"Sprite-Heels, shut up and drop me a rope!"

"Oh… right. Right away." The head disappeared to do his bidding.

While he waited for the rope, Pinch probed through the ash, mindful of the goods others had left behind. There was little of account, a few daggers with promise and some loose coins, but Pinch wasn't really searching for them anyway. At last he came across the things he really wanted-the false Cup and Knife that Iron-Biter had casually discarded. He also found his gleaming set of custom tools, though the black cloth wrapping was nothing more than a few burned scraps. By the time these things were carefully bundled up, the rope dangled within his grasp.

Getting back up with only one good hand was no easy task, not made any better by the fact that Sprite was hardly a match to hoist him. When at last he finally thrust his head through the shimmering field of false marble and rolled himself over the lip, the man collapsed on his back and panted for breath.

"Iron-Biter said you were dead. Pricked you with that skene of his."

Sprite turned from the window where he'd been keeping watch and pulled open his cloak. Half his shirt was a great red stain, and at its center was a crude bandage the halfling had applied.

"Iron-Biter, eh? That's dwarves for you, thinking with their weapons and not their heads. See-if it were you he would have been right, but I'm not your kind. You'd think even a stupid dwarf would know a halfling's got a strength against poisoning just like them.

"He jumped me in the bushes and poked me with that blade of his. That venom was caustic, but it didn't kill me. Knocked me flat for a time, it did, so he must've figured he killed me. What I don't see is how such a cousin could get on me unadvised."

"Magic," Pinch croaked. His throat was raw from smoke and dry for lack of drink. "The bastard's got more magic than any proper dwarf I know. Snared me the same way."

Sprite nodded. "What happened down there? Was he down there?"

The regulator struggled to his feet. "He's bolted. Back to Vargo, I'd think. We're best off before more priests come. There's more to say later."

"What about that?" Sprite nodded toward the shelf where the artifacts rested.

"Let them rest," Pinch said with a smile. "Pater Iron-Biter wasn't quite as clever as he thought."

Working together, the two thieves managed to lower themselves out of the tower, not an easy task for two walking wounded. Sprite-Heels had made light of his wounds, but by the sheen of sweat that rose with every effort, Pinch could tell fighting the poison had taken more from him than the halfling let on. There wasn't much to be done for it but press on, though. By the time they'd crossed the last wall and reached the safety of the heavy shadows in the alleys outside, the two could barely stand on solid legs. Given that they were staggering anyway, Pinch paid a coin at a tavern window and bought them each a skin of good wine. His tattered and dirty state hardly raised an eyebrow with the wench who served him. In the hours before dawn her establishment had all manner of customers, and Pinch was just another filthy beggar up on his luck.

Fortified, refreshed, and rewarded, the two went lurching through the streets. "What now, Pinch?" Sprite asked after a long medicinal pull at the jug. "I could use a touch of comfort for me side."

"Healing," Pinch grunted, pulling the jug from the halfling's hands. Sweet wine trickled through his beard as he gulped down their improvised painkiller. His hand throbbed mightily, so much that he could barely flex it. "Got to get this fixed 'fore it ruins my trade.

"Can't go back to the Red Priests," the rogue muttered to himself, pondering their problem with excessive effort. A night's worth of black work and the beatings he'd taken made the alcohol doubly potent. "Don't want no one knowing of this…"

"What about Lissa? She's still around, ain't she, Pinch? It's a wager you could persuade her into helping us-especially if you got me there to cross-lay the tale."

The suggestion made Pinch grin. " 'Struth, she stands mostly favorable with us-and I've got just the tale for her. Come on, Sprite. We're off to the house of the Morninglord."

Half-lurching, the two walking wounded wound through the alleys to the temple of the Morninglord. Being mindful of their previous company and made worrisome by drink, the pair watched their trail closely for any sign that might reveal an invisible shadow. Only when no alley cats hissed unexpectedly, no splashes appeared in empty puddles, and no gates opened of their own accord did the two set course for the temple.

The Morninglord's shrine was a pizzling affair compared to the grand glories of the house they'd just left. As was the custom of the Dawn Priests, the temple was at the easternmost end of the easternmost street in the city. It was one building with a single tall tower, both featureless from the west. The eastern side of the building was no doubt lavishly decorated for the dawn god to see, marked by stained glass windows that opened onto glorious altars. This was all well and good for the faithful but did little to create an impressive public facade, and the temple languished as a consequence.

It was an elf who answered the door, dressed in the garish yellow, orange, and pink robes of the order, although the colors were faded and his sunburst tiara a bit shabby. Though it was near enough dawn for worshipers to come to service, the sallow-faced elf viewed their arrival with a start of surprise, as though visitors here were as unexpected as rain in the desert. He murmured expressions of greeting profusely as he showed them in, and for a race noted for its haughtiness, he managed to bow and scrape most ambitiously. It was a sign of how hard up the temple was if this elf was willing to fawn for donations from a pair as raggedy as them. The regulator put up with it as long as was necessary to send for Lissa.

When the priestess appeared, it was in the full robes of her order, and Pinch was frankly shocked at the transformation. The robes imbued her with a radiant femininity that had been hidden beneath her plain working dress. It was clear he'd been too quick to dismiss her before. The orange, the pink, the golden ribbons, and the sun-sparkled headdress that had looked tawdry on the elf shone on her like cloth of gold. Her hair escaped the edges of her headdress, and her face beamed with fresh-scrubbed brightness.

"Greetings, Lissa," he began with an unfeigned awkwardness, so suddenly taken aback by her beauty, "I- we-have come for you help-"

"You look terrible, Master Janol! What happened?"

Lissa's compassion was just as Pinch had hoped, and his nervousness faded as she gave him the opportunity to spin his tale. "Thieves-we were set upon by thugs looking for the amulet. Sprite's been stabbed." The half-ling picked up his cue and gave an appropriate groan at this point.

"But you-your clothes-" She stopped, noticing the putrid smell about him for the first time. "And… your appearance."

"A bath and clothes will set me right. I seem to be going through my wardrobe of late." Pinch tried to make light of his own state. Now that he was here, it did not seem such a good idea to reveal the brand that the amulet had given him.

Discretion failed him though, for Sprite blurted, "And his hand-he hurt his hand too, miss."

Pinch gave Sprite one of those glares, and the half-ling could only look drunkenly sheepish as Lissa firmly examined the regulator's burned hand.

"What did this?" she demanded. By her tone, it was clear she already knew the answer. "You've been marked, haven't you?"

"Marked?"

Her soft compassion was replaced by earnest concern. "The amulet-you were holding it?"

Pinch nodded to buy a little time to create an embellishment to his story. "When the thieves jumped us, I sought to protect it. I was sure they meant to steal it, so I held it in my hand."