Wrong move.

I was calm. My mind was focused on a single thought, like some sort of Buddhist meditation, all other thoughts flashed to nothing in an instant, and time slowed that I might better dial in. My singular focus: hate. I wanted to destroy.

The creature had landed on my back. It wanted my backpack. I knew this as if the information had already been in my head. Instinct.

My hand closed around one of its scrawny wrists, and by the feel of the fur I knew it was a Kalamuzi. A runt. It cried out in surprise, though I hardly heard it through the fog of concentration - it had likely planned to grab my belongings and run. It was probably after my food. It hadn’t expected me to move so fast, hadn’t wanted a fight. Probably had never run into a survivor of the pit - at least, not one who was uninjured, who could react at full speed.

I pulled, flipping the Kalamuzi over my shoulder and slamming it onto the ground. The move felt right every time I did it - felt like a good habit - felt like a warm shower after a cold day.

It landed in the mud with a wet crunch. Either it had landed on something, or else this was the frailest-boned Kalamuzi yet, and the toss had broken a rib. The beady eyes looked up at me, and already some small part of my mind revolted, lost its focus, abandoned ranks to tell me to feel sorry for the rat. It looked something next to scared.

Good, I thought.

The last thing the runt saw was my drows, as it came crashing down on its skull. It only took one strike.

Breathing deeply, I shot my drows up overhead again in one defiant fist, puffed out my chest, and rotated, looking all around me. “Anyone else?” I asked.

To my surprise, someone responded. I knew there might have been more Kalamuzi near at hand, but this wasn’t the wicked squeal of a monster. The sound was a dry laughter, like someone laughing at a joke half-at their own expense.

“Ah!” the voice said, sounding somewhere on the border between sarcastic and sincere. “Well done. I do not know who you are trying to impress in this hole, but you have impressed me. Bravo.”

I turned, full of nerves, expecting an attack. The voice came from behind me, and slightly above. I peered up. Atop a mountain of refuse sat a rotting chair, and atop the chair, looking down, sat a… man? Kalamuzi?

“Welcome to my humble domain, traveler,” the mass of shadows said with mock grandiosity, rising from his seat, and taking a bow. His features were shrouded., and he wore a hood over his head.

“You wanna go?” I asked, challenging, pointing my weapon at him. He must have been one of the smart Kalamuzi, I thought. But I’d killed one before. He didn’t scare me.

“Must we jump right to violence?” he responded. “I wish you no harm. Let us talk like civilized creatures. I am no enemy of yours. And I am dreadfully lacking in good conversation. Violence, on the other hand, I could have my fill of whenever I like.”

He took a step forward, still atop his pile, and threw back his hood.

His features were mostly human, although shallow and gaunt, his nose drawing to a severe point. But his ears were placed too high on his head, and were much too large, and that feature alone betrayed him as something monstrous. He was dressed head to toe in rags, and I couldn’t tell if his face was covered in thin fur, or merely a five-o-clock shadow.

I hesitated. “Are you human?” I asked, gripping my drows tighter.

He smiled, revealing teeth that were too sharp for his human visage. “A philosopher, are we?” he responded, smirking. “I have pondered that riddle many times myself. I have not yet come to a satisfactory answer.”

He seemed like one of the higher-sort of ratmen, but even moreso. He was clearly intelligent. His speech was perfect - if I closed my eyes, I could almost have been fooled into thinking it belonged to a normal man. Only the words came out raspy and high, and he squeaked on occasion like a voice crack. “Who are you?” I asked, still suspicious. He talked almost like a friend, but in a way that an enemy might.

Stolen story; please report.

“Have you not heard of me?” he asked, still wearing his somber smile. “Do the surface dwellers not sing tales of me?” He laughed again, and for the first time I caught a glimpse of his tail, swishing to the side as if to accentuate his words. “No, I suppose they don’t.

He spread his arms wide. “I am the King of the Trash Pile, Prince of the Filth, Regent of the Refuse, Grand Vizier of the Rotting Corpses, Lord of the Shit. A pleasure, I am sure.”

I frowned. “You’re king of the Kalamuzi?” I asked.

He laughed again. “No, thank the heavens. I find my garbage much more agreeable. But come.” He motioned at me, “Let us talk inside. Before another of my brothers comes and interrupts us.”

Before I could respond to the “brothers” comment, which half-sounded like it was said in jest, the figure hopped forwards a little, landed on a beaten-up shield which had been lying on the pile, near his chair. The momentum of the jump started it in motion, and he slid down the wreckage, surfing the shield down in seconds. Bits of viscera and slime crested like waves.

Then he scampered off, not waiting for me. He was making towards the outer wall of the cavern.

I ran after him, after doubting myself for a moment. What other plan did I have? Maybe this stranger could help me find Amaia and Naomi. He clearly lived down there. I’ll have to be on guard, though, I thought. This might be some sort of trick. Maybe he’s leading me to a trap.

I followed him despite that danger. I still wasn’t sure whether he was friend or foe, but he was simply too intelligent for me to want him out of sight. If he was an enemy, I wanted to kill him right then and there, and be done with it, not have him sneak up on me later.

Could a Kalamuzi be reasonable? I wondered as I followed, carving a twisting path through uncountable columns of gore and garbage. Risthindicthi could talk, could bargain, but he still attacked me, still wanted to kidnap Naomi. Could a ratman be good?

Actually, I thought. Was he watching when the runt attacked me? He had to have been. So on one hand, that’s a point against him, since he could have intervened, and didn’t. On the other hand, he could have attacked me at the same time, ambushed me. And he didn’t. So that’s a point in his favor, I guess. Half a point.

At the very least, he can communicate. Even if he wants to entrap me, I can always simply challenge him to a duel. It’s worked before. Besides, I’m not so scared of a single ratman anymore. Let him fucking try to kill me.

But I really didn’t think it was a trap. He wasn’t even armed, from what I could see, although that didn’t mean he didn’t have a dagger stashed away in his rags, or that he couldn’t just use his teeth and claws. But I didn’t sense danger from the “king,” and the further he led me, the less in danger I felt. He whistled tunelessly as we went.

Also, he looked so human that simply killing him on sight would have felt a lot like murder. That was certainly a consideration.

For a moment I saw Nolan’s face in my mind again. I shook it away.

I’d been thinking about what Cadoc had said about the dungeons corrupting people. Maybe that’s all this “king” was. An adventurer - or even a local, someone who had lived up above before the dungeon had appeared - who had been partially corrupted. Just an unlucky man. That thought lessened my nerves, a bit.

That is, until he led me to an unremarkable bit of cavern wall. A dead-end.

I sighed. “Is this the part where you attack me?” I asked. I drew my drows again. I was ready.

The king laughed. He didn’t even flinch at me drawing my weapon. “Attack a guest? What do you think I am, an animal?” He peaked his head back at me over his shoulder, and flashed me a knowing grin.

Then he began pushing aside a large stone I hadn’t even noticed before. He grunted and strained while I watched, but he moved it quickly enough. Behind it was a little tunnel, small enough that I’d have to crawl through. If I squinted, I thought I could see faint light coming from further in. But I never would have noticed it, even with the entrance uncovered.

“I’ll go first,” the king said. “And get the kettle going. I don’t have much to offer, but I don’t suppose you’re too picky. You don’t look the type. Not that I’d know, I suppose.”

He got onto his belly and crawled into the gap. I sighed, and followed.

The king got through the tunnel much faster than I did, beating me inside by several minutes, but after an uncomfortable stretch of cramped tunnel, I came out into a little room.

The first thing that caught my attention were the flames. A fireplace of sorts was carved into the stone wall, and the light came from there, a fire burning, which gave the space the most comfortable atmosphere I’d seen since descending. The fireplace had a chimney rising above it, but I had no idea where the smoke went. A black-iron kettle already hung from a rod over the flames, which the king was grabbing with mitted hands. A pile of wood sat nearby, and it was clear that they were scavenged from all manner of objects - I could see, for instance, a chair leg jutting out from the pile.

Besides that, there was a wooden table - nicer than I would have expected - and two wooden chairs sat opposite each other. The rest of the room was filled with junk - old weapons hung on the walls, pelts of unknown origin were draped over nearly everything, cups and dishes and tools strewn everywhere. A pile of cloth and furs in the corner must have serviced as a bed.

“I always thought I was being overly optimistic, keeping two chairs,” the king said. He seemed to have already been talking when I came in. “Should just use it for firewood, I would sometimes think. But look at me now.”

There were two simple cups on the table, and he poured a steaming liquid into each. Then he gestured to one of the chairs. “Sit, please.”

I did, but I kept one hand in my pocket, just in case. All I‘d have to do was throw out a handful of nails, and the fight would be over. Especially if I held Naomi’s staff while I did it. I didn’t like knocking myself out with it, but in a space like this, I’d probably be fairly safe to rest, afterwards. I took the staff off of my back, and propped it against the table, so that I could always have it close at hand.

“What’s your name?” I asked. I held out hope that the man was friendly, despite my precautions. I could use some help.

“I suppose it’s probably rude not to give your name,” he said sullenly. “But my name is a curse, and I do not give it lightly. I am ashamed of the name, to tell you the truth.”

“You’re not exactly giving very helpful answers.”

“That is fair,” he responded. “Very fair. You don’t trust me. Why would you? I suppose that is why your hand is clenched around some weapon in your pocket.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Well, I’ll go ahead and tell you the awful truth, then. Yes, I am a Kalamuzi.”

I flinched, but he held up a hand.

“Don’t go killing me quite yet, please. As I said, I am no enemy of yours. If you let me tell you my story, I think you will see the unending tragedy of my existence, and take pity on my poor soul. If not, you may strike me down afterwards. Agreed?”

I nodded. I wasn’t a murderer.

So I settled in to the chair, still tense, and listened to the Kalamuzi’s story.