They spent the day indoors.

With dawn’s light streaming in through the window, the night elf demurred, opting not to shift into a moonkin just then, but promising to do so when she returned that night to hear Aram’s decision about his next destination. She departed, instructing them all to get some sleep.

Aram found he was still carrying the burlap sack. He untied the thick brown twine that held it closed and pulled out, first, his new cutlass. It looked suspiciously like the cutlass he had given up the day before, and he didn’t think it unlikely that Gazlowe might have handed him Cobb’s cutlass back, while charging him a fee for the “exchange.” Even so, as he hefted it and sheathed it on his belt, he felt as if he had exorcised Cobb’s demons by the exercise. This cutlass now belonged to him.

Next, he pulled out a new shirt. The fabric was light and sturdy and of the same off-white color that his old shirt had once been—yet considerably less shredded, considerably less tattered.

Then he looked deep into the sack and smiled. He beckoned Murky over and, with a flourish, pulled out a brand-new set of fishing nets!

Murky practically swooned! “Mgrrrrl fr Murky?!”

“Of course they’re for you, my frund. Do you like them?”

Murky danced around the room, bubbling and purring with glee.

Makasa tried to grumble that now they’d be back to spending all their time untangling the murloc, but even she couldn’t help smiling at Murky’s rapture.

Carefully, Murky wrapped the nets round and around his waist until he was wearing them like a vest. Or almost. His thumbnail got caught in one of the loops, and soon enough—as Makasa had predicted—he was hopelessly tangled, turning in circles to get free, reminding Aram of Soot chasing his tail.

Makasa ignored the murloc and told Aram to try to get some sleep.

“After tonight? There’s no way.”

“You always say that. And you always fall right asleep. Try.”

That was true, so he tried. For a good hour, anyway. But for once, he was right. He gave up and spent an hour turning the pages of Common Birds, with Drella by his side and Murky and Hackle looking over his shoulder. He remembered his promise to teach them to read and used Charnas’s volume as a kind of textbook. The exquisite pictures of birds seemed to help connect the idea of, say, the image of a grackle with the sound of the word grackle with the letters that composed g-r-a-c-k-l-e. In any case, he was positive Drella was learning something, certain Hackle was enjoying the lesson, and satisfied Murky was happy to be among his f-r-u-n-d-s.

Afterward, inspired by Charnas’s work and their earlier conversation, Aram pulled out his sketchbook and one of his new pencils—which Murky and Hackle oohed and ahhed over as if they were brand-new magic wands—and got to drawing. From recent memory, he drew Springsong looking down kindly on Drella. Then he went further back and drew their underwater salvage mission being interrupted by the attack of the whale shark. Further back still, to the Bone Pile, and the Whisper-Man fighting the skeletons while Blackthorn shook his rattle and chanted over Taryndrella. He sketched Shagtusk in her prison of thorns. He sketched Feral Scar about to swallow Sivet whole, with Hackle hanging off the yeti and Makasa at the ready with her chain. (He even put himself in that one, looking much braver and more competent with his cutlass than he had any right to look. Well, Charnas had told him to use his imagination, so why shouldn’t he imagine himself competent and brave?) He sketched his memory of the view of Thousand Needles from Skypeak. He sketched the ogre king, Gordok, with his young female ogre servant. He sketched the entrance to Dire Maul. And then he pulled out the compass with its new iron chain and sketched that.

By this time, he truly was exhausted. He put the book away and quickly began to drift off, certain that he’d soon have another vision of the Light, another conversation with the Voice, and probably another confrontation with Malus.

But, no. Makasa roused him from a sound, restful sleep at sunset. Winifred, who had spent the day with her baroness, returned in time to serve them all a hearty meal of wild fowl (with plenty of yams and mushrooms for Drella) paid for by Gazlowe from Aram’s winnings.

Then it was time to venture forth again. He put on his new shirt—Winifred insisted on disposing of the old one, saying you couldn’t even make a decent set of dust rags from it—and slid his (presumably) new cutlass through his belt. With the compass in his tight fist, bucking and shifting, glowing and spinning away, he and Makasa set out to find the next crystal shard.

Far as Zathra could tell, Malus had no notion a da truth. Da twins kept deir traps shut, an’ she’d managed not ta show nuttin’ on her face. It hadn’t hurt dat Valdread an’ Throgg had both had near misses, too. She was lookin’ good by comparison, just by sayin’ she’d not laid eyes upon da boy.

So she was safe enough. But dat didn’t put her mind at ease. Da loa. Da loa. She’d nevah seen nuttin’ like dat before. Nevah! Da human woman and da gnoll had da respect—respect—a Eraka no Kimbul. Da dryad had put fear—fear—inta Elortha no Shadra. And da boy Aramar had a reckonin’—reckonin’—due wid Ueetay no Mueh’zala. What right did Zathra have ta get between such tings?

“What we ta do, sista?” she whispered as she stroked Skitter. Da scorpid was fast asleep on her chest, but it comforted Zathra some ta talk ta her.

“What?” Guz’luk said. He was walkin’ a few feet behind her. Malus still had his crew watchin’ all da gates an’ da docks, but he was tinkin’ da boy shoulda been here by now if he’d taken a boat from da Speedbarge. (An’ Zathra was tinkin’ he shoulda been here by now, too, assumin’ he wasn’t lyin’ dead in da desert.) So da Hidden an’ da Elite were patrollin’ da city day an’ night.

“Nuttin’,” Zathra said. “Keep an eye out, brudda, an’ be quiet.”

Da potbellied ogre grunted his acknowledgment.

Zathra thought, Dis all be beyond poor Zathra. I be no loa. I just be a troll. Dem loa can sort dis out for deir own selves. I been paid ta do a job. So dat’s what I be doin’. If da boy come in my sights again, he be one sorry human.

And den, as if ta test her, dere he was.

Following the compass through the uncooperative twists and turns of Gadgetzan’s streets, Aram and Makasa turned a corner and found themselves face-to-face with Malus’s troll and Throgg’s potbellied ogre. For a long moment, the four of them just stared.

Then Makasa grabbed Aram by his new shirt (tearing the collar just a bit) and pulled him back, yelling, “Run!”

They ran. Behind them they could hear the ogre’s horn, waking half the city and probably putting all of Malus’s dangerous crew on their tails. In any case, it was certain that Zathra was on their tails. Aram glanced back over his shoulder to see the troll coming round the corner, fast upon them.

Makasa had always had an excellent memory. She’d been to Gadgetzan before with Wavestrider and already knew the city a little. But these last two nights—in their attempt to follow the compass to the shard—had been a true education. They had slinked their way through so many byways and alleys of the place, she now knew exactly what route she wanted to take. Twists and turns, sharp lefts and hard rights. She was able to keep ahead of the enemy, despite being burdened with Aram. Without him, she’d have lost the troll by now. Or have turned and killed her. But she didn’t want to take that risk with her brother beside her. She was faster than Zathra, but Aram wasn’t. Fortunately, that potbellied ogre was slower still. He attempted to give chase but had fallen behind. The biggest danger from him was his horn. He’d puff his cheeks and blow at regular intervals. Malus and the others would be coming soon. She and her brother needed to get away.

Turning another corner, they were presented with an opportunity: a small two-wheeled horse cart (sans its horse). Makasa got behind it and pushed, just as the troll came around the bend. The cart slammed into Zathra. Makasa and Aram ran on.

They’d have to find the shard some other time. Right now, Makasa was just trying to get them back to Winifred’s. But she needed to do it when she was sure they were no longer followed. She pulled Aram down another alley, but just before they emerged from the other end, Aram stopped short and whispered, “Look!” He held up the compass; it glowed brighter than ever and tugged hard on its chain to the right. The needle also pointed to the right, toward a refuse bin against a wall. He said, “The crystal shard’s right over there somewhere!”

Makasa looked back over her shoulder. The troll and the ogre hadn’t turned down the alley yet, but she knew they would any second. This was it. This was the moment of truth. She grabbed Aramar by his breeches and hefted him up and over into the refuse bin. “Stay here,” she whispered. “Hide ’til they pass. Find the shard. Return to Winifred’s. I’ll lead them away.”

“Wait, no!”

“I don’t have time to argue.” She shoved his head down below the level of the refuse and said, “Do what I say, brother.” And off she ran.

When she got to the end of the alley and could hear the pounding of troll and ogre footsteps, she called out ahead, “Aram, keep moving! I’m right behind you!” And she turned the corner, slowing down on purpose to confirm they weren’t stopping to search the refuse bin. But seconds later, first Zathra and then the ogre emerged from the alley. Her ploy had worked. They were following her and assuming Aram was just ahead.

She knew exactly where she was going. Somewhere she could put an end to this long, long chase once and for all. Yes, she had a plan now. But in order for it to work—truly work—she actually had to give Malus’s crew time to gather. So she didn’t take the most direct route. Confident now—with Aram gone—in her speed advantage, she moved the race onto larger thoroughfares and streets. Soon Throgg and the blue ogre female had joined the chase. Then the Whisper-Man. She was hoping to wait for Malus himself, but she was running out of road. It was time. Or would have to be. She made one last turn and led them right inside the Thunderdrome.