I was absolutely surrounded by Kalamuzi.

Lot and I walked down a broad avenue suspended in the air, Lot ahead, me behind with hands tied and eyes cast down, the new hood pulled up over my head. The disgusting mass of the Omphalos towered above us, an impossible beehive-structure constructed of gore and wood and stone that looked almost like a living thing, blood dripping here and there from the most recent additions. I had to keep telling myself I was imagining things whenever it seemed to breath.

The Kalamuzi parted as Lot approached, split like water before the bow of a ship. They soon lined both sides, watching, snarling, panting.

The ratmen stared at Lot more than at me, squeaking and chittering in that monstrous language of theirs, unintelligible nonsense. But still there was that feeling of being surrounded in enemy territory. My nerves were drawn like guitar strings about to break. At any moment they could sniff out our plan, attack, and overwhelm us within minutes. The only thing standing between a successful mission and a bloodbath was a few inches of padding and a makeshift wig.

Lot had finally relented. I knew he would. Some people may think badly of me for admitting it, but I am long-trained in the subtle art of manipulation. I doubted that Lot had a spark, being not even fully human, and that made him more pliable in some ways, and more stubborn in others. But I’d been trained in manipulating Tom, getting him to agree to things like letting me borrow his car, for instance - so I could copy the keys - so bending a Kalamuzi halfbreed to my will wasn’t a problem.

That is not to say that I didn’t believe what I said to him. He was a coward for hiding in his hole, and this was his chance to avenge his mother. But I was also playing on his emotions to get what I wanted. I needed his help, and so I was going to get it. I had been preparing myself for other possibilities - from bribery and the promise of seeing the sun, to threatening his life, perhaps even torturing the information out of him - I guess I could thank Nolan for the inspiration on that one. Rest in piss. But that came with its own problems. Why wouldn’t he just feed me bad information?

I was happy it hadn’t come to that. I was willing to do whatever it took - the longer I stayed in that dimension, the more I seemed to toss aside the societal and moral conventions of Earth - not that I’d been a particularly conventional person before. But on the other hand, I don’t think it’s a shocking thing to say that I didn’t want to torture anyone.

It was also fortunate because the final plan had no chance of succeeding without him.

My hair had already been getting longer. I had been cutting it, when I could, with whatever sharpened blade was at hand, just to keep myself looking somewhat like Tom. Ever since entering the dungeon, however, it had become something of a losing battle.

But it still wasn’t long enough. Short-haired women existed, of course, but I didn’t have feminine features to begin with, so I needed to use every trick I could. That involved some creativity on my part.

Lot and I had wandered the trash piles, him complaining all the while about how stupid the plan was. Still, he stopped another runt from jumping me, and so it was already clear that we were partners.

There were plenty of bodies down there, and Lot filled me in as to why.

“All shit rolls downhill,” he said with a wry smile. “The tunnel you came from is not the only one to end at the pit. There are dozens of others, and the raiding parties, when they are too lazy to return to the Omphalos, simply go down one of those tunnels, and dump what they found on the surface into this pit. The tunnels reach out in all directions, you see, some stretching for miles before emptying out a Kalamuzi host unto some unsuspecting far-flung people. If they do not need anything at the Omphalos, it is easier to drop it down.”

“Even the slaves?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be pretty stupid to kidnap someone only to kill them like that?” I was hoping Amaia and Naomi weren’t in that corpse pile, somewhere.

“I hope you do not overestimate the intelligence of my brethren, Miles,” Lot said. He sighed. “Yes, sometimes they even dump the slaves, the morons. Often that is done if they have already used them once on the return journey, and, having satiated their lusts, they don’t see it being worth the rest of the walk. Heavens above, we are a dreadful race, aren’t we? And you wish to go into the Omphalos?”

I ignored the question, and continued searching. For as many bodies as there were, it took a long time to find a suitable one.

“Do the Kalamuzi come and collect what is dropped down?” I asked.

“Naturally,” Lot said. “But they are lazy creatures, as I mentioned. They only come once every week or so. It’s been four or five days since the last time, I believe, though I must admit I don’t pay it much attention.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I nodded. That was a relief, at least. Our chances were decent that we wouldn’t run into a group of Kalamuzi.

The body we eventually found had long, blond hair. Her head was intact - that was the problem with most of the others, skull split open like a watermelon. This woman - whoever she was - had been thrown down somewhat recently, it seemed. It wasn’t anyone I knew, however. Perhaps another adventurer. We stood over her body. I nodded, knelt down, and got to work.

“This is ghastly, Miles,” Lot said. “Is it really worth all of this? Just for our minuscule chance of success?”

“Always,” I said. I was using a knife that Lot had had stored in his home - it was sharper than anything I had on me. After some work, I stood, holding a headful of hair.

“Think it’ll be enough?” I asked, looking at it sideways.

“Oh, I suppose it will,” Lot said reluctantly. “But you aren’t blond.”

I shrugged. “What does that matter? I will be soon.”

Unfortunately, the rest of the body was mangled, such that the clothes were torn and unusable. We scavenged what we could from others, before heading back to the hideout to construct our disguise.

On the way back, I witnessed a “trash shower,” as Lot put it. A rush of unidentifiable junk falling suddenly from the darkness above, landing in a pile, spitting up bits of liquid around it. Luckily, it hadn’t been near us. The whole thing seemed incredibly dangerous, though.

“You learn what spots to avoid, eventually,” Lot said. “Well, or you don’t, and you die.”

Making the wig was difficult, but not impossible. When you try as often as I did to look like someone else, you pick up some disparate skills along the way. I worked on Lot’s table, fire crackling behind me, as he paced around nervously.

First, I took a leather cap we’d found on a dead man on the way back. Using a sharp knife again, I cut away the flaps on the sides, cut away everything except a rounded piece of leather which would lay on my head. Then, I placed it on the table, and laid the blond hair over it. I made sure that a good deal of it would fall forward as well as back - that way, I could cover my face with my bangs a bit, which would help, I thought. Then - and this was the part I was most worried about - I used my nails as glue. I melted them over the center of the cap, letting the liquefied nails drip unto the hair and cap. Lot watched that part in amazement. When the nails dried, it was stuck to the cap. “Perfect,” I said to myself, smiling.

I placed the cap on my head, and looked at the result in a large half-broken mirror Lot had had hidden underneath some junk. Didn’t like to look at himself, he said.

If you looked closely - not even that closely, honestly - you could see that something was wrong. All you had to do was look at my scalp. But I wasn’t looking for the Kalamuzi to give me a haircut. It should work, I thought.

Of course, as it was, it was liable to simply slide off. So, I took it off, placed it back on the table, and cut little slices in the cap. Then, putting it back on my head, I fed my own hair through the slits - which was terrible. But I did it, and then “nailed” my hair in place as well. I whipped my head back and forth as a test, and it held. It would be a bitch to get off later, but that was a problem I could afford to put off.

My hair didn’t match, so now it looked not only like I had spilled some sort of liquid resin in my hair, but also like I had dyed my hair blond in the past, and my roots were starting to come back in my natural color. Still, I figured it would be good enough to fool a rat.

The other parts were easy - putting on the dirty dress of some dead peasant woman, throwing a hood half-over my dirty wig to hide the glue spot - but letting the blond hair fall out of it, of course - stuffing the dress in the appropriate places, and practicing a falsetto I hoped I wouldn’t have to use.

But there was one last touch. The peasant’s dress didn’t fully cover the arms or legs, and what bits peaked through were covered in hair - more hair than a woman would have, even in a medieval time period when they probably didn’t shave. So that would have to be fixed.

The process was simple, and took only an old pewter jug and some nails. I melted and poured the nails into the jug, let them cool just enough - too much and it wouldn’t work - before then pouring the liquid unto my arms and legs. It was quite uncomfortable, but it got worse. I let the nails cool. Then, having stuck a leather strap in my mouth in anticipation of the pain, I ripped them off. Lot couldn’t watch, had to step outside while I did it.

“Mmhhm!” I exclaimed as the hair was torn out. It hurt worse than I had expected. It stung.

I had to do the same thing for the top of my chest, just under my throat, and it was just as painful. But the result, afterwards, was perfect. Every part of me you could see was perfectly smooth.

I examined myself in the mirror again. I called for Lot to come back in and look at the result. He’d been just outside, so he was back in only a moment.

I looked like a mannish, disheveled, dirty, flat-chested woman - the dress we had hadn’t allowed much padding in the front without it being obvious - with a fat butt and big feet.

“How do I look?” I asked aloud.

“You look ridiculous,” Lot said. “You look like a man in a dress, and any reasonable person could see that.”

I smiled. “No,” I said. “I look like Tom in a dress. God, I can’t wait to punch his fucking lights out.”

“Who?” Lot asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” I replied. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter if a reasonable person could see through it. The question is, could a Kalamuzi?”

Lot sighed. “Unfortunately, I think it might just work.”

“Hey RENA,” I said aloud. “You around? What do you think?” I turned to Lot’s confused face. “That’s the name of my goddess,” I said. He looked even more confused.

“Unfortunately, Miles,” RENA’s voice piped in, “My analysis of the matter leads me to a conclusion that you have forbidden me from expressing.”

I sighed. “Therapy?”

“That is correct, Miles.”

I shook my head. “Never mind that. How much time do I have until the debt is due?”

“Three days, Miles.”

It was about as bad as I’d expected. That’s why I hadn’t talked to RENA, recently. I hadn’t wanted to know.

“Alright, RENA, then be ready,” I said. “I’ll be sending you a lot soon, and I want you to be prepared to take it, quickly.”

“Absolutely, Miles. On behalf of Dimen-X, I’d like to say we appreciate your support and look forward to your contribution.”

“I’ll be happy when it’s all paid off…” I said under my breath. I didn’t even want to think about the fact that next month’s payment might be even higher. At least they couldn’t change the amount I owed. They could just force me to pay it quicker. Which they were already doing. I didn’t understand it all, exactly, but it was something like that Dimen-X, in order to pay off the loans in my behalf, had actually bought out the loans. For the control, I was sure.

They’ll get their pound of flesh, I thought later, as I was walking down the Kalamuzi pathway, dressed in women’s clothing in a way that I hoped was convincing. I was thinking about Dimen-X in an attempt to keep my mind off the danger on all sides. I was trying even harder not to remember how the Kalamuzi took their more literal pound of flesh from Naomi’s companions.

Dimen-X was just like them, in a way. They’d strip down everything they could from me, squeeze out every last dollar they could. When it was time for me to get home, I was certain they would offer me a high salary to keep working in that dimension. Maybe I’d do it. Or maybe I’d tell them to shove it up their ass.

“Screeee!” A piercing shriek sounded from behind us, and a chill ran down my spine. “Stop right there!”