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gestures with one of his cloven hooves, reaching out a hoof in front of him
many times over, then touching the skeleton with his hoof and watching with
abject delight as it turned from bone to gold. But how could she hear what he
was saying? Could she clamor down, sneak into the palace, find the octagonal
room, hope the door was unlocked, slip in unnoticed, listen to Diavolo's words,
then slip out, and go innocently knock at the front door? What could possibly
go wrong? she thought.

But she was a smarter girl than that, and decided to look for alternatives
first. Maybe one of the windows has a crack in it?, she thought, and I'd be able
to hear what he's saying? Citia shimmied around the dome to the next
window, again thankful she was wearing neither shoes nor clothes which might
have made sounds and betrayed her presence on the roof. Fortuitous that her
father's attempt to sabotage her rescue plans was the very thing which was
allowing her to plan a rescue. She felt the glass of the next window; no cracks.
She put her ear to it, but she could hear no more than could at the first
window. The same was true at the third window as well, and she was just
about the shimmy to the fourth window when she saw, from the new angle of
the third window, what it was that Diavolo d'Oro was reaching for with his
hoof.

Near him about waist high was a row of cloth banners on the wall. They
each were hung with two sticks, one on the right edge and one on the left, such
that they drooped down in U-shapes, one right next to the other:
UUUUUUUUU and so on. There were many colors of banners. No, Citia saw
more clearly, four colors of banners: gold, blue, green and red, in a random
pattern. She saw Diavolo reach out one of his long, skinny cloven hooves and
touch the banners many times, one after another, and then he touched the
object which then turned to gold. Touch the banners, touch the object, touch
the banners, touch the object. Got it!, squealed Citia to herself.

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