The proprietor, a woman with eyes like sharpened flint, pulled a wooden box from beneath a counter. Inside lay . It was a masterwork of hand-knotted yak hair and human silk, treated with a resin that made it waterproof, fire-retardant, and inexplicably smelling of old cedarwood.

Arthur Pringle was a man of aggressive mediocrity, a mid-level accountant whose most daring trait was his commitment to a Tuesday-night puzzle club. That changed when he inherited a map from his eccentric Great Uncle Barnaby—a map that claimed to lead to the "Fountain of Eternal Dignity," located deep in the mist-shrouded peaks of the Himalayas.

"It’s $400," she whispered. "And remember: the spirit is in the adhesive."

There was only one problem: the map came with a strict caveat. According to ancient lore, the mountain spirits only granted passage to the "Wisest of Elders," specifically defined as men with "beards long enough to sweep the sins from a stone floor."