Who took it?” Volker strummed the taut rope stretching from Wazzik’s tied wrists. The other end ran over a ceiling rafter to a large hanging bucket filled with bricks. A second rope connected the three-foot shopkeeper’s ankles to the base of a wooden support beam, leaving the quellen suspended between them. “I…I don’t know,” Whazzik screamed through gritted teeth. “It was…just gone.” Volker sighed. “Two more.” Ahren nodded, grabbed two more brown bricks from a pile in the corner, and dropped them into the pendulous bucket. The rope creaked tighter. “I said I don’t know!” Whazzik yelled. Beads of sweat ran off his forehead and into his hand-sized quellish ears. Nonchalantly, Volker scratched his chin. “That’s a real shame, Whazzik. I thought you knew every cutpurse and smuggler in the city. I’m sure you can think of it. Otherwise you’re going to be a lot taller.”
