With a wave of my hand to get Scooch to step back, I place the bauble and the slab on the table. All of the spears are still locked in place, and the wreath around the sphere still points off in a random direction. Just in case, I put the bauble in the middle of the slab and carefully lean back from it. Nothing happens, which is what I expected, but now everything’s out in the open.

  I plant my elbows on my knees and lean down to rest my chin on my fists. Even if I don’t have a new trinket to add to the pile, I have a new name. When I combine that with all the other facts I know, something has to pop out.

  “Fifty six and three sixteenths of a pound. The way we had to phase in the monster. How the plastic in the graveyard felt like it was on autopilot, and the stuff in the monster somehow felt both alive and dead.” I murmur in thought. “Then there’s the three words; Mary, Well, and Den. There’s only so many combos they can make, and since we haven’t seen more than those three, they have to be the only important ones.”

  Scooch watches silently as Pearl hums in thought. “There’s also the fact that all the combinations of words have been one word alone and two words together. If we hadn’t come here, I would’ve thought it had to be in the order ‘two, then one’, but Well proves that wrong.”

  I nod in agreement. With that logic, there’s twelve total possibilities for word combinations, and we’ve found exactly half of them. Denmary Well, Maryden Well, Well Denmary, Well Maryden, Wellden Mary, Denwell Mary, Mary Denwell, Mary Wellden, Wellmary Den, Marywell Den, Den Wellmary, and Den Marywell. If there’s exactly one clue that leads to each of these names… then is this one used up because Stonestep Solutions got here first?

  “Haah.” I sigh. “Just going around in logic circles at this point. The two things don’t do anything when they’re together, unless I’m missing something. How about you? You see anything?”

  Scooch tilts his head to the side and points up at himself. I nod in confirmation, and as a smile creeps across his face, he kneels down on the other side of the table and leans in extremely close to the stone things. With his nose almost touching the wreath, his eyes darting around the edges and lingering on the writing, and his breath shaking the spears in their indents, he’s about as focused as I can imagine anyone being.

  But he doesn’t look like he’s finding anything. Observing, sure, but not finding anything out of the ordinary. I shift a little closer so I can follow where his eyes are looking. Right now, he’s focused on the words ‘Denmary Well’ carved into the slab. Then his eyes dart to the words on the wreath, linger there for a second, and then dart right back to the others.

  “Did you find something?”

  He purses his lips. “I’m not sure if I have, but these carvings are exactly the same save for the capital letters. And they’re in English, which is quite strange–almost all quest-related items are written in the common tongue. Whatever carved these letters was almost definitely automated.”

  I lean in further. “How can you tell?”

  “Before I make any claims, let me confirm something.” He says as he closes one eye and moves his open one so close to the stone that I wince. “Hmm… yes… it’s undoubtedly true. The depths of each of these carvings and their widths are perfectly equal–something that a living hand would never do.”

  “Not ‘could never’, but ‘would never’?”

  Scooch pulls back and opens his other eye. “Yes. For a truly skilled craftsman, machine-like perfection is boring. There is no flair in this writing, no inconsistency, and not a trace of magic. Someone used a machine to make this, or they made the stone itself with the words already carved into it.”

  I’d never even thought of that possibility. “What about the spears?” I tap one for emphasis. “Are they all perfectly even too?”

  He nods.

  “Damn. I have no idea what that means, but it’s something.” I mumble and fiddle with one of the spears. “Can you tell if they have any function at all, or if they’re… I don’t know… leftover parts? Maybe you’d use them in making something?”

  Silence greets my question for a good long while as Scooch raises a hand to his mouth. He mumbles to himself as he thinks, which lets me know that there’s not something obvious I’m missing–or else he wouldn’t have to think so long on it. I trail my finger to the edge of the slab and absentmindedly rotate it to try and align ‘Marywell Den’ with ‘Denmary Well’ while I’m waiting.

  It works. Nothing happens when the two words align. I grimace down at the slab and move my hand away, no closer to understanding what the hell it’s supposed to be used for.

  “The spears don’t fit perfectly into the slots.” Scooch eventually says. “Someone hollowed out the slots, then crafted all those spears in perfect unison to fill them. So I would say they serve some purpose, but I have no idea what that purpose may be.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Hmm. Pretend this is a… game board, or a map, or something. Can you think of anything those spears would be used for?”

  Scooch nods. “If it were a game board, I would assume they are either the game pieces or a way to tally points. And if it were a map, I would assume they are markers so you can remember where a point of interest is or to designate your destination.”

  That’s about what I’d think, too. But if this is a map, or even a game, then it’s missing way too much. No markings at all, save for the words, and nowhere to actually put the spears where they wouldn’t just roll away. I grab one out of its slot, spin it around in my fingers, then lean back as I bring it close to my face.

  “Do you think it’s possible we’re missing another piece here?” I muse as I poke the spear against my fingertips. It hurts a little, but it’s also strangely satisfying. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence that the spears fit in the slots, and there’s another slab that sits on top of the one I already have. And that slab has places for the spears to go.”

  Scooch hums. “I’m not convinced you’re missing anything. Do you have any proof at all that you need more than one of these things to find the quest? Because if you don’t, then you should proceed with the assumption that just one of them would be enough to eventually find said quest.”

  “‘Eventually’ being the key word there.” I say.

  “Yes. On their own, they should be able to lead you to where you want. Putting them together should only make the process faster and easier, not possible.” Scooch raises an eyebrow, then turns to face the curtain. “Clamber, can you still hear us? I have a question for you.”

  A small whoosh of magic, and my awareness feels Clamber again on the other side of that curtain. “Yes, I’m here. I heard everything, too, so ask away.”

  Scooch holds one arm over his stomach, then raises his hand to his face. He rests one finger below his bottom lip, like he’s one second away from chewing on it, and almost barks. Clamber tilts her head to the side, forehead furrowing in uncertainty.

  “No, I don’t think we’re trusting them too quickly.” She says defensively. “Don’t try to pin all this on me, either–you’re the one that got over excited and told me to bring her back here.”

  I crack a small smile. “I should be the one worrying about trusting you two, not the other way around. Since I’m the one that’s risking Stonestep Solutions’ ire.”

  Clamber points at me through the curtain. “They’re right. Even if they have a mask, Stonestep Solutions is dangerous. Just because they smell and feel like a friend, it doesn’t mean they can feel the same thing from us.”

  “I… feel like a friend? What does that mean?”

  “It means you are… different.” Scooch says slowly. “You feel like a Paindne, just like us, but… ancient. Reliable. Powerful in a way that’s comforting, not terrifying.”

  “Just like the Great Ancestor from the stories!” Clamber adds eagerly. “But… real, obviously.”

  At the words ‘great ancestor’, my mind instantly turns to Illumisia. “Who’s this ‘great ancestor’?”

  “Oh, it’s just a story daddy used to tell me when I was little. Apparently, a long time ago, our species split in two; the Paindne, like us, and the Painted Danes, the feral, animalistic ones. The system liked us, so we got Classes, and it hated the Painted Danes, so it made them enemies that you can kill for Worth.” Clamber says easily. “The Great Ancestor is the common link between the two, from right before they split–so they apparently have all the good things about both the species that came after them.”

  I snort in amusement; the idea of Illumisia ever walking on two legs like a Paindne just seems way too foreign a concept. But it seems like the story’s about her. I wait for Clamber to continue, but instead, she just starts talking with Scooch about the jewelry she’s making.

  “Uh, isn’t there more to the story?” I cut in as they’re deciding if Clamber should make a necklace or an armband. “Does the Great Ancestor have a name? Why do you think I smell like she does if you have no idea what she’d even smell like?”

  Clamber pauses. “That’s a good question. Daddy never said they had a name, or even what gender they were. But for some reason, you just feel like the feeling I got when he told me all the stories; comfortable, safe, and like… home.”

  “All the stories?”

  “Oh, yes, all the stories. Scooch, there should be one–”

  Scooch holds up a well-loved paperback book. “I already have it, young lady. And I would recommend an arm band–a necklace would be too loose for our customer here.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, too. Can you get the measurements for their arm?”

  “Of course, young lady.”

  “Thanks! Oh, um, let me show you the work in progress.” Clamber stands, throws the curtain back, and walks right back to her spot on the couch with… something in her hands. “It’s all fired now, but I want to get your opinion on the shape. Usually we do ovals, triangles, squares, and circles, but since this stuff is so malleable I can make pretty much any shape you like.”

  She sits down next to me as Scooch places the book down next to the slab. I can just barely make out an embossed title a third of the way down the cover: ‘Shoremoon Detective Club: the case of the Skittish Scout’. I stare at it for a few seconds trying to piece together just how that’s supposed to be a book about Illumisia, but the more I try to come up with an explanation, the more confused I get.

  But I’m definitely bringing this up the second we meet back up. She’ll either love this or hate it–and either option is entertaining as hell for me.

  Clamber sets the work-in-progress down on the slab. Before she can get a word out, the material lets out a low, gong-like ring. Our collective attention snaps to the slab, where the spears begin to vibrate in their slots and the very words carved into it seem to… swim across the stone. Positioning themselves in a slightly different place than before.

  And at the perfect center of everything is Clamber’s work in progress.