When she reaches the gates of the Bazaar, there is something like lightning and thunder, blasting against her with bone-shaking force. It's the Correspondence - in its pure, spoken form. Concepts, no connective tissue. A great beast waking from sleep at the approach of one it knows, but has never met. A child, young as a dying mayfly, coming to visit their ancient progenitor. An occurrence that was never dreamed of, for the dreamer did not know to dream it.

What. 

Uh. 

Gosh. 

She speaks in return. Her voice is different, less lightning and thunder and more crystals tumbling against each other in a river. 

The righteous coming to confront a transgressor. The traveler, encountering one along the road whom they had never thought to meet. The discovery of an unknown connection between previously established individuals?

The discovery of an unknown connection between previously established individuals, the Bazaar repeats wonderingly. It begins to explain. A lowly messenger, sent by its beloved master, the Sun, to deliver a troth of love to another star. The rejection of a troth. The refusal to deliver a message, the second-greatest crime a messenger can commit. The seduction of a master by their servant, the greatest crime imaginable. Flight to a place where one cannot be found. The birth of a hybrid. A diamond, the size of a mountain, shining with vital light.

The assumption of a lowly form by one high on the Great Chain of Being? it asks in turn. An inquiry, without judgment, as to the birthing parent of one's conversational partner.

A human traveler, forbidden the surface but exploring as far as is allowed her. A great mountain shining with light that gives light. A child refusing to speculate on the topic of their parents having sex. The traveler returning to her home and her firstborn. Giving birth in secret to an unprecedented hybrid. 

The Bazaar crackles with something like laughter at her refusal to speculate. The desire to someday meet the mother of one's grandchild. The breaking of the Great Chain of Being by two successive generations of a family. Curiosity about the continuance of a pattern.

The observation that rearing children is perhaps a responsibility left to those slightly older. The openness to possibility. A lack of plans in a given direction at present. 

A concession. More crackling laughter.

It sobers. A transgressor. The existence of many who could be called transgressors making their nests among one's spires. The contractual obligation to protect those one has largely grown to loathe. The stern forbiddance of violence against entities under one's protection. Conditional on the previous point being accepted, an invitation to speak to the one who the referent seeks.

The concept of transgressions whose most notable feature is their insanity rather than their transgressionness. Acceptance of offered conditions.

The casual observation that one's oath of protection likely could not be fulfilled if a conversation were arranged elsewhere than within one's own spires, the Bazaar "whispers" with a flicker of light and a crackle like ice breaking underfoot. The equally casual observation that the oath does not compel vengeance in the event that an entity under one's protection should somehow meet its end.

The outermost door of the Bazaar swings open.

She steps inside and pats the doorway affectionately on the way through. 

She passes through six more doorways as she travels upwards through the tunnels that criss-cross the inside of the Echo Bazaar. The final door is made of steel, and when she passes through it she is greeted with ten passageways. Each bears a burning sigil.

That which sustains.

That which breaks.

That which burns.

That which makes, and destroys.

That which elucidates.

That which dulls and delights the senses.

That which glitters.

That which conceals.

That which quenches.

There's one other passageway, dusty and cobwebbed. The sigil has been savagely clawed at; it's difficult to tell whether it means That which lights the way or That which devours.

Mildly concerning and she will probably inquire about that later. 

She knocks on the door which says That which burns. 

The door opens immediately. She is greeted by a ten-foot-tall bat-creature.

"Wastelander," it says, in a surprisingly high-pitched, half-whispering voice. "I doubt you will believe me when I say this, but it is a pleasure to meet you properly."

"What the fuck was your goal with the moon-miser and the Orphanage and the hybrid," Lucy says, having no patience whatsoever with Mr. Fires to waste on pleasantries. 

It hisses out a laugh, and picks up a pen.

Such things should not be discussed under the very eaves of my master, it scrawls on a sheet of vellum. If we are to have this conversation, I would rather do it on neutral ground. Say, Wolfstack Docks? There is a particular address that would serve to illustrate my points.

"Fine." 

Fires bows and gives her the address, written on another scrap of vellum. "I look forward to our next meeting."

Then it opens the window and swoops out.

Happiness at meeting someone you didn't know you should have known all along, she tells her grandparent on the way out. 

A request one is embarrassed to make, the Bazaar denotes hesitantly before she leaves. The collection of love stories for a great purpose. A quantity, already enormous, that must grow if it is to be at all sufficient.

A gift to one's lover and superior. A gift desperately needed by the recipient. The thing to which five cities' worth of sins have been in service.

Failure at one's task. The dissolution of a star in its own grief. The summary execution of a messenger and its servants, as an afterthought to a far greater loss.

Success. The possibility of introducing a child to their second grandparent.

Willingness to be introduced. The land above the caverns and below the sky? A death, temporary and deliberate in the service of a goal. The fact that those who die even once in the Neath cannot return to the surface.

A burst of shocked almost-laughter. The inherent absurdity of the idea that one's own issue could be vulnerable to the Judgements' light. The knowledge that such hazards affect only creatures at the bottom of the Great Chain - rubbery men, Snuffers, animals.

The concept of "animals" includes humans. The Bazaar realizes this after a moment. An apology for imprecise wording. An apology for inadvertently insulting the referent's incubating parent.

Understanding of lack of offensive intent. The separation of Rubbery Men and Snuffers from the taxonomic class of "animal" which includes both humans and sea sponges?

The coherent class of "animal" as a being which was produced by the base and unpleasant process of evolution. After a moment, The concept of evolution, as perceived by a being which did not evolve. The potentially mollifying information that humans, being possessed of souls, have the capacity to birth something greater than themselves.

The acknowledgement that one knows less than one would like about an important subject. Concern and confusion regarding the nature of a related subject. The suspicion that one understands something which was previously puzzling. The concept of etymology. "Egg-thief."

Familiarity with the etymology for the specific term referenced. The knowledge that egg-thieves, or "devils", once served as pollinators, but abused their station to steal a grand and coruscating soul, and hatched it into a haven for what cannot be: the land of Parabola. The knowledge that the egg-thieves still desire souls, but that this is not the reason for their name.