Qelmar reached the settlement with the Gang of Mischief at half past nine in the evening. By Belara’s rules, that meant he couldn’t set out again until half past nine the next morning.

  So when the sundial finally showed the appointed time, the children declared it was time to go. They kept their own schedule, and Qelmar had no say in it. He could have left earlier to make up for lost time, but the rules didn’t allow it—and the children wouldn’t have let him anyway.

  He had handled the fourth crisis point reasonably well yesterday, so today they marched off at the same pace they had set back in the palace courtyard in Ghurmaka. Soon, though, Qelmar noticed the children walking faster than before, and he couldn’t tell why.

  After nearly an hour on the road, he drifted into yesterday’s thoughts and stopped paying attention to his surroundings.

  They had been following country paths through fields and meadows since leaving the settlement. As they neared the place where the final conflict was supposed to happen, the children slowed, then finally stopped, about two hundred meters behind him. He didn’t notice until it was already done.

  When he came to his senses, he realized he was walking alone. The whole Gang of Mischief stood in a circle around Apron.

  When Qelmar went back, Apron looked at him with tears in her eyes and whispered, “I left my doll.” He knew exactly which doll she meant. She had carried it with her all the way from Ghurmaka.

  “I’ll buy you another. Two, even—so they can keep each other company and not feel lonely.”

  “But I wantmySkirty.” That was the doll’s name. “We have to go back. Skirty’s scared. She’ll be sad if I don’t come for her. She’ll want me to come.”

  “Apron,” he said, forcing patience into his voice, “we can’t go back to the settlement. We’ve been walking for an hour. I can’t allow such a delay. If we turn back, I’ll lose my chance to win this task the princess set for me.”

  “I won’t go without Skirty,” Apron sobbed.

  He sighed in despair.Working with children is just not for me. If only I could use force, I’d be showing some truly impressive results on this trip. Damn Belara and her ridiculous ban on violence. It’s driving me mad.The prince held his temper, for now.

  “Apron,” he tried again. “Look, I’ll give you the rest of my purse from yesterday. Still plenty of coins left in it. You could buy yourself twelve dolls if you wanted, even one embroidered with golden thread.”

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  “Stick your golden thread in your hat,” Snapper snapped at him. “Can’t you see she only wants Skirty? She doesn’t care about more dolls. She doesn’t care about your stupid coins either.”

  “You insolent brat,” Qelmar hissed, hand twitching for a slap. He stopped himself just in time and forced his breathing back under control.

  “Apron, I want to help you. Tell me what I should do. But we cannot go back. I can’t lose that much time.”

  “I want to go back for Skirty,” Apron said simply.

  Qelmar thought he might explode. Instead, he turned to the other children. “Go on ahead. Leave us alone. We’ll catch up.”

  The six of them walked slowly on, but not far enough to vanish from sight. At about two hundred meters, they stopped and waited.

  “Look,” Qelmar said, placing his purse on a rock jutting out of the grass. He pulled out a second one, still untouched, and set it next to the first. Then he took out a third pouch—this one filled with sweets—and added it to the pile.

  “All of this is yours if you keep walking.”

  “I don’t want it,” Apron whispered, eyes downcast. “Skirty was with me when I had a fever. Mother gave her to me then, to keep watch. I can’t just leave her when she stayed with me through that.” Her voice carried a mix of childish stubbornness and true sadness. She sat down in the grass, buried her face in her hands. Qelmar tilted his head back with a groan. Time was slipping away, and he was stuck with a sulking little girl.

  They sat facing each other—he drumming his fingers on his knee, she sniffling into her palms. His patience stretched thinner by the second. He searched for another argument; she refused even to look at him.

  Then came the sound of crunching gravel. Qelmar turned to see most of the Gang of Mischief heading their way. Their calm, steady steps were too practiced, too deliberate.

  When they reached her, Red—oldest of the girls—took Apron by the hands. “Apron,” she said gently, “Snapper says it’s time to go.” The tear-stained girl rose without a word, and the entire gang moved forward in unison. On the rock, the two purses of coins and the pouch of sweets lay abandoned, like worthless stones. His bribes hadn’t worked at all.

  Qelmar bit down on the bitter truth: his bribe had failed. Bribes were his life. But here, in Dusughbarah, they held no weight.

  Later he learned what had really happened. Red’s words—“Snapper says it’s time to go”—had been the signal. The moment Apron sat down to stage the final crisis point of the journey, Snapper had flipped an hourglass from his pocket. When the sand ran out, Red was to say the line, and they would move on.

  Qelmar watched them go, then jumped up and quickly caught up. After the incident they walked in silence. The brisk pace was gone, replaced again by the sluggish crawl that had clung to them the whole previous day. Qelmar felt every step drag him closer not only to the goal, but also to the judgment he dreaded.

  He was starting to suspect the children adjusted their pace depending on how well he handled each crisis. But he never got the chance to test that theory—no more conflicts lay ahead, only the destination.

  And soon it appeared before them: a small stone tower standing in the middle of the green meadows.

  As they came closer, Qelmar saw two carriages waiting. Standing beside them was the diplomat Jhalen, who greeted him with a smile.

  “Congratulations, Prince Qelmar. I see you reached the goal without using violence. Your task is now complete. You may take a seat in one of the carriages. We’ll return to Ghurmaka.”

  Qelmar climbed wordlessly into the first. The Gang of Mischief piled into the second. Jhalen sat with the prince, and the carriages rolled away.

  Qelmar’s first trial was behind him. The result was far from glorious. Out of five crisis points, he had handled only the fourth with any real success.

  Next up were Kelen and Malgorn. The same Gang of Mischief awaited them, with the same tricks. How would they fare?