Footsteps accompanied a dark figure scurrying around the shadows of the kitchen. Adria blinked and blinked, and blinked, trying to rip herself out of sleep’s grip and figure out who it is. But by the time she was wide awake, the figure was gone. Where did it go? How? She hadn’t the slightest clue.

“U’lis?” she asked. “Martin?”

As the master chef and the ghost groaned in their sleep, a wave of worry hit Adria. For a moment, she convinced herself that she’d overslept and the Liar had arrived. Even her ears seemed to pick up a bustling in the dining hall, but then reason returned.

If the inn was in full swing, the kitchen would be too… And there’s only darkness and snoring in here.

The illusions of sounds in the dining hall vanished. Still, the question remained: who was that?

Adria lit candles all over the kitchen. After a pair, the hassle got to Adria and she stopped, staring into her hands. It could be easier. But it would need sorcery. Her thoughts went back and forth until she gave in to the sweet temptation of convenience. She waved and light engulfed the inn.

Next, Adria shook U’lis out of her slumber.

“Let me sleep, green little dumbass! We have a big day ahead,” U’lis rambled in a half-asleep mania. Adria shook the goblin again. U’lis jolted to life, instinctively gripping for tools and ingredients. Another moment later, the master chef came to.

The ruckus brought Martin back as well. The ghost stretched and shifted into his usual form, turning to U’lis and Adria. His bright, ghastly aura rippled.

“Wait. This is it. This is the day we might all die!” he cheered. “You know, as is knightly tradition, we should feast! It might as well be our final feast: you, Adria, could dine on U’lis fine meals and I could have myself a rat or two.”

“Just say you’re hungry and go to La’Var,” Adria rolled her eyes. “He’ll catch you something--”

U’lis shouted a curse.

Adria spun on her heel. The master chef, candle in hand, paced around the kitchen. Knives and crates of ingredients were tossed around by her.

“No, no, no,” she muttered. “I knew I put it there… But it’s not there!”

Adria rushed to the master chef’s side.

“What’s wrong? What are you looking for?”

U’lis didn’t answer until every cabinet in the kitchen had been opened and every pot was flipped. To no avail, of course. The master chef entered a state of panic Adria had never seen before, and the worry infected her too. Eventually, the goblin kicked a cabin and collapsed into a puddle of tears.

“The spices! We can’t cook meat without spices! And they are gone! It’s gonna be clammy, bitter and it won’t have a crunchy bite…”

“You left them on the counter last night and now they’re gone?”

“Those were the last spices the inn had. I specifically saved them for The Liar! Or so I thought. Guess I’m a toothpick nose after all! Good for nothing…”

Adria crouched into the same puddle of tears and embraced the master chef.

“No, you did put them there. I remember now. Someone… stole them.” Adria paused. “I woke up from the sound of someone rummaging through the kitchen. And before that, I had a strange dream. I don’t know if it means anything, but it must be connected to what’s happening… To the Liar.”

“Well, it must’ve been Potatochop.” U’lis looked around. The sleepwalking witless was nowhere to be seen.

“Ask yourself: why would he steal anything? Accidentally? He’s worked in the kitchen long enough to know not to mess with you.”

U’lis sighed, shaking her head.

“That’s right--”

Martin gasped.

“A traitor!” he said. “Someone cracked the bell, someone possessed the inn and now they’re stealing spices. Oh, what other sorts of unimaginable atrocities will they cause if they won’t be stop--”

Adria slammed the ghost over the head.

“I possessed the inn, you dumbass, but about the traitor you’re right,” she said. “Either a goblin pretending to be witless or someone sneaking in through the secret passages, or…” she trailed off. The word reached the tip of her tongue. It brought about heavy accusations and she couldn’t make herself say it.

The kitchen went silent and the stares towards her sharpened.

“No, never!” U’lis snapped like she’d read Adria’s mind. The master chef covered her mouth and continued. “Your first two guesses could be right, but Ba’Gan wouldn’t do anything bad to the inn.”

“Look at him, though!” Adria protested. “He’s always been shady, I haven’t seen him around the dining hall in a while. He figured out my humanity first and only kept the secret cause I paid him all my tips. And if I paid him off, imagine what someone with a fortune could do!”

Sighing, U’lis shook her head.

“Ba’Gan’s might be mean and a little odd, but he’s a good goblin. A really good goblin. First of all, like with all of us, Saint Goblin checked his soul when he first arrived. Second, he comes from a destroyed goblin colony. Everyone in his family was enslaved to work in the iron mines. He was the only one to escape. He knows the suffering goblins feel from humans and he would never bring it upon us.”

Guilt hit Adria. How could I accuse him so quickly? she thought. Still, she couldn’t slip into the usual hatred of oneself, common after such a mishap. There’s something off.

“It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that we get those spices back.”

“I have some bad news for you,” Martin said. “If you don’t know who stole those spices, you can’t steal them back from them.”

“We can buy more if there’s a merchant in Gothsin.”

“The Man of Many Spices hasn’t left Gothsin in years, '' U'lis said. “We’re still doomed. The inn doesn’t have a coin left. And no goblin can leave or enter the inn because of… Well, that’s understandable by itself.”

“Thank the Twenty Gods I’m not a goblin.” Adria winked, then her eyes widened. “No offense, I’m just saying...”

“You could sneak through, but how will you pay?”

Adria turned to Martin and whispered.

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“Treasure.”

The spirit hovered up and whizzed around, throwing around pots, pans, and knives.

“Treasure?! Where? Where, I ask?!”

“In my room,” Adria said. “The treasure you found in the inn’s catacombs. Bring it here and bring my pouch of coins. I’ll pay for the spices.”

Martin deflated and collapsed, morphing into a slug.

“If you could only see my disappointment.”

U’lis couldn’t help but cackle. She pointed at Adria’s outfit and pinched the apron and the sleeves.

“Even if you’re a human, you can’t go around looking like a maid from Saint Goblin’s Inn.”

“I know invisibility sorcery.”

“You’ll still have to reveal yourself in the market.”

“Isn’t it quite risky, too?” Martin chimed in. “You don’t exactly know when this big evil lord is going to step through the front doors, do you?”

Twisting her hair, Adria paced around the kitchen. She thought of ways out of this situation. But her mind delved into the worries. She stopped. She couldn't let her imagination wander. Too terrible of a fate awaited. Too distracting. Adria growled. Why now? Why this situation! The world was too wicked for its own good. There could be no evil, no Liar, and no messed-up moments like this. There could be peace and saintliness in every person…

Adria stopped and Saint Goblin’s words entered her mind.

Those who do not notice the rodent nibbling away at the stock of a poor merchant will not see the giant coming to crush them, she repeated in her head. She’d missed a detail. Something that could give the traitor away. Of course, nothing came to mind now.

The inn would open and serve the Liar without the spices.

“Does only the main course need them?” Adria asked. U’lis nodded, and she continued, “Then we open the inn and serve the Liar. I’ll find the traitor and the spices by the time our customers are done with their wine and their appetizers.”

I’ve lived my whole life being a careless fool. I think I’ll recognize a fellow one. And even if the traitor isn’t one, they’re bound to slip up eventually. I just have to pay attention.

Grinning, U’lis nodded and picked up a pair of pots and pans fallen to the floor. Martin floated down beside her and helped clean up the ravaged kitchen. Adria strode out, right as life flowed back into the inn: the witless rushed from the quarters above and through the corridors. Among them was Potatochop, the sole witless Adria recognized. La’Var came down with Ba’Gan. Adria shared a suspicious look with the latter. Saint Goblin appeared as well, instructing everyone.

The barricade in front of the entrance disappeared and the usual bustle of the inn brought a smile to Adria’s face. Beyond the smile she observed every goblin.

Traitor, traitor, where are you?

After orders to look decent from Saint Goblin, Adria found herself in Saint Goblin’s quarters. The wardrobe was opened and a band of witless dressed her according to the inn’s head’s standards. First, a gray dress with flower patterns appeared on Adria. Then, a white apron and a pearl necklace appeared on her. Lastly, her feet landed in a pair of ball shoes. With smiles, the green ones stepped away and pointed for Adria to walk and get the hang of it.

One of the first lessons Black Ice Bastion mentors taught was walking in ball shoes. Adria walked and didn't trip, and the jaws of the witless crashed to the floor. They babbled in early goblin and rushed down to take care of other tasks.

Adria took a deep breath.

Any moment now. And I still have no clue where the spices are.

She found a round old mirror, and a bittersweet view met her eyes. She looked wonderful and alive like she hadn’t looked since the day she met The Liar. And looking this spectacular reminded her of the day her life had collapsed.

Adria equipped the Mask of Roguish Disguise, ordering it one last time to turn her into a goblin.

Sorcery flowed from her blood into her mask, whiplash shook her and she shifted into a goblin. For a moment longer, she basked in the strangely peaceful atmosphere of the room and headed out. As she passed the kitchen, the usual madness inside subdued. In the dining hall, the bustle died. The steel doors opened. There was only one sound -- the jangling of crosses. Saint Goblin scurried over to the entrance and announced.

“Welcome, welcome, the ruler of the north, to…” she tapered off as the patron came into view.

The King of Dark Alleys entered, leading a horse and holding a sword. He stopped to bow.

“Not the ruler of the north, yet.” His voice was hoarse. “But I’m flattered. If we’re welcome, I and my people are here to dine.”

Saint Goblin’s eyes narrowed and she stepped back, floating off into deep contemplation. She weighed the decision. All the possibilities sparkled in Saint Goblin’s pupils. Adria would’ve turned the King of Dark Alleys away. But there was more to this encounter than it seemed. Only the head of the inn had the wisdom to decide right.

Saint Goblin snapped her fingers and yelled in early goblin. A band of witless appeared around her. She ordered them around and turned to the King of Dark Alleys.

“We have special customers arriving today, but we could still accommodate you. The meals will take a while to be served, but the drinks will always be on time. A few free tables are waiting just for you. The witless will bring more seats soon enough.”

“Very well.”

What?! Adria’s eyes widened at Saint Goblin’s words. Like that, she’d let the enemy in. Adria controlled herself. She trusted the choice.

The King of Dark Alleys led his steed over to a corner seat, leashed it, and put his sword on the table. Peasants with pitchforks and scythes, and rusty swords followed. Gloom and frustration dripped from their faces, leaving a dark trail. They sat around The King of Dark Alleys, fighting the inn’s pleasant atmosphere of spices with the smells of sweat and disease.

A few witless ran to shut the steel entrance. Before they got to it, a hooded figure floated in. A white mask hovered centimeters in front of it. The ground trembled and shook. The Band of the North made their grand entry, followed by dozens of Black Ice soldiers.

Adria’s heart dropped. Along with the rest of the inn’s crew, she bowed while Saint Goblin repeated her ritual.

“Welcome, welcome, the ruler of the north, to Saint Goblin’s Inn! We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Please, please, take your seats!” The head of the inn pointed at the right end of the dining hall. “Enjoy appetizers and some wonderful music until the waiters come and take your orders.”

The Liar nodded and floated over to the table. One by one, the Band of the North passed Saint Goblin, smiling at her, greeting the waiters.

Witless served the King of Dark Alleys. Adria, Ba’Gan and La’Var tended to the northerners. Adria couldn’t contain herself. An odd feeling ripped through her guts. It wasn't the fear of The Liar or the dread of the unknown. It didn’t bother her one bit -- what fate would decide, that would happen. No, it was La’Var in a waiter’s suit. And La’Var trying to act pleasant to the deadly customers. And La’Var trying to jot down their orders in a sketchbook. What added to the hilarity was Ba'Gan, trying to stifle constant sneezes and sniffles, when he had been fine last night.

No court jester will ever compare to this sight, Adria thought, approaching the Liar.

“What do you want to drink? And what do you want to snack on?”

The Liar grumbled. A long finger extended out from under his cloak, and he scratched the forehead of his white mask.

“What are the choices?”

“Anything from your scroll of demands.”

“Ah, right. Foolish of me.” The Liar laughed. “Wait a moment. I am terrible at deciding.”

Even though the dining hall grew unbearably hot, Adria shivered. No, you’re not.

Another pair of long fingers extended out and they grabbed his white mask, bringing it closer to Adria. A deep sniff came from the mask. The Liar returned it to its place.

“I think I’ll have the southern potatoes and wine with cherries.”

Adria jotted it down and moved on to the Band of the North, worry falling from her shoulders. Her mind remained in a daze. Just standing to the Liar twisted her stomach. After Ratbite said what he wanted, Adria bit her lip and remembered Saint Goblin’s words. Pay attention, damnit, she told herself and took her notebook out once more.

Adria followed Ba’Gan toward the kitchen but stopped to look back. The Liar talked with the Band of the North, but she could feel his stare. And right outside the corners of her vision, reality shifted. Abyssian Tales was already at work.

In the kitchen, Adria recited U’lis the orders. After cursing Adria, the world and herself, the master chef kicked open a barrel and took out a few bottles of wine and a dusty bottle of rum.

“Bottle’s dusty, but the liquor’s clean,” U’lis said. She tossed a dozen goblets Adria’s way, gestured for her to pour the drinks herself and began screaming a pair of witless cutting potatoes.

Adria prepared and served the drinks to the northerners. Then she returned but didn’t turn off into the kitchen, instead walking deep into the shadows.

Ba’Gan had walked to the kitchen ahead of Adria. But he was neither there nor in the dining hall.

Finally, she’d noticed.