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representation of a stag in red paint. The painter was a master artist to capture the antlers, the delicate stance, the curves of back and belly, in only a few brushstrokes.
    The high brunka opened the door, which had no lock, and closed it behind them. “This is my chamber. Folks see guards by the Goat Room and believe the Replica is there, but I kept it here. Anyone who plotted to steal it would be planning to take it from the wrong room.”
    Glowworms lit this space, too. The bedsheets and blanket were rumpled. A high brunka who didn’t make her bed might like such chores as little as Elodie did. The chamber had a fireplace, which was empty, since the air was warm.A rack, hung with spare hose and a spare shift, stood to the side of the fireplace. Elodie looked away, embarrassed to see the exalted brunka’s undergarments. “Why is there a fireplace when you don’t need it?”
    â€œThe early brunkas didn’t know the temperature would stay warm all year. Only the great hall gets cold.”
    The other furnishings were a padlocked chest, a shelf above it that held a pile of small wooden arches painted in rainbow colors, a low stool, hooks on the wall, and a hanging that depicted a female brunka standing before a cottage on the Lahnt plateau. Another door, without a lock, provided a second exit.
    â€œWhere does that lead to?”
    â€œThe storage room we passed before.” High Brunka Marya straightened her sheets.
    Embarrassed at being caught with an untidy bed?
    â€œThe lock on the storage room door was made on the mainland. I was assured it cannot be picked. Safe as the heart in your chest, they said.”
    â€œIs the door locked on the inside, too?”
    â€œNo, lamb, only on the corridor side. If you’re inside the storage room, you just lift the latch.”
    â€œWho has a key?”
    The high brunka showed Elodie a large silver key among a ringful of keys fastened to her belt. “No one else has it. But if the thief was in here, picking wouldn’t havebeen needed. My bees will search the storage area first.”
    Elodie felt a bubble of hope. It might be that simple. “Was the Replica in there?” She pointed at the chest.
    â€œNo, lamb. You see, my fireplace needs more daub.”
    Daub made of dried mud and straw cemented the stones together in a fireplace or in walls. Elodie didn’t see what missing daub had to do with the Replica.
    High Brunka Marya brought the stool to the fireplace and stood on it. “I don’t know why I closed it up again.” She began to pull out loose stones from the chimney about a foot above the mantel to reveal a hole.
    Lambs and calves! If Elodie had managed to get in to this chamber and had known the Replica was here somewhere, she wouldn’t have more than glanced at the chimney.
    The high brunka stepped down to let Elodie see, and she climbed up, too.
    There, immured in the chimney wall behind the facade of stones, was the pedestal, cloud gray marble shot through with lines of white and patches of gray and black.
    â€œHow tall is it?”
    â€œTwo and a half feet.”
    Elodie stuck her hand in and explored the top with her fingers: square, perhaps ten inches on a side with a three-inch groove in the middle. “Is there a ridge in the Replica that fits the slit?”
    â€œExactly, lamb.”
    â€œIs the magic in the pedestal?”
    â€œI don’t know, lamb. I always supposed it was in the Replica. Perhaps it’s in both.”
    Elodie nodded, then pivoted carefully on the stool, memorizing the room for her masteress. No trapdoor in the rock floor, none in the rock ceiling. She prayed she hadn’t missed anything.
    High Brunka Marya’s face had a listening look.
    â€œExcuse me. Can you hear what Ludda-bee and Johan-bee are saying?” Elodie couldn’t hear even a murmur. Maybe one of them had divulged something useful. “Can you hear them as clearly as you can