As the sun edged over the eastern battlements of the fortress, Danilo made his way down the tightly spiraling stairs that led to the dungeon. It was a dank, gloomy place, lit only by an occasional sputtering torch thrust into a rusted sconce.

Since Elaith was the only prisoner, his cell was not hard to find. Danilo followed the faint light to the far corner of the dungeon. The elf’s cell was small, the ceiling too low for him to stand upright. The only furniture was a straw pallet. Elaith wore only his leggings and shirt, and his thumbs were entrapped in opposite ends of a metal tube, a gnomish device of some sort designed to make spellcasting impossible. He had been stripped of weapons, armor, and magical items. These lay heaped in an impressive pile, well beyond reach of the cell.

Danilo eyed the glittering hoard. “Did you actually wear all that steel? It’s a wonder you could walk without clanking,” he marveled.

The elf’s furious, amber-eyed glare reminded Danilo of a trapped hawk. “Come to gloat?”

“Perhaps later,” he said mildly. “At the moment, though, I would rather hear what you have to say.”

“And you would believe me, I suppose?”

“I would listen. That seems a reasonable place to start.” The elf was silent for a long moment. “I did not kill the gnome.”

“You know, of course, how difficult it is for the dead to lie,” Danilo pointed out. “The spirit of Bentley Mirror-shade named you as his killer. The weapon that dealt the killing stroke is yours. The proof against you is formidable.”

“Nevertheless, I am innocent,” Elaith maintained. A sudden, fierce light went on in his eyes. “I am innocent, and you must find proof’!”

“Really, now!” Dan protested, lifting one eyebrow in a wry expression. “Since I have a full two days, shouldn’t I warm up with an easier task? Pilfering Elminster’s favorite pipe maybe, or bluffing an illithid at cards, or persuading Arilyn to dance upon a tavern table?”