We found the staircase, and followed it up to the twelfth floor without incident. In fact, everything proceeded so well, I was getting jumpy.

Jumpy, and short of breath. There’s a lot of stairs involved in getting to the twelfth floor.

Garrett didn’t share my apprehension. On the contrary, he shrugged when I whispered, “Are you sure we’re in the right place? We haven’t run into any trouble, and it feels so – dead. No pun intended.”

“Things do tend to go well when you plan beforehand. And stick to the plan.”

Yet another reference to the unfortunate incident that had ended our living acquaintance, so long ago. I shook my head. The guy could have taught my mom a few things about guilting people. And she’s Catholic. And a mother. The apex predator of all things guilt.

So I let it drop. If he was going to harp on the past instead of focusing on the present and our immediate future, well, there was nothing I could do about that, except keep my own eyes open.

The east wing of the Hall of Holy Relics looked just like the west wing. In fact, there was nothing to differentiate one wing from the other, at least if the hallways were any guide.

They were built of the same polished wood and gleaming marble, furnished with the same old world style benches and display tables, decorated with the same types of oil paintings and suits of armor and tapestries.

In fact, it felt like any one of the countless noble homes I’d robbed over the years: a bunch of expensive but ultimately useless trinketry adorning the walls, each piece fading into obscurity in the endless parade of wealth and status.

A far cry from the dismal concrete exterior.

But then, I supposed, that might have had some kind of political or public relations reasoning behind it.

They probably didn’t want the peasantry to get ideas above their station, for starters. Sure, they might have filled the Hall with soldiers and deadly robots – not that I’d seen any yet – but that didn’t mean their guards could hold off an entire sector. Maybe they didn’t want to flaunt the wealth and comfort nestled in the heart of so much misery.

Then of course, they didn’t want to beautify the sector either. Being here was a punishment, and every aspect of the place seemed designed to reinforce that feeling, from the ash storms to the homes to the grotesque architecture of the various work houses like the Alchemerium. So maybe the Hall had been built to be as ugly as possible, like some kind of reverse-property value thing.

I was tempted more than once to lift one of the lighter pieces, and drop it into my bag of holding. But we had a mission, and it would be just my luck that the whole place would come down around my ears the instant I touched a treasure, like Abu in Aladdin’s Cave of Wonders.

I’d always sympathized with the poor monkey in that scene – and I didn’t want to reenact it now.

Especially with Garrett in tow. It would be worth throwing myself on the bone saws just to escape the endless bitching that would ensue if I screwed up another mission.

So itch as my fingers might, I touched nothing.

And at last we reached the room in question: a huge marble warehouse, the setup of which looked like a cross between an oversized shop display and an oversized closet.

Hats of every variety and cowls of many hues propped atop featureless marble busts. Ornate pedestals displayed a host of shoes, boots, and slippers. Faceless statues wore cloaks and tunics, here a gown and there a matching set of trousers and top.

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A few sported armor. Not a full set, but random pieces – vambraces here, a gauntlet there, and so on. They seemed to be composed of a variety of materials. Steel, certainly, and leather. But I was pretty sure a few were more decorative than functional, being cast of silver and gold and inlaid with precious stones.

All seemed to be imbued with some kind of magic. I was not myself any kind of magician, but even I could feel the energy radiating from a few. And some literally glowed with enchantment. A set of silver greaves gave off a pale greenish light. A leather breastplate shone red. Yet another breastplate hummed, in low but audible tones.

Even more interesting, to me at least, were the mannequins that displayed sparkling baubles – little trinkets of precious metals and precious gems, worked together in dazzling, and doubtless expensive, designs. Designs that could undoubtedly fetch me a good price back in the Realm.

My fingers itched more than ever, and I made myself a promise. If we got the cloak and nothing bad happened, I’d help myself to a few of these baubles.

Just a handful on the way out.

Just enough to feather my nest if and when we got back. After all, I’d have to give the scepter back once we sprang Chucky Boy. Then I’d be right back to where I started: a few baubles away from broke, and owing a lot of bad people a lot of money.

Consoling myself with the possibility that those people might very well be dead already, compliments of the Sorcerer and his undead army, I pushed the thought of treasure out of my head.

Cloak first. Profit later.

Garrett had already mentioned that the room, and indeed the Hall itself, would be mostly empty, and this proved true.

For all the clothed marble mannequins we found, plenty more sat awaiting their treasures. And for all the space that held mannequins and busts, plenty more sat empty.

Which made locating the Cloak of Kharon easy enough. There were only four cloaks or capes or capelets in the room. The capelet, we ruled out at a glance. It was light and breezy, something suitable for a slight chill.

No one would ever confuse it with a cloak.

The others were a bit trickier. It wasn’t until I’d reached the Realm that I realized there was a difference between cloaks and capes. I still didn’t know if that was a Realm thing, or if it would have held true back on Earth too.

But in the Realm, cloaks were longer and provided fuller coverage than capes. In theory, anyway. The line had apparently blurred over the years, with heavier capes and lighter cloaks making their appearance as fashion trends changed, until in the end, it all more or less meant the same thing anyway.

Of the remaining three cloaks or capes or whatever the hell they were, one reached the marble mannequin’s feet, another its shins, and the third its backside.

And of those three – any or all of which might have been called a cape or a cloak, depending on who you asked – only one had a hood.

Kharon – my guide Kharon – wore a cloak with a hood. I didn’t know for sure if he’d been the inspiration for this particular treasure, but working on that assumption, I figured this must be the right one.

I started to explain my reasoning to Garrett, but he interrupted by tapping a small bronze plaque at the mannequin’s feet.

It read CLOAK OF KHARON.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, uh, yeah, or we could just do that.”

He grinned but said nothing.

For several seconds, we stood staring in silence at the cloak. Finally, I prompted, “So, we going to get this thing or what?”

“I don’t see any pressure plates,” he said.

“Me either,” I agreed. Which was true, but equally true that I hadn’t been looking for them. I did so now, and like him, saw nothing.

Either the mannequin had been constructed with exquisite care to hide every false surface, or the traps were fully hidden under the cloak, or they didn’t exist.

Still more uncertainty than I cared for, what with bone saws being a possibility and all. But not much we could do about it.

He reached for the cloak, letting his hands hover above it, then turned back to me. “Ready?”

I nodded and resisted the urge to take a step backwards.

Slowly, carefully, he laid first his fingertips, then his whole hands on the cloak.

Nothing happened.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, and at the same time, heard him do the same. That made me smile. So even old pros got the jitters sometimes.

Just as slowly, he pulled the enchanted cloak off the mannequin.

Nothing happened.

He took a step back away from the display, cloak in hand.

Nothing happened.

Turning to me with a grin, he draped the cloak over his shoulders. At which point, two things happened. My objectives updated – we had successfully stolen the cloak.

And he disappeared.