The needle swings. Kas tracks it for a moment, then shakes his head and traces his fingertips around the ring of symbols. Once, twice.

He turns the dials.

The rhythm of the circling needle changes—slowing as he composes his question, then taking on new focus and purpose. Kas watches it intently. Occasionally he mutters a word under his breath; slowly, he starts to frown.

Then he snorts.

"Okay," he says, "apparently it can't tell me anything about the inside of your head unless you're the one asking. But I get to read over your shoulder, lucky me."

He hands over the alethiometer.