp, slapped it on the table, and sat brooding as he stared at the chisel work of a previous customer. Several times he waved off the landlord while plots played themselves out in his mind.