The keystone above the tunnel entrance has been etched with the word WEALTH, and then leafed in gold.  It's lit from within by soft candlelight and the way is paved over with ornate rugs, a pleasant contrast to the dank and cold stone of the legendary subterranean Chamber of Secrets.  The tunnel winds away out of sight.

All along the walls of tunnel hung with tapestries are small display tables with spindly legs, and glass curio cabinets.  In all there are over a dozen, and each of them set behind red velvet ropes.  Frequently, small polite signs warn: 'For Display Only'. 

The trinkets on display are myriad!  A crystal ball on a silver filigree stand, a set of letter openers carved from the living wood, exotic writing quills from creatures too fantastic to be recognized, and a pair of large golden scissors.  There is a tall clear vase full of shining marbles and orbs, a cluster of hand mirrors that don't seem to be reflecting their current surroundings, a petrified doxie posed and dressed like a 14^th century gentlewizard, and three keys balanced on display stands.  There are tiny framed portraits of cats numbering seven, a pair of fingernail clippers inlaid with ivory, and antique golden galleons polished to the mint.  All along the walls on display are these and other objects, glimmering in their uniqueness and value.

And then, a gold braid rope blocks the path.  Beyond it? One might see that the exposition continues, this time with much more ... martial treasures.  There is a suit of armor in view, and a sword mounted on the wall.

As the champions will find, the gold braid rope is their first obstacle.  Post your attempts to move forward and I shall post your results.  PM me for a hint and include WEALTH in the subject line.

Mace had to admit Parker had picked good for Team Salem. Unlike all the other tunnels that looked to plunge into some kind of darkness, the WEALTH tunnel was brilliantly lit with torches and reflective surfaces that kept the light level ambient. Saved them the trouble of casting light spells.

In contrast to the dank dungeon they had just departed stepping into the tunnel was like entering a museum. One of those boring stuffy ones in Europe. "Didn't tell us what much to do outside of 'get to the end,' eh?" He looked around the chamber of trinkets, noting the 'For Display Only' signs. "Watch these things be on loan from the goblin bank so if we break anything we're out our kidneys in a back alley somewhere after we leave school."

Thinking that all the opulence was just a distraction (and being further distracted by the more martial treasures beyond) Mace tried to pass but was blocked by the gold braid rope, a far more animated and blocking barrier than regular velvet ropes, which Mace never considered that much of a fence if you could easily jump it or knock it over.

"Right, so maybe we can use something in here, even if the signs say otherwise." Mace regarded the items about. "Gold Scissors is so obvious that must not be it." Or maybe is was so obvious that Gold Scissors was obvious that Gold Scissors couldn't be the solution that Gold Scissors really was the solution. Or maybe they just wanted you to think that and there was a further deception, and onwards and onwards with the levels of potential deception and half backed logic this task presented that at the end you were poisoned with iocane powder.

Skipping the scissors, Mace decided to examine the other treasures for hints, starting with the mirrors that didn't reflect the surroundings (not much of a mirror if it defeated the whole purpose of the word).

Close inspection of the 14^th century hand-mirrors would show they are made of etched pewter.  Their faces have developed a patina of their age, but are otherwise in well-cared-for condition.

To peer into the reflective surface, one would not see their own face, but the walls behind them.   

On the back of one of them is an inscription in sharp, angular letters.  BORLOG, 1312

Louise's eyes darted around the wondrous display in their tunnel.  Gold.  Lots of gold.  Her eyes finally fell on the gold braided rope that was blocking the path into more treasures.  She smirked.  "Like a mere rope could stop someone from getting what's on the other side," she said with a chortle and cocked her head to see Mace examining the mirror.  "Hey, this is the wealth tunnel, not the beauty.  You think you could stop primping for one second to try and figure out what to do?" she joked with a smirk.

"So we need to get past the rope, yeh?" she said, more to herself, moving towards the golden rope in a strut.  The easiest solution would be to jump over the rope or crawl under it.  But, maybe it was magically enchanted that that sort of act would be impossible.  Still, only one way to find out.

Halting in front of the blocked path, she shoved her fist into the empty air beyond the rope, to see if anything would prevent her from doing so.

A fist was allowed.  And so was a foot.  A head, perhaps, or elbow.  The nimble might even be able to contort so their entire rear end hung over golden partition.  However, all of them at once? Afraid not.  Any attempts to admit one's whole person across the golden braided robe would illicit a strong shove out of the thin air. 

The right tool for the right job.  But take care to ensure you don't move forward finding yourself in debt.

"I don't even have my primping comb," Mace began. "Might be an unfair advantage having other gear on a task. Besides, I can't see myself." Mace gestured to the mirror that did not show him in the reflection, as if he had suscipciously developed vampirism.

"Thought it would block," he continued when Parker was denied passage. "Borlog doesn't ring any bells, 1312, one of those goblins? Never mind, unless you get a spell to cut the rope we'll need something to slice with."

After comparing size, estimates he had of the precious materials (values and volumes of each) and the previous twisty logic Mace picked up the fingernail clippers inlaid with ivory.

"Watch these puppies split the rope with ease. Probably a cursed history behind them of slicing off toes and sometimes feet."

Alas, the jaws of the clippers were too small to get a bite of even individual fibers that made up the robe.  The clippers would not end up being useful to cut the golden braid rope. 

"Well, this sucks." she huffed in annoyance, pulling her fist out.  "I don't think it's that easy to just walk on through." she added and stepped back, glaring at the rope.

She turned around and let Mace attempt to cut through the rope with the clippers, but to no avail.  "Borlog.  Dunno what that is.  Sounds like a giant's name, ya know?  Borlog the Giant of 1312."  Louise rolled her eyes and began getting antsy.

"Okay, I'm trying the scissors," she announced and stalked over to them, finding it lighter than she expected, and came back to try cutting through with them.  "If this doesn't work I'm gonna punch through that mirror."

When the golden blades touched the golden rope, the fibers sprung apart with a satisfying series of snipping sounds.  The rope split in too and fell away, each end to dangle from the two fastenings on opposite walls.

What will you do with the scissors and clippers now?

Advancing forward around a bend in the tunnel, the champions would find a much grander gallery hallway.  Each display is roped off with a strong warning: DO NOT TOUCH.  There are three silver-runed suits of armor, a gleaming samurai helmet with a frightening golden mask, a full-length mirror that shows only inky blackness and fog, a cloak hanging on a mannequin in a glass cabinet, and all along the wall are racks holding intricately etched swords and axes.  There is even a spindly table holding a display of three wands that appear to be made of still-living branches with leaves still green.  And on a high shelf a display of golden plates and goblets.  There are delicate vials filled with glowing liquid on little shelves, and everything, everything says DO NOT TOUCH.

"Right," Mace began at finding the clippers were not to his imagined expectations. "Stand back I'm about to perform complex magic." The plan was to enlarge the clippers, prop them over the golden rope, then have a massive weight drop on the end to slice the rope with a satisfying clip. He had a transfiguration spell on hand for just this case.

Or Parker could cut them with the golden scissors. "They're really being that obvious, huh." That was also going to be the last time Mace went as a black cloaked swordsman for Halloween, it was too easy to jump the gun of thought from Zorro to Dread Pirate Roberts (hadn't there been another Wesley about?).

Rounding the bend, tossing and catching the clippers in one hand, absentmindedly, Mace contemplated the further treasures of the next hall. "It never ends, just like a history lesson." Or a shopping trip with three younger sisters but this one was for competitive glory or whatever the spoils of the tournament were.

"Course, you're disinclined to follow the rules of these signs since the solution to the last bit was something that worked even though it was 'For Display Purposes Only.' But I think there's a runaround if we need it: don't touch with your hands." Even the little area provided by the clippers might help an experimental poke.

More mirrors, this one full lengthed and still nonreflective of the surroundings. Mace peered into it as one who looks past a security camera towards the guard. "Do you even see an exit?" Mace asked Parker. There was so much stuff in here it was hard to tell where the dungeon would lead next after the twisting corridor from the last segment.

Suddenly, there could be heard another voice in the tunnel!  It was a grumbling sort of mumble that grew louder as it approached.  The voice seemed angry, insenced, and vexed.  Around the bend, just past a suit of runed armor, came a goblin dressed in a gold-stiched waistcoat and very fancy-looking shoes.

He had long ears and a wide scowl.  Once he caught sight of the two American champions he stopped short, put his hands on his hips and declared.

"Finally! It certainly took you two long enough.  But you're too late.  I'm sick of waiting on you, those ninnies outside, and this whole degrading affair.  That's the last time I agree to any of this nonsense.  You can't imagine the flack I'm taking from my guild, consorting with you wand wielders."

It seemed like the goblin couldn't wait to give the first witch or wizard he saw a piece of his mind.

"Augh, you didn't touch anything did you?" He seemed disgusted as he stalked forward and snatched the clippers and the scissors from their hands and put them in his pocket.  "They told me you wouldn't touch anything! There are signs! That's it."

He pointed accusingly at the champions.  "That's it!  That's the last straw.  I'm through, understand! This task is officially over.  How could I have agreed to allow these wand-wielders to manipulate me!  Trick me into lending them my most prized treasures..."

He looked sideways at the pair, thinking.  Then he said in a lowered voice, his long-fingered hand put aside his mouth to conceal his lips' movements.  "I have a deal for you.  Come with me.  We'll end this.  Spare me this humiliation.  I'll take you to the end, tell them you passed the last test.  Just spare me this rot and bother.  In return, I'll give you any item in the tunnel.  A slim price to pay.  Quickly, now.  What say you, humans?"

Suddenly there was a golden goblinoid that popped out of nowhere, getting itself into a tizzy. "This stuff yours? You need to get a better pair of clippers, bud, I doubt those could even clip a nose hair."

They were late? Mace knew the quicker you completed the tunnel the better the score (or inferred, insomuch) but he hadn't thought there would be time limits to each obstacle. It had been, after all, goledn rope that wouldn't let them pass until they found a way to cut it.

"So let me get this straight. You're mad for having your things lent out, for us touching your...stuff." He'd almost said junk and that would be rather offensive one or two ways. "But you're offering us passage out of here and and anything we want to get out of your hair?" Admittedly, Mace's eyes were lingering over the weapons set in the wall. Really spiffy looking and probably magical to boot, worth more than the five plain medieval types Mace had traded for from fairs and polished up.

However, it really sounded too good to be true and coming from a goblin, who were always picky on merchantile matters. "I'm more curious what our original challenge was going to be. Unless it was appraise your collection then I'd say skip it."

What happened to the other one?  The goblin was momentarily disoriented.  He frowned.  One minute there had been a girl there and now the next... she was gone?  A sly smile crept across his face.  She must have touched the Statue of the Vanishing Knight.  Where she'd turn up? That would depend on where she woke up that morning.  Peculiar little trinket...

But the boy.  He was bargaining.

"The choice is plain.  Come with me and put this nonsense behind us and get more than what you came in with..." then he scowled, "or slake your inane curiosity with the crup and pony show in the next room.  Don't waste my time - hurry up, boy."

"I'm still not sold on the whole change of heart thing, what d'you think--Parker?" Mace turned his head to where he thought Parker had been, then pivoted to glance at the whole room. Absent except for the displayed loot, him, and the goblin.

"What happened to her? Is that part of the task? Never mind..." It was probably futile to get answers out of the gold fleeced goblinoid who was more worried about his own interests. If he was to find Parker he'd have to complete the task. Maybe she went on ahead.

"Sorry guy, I'm not interested in any of your stuff. If the crup and pony show--" Crappy pony show? "--is where I was supposed to go anyways that's where I'm going." Even if the easy way appealed to the slacker in Mace, he wanted to feel that he had accomplished something in the Tournament. He was supposed to be a Champion after all.

Seeing the entrance to the next room, Mace continued on ahead.

The goblin stared up at the American wizard for a moment, scowling with derision and impatience, but then his demanor suddenly changed. 

"Good for you.  I told them it wouldn't work.  I told them that none of these wizard whelps would know a good deal with they saw it.  Well, good for you.  Let's go then.  C'mon."  The goblin in the golden waistcoat turned on his heel and led the way, his desperate need to exit the tunnels apparently gone. 

The goblin's bargain had been a ruse all along, a ploy to distract and test the Champions' focus and integrity.  Surely, the other choice would have cost them a great deal and certainly there'd have been no sparkling prize.

The goblin checked over his shoulder a few times on the way, but soon they arrived in a plain enough looking room.  On one table in the center of the room was a fat ledger.  And behind it, were four artifacts Mr. Steinbeck might well recognize.

The petrified doxie posed and dressed like a 14th century gentlewizard.  The beautiful silver-runed suit of armor.  A mighty axe that looked like it might be depressed.  And the seven skillfully painted portraits of purring cats.

"These four items are rightfully owned by four goblins, respectively.  Borlog.  Skellit.  Trougg. Or Gundak," said the goblin.  "They've been appraised and their year of creation determined.  Your task is simple enough for a goblin - for each item, you must determine the age, the value and the rightful owner."[1]

"And don't slip up, lad.   You don't want to look stupid, do you?"

And thus the goblin opened the ledger on the table, where it was written.

1.	The four possible years are: 1599, 1634, 1717, and 1911.  The four possible values are 700 galleons, 1100 g, 4000 g, and 8000 g.