"Okay then, Mr. the Assassin. Can you conjure up anything else out of those boots of yours?" Owen asked, waving his hands around ambiguously. "Something to break us out, perhaps?"

The Crow didn't seem to know whether to feel more distraught over being called "Mr. the Assassin" or over Owen's understanding of magic. "First of all," he growled, "I didn't conjure anything; I happen to be quite good at concealment. And second of all..." He sighed exasperatedly. "If you absolutely have to talk to me—believe me, I'd prefer you didn't—then you could at least be respectful enough to use my name."

Owen smiled innocently. "Oh, I'm sorry, I don't think we've been introduced," he said, extending his hand with a flourish. "Owen Ulric Nerikas, at your service."

"Sorodath Havarin," the assassin replied, reluctantly taking the half-elf's hand—Owen shook it with zealous enthusiasm, causing a thunderous racket as the elf's chains rattled around. "And the rest of you?"

"Damn," Vivi replied, "I punched you in the face and then never introduced myself. I'm sorry." She smirked and held out her hand. "Vivenne Blackwood. And the little defeatist is called Morwen."

"Charmed," Sorodath said dryly, shaking Vivi's hand as briefly as possible.

"Wonderful. It's an absolute pleasure meeting you all," said Owen, as if he didn't already know two of them. "I'm sure we'll get along splendidly."

Sorodath looked like he very much doubted that, and Vivi wasn't too sure herself, but Owen didn't give either of them a chance to protest. "Now that the pleasantries are over with, we can get back to business," he continued, turning towards Sorodath. "Okay. You can't conjure anything... can you pick the lock, maybe?"

The elf smiled humorlessly. "I'm sure I could pick the lock with a sewing pin if I had to," he said, pulling exactly such a pin from somewhere within his cloak. "But unfortunately, the good captain is no fool: these restraints are designed to prevent me from picking them myself, and without my hands free, I can't reach the lock on the outside of the door."

"If we can't get through the door, what about somewhere else?" said Vivi. "Maybe there's a loose board in the walls somewhere?"

Owen immediately turned his attention to the walls while Sorodath, who was nearly a head taller than him, inspected the roof—but to no avail. "They seem solid enough to me," Owen said disappointedly, "and besides, half of these walls have nothing but the abyss on the other side."

"Great," Morwen muttered. "I can choose whether to die on the gallows or in the abyss. Wonderful."

"Keep talking like that, and you won't have to worry about choosing," Sorodath snarled, "I'll just throw you overboard myself."

"There has to be something else we can do," Vivi mumbled, biting her tongue. "Did any of you manage to keep something other than knives and needles? Something they forgot to take away?"

Owen rummaged through his pockets. "I have a spoon!" he cried triumphantly.

"Unfortunately," Sorodath said dryly, "we are dealing with a door, not a bowl of chicken soup."

Owen shoved the spoon back into his pocket and sulked. "Anything can be chicken soup if you try hard enough," he muttered.

Vivi scoffed and leaned against the wall, somewhere between amused and frustrated at Owen's antics. "What about you?" she asked, casting Morwen a look.

"What about me?" said Morwen, glaring up at her through her messy black hair.

"Did you manage to hold on to anything?" Vivi asked again, softening her tone a little. "A weapon, or something to get us out?"

The little girl looked down. "I had my powder horns and a dagger... they took them all from me."

Vivi grunted in disappointment and slid down the wall. "There's got to be something we can..."

But all further conversation was cut short by a sound that caught everyone's attention: the sound of footsteps approaching outside the door.