You're in the right place. Glim sculptures line the dirt-caked shelves. They're well-carved, even beautiful, but you sense something wrong with the shapes and the proportions. In a district like this, a shop so stuffed with glim ought to be robbed four times a night, but the sculptures are untouched. One piece especially stands out. It's not quite in the shape of a Correspondence symbol, but it does echo the style of the carvings on the spires of the Bazaar. And it's detailed; it must have taken many hours. Whoever carved this had a strong mind.

The proprietor appears, pushing aside a curtain made of black coral beads. An odd looking fellow, to be sure. His skin is pallid and sharkish. 'Yes?' he says. His voice is a damp whisper that suggests years of quiet resignation.

You explain that you were directed here, by the Semi-semiotic Fellow. The Solitary Glim-sculptor nods sadly. 'They took it,' he says. As if that explained everything.