"Well, there's a few things I need to do that involve talking to people, and I only speak English, which around here is something of an impediment."

Technically she can also get by fairly badly in French and a handful of Barbarian Fairyland languages, but none of those seem especially relevant here.

The angel stands. "I will translate for you if you give me something interesting. I have spent a very long time meditating, and desire that my mind be stimulated. Tell me a thing that I do not know, or give me a thing from somewhere I have never been."

"In a place very far from here there's a man who's older than the written word and his favourite food is the meat of an animal that went extinct before I was born. He told me once that the secret to true dignity isn't caring what people think, and it isn't not caring what people think, it's knowing how much you care what people think and then deciding how to behave based on that. Does that suit your fancy?"

The angel shivers with delight. "Ah. I have heard truths like this from many men, and there are many men who are old and wise... but it is interesting that a one such as you, who speaks only a lesser tongue, who wears peasant-cloth, has met such a one as he. I will be your tongue, for one turn of the blue sun; if I am needed furthermore, you may tell me another interesting thing."

"Sounds good to me," she says agreeably. "First order of business, I'm trying to find a pawnshop but I can't read any of the signs."

The angel nods. "Do you want a good pawnshop, one you can reliably sell something at, or a bad one, the proprietor of which you can rob without regret?"

"I don't feel like robbing anybody today, I'll take a good one."

The angel brings her to a pawnshop!

Its proprietor is a green devil, her mask grinning nastily. She cackles something; the angel intones back. She cackles a bit more; the angel intones a single syllable.

"She will see your goods," the angel says. "She also asked why you needed a translator; I deflected the question, as it was likely an effort to learn if she could cheat you."

She produces the goods, or, well, the singular good.

"I was told I could get a pretty good price for it."

The devil sucks in a breath before she can stop herself. A few cackling syllables. A flash of light, which causes the ring to sparkle. A few more cackling syllables.

"She wishes to know the ring's provenance," the angel says. "Supposedly on suspicion that it may be stolen, which would reduce its practical value to her."

"It's not stolen!" she says cheerfully. "It was given to me as fair payment for my scintillating conversation."

The devil squints, then shrugs. Cackle cackle.

"She offers a tenth of a krim of black glass. Would you like my commentary on her offers?"

"I would!"

"She is making a conscious effort not to insult you with a terrible offer, while still offering an amount low enough that she could make an outrageous profit. She could re-sell the ring for easily half a krim."

"What's your commentary if I suggest telling her I want half a krim?"

"I would recommend couching the offer well," he says mildly. "- in the interest of clarity, one krim of black glass is enough to purchase... hmm, five hundred good meals, or ten untrained slaves, or a fairly-used car. Making her profit at less than one-fifth of the ring's value would likely not be worth it to her."

"In which case I want to end up at around four tenths, if I'm doing my math right. At home that would mean saying I want half and letting her talk me down a little, but maybe things work differently here." Weird to think of Barbarian Fairyland as home, but she doesn't want to get sidetracked explaining. She can save that for if the angel asks for another interesting thing. "Would authorizing you to conduct negotiations with that goal in mind suit you, or would you rather I make all my offers myself?"

The angel considers. "I may be able to manage."

He turns to the proprietress and says something more flowery-sounding than his previous statements. She raises her nonexistent eyebrows and cackles. He shakes his head, makes a counteroffer. She squints at him. A final-sounding cackle.

"She is not interested in giving more than 35% of a krim," he reports. "But she offers as lagniappe a free pint of Blue Devil Liquor, which will grant you the power of tongues for as long as you can keep the lesser devil it contains imbibed within you, and a good-luck charm. The charm may be a loss leader. The liquor is not. It is something you likely want, at a value that you should likely accept."

"Sure, all right," she says. "I'll take it."

The angel communicates this. The devil snatches the ring and hands over a bottle and a sack the size of a camping backpack. The angel hefts the sack measuringly, then nods once. He hands the bottle to Alice.

"You may drink it in measures or all at once," he says. "Once it has all been drunk, you will begin gestating a lesser devil, which will allow you to speak any language you can hear. After several hours, you will regurgitate the devil; if you then eat it, you will gain the ability permanently."

"Exciting. How hard are these things to subdue?"

"Not. It will cry annoyingly; that is all. - the devil will be approximately the size of a human heart."

"Great. A pleasure doing business with you both." She gazes consideringly into the bottle. "—will I still need your help reading signs?"

"No, the devil will allow you to read and write as well as speak, just as you would in your native tongue."

"Well, I might still want you as a cultural translator, but I'll understand if that's not the job you signed up for."

She downs the bottle.