The card sharp sighed. “Some virtue o’ the metal, some property arcane, or mayhap a fault in the way magic’s woven, who knows? Yet ’tis a fact. Silver’ll cut through any spell, and no curse works ’gainst it. So even if I’m t’be punished for me sins, still I can clutch silver coins.”

“Ah! Hence the silver chains—in the Burgrave’s dungeon,” Malden recalled. “I wondered why they would use such precious rope to tie you.”

“Aye, lad. Only silver can hold me, and most places’re too poor to afford so much as a silver bootlace. Ye can imagine the advantages this offers t’ a man o’ my profession.”

“And when you disappeared—I thought you had run up the dungeon stairs, but instead you must have just walked out through the walls.” Malden shook his head in wonder. “Yes, I can see how that would be advantageous.”

“Yer a smart lad, I can see,” Kemper said. “ ’Tweren’t easy, I don’t mind tellin’ ye. I had to walk through solid rock, aye, for what felt like leagues. Never really got a feelin’ for that. Ye’re blind as a bat the whole time, and wond’rin’ whether ye’ll come out sixty feet up over the Skrait.” The card sharp reeled a bit as he walked—clearly he’d been drinking himself and wasn’t quite sober. “Or, or, and this’d be worse, that ye’ll just keep walkin’, goin’ deeper and deeper into the world till ye come out again in the pit itself, with ugly old Sadu starin’ up at ye with them fiery eyes of his. I always figgered if’n that happened, I give him a proper salute, like, and walk right past like unto I owned the place. Confidence, confidence is key in our game. Hold up. Hold up, lad, I’m goin’ to piss.”

Malden stood at a corner and waited until the card sharp was finished. He had to admit a certain curiosity—would Kemper’s water be as immaterial as his body? He thought it impolite to ask, though.

“How d’you like the look o’ this place? Think they’d take kindly t’gamin’ inside?”

Malden looked up and saw that they had come to the door of another tavern. Such were not infrequently found in the Stink. He knew this one by its sign, which depicted an ogre’s severed head. “It’s where the local priest of the Lady comes to drink,” he said, shaking his head doubtfully. “Good honest folk come here.”

“Me favorite kind,” Kemper said with a smile. “Them’s as honest themselves never cease to doubt the honesty o’ their fellows. And if ye know a man don’t trust ye, ye know how to gull him, right enough.” He gestured for Malden to open the door for him.