Redvers is standing atop the wagon, twisted at an odd angle to keep his boots from crunching through anything valuable while he opens the top of a burlap sack to evaluate whether its contents will survive being tossed down onto the ground.

"Prybar," he says. "No."

If they're starting over, though, saying that magic is an unwise choice in a particular situation is a good way to do it. As good a way as someone with magic could hope for, with him. That and the absence of that told you so.

So no isn't the end of it. He drops the burlap sack—full of silver cups and plates and candlesticks—over the side of the wagon to land on the ground beside one of its broken wheels, and reevaluates the contents of his wagon. If he were a prybar—

"What about an axe?"