Kalix Menethil had hunted the polar bear for a whole year, and he still did not know where it took his brother. Last winter the bear dragged the boy across the ice while Kalix's back was turned. He heard the scream. He did not see the direction. Now he stood at the edge of Churchill with a rifle and no trail, and the tundra stretched flat and white in every direction. Any way he walked would be a guess. He knew only one witness. People in town whispered about it, a small red creature that lived under the grain sheds. Most folks pretended it wasn't real. Kalix had run out of things to lose. He found it crouched near the frozen shore, gnawing a fish head. It had leathery wings folded tight and a ring of black horns above yellow eyes. When it grinned, every tooth showed. "You're the brother," the imp said. "I wondered when you'd come crawling." "You saw it," Kalix said. His voice shook. "The bear. Last winter." "Scorch Emberclaw sees everything on this ice." The imp tossed the fish head away. "Big white bear. Small screaming boy. Yes. I watched the whole thing from the roof." Kalix stepped closer. His hands curled into fists. "Which way did it go?" Scorch tilted his horned head. "Why would I hand that over for free? You people leave scraps out and call it charity. I want a real trade." "I don't have anything." "You have your back and your rifle." The imp's tail flicked. "There's a place out on the ice. A ruin of pale stone, all glass and color, like someone dropped a palace and forgot it. I want inside. I can't lift the doors alone. You carry me there, you pull them open, and I'll point you to your bear." Kalix stared at him. The imp could be lying. But Scorch was the only one who had seen the direction. Without him, Kalix would wander the snow until he froze. "Show me the way first," Kalix said. "Half now." Scorch pointed a clawed finger north and east, toward a low ridge. "The bear went that way, past the ridge, following the shore. That's true. The rest of the trail I keep until you keep your end." Kalix looked at the ridge. For the first time in a year, he had a direction. Not the whole path, but a start. His chest tightened with something close to hope. "Deal," he said. The imp climbed onto his shoulder, light as a cat, claws hooking his coat. "Then walk, brother. Your bear won't wait, and neither will my patience." Kalix turned toward the ridge and started walking. He no longer searched blind. He had a heading, a witness, and a debt he had just promised to pay.