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“There’s been an escape,” Azrael said, peering into the darkened stone room. “One of the gargoyles has fled the mountain colony.”

“Unfortunate,” a gravelly voice came from the gloom.

Azrael ventured farther into what was revealed to be a laboratory, lined with books and lit with naked bulbs. “Unfortunate for us both if the mountain is discovered, my friend,” she said. “You helped me build it.”

“What my creations are used for is not my concern,” replied the voice. “Although I do stand by the quality of my work. Give me that pendant back.”

“What do you mean?” Azrael asked curiously, fishing her silver and blue triangular pendant from the front of her robe.

“It grants its wearer insight, does it not? Yet you attempt to sway me with empty threats and false friendship. It must be failing. Give it here.”

Azrael rolled her eyes, dropping the pendant back into her robe. “Very droll. Let’s drop the silly protocols, then. I need you to find her. Name your price.”

A large middle-aged white-haired blue gargoyle wearing goggles and a grey robe sat behind a stone table littered with small lumps of gold, holding a gold chain in his bandaged claws. “Don’t be ridiculous,” the Stoneweaver rumbled. “I’m not some kind of… wizard detective. Not any more.”