He seemed to remember that ores cannot swim. That was just before he remembered Sister Krota.

Who had come out of her trance.

Yob saw only a tiny flick of her tail, heard the barest whisper of a warning, and then another strange, echoing

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roar from the water dungeon as Krota sailed at him like a javelin. Trying to duck her strike, he fell against the nearest column, dislodging a delicate elven skull from its place deep in the wall. Rotapan, coming right behind him, broke into another coughing fit from the exertion of the short chase, his grip on the staff failing as he doubled over again. The staff clanged down the marble steps, and Krota recoiled herself. Yob snatched Rotapan away just as the snake struck again with the force of a war hammer, bashing her head into the bone wall and leaving herself limp, stupefied, and powerless just long enough for them to roll the rest of the way down the stairs.

"You goblin-hearted fool!" cried Rotapan, oblivious to the fact that Yob had saved his life. "Where is my staff?"

Yob looked up the stairs, thinking that he had seen it as he tumbled down. But the staircase was empty.

For about three more seconds.

A low rumble began to shake the ground beneath them. Then something fell from the topmost stair of the temple. It was the elven skull. It landed near Rotapan's foot and bounced several inches up in the air. Yob picked it up, reverently brushing the sand from the slanted eye sockets.

"Sorry, Overking. I'll put it back." He began to climb back up to replace the skull when the rumble grew much louder and a strange, hollow music descended upon them as the top seven stories of Rotapan's temple began to drift slowly down in a cacophonous heap.

Their eyes upon the collapsing temple, they did not see Og reach from under Krota's pot and snatch up the staff and vault over them to safety as hundreds of bones rained in a sharp, hollow melody down behind him.

From her vantage point on a cliff high above the temple, Riolla patted at her brow and adjusted her hood.

Hmm… They left the temple… how extraordinary. Short audience. Old Rotapan must be furious; they are running hard. And is Maceo's cast-off love in some distress? Poor thing. They should be coming right back up here, where I will have a lovely chat with the digger and then grind Og into powder.

Riolla waited for a moment, thinking on the riches that would soon be hers. It would be a simple matter for her to coerce this young digger into leading her to the Clock, once Saelin had the girl in his clutches. But something wasn't right-Og's little group was running toward the Silver Sea. And-he had the staff! Then the top of the temple began to collapse and Riolla understood. She dabbed her upper lip, cackling loudly when she saw Rotapan hike his robes up and run after them.

"Oh, how delightful! The journey continues. I had no idea this trip would be so much fun, Saelin."

Saelin only snorted from his cushion. "Perhaps, my ecstatic empress, they stand a wonderful chance of being impaled by some of those bones, or drowned. I should like to see that as a matter of professional interest, though, admittedly, I will be very disappointed if I cannot be the one to use the girl's own weapons on her, then take the digger's head."

Riolla stopped laughing as Saelin's words conjured the vision of Cheyne dead of the bonefall, or of her chance of finding the Clock and its hoard drowning in that whirlpool.

"Onward, and double-quick! Follow the little wart with the staff," she cried in alarm.

Saelin looked at her in horror. "Honored Schreefa, I meant I should like to see it from up here!"

Riolla waved his words away and plunked herself into the seat next to him, sending Gahzi and the other weary runners hurrying down the far side of the cliff, toward the shoreline as the sedan followed behind.

Seconds behind her, Javin and Doulos crept over the bluff Riolla had just deserted.

the other side of the old bridge, you two! We have to try farther down-the cauldron!" wheezed Og.

Cheyne reached back, took Og by the cloak, and slung the smaller man over his shoulder. "Og, they are right behind us. Better an uncertain swim than a certain death. You can swim, can't you?" huffed Cheyne.

"No. Absolutely not. You should know that from the well in Sumifa."

"I still think you were faking that you slipped in."

"Truly, I was not," said Og. "Yob won't want to follow us into the water. He can't swim, either. But there's the whirlpool-and the monster."

"You said Chelydrus was imaginary!" barked Cheyne.

"I said no one had ever seen him," countered Og,

"Will you two set your minds and mouths to figuring out a way to survive Yob's spears first?" called Claria from in front. Somehow, even on the run, she had removed her boots, shoved them into her pack, and tied up her skirts.

"What were you doing in the well, Og?" Two nearly accurate spears chunked down to Cheyne's right and left.

"I was practicing, actually. Trying to get my voice back. Riolla had actually cast her glance my way the day I met you. I had hopes of, well… I fell in, but found that singing over the water seemed to help bring the magic. After all, I was still afloat when it summoned you, wasn't I?" He laughed.

Three more lances sprang up in front of them, causing Cheyne to veer, nearly dropping Og.

"Hey, will you be a bit more careful, there?" complained the little man.

Cheyne smiled despite himself. But then he got an idea, and none too soon: his boots hit the surf as a rain of spears fell at the shoreline.

"Can you find the same magic to float us over this water?" Cheyne asked while he swam out, still supporting Og. Claria raced ahead, doing a remarkably quick breaststroke.

"I really need more than this one stone to lift all of us…"

"There's a bit of a sandbar here," shouted Claria, her mouth just above the waves. "I can feel bottom, but the tide is rising, and there's an undertow. Hurry, Og. Sooner or later, it looks like everything goes down that vortex."

Cheyne caught up, dumped Og in a shallower place, where the water came up to just under his nose, and removed his own footwear.

"Og, can you do anything with what you have now? Ow!" Cheyne winced as he stepped onto something hard and sharp. He reached down and brought up a large, broken conch shell, poured out the sand and water it held, then began to examine its markings, his injury forgotten in the new curiosity. Claria ducked her head under a wave to hide her smile.

Og held his hand over his eyes, bobbed up and down on the sandbar, and peered around them. On all sides, the sea rose and fell in a liquid rhythm, deepening from pale green to dark blue only yards out from the sandbar. The cauldron's spray filled the air, making rain1 7 8

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bows in the sunlight. The only thing Og saw was a bit of flotsam tumbling strangely in the tide out a few yards to the left. But it seemed to be moving on its own power.

Og clapped his hands in glee. "Yes! I've got it," he bubbled, losing his footing to the rising tide. "Though the results may be variable…,"

Cheyne moved over and held him up in the water.

"Give me that shell and lift me as high as you can," Og sputtered. Cheyne lifted him to his shoulders.