Nikym's Predicament

The church bell rang twice. And a moment later, the door opened again. The same ancient human, only this time he had brought a pretty impressive hunting crossbow, the kind used to impale angry boars to trees with.

"I said go away," he snarled, fighting the weapon into a firing position. Even braced against his shoulder and held with two hands, it was way too heavy for him. No way he would hit me, even at point-blank range. But just to make sure no lethal accident would occur, I stepped against him, pushing him back into the main hall. My hand came up and plucked the bolt from the weapon. Smiling, I tucked it into my belt. His eyes went wide in alarm.

"I'm here to see Master Gilo," I said, keeping my voice calm and level. "No need to get in arms about it."

"Master Gilo is seeing no one," the human said, lowering the crossbow. "You have wasted your time."

"Please don't tell me he's dead." That would indeed be rather unfortunate and probably would require me spending another evening in Danetta's company, something I did not look forward to.

"No. He isn't." His voice was laden with a strange emotion. He almost sounded as if he wished his master's demise. This evening was getting weirder by the moment. The man released the crossbow's string and sighed. "My name is Hobbs. I am Master Gilo's butler. I also manage his estate during his... indisposition. Are you here to collect outstanding payments?"

"My outfit may suggest it, but no. I'm no loan shark's hired blade. At least not tonight." I shot Hobbs a quick grin. "I was hoping to procure something from Master Gilo."

"I am sorry. What was your name? Nikym?"

I bowed. "Indeed. Nikym Salaern. I work for Ser Ethan Wildthorne in Storm Harbor. You may have heard of him?"

"I am deeply sorry, Master Salaern, but I am unable to afford any new transactions on Master Gilo's behalf. You'll have to wait until he's better."

"When might that be?"

The look on Hobb's face told me everything I needed to know. He paled and his eyes darted left to right and back, as if something was haunting him. His words were all the confirmation I needed. "Not any time soon, I'm afraid."

"I'm sorry to hear that. If you see your master, give him my regards. I wish him a speedy recovery and sorry again for dragging you out of bed at this hour."

"Don't mention it," Hobbs muttered. "My apologies for wasting your time."

With almost undue haste he maneuvered me back onto the porch and closed the door, but with much less emphasis this time. The locks and bolts were put back in place.

To keep up appearances, I retraced my way back to the entrance gate, only to take a sharp left before leaving the grounds. I crept along the shadows offered by the garden walls. Not that Hobbs would see me, not without vision to match my own at least and from what I've seen of him, the butler was old, drained and tired beyond belief. How he even managed to exert enough energy to winch up a crossbow was a miracle in itself. But when I didn't want to be found, it was indeed nigh impossible. In part thanks to almost two hundred and fifty years in this line of work, in part thanks to my enchanted cloak which would, during daytime, take on the pattern of anything around me, allowing me to blend with my surroundings. At night, it would amplify the shadows surrounding me, granting almost complete invisibility. Sure, someone able to detect magical energies could probably find the signature emanating from the enchanted garment, but I was fairly certain Hobbs didn't have an eager battlemage on hand to sic on me.

Half an hour later, I had the grounds scouted. The back of the mansion was separated from the town's main wall by only a few dozen yards of forested garden and my earlier hunch had been proven correct. No guard beasts, no guards, not even simple tripwires with bells on them. In my younger days I would have fallen to my knees and praised Sikka for such an easy joint.

The feeling of unease hadn't gone away though. In fact, it had intensified to the point where my innards were coiling up uncomfortably. Granted, I hadn't had anything decent to eat since morning, but that wasn't the problem here.

I was trying to figure out where Gilo Kurvas' rooms were. If he indeed was sick, one would guess that access to fresh air might help his recovery. But no side of the mansion had any open windows. Also, and that was curious as well, all chimneys on the flat roof were smoking like crazy, as if someone was having all fireplaces lit at once.

Huddling in the wet bushes would get me nowhere. So, I dashed up one of the sturdier trees and leaped across, easily catching one of the windowsills of the manor's back facade. They were low and wide, easy stepping stones for a halfway decent climber. The boards used to shut the windows for good were sturdy enough to be used as well, so I could reach the roof without much effort. If anything, it felt way too easy.

I sniffed one of the chimneys and my stomach reminded me again that it had been almost sixteen hours since my last meal. Someone was cooking down there, roasting meat or something - and it smelled delicious!

The roof hatch was locked from below. Probably a simple latch with maybe a lock holding it in place. Instead of pulling out a saw I produced one of the few spell scrolls I kept on my person. It was written in faintly luminescent ink so even at night it was useful. The words, despite my having spoken them numerous times by now, were still unfamiliar and a trip hazard for my tongue, but eventually I had the formula pronounced. The Dimension Door spell engaged and deposited me three feet below my current position.

Which, in this case, was halfway between floor and ceiling of some storeroom. I broke my fall by rolling into a tight ball and came to my feet. Numerous pieces of furniture, neatly sheathed with white cloth, had been crammed into the room. Even if I had managed to break open the roof hatch, I couldn't have used it - the top of several large wardrobes blocked any access. Thankfully, my spell had dropped me in the only bit of usable walk space. The door was not locked and I made my way into a long corridor. The occasional hint of light managed to slip in between the boards, which in turn enabled my night vision to pick out enough to work with. There were other rooms on this floor, but their contents mirrored the one I had come in through. Whatever they had been originally, now they were glorified storerooms, their contents covered with white sheets. Going by the general shapes, I could see one room full of statues, another full of paintings, a third one had huge boxes stacked atop each other from floor to ceiling. One had been cracked open, revealing a veritable river of coins which had spilled onto the expensive, dust-clogged carpet.

When I reached the stairwell leading down, my sensitive nose picked up that smell again, the utterly delicious aroma of roasted meat. Seasoned with all manner of herbs, no less. My stomach growled so loud, I was afraid it would give my position away. But by my count, I was still one floor up from the entrance hall and I had yet to see signs of habitation.

In accordance with the general shape of the building, the second floor was quite a bit larger than the previous one. And every room I searched caused my own bewilderment to grow. The city had serious food issues, yet every single room I entered was food storage of some kind. Several were stuffed with sacks of corn or rye or wheat, others piled so high with potatoes, I nearly got buried under an avalanche of spuds when I carelessly opened a partition. One large room, probably a dining hall of some kind if the naked arms of a gigantic chandelier were anything to go by, had been tiled and transformed into a meat locker. Clusters of Cold Elemental Stones had been placed in ice-covered bowls which kept dozens of animals frozen and fresh. I saw pigs, cows, horses and even some monster carcasses which had been finely drawn and prepared for further use. One row of shelves held hundreds of sausages of all kinds. I left before the chill could overwhelm me.

Eventually, I found a small set of rooms not converted to food storage. They reminded me of barracks - several crowded rooms with bunk beds and the bare essentials for people to call "home." A bathroom. But the beds had not seen any occupant recently; they all were untouched.

Now truly curious, I made my way to the ground floor. The narrow staircase I used took me to an inconspicuous door. I had seen similar construction before - these semi-hidden accessways were used by staff to discreetly bring food and drink to merrymakers or allow the house's owner to move about unseen, depending on the occupation and temperament of those involved. By all logic, the door should lead to some kind of formal reception room or dining hall or ballroom. I tried the handle and pushed it open a hand's width.

Beyond, I saw no ballroom. Instead, there were long rows of tables where exhausted-looking servants and chefs were preparing food by the trough. The huge fireplace had been crudely turned into a rotisserie and what looked like a whole ox was roasting over the flames. A squad of people was peeling potatoes which were then boiled and prepared, along with a staggering amount of vegetables. Somewhere to the side, I saw others prepare cookies by the sheetful. They were carried out of the room, probably into the kitchen proper. While I watched, the trough was filled with gallons of sauce, piled high with potatoes and veggies and finally, again probably coming from another location, a huge piece of rib was placed on top. Four servants grabbed the vessel by large carrying rings and made their way towards the door I was hiding behind. Quietly, I closed it and dashed up the stairs, hiding in the gloom above.

I didn't have to wait long. A few moments later, amidst a lot of grunting and swearing, the door opened and with a certain measure of effort, they hauled the trough into the corridor and out of sight. I only needed to follow the mouth-watering smell. The servants eventually reached the main hall and went down another passage. Following them, I came past the kitchen proper. No less than five ovens were in use, with sweating chefs stirring soups, flipping eggs or tending to fries of all kinds. A three-tiered baking oven rumbled in one corner of the crowded room. The mixture of aromas was almost too much, with bread, fries, cookies and soups vying for my attention.

I crept deeper into the house, following the servants who didn't even look over their shoulders once. They came to a halt at what looked like a solid wall. One of the men manipulated a candelabra, turning it a quarter revolution to the right, which caused the wall to lower into the ground with the noise of stone grinding on stone. That was no mere wood panel hiding a secret tunnel, not with three pairs of solid steel rods poking out of the top part of the movable wall. I've seen cell doors made less sturdy than this. It could probably stop even a raging dire boar or another monster of similar size. Beyond that gateway I saw a gently sloping ramp which the servants took. One of them pulled a chain on the far side of the secret door which caused a mechanism to engage. While I waited for them to go out of sight, the wall slowly rose until it shut with a solid thunk.

This was becoming more and more puzzling. What were they keeping down there? And where was the master of this house? I found a good hiding spot and waited for the servants to return. They did not long after, their faces barely disguised masks of disgust and terror. Muttering amongst themselves, they hastily returned to the front of the house. I soon heard someone enter into a shouting match with Hobbs. Something about things not written in their contract.

"Now or never," I muttered to myself. A last quick glance to either side of the corridor, making sure no one was sneaking up on me. Then I turned the candle holder just the way the servant had done, allowing the secret door to open. I entered the passage and let the door fully close before I advanced any further. The ramp sloped down gradually, did a sharp left and eventually ended on a tiled floor. Going by the way the tiles had been broken, the ramp was a recent addition and no one had bothered to smooth out the transition towards the old floor. A sturdy door made from joined metal rods awaited me. Something heavy must have crashed into it once because some of the rods were heavily bent. It was a testament to the metalsmith's workmanship that the whole thing was still attached to its hinges. The light down here was miserable; only the occasional glowing crystal had been placed in spots where oil lamps used to be, and the stench was only marginally better. The whole atmosphere reminded me of a cross between an unkempt elven tomb and some particularly nasty sewers.

The cage door had been locked, but that was not much of a problem. A few seconds with a lockpick and a dagger was all it took to get past the obstacle. The door moved a bit awkwardly but on well-oiled hinges and I could slip into the area beyond. A few steps along a rough-hewn corridor and I was certain that I had left the house's cellar behind. The passage ended at an oval opening. On a metal spike jutting out of the passage wall, someone had hung some kind of torch, made from a metal handle and a chunk of glowing crystal affixed to it. Next to that, hastily scribbled instructions in chalk.

Caution!

Leave the trough in the designated space.

Do not cross the line!

Do not tarry once the food is brought!

The next thing I noticed were the feeding noises, a disgusting amalgam of tearing, chewing, burping, farts and moans, along with a regular sound of something messily dropping into a body of water.

More curious than ever, I picked up the torch and stepped into the area beyond. The stench became almost unbearable. There was no light beyond the opening, only the small circle of illumination my "torch" provided. I quickly noticed the markings on the floor, drawn onto the naked stone with some reflective paint. I followed the markings and stopped close to a thickly painted line bisected by a rectangle. The word "trough" had been smeared into it.

The noises had stopped. I raised my gaze along with the torch.

Suddenly I was incredibly thankful that I didn't have anything to eat for most of the day.

Before me sat the most disgusting thing you could ever imagine, a mountain of skin and fat almost fifteen feet tall. Like a cork in a bottleneck, it had been wedged into some kind of basin. As I watched, it split apart where the stomach would be, revealing two rows of huge teeth. A long, flexible tongue darted out of the gaping maw and curled around the trough, drawing it between rows of gleaming teeth. With a wet, farting sound, the maw closed, followed by the sound of the trough being ground to shreds.

The maw opened again. "Food!" it bellowed, the force of its shout nearly knocking me off my feet. The gust of noxious breath accompanying the command was like a kick in the guts. There was the wet, dropping noise again, coming from below.

"I don't think he has food," a thin, feeble voice came from somewhere else.

"Food! More!"

I looked for the speaker, trying not to vomit. The more I stared, the more details I could make out - and the more I wished I couldn't. Like small, flabby, useless wings, a pair of arms hung limp from the upper hemisphere of that thing. Every movement caused rivulets of oily sweat to ooze down it's scabbed and lichen-encrusted skin. I was pretty sure some small vermin scrabbled along a disgusting thicket sprouting from under an armpit. What I had taken for extra-thick rolls of fat around the base of that impossible lump of meat were wriggling, fleshy tentacles, almost ten feet long each. And once I knew where to look, I saw the head, a mere pimple, almost disappearing in a valley of fat. Only a metal V-brace keeping its multiple chins apart allowed it to breathe.

"Gilo Kurvas?" I asked, trying not to retch.

"No Food? Need Food!" the huge maw bellowed.

"Yes. I am... I was Gilo," the small head wheezed. "Please, do not come any closer."

"You don't have to tell me twice. By the gods, man, what happened to you?"

"Food!" the maw screamed. Somewhere above, I heard a stone break loose. It crashed down onto the ...thing in the basin. A fleshy tentacle slapped along the mountain of fat and skin, plucked it from where it had cratered into the wobbly flesh and deposited in front of the huge belly-maw which promptly swallowed it.

Behind me, I heard voices come closer.

"I'm telling you, we should build a chute. Carrying these troughs every twenty minutes is breaking my back."

"Shut up, man. You signed the good contract. It's just three months. You'll be rich enough to leave this hell hole." He sounded bitter.

"Guys... where is the torch?" a third voice asked.

"I put it back where..."

"No, you didn't."

"Food!"

"Hey, you there! Get away from him!"

I turned towards the entrance. Four servants, with a fresh trough, came through the opening. They put down their cargo and, as a man, pulled long knives.

Raising my hands, I stepped away from the trough mark. "No need for violence, gentlemen."

"Sorry, guv," a burly servant snarled. "Master's orders. No one is allowed to leave. Gotta keep this a secret." He advanced on me. For a guy his size, he was deceptively nimble. And he saw me as an easy target, being unarmed and all. He tucked his head in, squared his shoulders and charged, intending to tackle me to the floor. I've seen his kind in dozens of bar brawls all over the Western Continent. Instead of attacking him or trying to stop his charge, I simply slipped past him. And like every brute before him, he couldn't stop in time. His charge ended five steps beyond the line. The others behind me gasped.

"Oh, a live one!" the belly maw rejoiced.

I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see two fleshy tentacles ensnare the burly servant. He fought like a lion, but there was simply no give in the pink pseudopods. As they had done with the stone chunk, they deposited the burly man in front of the belly maw which opened impossibly wide. A moment later, the man's top half was gone. His legs kicked out in reflex, then crumpled to the ground in a rapidly widening pool of blood. I had to fight to keep my stomach down as the belly-maw chomped and chewed, the sounds of breaking ribs almost - almost - drowning out the horrible screams. The sensible thing would be to turn and run, as fast as my legs would carry me. But I wasn't in the habit of abandoning my jobs.

My masters had mercilessly drilled me to withstand this kind of mental trauma. Centuries of training took over and using a mixture of focused breathing and frantic mental exercises, I got my terror under control.

The other servants lacked my discipline. One had collapsed, fainted in shock, another had not only lost all his composure, but the contents of his stomach as well. The quickly receding steps of the third announced his rapid departure along with his hysterical screams.

The belly-maw reeled in the lower half of the bisected servant with its tongue and gulped it down as well. I heard a strange sound coming from above, a high, thin wail.

The Gilo head was weeping.

"I... I didn't mean to..." he sobbed, barely audible over the crunching noises the belly maw made. At least it wasn't interrupting every line with demands for new food.

The screams outside kicked up a notch, followed by the noise of someone rattling the cage door. The last thing I needed now were more servants causing even more complications. My time was already running short. There was no other option but to silence the servants and hope they wouldn't be missed immediately.