Chester's sister was gone, and the swamp had swallowed her trail. He knew this because her boots left no prints past the crooked willow, and she never wandered far. So he left home after midnight, tall and broad in his half-blue, half-yellow jester clothes, sun and moon symbols stitched across the cloth. In one hand he carried a crystal ball. It burned bright blue and threw its light across the black water. He searched every hollow log, every reed clump, every crevice between the roots. "Little sister!" he called. His voice cracked. No answer came, only frogs and the drip of wet leaves. He climbed over a fat grey stump. Slimy black apples hung from its roots, each marked with a tiny skull. He did not touch them. He held the glowing ball higher and pushed deeper into the muck. Then the light showed a torn strip of yellow cloth snagged on a branch. Chester grabbed it. He knew that color. It was hers. His chest tightened. He turned in every direction, calling her name louder now. "Stop shouting. You'll wake worse things than me." The voice came from above. A small demon crouched on a low limb, red and purple, dressed in a jester's motley much like Chester's own. Bells hung from a two-pointed cap. Yellow eyes glowed in the crystal light. Chester had seen this creature before, at the edges of his search, always grinning, never helping. "Speenarr," Chester said. "You've been following me all night." "Watching," Speenarr said. They dropped to the mud without a sound. "You carry a lantern that screams to every hungry thing in this bog. Bold, for someone looking for a lost girl." The grin widened. "I know where the cloth came from." Chester stepped close, gripping the cloth. "Tell me." "A price first." Speenarr held out one clawed hand. "That pretty light of yours. Give it to me, and I'll show you the way she went." Chester looked at the crystal ball. Without it, the dark would close in. But the cloth in his fist decided him. He set the ball in Speenarr's palm. The demon laughed and snuffed the blue glow to a dim ember. The swamp went black. "This way," Speenarr said, and darted ahead. Chester stumbled after the bells. They stopped at the water's edge. Speenarr pointed a claw at deep, sucking mud that stretched into fog. Drag marks scarred the bank. Something large had pulled his sister across, toward a shape in the distance. "She was taken," Speenarr said, no longer grinning. "Not lost. Taken there." Chester saw it through the mist. An old wooden tavern leaned on the far side, its beams sagging, one lamp still lit in the window. His sister's trail ended at its door. He had traded his light to learn the worst thing yet, and now he had to cross the black water to reach her.

The black water soaked Chester to the chest before his boots found solid ground. He dragged himself up to the tavern door and pushed it open. Inside, one lamp burned. The floorboards sagged under his weight. A skeleton stood behind the bar, wiping a glass with a white cloth. He wore a deep red coat with gold trim and a black bow tie. His eye sockets glowed faint orange. He did not seem surprised to see a soaked elf drip across his floor. "You're wet," the skeleton said. "Sit anyway. I'm Mortimer. This is my house." Chester dropped onto a stool. His hair hung wet across his eyes. "I'm looking for my sister. Small girl. Dark purple hair, like mine. She was taken. Her trail ends at your door." His voice shook. "Have you seen her? Heard anything? Anything at all." Mortimer set the glass down. His bony fingers went still. For a long moment he only looked at Chester. Then he leaned across the bar. "A girl came through," he said. "Not by choice, I think. Something big carried her past that door. It didn't stop. It didn't drink." He tapped one finger on the wood. "But she dropped something." Chester stood so fast the stool fell. "What. Where." Mortimer turned and reached below the bar. He lifted out a small bundle and placed it in front of Chester. It was a worn bindle, tied at the top. The cloth was striped in faded pink, yellow, and blue. Stitched symbols ran across it, sun shapes and small marks. Chester's breath caught. He knew this bundle. She had sewn it from her old blanket. He had watched her knot it a hundred times. He pulled it close and worked the knot loose. Inside he found a folded scrap of paper, a smooth grey stone she liked, and a strip of dried food. His fingers found the paper first. He opened it. Two words, in her shaky hand: help me. Chester pressed the note flat against the bar. His jaw tightened. "When," he asked. "When did the thing pass through?" "Two nights back," Mortimer said. "It went east, deeper in. Toward the sunk ground where the mud eats horses." His orange eyes dimmed. "No one who follows that way comes back to my bar, boy." Chester tied the bindle to his belt. The note stayed in his fist. Two nights. She had been alive two nights ago. She had begged for help and left it where someone might find it. She had trusted that someone would come. "Then I'll be the first," Chester said. He walked to the door and looked into the dark. He had no light now. He had only her note and a direction. Behind him, Mortimer picked up his glass and went back to wiping. Chester stepped out into the wet night and turned east.