Adria inspected the pint in the corner of the dining hall from closer and weaved her hand through the ether flowing out of it. It was like she'd touched nothing. She stood back up, made sure no one had been looking at her, and hurried to the kitchen. Four fresh blueberry pies surrounded by an army of muffins and cookies waited to be brought to the Band of the North.

Adria balanced the stack of plates on her hands and her shoulders and served the hands of the Liar. Then, after they grunted in satisfaction and waved her away, saying that they'd call for her if any new desires arose, she sought out La'Var.

The hunter wasn't in the dining hall. Not in the corridors beyond the hall and not in the kitchen.

Where did you get yourself? Adria thought, clambering up the stairs to the floor above.

At the back of the hallway, a single door was open. The door to Adria's quarters. She frowned and, holding the bone dagger hidden beneath her maid outfit, snuck over. A few steps before the door, she stopped and took a deep breath.

She stepped into the room.

The plants on the shelves were cackling and all of the books floated, and atop a shelf stood La'Var, hugging the wall, sniffing deeply. Adria creaked a floorboard and La'Var's gaze snapped at her. His eyes widened.

“I thought I smelled a ghost. I was wrong.”

He hopped off the shelf and bowed in front of Adria.

I... What... Why... Coherent thoughts avoided Adria's brain. Eventually, signs of intelligence returned to her. He didn't question me sneaking out to the forest and didn't even ask how I passed the barrier! I have to do the same...

“I found it. The source,” she said after a minute's pause. “When I sneezed, I released the spirits into a pint. From it, they leaked out -- they’re under the floor of the dining hall!”

“Of course!” La'Var threw his hands up. “What kind of hunter am I? I should've gotten into the minds of those ghosts, really gotten into them, and realized that... Hidden passages and crypts attract those half-alives like honey attracts a bear.”

“Let's go check it out, then.”

“You know what’s going on in the dining hall, right? You saw the crowd of people and the hands of the Liar you told me not to introduce myself to? Starting to dig there in the middle of the day would be one of the most terrible ideas I've had in my life.”

“I’ll cast a spell and hide you -- I’ll just need U’lis’ help to teach me the spell and... Huh?”

“You're not a wolf or a bear, or a human. You're a goblin. A spell like that will knock you out for three days,” La'Var said. “And... Where are you hurrying, exactly? The spirits aren't burning down the inn. We can wait for the night.”

“I'll handle the spell if it means not wasting time because... Well, with the Band of the North here and some terrible things going on in Gothsin, I feel like a bad storm is about to swallow the inn. I don't want to be dealing with ghosts on top of whatever else comes our way.”

La'Var's eyes narrowed and he stared at Adria in silence for a while. The hunter nodded.

Adria descended to the kitchen and when U'lis had a free second from screaming orders at the witless and juggling pans, she asked the master chef for help. The master chef agreed, but couldn’t remember the exact moves and words for a hiding spell. She needed a grimoire. Adria sent a witless to get it from U’lis’ room whilst she served more customers and then asked the Band of the North if they needed anything. They didn't: Adria turned away and began laughing to herself.

In the tavern sat some of the most powerful men in the world. They hunted for Adria and would travel to the end of the world if it meant catching her. And here she was, disguised as a goblin, a few steps away from them, serving them wine and pastries.

The witless little green one returned to Adria with a grimoire in hand. From the black pages and the white ink, the power of magic flowed into her fingers. With the cover closed, little wisps of power seeped through, but she kept it open. She needed more magic in her blood -- it would be a tough spell, she could tell.

“Just a little warning, a goblin can easily pass out in the middle of casting this spell,” a minute later, U’lis said, taking the grimoire from Adria’s hands. “When you use it, put some pillows on the ground, alright? You don’t want to bang your head in.”

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Adria put up a thumb and listened to U’lis’ instructions: she waved her hands in the required patterns and memorized the special words.

“That’s it. You got it.” U’lis patted Adria on the shoulder and gave her the grimoire. “Bring it back to my room. I don’t want it laying around here, in danger of sauces and icing.”

In the corner of the kitchen, dressed in a white apron and a white hat, a witless goblin napped. The poor green one had passed out from slicing fruits all day, knife still in hand. Lightly, Adria kicked. The witless jumped out of his slumber and dropped the little blade.

Adria handed over the grimoire. In the goblins' primitive tongue, she stuttered. “Bring U’lis room!’

The little green one snatched the book, gazed at it in amazement for a moment, then ran off.

“Got the spell to hide me while I check out what’s going on beneath the floors?” La’Var asked.

“Got the tools to actually do it?” Adria shot back.

The hunter waved a brown leather pouch. Inside, metal clanked, the shapes of hammers and crowbars sticking out. In turn, Adria waved her hands in the patterns of the spell and La’Var grinned, and they headed into the dining hall. She led him along the back wall of the room. They stopped by the knocked-over pint. Still, the translucent spirit matter flowed from it.

Crouching, La’Var inspected the pint, dipped his fingers in the spirit-matter and smelled deeply.

“If it's got fur, antlers and likes to pierce goblins, it's a deer. No confusing it. If it's got ether flowing out from it, it's the source of a possession. Also no confusion.”

Adria glanced over her shoulder. A few patrons were looking at her and the hunter, but the bustle of the dining hall disguised them well enough. Most importantly, the Band of the North had brought out maps and tokens. The plotting and the whispers took every last drop of their attention.

Adria could focus with no one stabbing her with their stare: she drew a triangle in the air, a square within, a circle in the square and countless winding lines.

“Thy shall be hidden for as long as thy does not spill the blood of fellow folk.”

La’Var vanished.

Grinning, Adria threw up a thumb. The hunter was good to go.

From the plain, inconspicuous part of the wall, huffs and puffs sounded. Tools clinked. The ground shook a little. After a minute, new customers arrived in Saint Goblin’s Inn. Hands arose and hungry eyes stared at Adria. She guarded the pit for as long as she could before leaving to attend to the new faces, praying nobody would run past that part of the dining hall. She brought meals and opened new mead barrels. The customers, delighted, dunked their heads into the plates and downed the mugs, the pints and the goblets.

Yet some of the arrived patrons were in a state of panic, shifting in their seats, looking over to the Band of the North. Many of these new customers had scars and bruises like Benedictus Lucanus.

It wouldn’t be the Band of the North, Adria thought, shivers running down her back. They can’t go without… introducing themselves to a new town in their own way.

At least it was a good day for Gothsin's blood-cleaners and corpse-collectors.

Adria took a deep breath and cleared her head. The Band of the North would dine and then leave, and never return to Saint Goblin’s Inn ever again—the head of the inn would never accept to serve the Liar. By tomorrow, Adria's peace of mind would return. She'd live the calm life she'd always prayed for.

Adria returned to La'Var's digging site.

“How’s it going?” she whispered. No answer. Louder, she repeated.

There was a thud and a groan of pain.

“I found a very low ceiling, lots of dust and... What we were hunting for, I think... Listen, you'll have to come down too. See it for yourself. And help me exorcize those spirits.”

From the corridors of the back rooms, the witless goblin in the white apron and white hat--the one, who Adria had sent to return the grimoire to U’lis room--emerged and dashed around the dining hall.

“Where big momma?” it asked in its primitive goblin tongue. “Bell crack! Bell crack!”

“What?” Adria frowned. More or less, she understood what the little green one meant, but she couldn’t believe those words.

“Bell crack!” the goblin repeated. “Bell crack!”

Adria's eyes widened.

“Bell crack? We need to find Saint Goblin right now.”

Searching throughout the tavern, Adria dragged the goblin along. The head of the inn was nowhere to be found. She ended up at the door to the archive room, a relic from the First Age. As she entered, Ba'Gan ran in as well. In his hands, a skull quaked and shivered, and ghastly eyes danced around the sockets.

The waiter's face gleamed with excitement like he was bringing the head of the Liar to one of the dozen rulers that would pay piles of gold for it.

Saint Goblin was pacing around the endless rows of bookshelves and encaged artifacts, throwing books around, angrily muttering something about the Liar and 'those damned northerners' damned audacity.'

“I think I have very good news,” Ba’Gan began. “This skull right here is a clue--”

“Bad, terrible, godawful news!” Adria cut in, shoving the witless at Saint Goblin.

“Bell crack! Bell crack! Bell crack!” the little green one sputtered.

Saint Goblin froze. Ba'Gan's eyes widened. For a moment, doubt glowed from his face, but then he met the head of the inn's gaze and the realization crushed all hope: his face soured and his eyes sunk. His hands let go of the skull.

Rolling away from Ba'Gan's foot, the possessed bones cackled.