Behind her, she could hear the shopkeeper giving chase and crying out, “Stop! Thief!” Why such a call was supposed to be effective, she wasn’t sure—it only made her run faster, picking out the fastest route back to the Salamander and wishing she hadn’t promised to stay out of the alleys. Absurdly, she felt rather like a child playing tag, running for home base, except that she was racing towards the Salamander after yet another thing had gone wrong, and the stakes were much, much higher.

Panting and trying not to panic, she at last spotted the Salamander up ahead, and put on a burst of speed. Her right hand, the one with the coins stuck to it, slammed into the door and she darted inside—only to nearly trip and fall when something pulled her up short. Her hand, she realized after a frantic moment, had stuck fast to the door when she touched it, and the hold had yanked her back mid-stride.

Perhaps because of the shock, or perhaps because this was just the last straw, the panic refused to be held back any longer, and Ishtal let out an awful, undignified yowl.

“Ishtal!” Kleev had spotted her and was hurrying over, eyes wide. “What in the world’s happened now?”

“I don’t know,” Ishtal gasped. “I’m stuck, things were sticking to me and I couldn’t pay and I had to run, had to get back here--”

“Shh, it’s all right.” Kleev’s voice was soothing as she reached out to clasp Ishtal’s left forearm in both her hands. “Just take a breath, it’ll be all right, don’t panic.”

“What’s going on?” Kosef appeared from a back room, expression tense and growing tenser as he took in her predicament. “Is it the Krakens?”

“No.” Ishtal shook her head. “Not that. It was all normal, everything was fine, and then things started sticking to my hands, the stuff I was buying and the money, and he said he would call the watch, and I ran, and now I’m stuck, and help!”

Kosef was across the wide room in several long, swift strides. “Ishtal, look at me, breathe,” he said, gripping her shoulders firmly but with his voice surprisingly gentle. “It’s all right, whatever happened, we can sort it out, mrasha, there’s no need to panic.”

“But he said he’d call the watch, and they’ll probably come here and I can’t hide because I’m stuck, and there’ll be more trouble for all of you, and I could get arrested, and…” One of Lilah’s other thieves had been imprisoned before, briefly, and had told stories of it once. Ishtal hadn’t really grasped the concept of a prison before, since the Onena didn’t have any, and had been horrified at the prospect of a cramped, dim stone cell with nothing to do and no way to leave.

“We’ll deal with it,” Kosef promised. “Kleev, would you get Tem and maybe Gruul? If we can’t get her free, we might have to break the door.”

Kleev nodded rapidly and darted away. Kosef’s attention swiveled back. “Breathe now, Ishtal. You’re not going to be able to think straight if you’re panicking.”

Ishtal made herself take the recommended deep breaths, and the panic slowly seeped away, with embarrassed pride rising up to take its place. “I’m fine,” she insisted, making herself look him in the eye for emphasis. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lose it—”

Then Kleev came half-running back, with Tem at her heels and Gruul lumbering along behind, and everything descended into chaos as the latter two set about trying to free her while dismembering the door as little as possible. 

It was in the midst of this, naturally, that a voice like an obsidian knife cut through the commotion. “What’s going on here?”

Ishtal froze, and in the very next moment the chunk of the door she was affixed to came free with a grunt from Gruul, and her shoulder jerked painfully again as the heavy wood dropped, taking her hand with it. With an effort, she hauled the wood up to rest against her hip, and then turned to see who had spoken.

The man standing on the threshold was wearing what looked like a green cloak, but thanks to Lilah’s tutelage, she recognized that armor and the truncheon on his belt. This was one of the city watch, and he’d clearly come for her.

He was, she speculated in the back corner of her mind still considering such things, most likely a half-elf—he had at least a portion of the irrefutable beauty that Plygiant had displayed, but he looked just slightly older than an elf ever got to, and his ears weren’t quite right, and he had cut his black hair short, close against his scalp. Mostly, however, what she was preoccupied with was the deep glare he was aiming her way, and the sharp, dark eyes cataloging her appearance: the green she was wearing, the things in her hands, the way she’d clearly been running from something just moments ago.

What he said, a moment later, took her by complete surprise. “I know you have Master Tvorog’s signet ring, thief. Hand it over peacefully, and it’ll go a bit easier for you.”

“What?” Ishtal shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have anyone’s signet ring.” She did know the difference between ordinary rings and signets, and she’d been told to avoid the latter because they were practically impossible to fence.

“Save your breath,” the watchman snapped. “I’ve paid a steep price and had a highly irritating morning to get that spell on you activated, and I know it’s you that has it. Hand it over—or rather,” he added, mouth twisting, “have one of your…associates fetch it, since I’d rather it not be adhered to you as well.”

Before Ishtal could protest again, with increased vehemence, that she didn’t have a clue what he meant, Marcienette came skidding into view, dodging around the watchman to get inside. “There you are! Good,” she gasped. “I was hoping I could warn you sooner, but—oh, well.” She turned and glared at the watchman, arms folded across her chest. “Captain Alfweard, let me explain.”

Ah. So this was the infamous Huwel Alfweard that she’d been hearing about.

He shot Marcienette an unimpressed look. “Why should I listen to a single thing you have to say? I know you’re in league with them, and the minute I get my hands on some hard evidence—”

“You’ll take great pleasure in locking me away forever, I know, I know,” Marcienette said impatiently. She glanced back at Ishtal. “Look, this should all be very simple. Ishtal, have you seen a man in ugly yellow robes in the past day or so, short and heavyset.”

Ishtal racked her brain. “Er…maybe?” And then she remembered—the man who’d shoved between her and Kosef the day before. She froze, knowing that her expression had to be incredibly guilty.

Marcienette stiffened. Behind her, Kleev, Tem, and Kosef inhaled sharply. Gruul looked like he was tensed for action, although the penalty for a troll taking a swing at the captain of the watch had to be stiff.

Memory was pouring through Ishtal’s mind, just as it had when Berezi delivered her accusations. She’d been caught off guard by the shoving, and not thinking, and her hand had moved without her realizing it and caught hold of…something hanging from the man’s belt. It was a little thing, presumably too small for his thick fingers. She could feel the hard lump of it in her pocket now—she hadn’t remembered to turn out her pockets the night before.

She had to say something. Obviously, telling the truth was out of the question—even if she hadn’t meant it, involuntary theft that she couldn’t control would probably still get her thrown in prison. Mind racing, Ishtal took a deep breath and tried to assemble a plausible explanation.

“Oh, yes! I do remember a man like that. He shoved right past me in the street; I remember thinking it was rather rude.” She had to be mistaking the faint twitch, adjacent to a smile, on Alfweard’s face. “And then…I remember hearing something hit the cobblestones, and I looked down to see what it was. I didn’t recognize it—I thought it was just an unusual kind of ring—but I thought it was interesting, so I picked it up. I would have called out to him that he dropped it, but he was in such a hurry that he’d already gone. I thought it must not have been so important if he’d just dropped it without noticing, so I didn’t think it would do any harm to keep it.”

One of Alfweard’s eyebrows had been rising higher and higher as she went on, but he didn’t disparage her story outright. “And where is it now?”

Ishtal jerked her head in indication. “My left pocket. I would reach for it, but…” She gestured with her occupied, sticky hands—and then a detail, previously missed, occurred to her. “Wait, did you say you’d had a spell put on me?”

“Yes,” Marcienette interjected, giving the captain a sharp look. “He did. I thought you didn’t hold with stooping to that.”

“On whoever had the ring,” Alfweard said through gritted teeth. “Believe me, it was a last resort, and not something I will be eager to repeat. Witches are always a mess to deal with.”

“I might feel more sympathy if you would lift the spell,” Marcienette said icily. “I assume you can, now that you’ve found what you’re looking for?”

“It’ll end when I’m holding the seal.”

Ishtal briefly flicked through the possibilities of the people around her. “Kleev,” she said after a moment, “could you please reach into my pocket and get it?”

Kleev did so at once, producing a small golden ring with a large, carved yellowish stone. Alfweard took it from Kleev without ceremony, but not rudely, and the moment he did so, the chunk of wood, parcel, and handful of coins all dropped out of Ishtal’s hands and fell to the floor in a commotion. She gathered up the latter two, and after brief consideration, held out the coins to Alfweard. “Can you take these to the dry goods shop on Razum Street? I’m afraid your spell made me run out without being able to pay.”

He blinked, but took the coins, and gave her and the others standing around her a long, evaluating look.

“By rights, I ought to investigate the lot of you for anything less innocuous going on. But,” he added grudgingly, “there doesn’t seem to have been any crime committed just now, and I need to get this back. So it’ll have to be another time.”

“Another time,” Marcienette replied sweetly. “Let’s not make it too soon, now.”

Alfweard shot a final scowl at her, and then turned and went on his way.

Ishtal just stood there, surrounded by varyingly confused people and the damaged, hanging-open door, and tried to let it sink it that she wasn’t actually going to be arrested today. 

The door to the back room creaked, and light footsteps mingled with the thumping of a cane announced Mr. Trippingly’s approach. “Has he gone?” he inquired. “What was all the commotion about, anyway? I couldn’t hear much besides that Alfweard had shown up.”

“Ishtal talked her way out of an arrest,” Marcienette said proudly. “That was some excellent lying; I couldn’t have done better myself.”

Which seemed like a strange thing to be proud of, but Ishtal decided, just for once, to accept it. She had managed, finally, to do something right, and it wouldn’t do to begrudge what that something had been.