“Are you mad?” Okros actually put his arms around the thing as if guarding a small, helpless child from a ravening wolf. “You will take nothing! This object is worth more than Funderling Town itself!” He stared at Chert, eyes narrowed to slits.

“Sorry, my lord. I only thought…”

“You will remember that it is an honor even being called to consult. I am the prince-regent’s physician—the royal physician!—and I will not be trifled with.”

Chert suddenly and for the first time felt frightened, not just of Okros himself—although the man could call the guards and have Chert locked in a dungeon in moments if he wished—but of his strange feverishness. It reminded him more than a little of the odd behavior he had seen from Chaven. What was it about this mirror that turned men into beasts?

“If anything,” Okros said, “I should come and examine the library in Funderling Town. The Guild would make it available to me, of course.”

Chert knew this would be a bad idea in many ways. “Of course, my lord. They would be honored. But most of the knowledge about subjects like these glasses cannot be found in books. Most of it is in the minds of our oldest men and women. Do you speak Funderling?”

Okros stared at him as though he were joking. “What do you mean, speak Funderling? Surely no one down there speaks anything but the common tongue of the March Kingdoms?”

“Oh, no, Brother Okros, sir. Many of our older folk have not left Funderling Town in years and years and they speak only the old tongue of our forefathers.” Which was not entirely a lie, although the numbers who could only speak Old Funderling were tiny. “Why don’t you let me go back to the Guild with your questions—and my observations too, of course—and see what answers I can bring back in a day or two. Surely for someone as busy as yourself, with all your responsibilities, that would be the best solution.”

“Well, perhaps…”

“Let me just make a few notes.” He rapidly sketched the mirror and its frame and made notations in the margin just as he would have while planning a particularly intricate scaffolding installation. When he had stalled as long as he could, he remembered something else Chaven had told him, which had made no sense but which he wanted Chert to discover. There had been some artful way he had wanted Chert to pose the question, but he couldn’t remember, so he just asked bluntly. “Have you seen anything unusual in the mirror? Birds or animals?”

Okros looked at Chert as though he had suddenly sprouted wings or a tail himself. “No,” he said at last, still staring. “No, I told you it was lifeless.”

“Ah. Of course.” Chert bowed, hung his slate around his neck, and backed toward the door. He no longer thought Okros quite as friendly and harmless as he first had. “Thank you for the honor of asking for us, my lord. I shall consult with my fellows in the Guild and return soon.”