Arlen asked, "Are these Builders still here? Maybe they're the golems themselves? How can this maze of yours be producing more and more trinkets over time if they're gone?"

The other table guests had more to say on the subject than Meadow did. One said, "We don't truly know, but any remaining Builders never show themselves. Our legends say that they were people, tail-less ones like you, who lived here long ago. Kind, but strange and living mostly apart. Then they left for reasons we don't know."

"But they only left ruins on this island?"

"No, they left bits and pieces in the Mire that we've never gotten to look at, and some remains on Newshore that the ghosts guard. But the golems only show up here."

Arlen looked longingly at his empty plate. "Most likely then, the instructions haven't changed in ages. They're going to be either written inside each golem, or coming from some central voice inside the island."

"A voice?"

"Um, yes; think of it as a kind of whistling too high for your ears to catch."

"Like a dolphin's squeaking?"

"Something like that. My point is that something in your maze might be speaking silently to them to command them. Do they work together, so that one of them knows what another one is doing at the same time?"

Meadow said, "I haven't tried that idea out! See? He's useful."

The man at the chief's left said, "She's drifting off topic again. You too, Arlen. Imagine that you are the islands' overlord, and you don't care one whit about how many people die in the process of fully taking over a troublesome island. Similar to what's going on at Newshore. Based on what you've heard, what might you try doing to get past the golems and build things on their land?"

Arlen frowned. "I wasn't going to suggest it..."

"Imagine you are Thoko."

"Send children to explore and build, on the theory that the golems don't bother them."

The chief applauded sarcastically. "You have a little in common, then. When he made us try that, it was one of the rare times the golems became completely erratic and dangerous. Since then, we've shared as little information and material with him as we can get away with."

Arlen couldn't help asking, "Did the golems start attacking because a bunch of kids were in the wrong area?"

A man said, "We don't know and we're not going to test that." He added several expletives.

"Yeah, can't blame you."

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The chief added, "So we've given the impression that nearly anything taken from our island crumbles and breaks. That's a tradition dating back to before Thoko. Mainly the work of clever fingers and convenient accidents, to make all but some small amounts of scrap iron find their way to the bottom of the sea before reaching our masters on Decim." She wiggled one hand.

Arlen understood the idea of sabotaging anything Thoko tried to force them to give. "You never trade willingly, though?"

"We have what we need here, and our fancy trinkets are hard-won."

"But I don't see much hand-crafted equipment here. Even those boxes Meadow was hiding behind look like repurposed old designs."

The chief shrugged. "We do make some of our own things."

"If the golems ever really stop being dangerous -- that's what you want, isn't it? -- then you won't be protected from Thoko taking a greater interest in the place. They don't seem to protect you much as it is." Arlen leaned forward, remembering why Opaline's people wanted him to visit. "If Thoko and his men are such a problem for you, then join forces and resist him."

The diners grumbled. Some of them obviously sympathized. Their chief said, "Four of our people are either on Decim as hostages, or fighting for their lives on Death Island."

"Newshore?"

"The naming of things is important. Newshore is what Thoko started telling people to call it, to downplay the flesh-tearing ghost army."

"And I thought nobody here had learned the art of marketing. He could find an island of ice and call it Green-land."

The chief sighed. "He would do that, and more. Now, you spoke to our sailors about training warriors with some mysterious new technique."

"There's nothing magical to it. Anyone can learn."

Meadow suggested, "If you want to prove yourself, come along to the Catacomb. You want to see it anyway, right?"

He smiled. "I do. As for the hostages, I don't have a solution yet. But maybe I can help learn about your golems."

They let him rest until afternoon in a stone room. He slept but also made plans. By proposing an alliance he was protecting Opaline but spreading the rebellion. To people who didn't like Thoko anyway, sure, but was that justified? He could at least help train these people and make them more capable of self-defense. They weren't innocent victims of tyranny, though. How could you have a seemingly inexhaustible supply of manufactured treasure, even if you had to loot it piecemeal, and refuse to share it for a fair price? There was nothing wrong with Thoko having a cool eagle-claw chair, in return for some good rum and leather and magic lessons. Instead Catacomb mostly exported pork. If Arlen were in Thoko's place he would be leaning on Catacomb to let others study artifacts freely, and to do more of their own crafting.

Any improvement hinged on impressing the people on their own terms. So, it was off to this maze before long. He napped while he could.

#

The island seemed mostly empty. Fields stood out with odd gaps and corridors of bare grass between them. "Do the golems keep you from farming?"

"We have enough growing space, but getting to it can be a pain. Have to move it around whenever the golems decide to claim some new area. Sometimes that even happens a month before harvest and we lose stuff."

Meadow had little interest in giving him a guided tour. She'd donned a hard leather vest and gotten Arlen another. They each had stone-headed maces crudely reinforced with precious iron. They also carried wooden shields.

The girl led him to a grey cliff with a door of white rock traced with octagonal designs. She held up a shard of crystal from Opaline that shimmered a deep red-purple.

"What's so special about that?" said Arlen.

"We sort of pour magic into this stuff, and the Catacomb accepts it as an offering." She placed it into a dish built into the carvings, and the gate rumbled open.

Arlen stared at a hallway of tall, pale walls that glowed softly along their peaks. "I would have traded many shiny things to explore a place like this, back home."

Meadow said, "Then come on!"

He walked in, mace and shield in hand. The air inside chilled him and the sounds of birds and distant waves faded out.