Ryder was still in the lobby, mop in his beak while he tried to wipe it along the sudded floor and failing because he couldn't get an appropriate angle. Anton smiled a bit and went to take the mop from him, and the turtle grunted his indignation but gave up the mop, glaring down at the water on the floorboards.

"What sort of item?" Anton asked, wringing out the mop in the bucket and starting on Ryder's task with the brisk efficiency of practice. "Depending upon the type of item, I may not be able to repair it, but if it runs along sigil-work or forging, I ought to be able to jury-rig something."