That was when the door burst open to reveal at least three, and perhaps a dozen, copper-headed watchmen. Each bore a heavy two-handed crossbow, the type that could punch its way through the wall of a stable. Some carried torches and lanterns, and behind them was the giant Sunset in his crimson robes.

The two battling Demarests detangled and slowly rose, regarding the newcomers. I took another step backward. The window started looking like a better option all the time.

Sunset reached up and pulled his cowl back, revealing a very familiar, calm face.

Ampratines. Of course. I felt my heart start beating again.

The guards were not as sure as I was, and kept moving their aim from one twin to the next, unsure which was the true danger. Both thieves stood up uneasily, trying to put a few feet of distance between them.

I piped up. "The wounded one is real. The un-wounded one is the doppleganger."

The unwounded twin, Caspar/Raven/Doppleganger, wheeled in place and hissed at me, its fangs growing elongated and huge wings sprouting from its back as it did so. It leapt at me, intent on grabbing me as hostage and the globe as a prize.

Two things happened simultaneously. I threw the globe upward, toward the door and Ampi. And there were three or a dozen sharp twangs and the doppleganger collapsed on the floor.

The artifact floated like a soap-bubble across the room, and into the hands of Ampi.

Ampi looked at me, gave a short quarter bow, then dropped the globe.

It hit the ground with a resounding smash, and bits of colored glass spattered in all direction.

It was followed by me, I am afraid, hitting the ground in a dead faint.

Back on the balcony of the Nauseous Otyugh, I had recovered sufficiently to watch the sun rise over the ramshackle buildings of Scornubel.

"You could have warned me," I said, pouting over an ale. The djinni produced one more cold compress and placed it over my fevered brow. "You did not wish any warning," said Ampi. "I pursued matters as I thought I was best able. I have informed the local gendarmes that you realized the doppleganger was a halfling at the start, and played along to discover the location of the missing artifact. Therefore you are held blameless in this matter. The doppleganger is dead, and the thief Demarest, his former partner, has been cleansed of the poison and is ready to accept the town's justice."

"How did you know?"

"I did not know, exactly, though I thought the fact that you received fortuitous aid quite interesting. A word with the wait staff at the Otyugh ascertained that your help was the halfling, and it was not difficult to find a red-headed hauling wearing a straw hat in Scornubel. I noticed he was watching a particular inn, and let it be known at the inn that I was a wizard searching for a particular artifact. Demarest, hoping to unload the item before her partner caught up with her, contacted me for the meeting at the bar, where you saw us. That was when she tried to sell me the fake artifact."

My mind, battered and worn and threatened, skipped a beat, and I said, "Fake artifact?"

"Of course," said the genie. "As I explained to the watch, and took the liberty of putting these thoughts in your name, if the device was truly the described artifact, then I would be unable to get close to it, being a summoned creature myself. The fact that I could sit at the same table with it was sufficient proof that it was a phony, strung up with thin crystals and gases of various densities, such that one sphere would float within the next. At that meeting I purposefully failed to bring the money she wanted for it. From there it was easy to alert the watch of a possible break-in at Demarest's room. We arrived in time to hear the battle."

I shook my head, "Fake artifact? Then the dopple-ganger had the real Tripartite Orb hidden elsewhere?"

"The Raven was probably unaware of the fake as well, since he went to such efforts to recruit you as his pawn. And Demarest, if she had the true globes, would have let the Raven take the fake, convincing him it was the real one. Neither had time to build a replica."

"Then who built the replica?" I said. "Not Uncle Maskar."

"Your granduncle's concern was legitimate as well, I suspect," said the djinni.

"Then if not the thieves, and not Maskar…" I took a long sip on my ale bottle. "Uncle Maskar never had the real Tripartite Orb, did he?"

"I don't think so," said the genie. "After all, how do you test an item for magic that supposedly refuses all magic?"

I let a smile crawl onto my face, the first in the past twelve hours. "So old Granduncle Maskar was horn-swoggled in the first place." I chuckled at the thought. "I would love to see the look on his face when he gets my letter explaining that.1"

Ampratines made a solemn, low cough. That kind of cough he always makes when he disagrees completely, but cannot bring himself to say something outright. I cast my companion the eye, and he looked up, into the middle distance.

"If your granduncle never had the device," he said solemnly, "that means he would have to now get the device. And who better to get the device than someone who has already gotten the fake one?"

I let that sink into my ale-stained brain. "So the best thing is to not be here at all when he gets the word, eh?"

"Quite."

"Ah, well," I said with a sigh, draining the last of the ale and setting the dead soldier next to the others, "so much for an expatriate life in Scornubel. I think we need to move farther south, farther away from Waterdeep."

"I thought you'd think so," said Ampratines, with a smooth flourish producing our bags, "so I already took the liberty of purchasing the coach tickets. We leave in an hour."

Epilogue

Wes found his attention drawn yet again to the thin tome that had scared him earlier.

"The gods must be playing with me," he thought. "But the story about Jeffrey disappearing just might have some truth in it. How pleased the abbot would be with me if I solved the mystery."

He was torn between running from the room and wanting to finish Jeffrey's story. His hand shaking, he reached for the book and continued to read.

Jeffrey had gone to the north corner reading room and been at a loss to know where to start cleaning. The room was such a mess. Gathering a mop and bucket, he had lathered up the floor and then used a long-handled broom to sweep the cobwebs from the ceiling.

"Whew!" thought Wes. "This isn't me at all. I didn't mop the floor, and I haven't done the cobwebs yet." He felt a little guilty at this last thought and quickly returned to the story.

Jeffrey was tired after all the cleaning, so he had taken a short break. He leaned against a solid bookshelf and leapt back with a start as it moved.

"Whoa!" yelped Wes, and he pushed the tome away again. "This is too similar. How can this be happening?"

This time, it took several minutes before Wes felt ready to pick the book up again. Despite the cool room, he was sweating profusely.

He read that Jeffrey wanted to hide away from the monks for a while, even though he knew they would be angry when he eventually returned. The room was lit from an unseen source and filled with shelves, many of which had books or scrolls on them. A small table with a hard-backed chair was the only other furniture in the room.

Jeffrey selected a scroll at random and began to read. The scroll told a brief tale of a magical sword that could slay giants. Replacing the scroll, Jeffrey chose another and read its tale.

After many scrolls and tomes, Jeffrey spotted a very thin leather-bound volume wedged behind a shelf and…