Sir Hiss and the Lens Eye of Pentaloon

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In the misty dawn of Pentaloon, a city of lantern light, steam, and rumor-laden pavement, a scaly figure scurried through the shadowy labyrinth of the lower alleys. Sir Hiss—slick, verbose, and wearing a cloak that held more secrets than a card house full of card cheats—had a new target: the Lens Eye. An artifact, it was said, that could see through walls and read thoughts. It once belonged to the legendary mirror-maker Edroun, but now it was gone. Supposedly kept safe in the vault of the Chroniclers' Lodge, behind seven locks, four false walls, and a very bad-tempered golem guard. "That's why," hissed Sir Hiss, "we need it." He pointed a gold-ringed finger at the shadow beside him—and that shadow stepped out of the darkness. A raccoon, clad in a weather-beaten hood, a chest belt with lock rolls, brass bracers, and a gaze as knowing as it was withdrawn. "Just call me Schliff," said the raccoon, twirling half a dozen antique keys between his fingers. Together they crept through Pentaloon's utility viaduct—a subterranean level full of steaming tubes where the city moved secretly. Schliff silently opened a screen door while Sir Hiss mapped a security shaft by drawing little triangles of lies on the walls with chalk. The first vault was empty. The second—a trap. The third contained an angry raven named Marrak, who nearly ruffled Sir Hiss's tie. "We're approaching," Schliff whispered finally, sliding open a narrow metal door. Behind it: a cylinder of glass, suspended in a beam of blue light. Inside—the lens eye. It was no simple object. It looked like an iridescent drop of molten copper, a glowing core flickering within. As Schliff took a step closer, the Eye whispered. Not with words, but with memories. "Stop," Hiss hissed. "It's reading us." "Then let it lie." Schliff grinned, pulled out one of the oldest keys—the one with the carved moon—and turned it slowly in the air. The projection of the room flickered, reality shifting slightly. "This isn't a vault," Hiss whispered, groping for the illusion. Beyond it: a second chamber, cold, empty, just a pedestal with dust. "The Eye has been deceived." Schliff nodded. "Or it's deceiving us." Then the shadow moved on the wall. Another figure stepped forward: long, mechanical, with mirror limbs. A mirror walker. "Too late," Hiss hissed. "We're already in the game." There followed a dance of evasion, reflection, and reflex. Schliff moved like a thought between the beams, Sir Hiss countered with confused speech and distorted reflections from his pocket spyglass. As the mechanism shattered, Schliff reached for the real lens eye, hidden inside the mirror walker. They fled through the whispering pavement, the eye in a leather case, while behind them the city began to remember the theft. "And now what?" asked Schliff. "Now," whispered Hiss, "we see who's watching us next."