The next two days did not pass well for Eibhlin. Each day, she rose early to sing and play till her voice hurt and her fingers blistered. Then, with what money she did not need for her room and board, she spent the afternoon rushing between markets, bartering for whatever she could afford to offer Vi in exchange for the key. Copper, glass, wood, stone, shell, she even managed to get a good deal on a silver spoon made by an apprentice silversmith trying to get his work out in the market. But both nights, when she brought her options to the creature, Vi refused most of them without even a test. More than once, he simply tossed the item out a window or swallowed it whole, wasting Eibhlin’s hard-earned money.

It was now the third day. The noontime sun glistened off the sweat dripping down her cheeks. There was no sea breeze that day. Only heat and humidity. Almost no one walked the street. Not surprising. Today was the weekly Holy Day. With the mess of recent events, Eibhlin had lost track of her days. Now the streets lay almost bare, nearly every shop was closed, and it was her last day.

“I don't suppose fae take Holy Day off,” she muttered.

“Not when they have prearranged business,” said Mel. “At least, the ones that gamble with people’s hearts do not.”

Eibhlin plucked the strings with a plectrum. After yesterday, her fingers had stung so much that when she saw a wood shop on her way to the bell tower that evening, she stopped by and requested the item based on Mel’s descriptions. As it was the end of the day, the woodcrafter kindly accepted whatever Eibhlin could pay and made a rough tool from some spare wood. Then, after Vi had rejected everything else, Eibhlin offered him the pick. It, too, was rejected, but unlike everything else that day, he did take it, shimmy up the rope, and tap it against the bell. When it barely made a sound, the creature slid back down and quietly placed the plectrum back into Eibhlin’s hand.

“Too small,” he said. “Too thin. Can’t ring bell. Will break, and then Vi can’t ring bell. Tomorrow, bring Vi something better, or Vi will eat your heart.”

The creature then climbed out of sight. He had shown that much interest only once before, with the silver spoon. However, even that he rejected for its own faults.

Rubbing the pick between her fingers, Eibhlin said, “I wonder what he wants.”

“Pardon, Milady?”

“Vi. I wonder what he wants. A silver spoon and a wooden pick, what do they have in common? They’re made of different stuff, and they’re used for different jobs. And what do they have in common with the key? What made him consider them as a replacement?”

“Maybe he does not ‘want’ anything. Maybe he is just tricking you, pretending he will trade the key when really nothing will satisfy him and he is just having some fun before he eats your heart,” offered the kithara.

“Thank you for that encouraging thought, Mel,” replied Eibhlin. “But I can’t exactly act like he is, can I? Besides, I don’t think he’s just pretending. At least, whenever he actually tried an item, I couldn’t help but believe he’s entirely serious.”

“Hmmm. Yes. I see your point. In any case, you should take a break, Milady. There do not seem to be any potential customers, and it is lunchtime. It is hard to focus on playing well if you are too hungry or thirsty,” said Mel.

Nodding, Eibhlin picked up her satchel and returned to the inn. She slid into her usual seat, and the innkeeper came over with a plate of simple food and drink.

After Eibhlin thanked him, the man said, “My wife’s been worried ‘bout ye, miss. Said the cloud’s been over ye since visitin’ that bell tower, worried she’s done somethin’ wrong ta ye.”

Eibhlin rubbed her palm against the tankard. “Thank you,” she said, “but she didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just facing a bit of a problem. Don’t worry too much, though. By tomorrow, or I guess tonight, everything will be over, one way or another.”

The man frowned. “Got yerself in some sort o’ trouble?”

“More like a riddle. Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

With a bob of his head, the innkeeper said, “Well, I ain’t got much of a head for riddles, not my wife, neither, but if ye need help, just ask her. ‘M sure she’d appreciate it.”

“Thank you, but I’m afraid it’s something I have to face by myself,” said Eibhlin, and the man walked away with a nod.

After that, Eibhlin sat in silence, the universal language of Holy Day.

She glanced at her satchel. Inside lay the magical purse, the door to Mealla’s incredible wealth. More than once, Eibhlin had toyed with the idea that may-be, just this one time, she could take something from it. Mealla’s key, after all, seemed made of diamond or crystal or something similar. Maybe she could find something like either of those. However, she dared not risk it. Should Mealla refuse to take the purse back due to Eibhlin’s action, the entire journey would be worthless. What was more, considering Vi’s actions, the material or rarity of the item didn’t seem important, at least not very. Silver was precious, but wood was cheap. Material, shape, monetary value, none of those seemed the deciding factor.

Reaching into her bag, Eibhlin took out the spoon and the plectrum. Her food remained pushed to the side as she studied the items. Think. There had to be something. Some connection. Eibhlin took up the plectrum again, turning it over, rubbing its surface, searching its grain as if it held the answer.

“Bring Vi something better,” the bell tower’s inhabitant had said.

“Better.” What was “better”? Vi had used that word before, when they had spoken that first night. What did he mean by “better”?

As she turned the wood over in her fingers, she turned the word over in her mind. Suddenly, she dropped the wood, and it clacked upon the table just as she jumped up from her seat.