Sedgwick frowned. “You mean the actual end of the world.”

“Waking the Savior, or killing him, or just tipping him out in the street. It’s turned into a game of theological find-the-red-queen.”

“The Savior’s coming is supposed to be a good thing,” Sedgwick said.

“If that’s so, why are all the people looking forward to it the sort you wouldn’t trust with a wooden spoon?”

Sedgwick considered that for a moment, and his eyes darkened with doubt. “Are we getting to the part of the conversation where you ask me to risk my neck for your benefit?”

“No, but if you have some interest in doing me a favor, returning my clothes would be nice.” Sedgwick might not be a coward to the bone, but it was definitely tattooed into his skin; best to ask him for small things first.

Sedgwick stepped out of the partitioned-off area, looked around, and then disappeared for a moment before returning with Jean-Claude’s things. In his hands they looked like a stack of freshly folded laundry, but when he set them on the cot, the glamour drained away, revealing a bloodstained wad of fabric.

What was left of Jean-Claude’s clothes would have been wasted on a bird scare. He only got his drawers on with help, and he couldn’t manage the buttons on his doublet. The pirates had, of course, taken his weapons, his bag of tricks, and his coin purse. They had left the wallet with his passport in it. He looped its cord around his neck.

“It’s probably not even real, is it?” Sedgwick said. “The Vault, that is. I mean, people are always coming in from the wild with stories of finding the Vault of Ages, or the lost city of Rüul, and it always turns out to be either a mistake or madness or some kind of shell game.”

Jean-Claude worked his swollen feet into blood-crusted boots. “That’s true.”

“But you don’t believe it, or rather you do believe they’ve actually found it.”

Jean-Claude had given some thought to the evidence he’d seen, but had come to no conclusion. “I believe seeking the divine is more important than finding it.”

“How do you figure?”

“If the Vault of Ages is nothing more than one place with one key that can be opened by one person, then every other seeker has truly searched in vain.” Jean-Claude got his belt snugged on. “And even if the Vault is nothing more than a fancied-up ice house, do you imagine a loose bowel like Czensos ought to be the one to crack the seal?”

Sedgwick’s expression puckered. “He wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“That’s why I’m going to stop him, but I would beg a favor from you.”

Sedgwick withdrew half a pace. “Your need for help doesn’t translate into any need on my part to help you.”