The rope tied around my wrists tugged at me as Lot signaled that we were stopping. What the hell is he doing? I wondered to myself. I kept my eyes cast down as the owner of the voice approached. I tried to will myself into invisibility, hoped that he would ignore me. I could see his bare feet - paws? - as he walked by. They were hairy and bestial, but also pale, half-human. A Talker.

Suddenly my ears were berated by the grating noise of Kalamuzi speech. Why it had chosen to use English when it first called out was beyond me - now it spoke in the customary squeaks of the ratmen. It was unintelligible, of course, but I could tell that it was coming from the rat who had just approached us, and I thought it sounded accusatory - though I could have been imagining it, hallucinating emotion into creatures without any feeling whatsoever. The other rats around us were snickering to themselves like schoolgirls, laughing at some joke I didn’t get.

I hoped that it wouldn’t take long. We were betting on the stupidity of the Kalamuzi, but Talkers were harder to predict, naturally. I wasn’t sure if the disguise would hold up long under scrutiny.

I wanted to simply kill them all, but it took surprisingly little of my willpower to hold myself back. Maybe that was just self-preservation, being woefully outnumbered, but I thought that it was more than that. It was a sign of the change I had made, the subtle shift from anger to hatred. Anger is quick. Hate is slow. Hate is patient. Hate can wait.

Lot responded, his answer equally meaningless to me, though it sounded a little softer and more dignified - if anything said in the disgusting language can be called “dignified.”

They talked back and forth for awhile like that, and I could do nothing but keep my head down and wait. If this was going to end in my being discovered, then I would go down swinging. My nerves were drawn taut like wire.

Then the Kalamuzi who had stopped us laughed, and said something mocking. Then he approached me, stepped closer, and before I had the chance to even think to react, one of his cold hands had grabbed at my chin. I cried out, but no sound came out, only air - luckily. I had stifled the cry in time.

He yanked my head up, his claws poking my cheek, and it was a miracle that the hood didn’t fall off of my head. Perhaps the rat was so stupid he still wouldn’t have realized I was wearing a wig, but I was happy not to have to test it.

He tried to look at me with those dead fish eyes, but I didn’t make eye contact. It was instinct more than anything, because it wasn’t as if my eyes would have given me away. Or maybe they would have.

My weapons were hidden among the rags - other than the staff, which Lot was using as a walking stick. I thought only of how quickly I could grab them, if I needed to. Would it be quick enough?

No, I thought. Stay still. Wait. Your time will come. Be patient.

“Ugly,” the Kalamuzi said finally, in clear English.

Relief. So far, so good, I thought. But it wasn’t over yet.

“Now look who’s using human speech,” Lot said. “Are you a hypocrite as well as a fool, Kripresisic?”

Now that my head was raised, I could see them both clearly. The difference between them was striking - it made Lot look more human than before, by comparison. He stood by as the Talker - Kripresisic - held my jaw, but it was clear that worry hung heavy on his brow. Maybe I was the only one who noticed - who knew if the rats could read body language.

“The girl would not hear me if I didn’t,” he responded. Then he turned to Lot, and hissed. “Watch yourself. You are not who you were, Lotsqueekinerik. Be careful who you anger.”

“Thank you for the advice, old friend,” Lot responded, bowing, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, will you let us pass? I am quite busy.”

Kripresisic turned back to me. I could feel his eyes run over me, and I tried hard to have no visible reaction even as my skin crawled. He sniffed the air.

“Ugly,” he said again. “Dirty. Smelly. Maybe we should simply eat her.” He drew back his lips into a hungry snarl.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Lot’s eyes widened for a moment before calm returned. “You would deprive the Omphalos of a breeder?” Lot responded, taking a step forward. “And yet you accuse me of being a traitor. Perhaps you are the one who ought to watch himself, hmm?”

More snickering noises from the rats. Some of them had gotten closer, forming a ring around us three. I felt claustrophobic.

Kripresisic tightened his grip on my face, and I winced as his claws began to dig in, felt as the blood was drawn and ran down my face. But I held out, didn’t say a word, didn’t react. I had been Tom, before. I could be a poor slave woman, frozen in fear.

“She did not even scream,” Kripresisic said. “What good is a girl that doesn’t scream?” He turned to me again. “Speak.” I still didn’t meet his gaze, but I felt spittle land on me.

Shit. What was I supposed to do? Speak with a falsetto? The Kalamuzzi were dumb, but were they that dumb?

“She is mute,” Lot said, and for not the first time I had to stop myself from sighing in relief. “She cannot speak. You are wasting your breath as usual.”

Kripresisic’s face twitched at this. Lot seemed to know exactly what buttons to press to anger the rat - though I had no idea why he felt the need to. I wished he would just focus on getting out of there.

“Do not think this girl-” Kripresisic drew out the word with disgust - “makes you whole, Lotsqueekinerik. You are still more man than Kalamuzi.”

“And you are still more bark than bite.”

“What gives you the right-“

“Blah blah blah,” Lot interrupted. “It’s all so tiresome. If you were going to fight me, you would have snuck up on me and slit my throat like the coward you are. I’m tired of this drama. Unhand my slave.”

Kripresisic shook with anger, but it seemed Lot had called his bluff. He let go of me, and I quickly turned my face down again.

“Take her,” he said, full of vitriol. “Only don’t get so attached to this one.” He raised his voice, as if he wanted the crowd to hear. Could the regular Kalamuzi understand? “She’ll be dead before long, just like that whore you called ‘mother.’ Traitorous-”

But Kripresisic was cut off before he could mutter another insult. The fat end of Naomi’s staff crashed into his long nose, a deep crunch resounding as it struck. He crumpled to the floor in a pile, and the crowd exploded into a deafening roar of squeaks and hollers. But no one approached.

Lot stood over the ratman, staff pointed down. I could see them both out of the corner of my eye if I just lifted my head the smallest bit. “Say it again,” Lot said.

Kripresisic was on his back, but he raised his head again defiantly, wiping blood from his nose. “You would attack me for a human?” he asked. He raised his voice. “He would attack me for a human! We can all see he is a traitor, can’t we? He turns against his own. He disrespects Olsgolon.” Then he shouted again, this time in the Kalamuzi tongue, presumably repeating what he had just said in English.

“I told you to say it again,” Lot responded. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“You won’t even challenge me?” Kripresisic asked. “You disgrace us all.” More roaring from the crowd.

“Duels are to be had between equals,” Lot said. “We are not equals. You are an animal.”

“I am a Kalamuzi!” Kripresisic shouted, and the crowd shouted with him. “What are you?”

“Your king.”

I heard as he brought the staff down on the Kalamuzi again. Kripresisic held up his hands to block, but that only earned him a few broken fingers. Lot struck again and again, and Naomi’s staff was stained with blood by the end of it. The crowd’s fervor reached a fever pitch, but no one intervened. If anything, they seemed satisfied by the violence, like the people who go to races just hoping to see a crash.

Eventually, Lot grabbed the rope again, and yanked at me. “Let’s go,” he said.

Stealing a glance, I couldn’t tell if Kripresisic had been beaten to death, or only half-way there. But he was left on the floor in a bloody and broken pile.

Lot led the way further up the suspended walkway, past the crowd which closed in around the fallen ratman. The Kalamuzi parted as Lot approached - out of respect, or fear, or both.

“I might have lost a duel,” Lot whispered under his breath as we went. “If we’d had one. But he didn’t expect me to actually strike him. I was much more - pacifistic, before.”

“You don’t say?” I responded, as quietly as I could.

“Don’t worry,” Lot said. “He’s alive. I haven’t lost my head. The Kalamuzi respect violence over most things. If I wanted to, I likely could be their king, now. After beating up a few more Talkers, of course.”

“Whatever you say, King Lot.” I was just happy the plan was working, and that we were still alive.

He chuckled.

I followed him into the Omphalos, feeling ecstatic about our progress despite the cuts on my face. Running into a Talker was the biggest possible hiccup in the plan - with that done, it should have been smooth sailing from that point. Get to where the girls were, break them out, and leave. I was actually doing it.

I couldn’t see much beyond the edge of my hood, keeping my eyes focused squarely on my feet, but even the ground beneath me changed as we entered. The floor became darker, and it was soft like flesh in some places, and hard like bone in others. The atmosphere changed as well - it was more humid, the air stinging my nostrils, the smell like rot. It felt like I had stepped into the belly of some leviathan.

I followed Lot’s lead, anxious to look up and see what surrounded me, wanting to check and make sure that there weren’t teeth around the mouth of the entrance. Then again, knowing what I did of Kalamuzi building techniques, perhaps there really would have been teeth there. Another part of me, of course, was happy that I had a reason not to look.

It was difficult to keep any sort of time like that, but after what felt like ages, myself only vaguely aware of entering and leaving rooms, Lot stopped.

“Lotsqueekinerik,” a new voice said, though not too different from the last one. If the Kalamuzi were people, I might have been called racist for thinking they all sounded the same, I mused. Luckily, they weren’t people. But then again, who was? Not those drones walking around back on Earth, that’s for sure.

“It is I,” Lot replied. “I bring a slave.”

The new voice let out a high laugh. “Never thought I’d see the day. Guess you came to your senses, aye?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, you know the drill. Gotta give her the drink. Especially since you kept her awake.”

“I can handle that,” Lot replied.

“No,” the voice said. “You cannot.”

The room descended into silence. I heard the guard - I assumed it was a guard, a Talker - fidgeting, tapping his foot nervously.

“Don’t jeer at me like that,” the voice said. “Rules are rules. If you’re not going to follow them, then why the hell did you come back?”

This could be a problem, I thought. Lot had told me about the drink they gave prisoners, the one that sapped them of their mana. Obviously, I wanted to avoid drinking at all costs. We had planned to have Lot volunteer to give it to me, and then secretly not drink it. I even had an empty bottle stashed in my rags that we would pour it in. But if the guard gave it to me…

“Fine,” Lot said.

I shifted under my rags. You better have a plan, I thought.