"Found himself a woman, too, I'll wager," Sprite added with merciless glee. It wasn't often he got to pluck such fun at his senior.

Pinch struggled against the urge to yawn and lost. "Found more than you know, furry foot," he finally shot back as he made a grab for the halfling's curly toes. Sprite skipped out of reach, giving Pinch enough space to heave to his feet and stumble inside. Yesterday's, last night's, and today's adventures fell on him as he collapsed into the largest chair he could find.

Arms flopped over the rests, he looked at the three sideways as they filed in and stood semicircle around him: Sprite amused, Maeve curious, and Therin with the clear gaze of suspicion. Someday, Pinch thought to himself, someday that Gur is going to get it in his head to challenge me.

"We've work to do." Sprawled in the chair, the regulator hardly looked serious, but his companions knew to judge by the tone of his words, not simple appearances. "How have you come on finding a bolt hole?"

"Slipping the ring here's no problem, Pinch," Therin bragged. "Like you said, the door's always watched but the balcony's easy. We can avoid those cursed hellhounds by climbing up instead of down and taking out over the roof. Once we get up there, it's an easy scramble to the wall. Then we just watch the guards and go over the side."

"What about you, Maeve? Can you keep up with these two monkeys?" Pinch knew the wizardess wasn't trained in acrobatics like the other two.

"We'll help her along," Therin assured, before she could say a word.

The woman glared at the big, cocky Gur and added, "I've got spells, too. Don't you go worrying about me."

"Well laid, then." Pinch cut their bickering short. "Use it tonight. Go to the ordinary across from the lower end of the fish market. It's run by an old man named Sarveto. He'll have rooms for you."

"What's the job, or are you just running us off, Pinch?" Therin posed suspiciously.

"Work." Pinch glared at his lieutenant. Ever since starting this journey, the man had been insolent. After this, Pinch decided, Therin may have to go. Without taking his gaze from Therin, the regulator continued.

"Sprite, you've an eye for the stones. Find me an artificer of cunning hands, one who's hungry or likes the women too much. Just as long as he does good work and keeps himself quiet."

"Aye, Pinch. What'll his commission be?

"I want a copy of the Cup and the Knife. He'll know what I mean." The man leaned back and rubbed his eyes. "Therin, you and Maeve case the temple of the Red Priests. Mark their guards, whether the catchpoles are near at hand, and what the hour is of their walks. Maeve, use your charms to get yourself through their doors. Make friends with their servants. Note the hasps on their doors and what spells they lay about. Oh, and pay particular mind to their gossip. We're looking for this Cup and the Knife."

Therin smirked, perhaps wondering if Pinch had finally gone mad. "A cup and knife? Any old one or one that's particular?"

Pinch was suddenly alert and forward in his chair. "Not a cup and knife, the Cup and Knife."

"And what makes this set of trinkets so special?"

"They're the royal symbols of Ankhapur. Without them, a body can't be king or queen."

"So you're going to steal them and become king of Ankhapur!" Sprite blurted in a dazzlingly ambitious leap of conclusions.

"Hah! Me, king?" Pinch actually broke into laughter at that one. "Can you imagine me sitting on some throne. I've as much chance of becoming king as you, Sprite, have of becoming the lord high master of the Zhentarim."

"I think I'd make a fine Zhent. Don't you, Therin?"

With a grin the Gur twirled up a dagger. "Good Zhents are dead Zhents, Sprite. Want I should scrag you?"

The halfling comically ducked behind a bronzewood chest. "Well taken. I'll not be a Zhentarim and Pinch'll not be king of Ankhapur. "

"But I don't understand," Maeve said with a quizzical whine that cut through their play. "If you had this cup and knife, why couldn't you be king?"

The regulator, playing the role of wise teacher of the lore, settled back into his chair. "It's because of what the Cup and Knife do. You see, a long time ago-oh, back whatever ages of man it takes to forget such things-"

"Yesterday, for Maeve," Sprite-Heels sniped. Therin guffawed. With a mouselike shriek, Maeve kicked a footstool the halfling's way.

"However long it was, there was a falling out of the royal household. The first king of Ankhapur was dead. Apparently, the old king had been fond of his bedchamber though, 'cause he left behind more than a score of sons and grandsons, at least as many as what people knew about."

"One of the rewards of royalty," smirked the Gur as he settled into the chair across from his senior. Sprite turned up the stool and plopped onto it while Maeve leaned over Therin's shoulder. It was beginning to look like a long tale and one that might merit their attention.

Pinch yawned as the morning sun warmed the chair. "Of course, every one of those sons and grandsons considered himself the only fit successor to the old king. The rest were fools, idiots, and just plain enemies who didn't deserve the throne. It was a terrible time for the city."

"Assassins stalking the halls and all that?" Sprite asked eagerly. To his mind, this was shaping to be a fine story. "Lots of slaughter and only one survives?"

Pinch shook his head. "If it were only that, it would hardly be a crisis at all. The gentlefolk of Ankhapur are long used to solving a problem with a quick and fortunate death. No, this was worse for them-"

"I'd think losing my head would be about the worst you could get," Maeve whispered to Therin. She stroked the hangman's scar that peeked from under the scarf at his neck. "You'd know about that, wouldn't you, moon-man?"

The Gur bristled at the slur but said nothing. He wanted to hear the rest of the story.

"Worse for them-civil war. It would have torn the city apart. There were factions in factions ready to fight for their man."

Therin brushed Maeve away from the back of his chair. "So what's it got to do with this cup and knife?"

"Patience with my tale," Pinch advised as he held up one hand to restrain his lieutenant's impetuousness. "It turns out this story has a wise man, a priest-like there always is in these things. He said the choice should be up to the gods; let them pick the royal heir who was most fit to lead the city. He pointed out they could all slaughter each other for no gain but a smoking ruin of a city, or they could take their chances with the gods. How he got them all to agree, I don't know, but he did.

"So as the story goes, this priest and his servants go off praying and doing whatever it is they do, and after some time they return with the answer. And that an- swer is the Cup and the Knife."

"I don't see it," Sprite protested.

"Whenever there's a new king to be chosen and there's more than one contender, it's the Cup and the Knife that decide. Each heir takes the Knife, pricks his wrist, drips a bit of blood into the Cup, and mixes it with wine. Then he drinks the stuff straight down. If he's the one chosen by the gods, he'll be wrapped up in a ball of holy light, or something such. I never saw it done for real."

"So then, that's what's going to happen here soon, eh Pinch?" Maeve asked.

"And without this Cup and Knife, none of the princes can be crowned?" Therin added.

"So if someone were to steal them, they could name their price?" Sprite chimed in, scuttling to Pinch's feet. "We're going to steal them, aren't we? And then we'll ask for a ransom and clean out the royal treasury! It's genius, Pinch. Why, they'll know our crime from here to Waterdeep!"

He'd told them too much already, the regulator decided, and there was no need to tell them any more- not about Manferic, the switch, or what their fates were likely to be when the job was done. They were with him now, and there was no point in giving them unnecessary details, especially ones that might make them question his plans.