“You killed them all.”

“I had to,” Sebas replied as he straightened his amazingly pristine clothing. “They were going to talk.”

Deckard unconsciously bit his lip — knowing the butler’s words implied a warning. He didn’t just battle his captors, he also battled with the blood and gore that flew across the room — dodging them as if they were poison or molten metal.

It was not graceful or beautiful. Sebas did not dance like the wind or weave between their blades. He merely pummeled them with a blunt — impossibly blunt — dagger. Still, he managed to draw blood — ripping and tearing instead of cutting open flesh.

At first, Deckard thought the butler was overly-complicating his attacks and dodges with superfluous movements — only realizing by the end of the battle that he was avoiding getting his clothes dirtied as much as he was his enemies’ blows.

There was a brutality in Sebas’ attacks underneath the near-flawless technique and grim efficiency. Very few adventurers or soldiers could sever a man’s arm with a blunted weapon — much less something as small as a dagger.

Sebas approached his fallen captors. He searched their bodies, presumably for the key that would free him from his cell. Deckard grew anxious. The sounds of battle would have alerted hidden sentries posted nearby — and more men were sure to come.

“Here,” the butler threw a set of keys towards him, not bothering to open the cell himself.

Deckard fumbled for the right key, hoping for the chance of freedom. The lock opened on his third attempt — precious seconds lost to make their escape. He prepared himself for a hard battle or a chase across the city. Either way, he was determined to die rather than be locked up again.

He picked up one of his captors’ sword — spitting at his face and kicking him for good measure. Every merchant had at least the most basic of training with the sword and he was no exception.

Unfortunately, the constant beatings and lack of proper meals made him gaunt and weak. He was not in his best fighting form — but all he needed was to stay alive while his savior did most of the work.

“What are you doing?” Sebas stared at him with clear confusion on his face.

“Preparing for battle,” he answered. “My captors’ employer had power — a rival merchant or maybe even a noble.”

Deckard tried reading the butler’s face for a clue — but neither of his remarks provoked a response. Perhaps the butler was simply hard to read, or maybe it was better to not know who was behind his captivity.

“There will be more men coming,” he warned. “This place probably has observers and hidden sentries. We would be facing more than four men when they arrive — and they would be better armed.”

“They won’t be a problem,” the butler assured him. “The only problem we have now are the tracing runes carved into your body.”

Deckard panicked, searching for the magical sigils that would lead to his capture if ever they escaped. He was prepared to cut off a hand or a leg if need be.

“There is a place I could take you,” Sebas’ words were like a ray of hope. “It won’t be comfortable, but you’ll be safe and no tracking magic would reveal your whereabouts.”

“You’re taking me to the Scourge?” he was prepared for such an outcome. He might be trading one captor for another — but the Scourge didn’t seem to be the type to torture people for information. He also had nothing to gain from him since he was the source of the merchant’s most successful product.

“No!” Sebas seemed aghast at the suggestion. “You are not to tell Master Jeremy what happened to you — or there would be horrific consequences.”

Deckard was confused. He knew a threat when he heard one, but this one seemed rather hollow — as if the horrific consequences the butler was alluding to were not related to him.

“Let’s go then,” he suggested. “The farther I get from this place the better. Damn those nobles and their kin.”

He turned towards the exit, frowning at the destroyed remnants of the ladder his captors used to descend. Where did all that water come from? He didn’t seem to hear rain and he would have noticed if his captors came down wet.

It was then that he noticed Sebas standing in front of a door he had never seen before. A hidden door? How did the butler even know it was here?

“After you,” the butler prompted as he opened the door. “And leave the sword.”

Elated at the thought of finally escaping, Deckard went through the door without minding what was on the other side.

It was hell.

Or at least it seemed like hell from the flames seeping from the ground and the crimson walls aglow with heat.

At first, he thought the butler led him to a more dreadful prison — but then he noticed a few oddities, particularly the cast-iron pots and pans. There was even an oven-like contraption above one of the larger crevices that spewed fire. This place was a kitchen — hell’s kitchen.

Thoughts of being dismembered and eaten erupted in his mind. He didn’t think demons cooked their food — but he imagined them doing so piece by piece while keeping their prey alive.

He turned back only to see the butler’s smiling face as he closed the door.

“Wait here,” Sebas urged. “It’ll only take a while.”

The butler left through the door — presumably to deliver him to the waiting demons.

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Only take a while? Did the butler mean his death? Sure, it was strangely comforting knowing he would have a relatively painless death compared to getting cooked and eaten piecemeal — however, he wasn’t ready to give up on life after his newfound freedom.

It was a good fifteen minutes before he heard sounds from behind the door. By then, he was armed with a skillet.

The door opened. However, instead of demons, he saw a familiar face.

“Deckard Mack? What the hell are you doing in my kitchen?”

“What? How?”

Words escaped Deckard when he saw Duke Cedric standing before him — in his sleeping garments at that.

“I’ve been waiting for you for weeks!” the duke remarked. “Where have you been?”

“The two of you know each other?” Sebas asked, clearly amused.

“Uh-uh — I maintain close ties with the merchants that ply their wares in Bountiful,” the duke explained. “They provide news of other cities and places they happened by in their travels.”

“Yes,” Deckard agreed. “The duke has been very supportive of my endeavors. One time, he bought half my sto—”

The words died in his throat seeing the duke’s widening eyes and gestures to stay silent. What was wrong with buying Longswords™?

Hell, even the Blackstaff’s men said their lord wanted to participate in the next naked run he would organize.

“So why is he here again?” This time the duke asked Sebas.

“He was being held prisoner by,” the butler whispered words into the duke’s ears. “This is one of the few places where they can’t track him. Tomorrow, I would come with the reagents I need to cleanse his person of the sigils that have been placed on his body.

“Can’t you do it tonight?” the duke implored. “The poor man doesn’t look like he could last a night inside that room.”

“Yes, please — tonight.” Deckard bowed profusely — mostly at the butler.

“That won’t be possible,” Sebas sighed. “The reagents need preparation and the process takes at least four hours.”

There was a pause in their conversation as everyone thought about his problem. He was resigned to being slowly roasted until the morning came. The room was indeed hot — but there were spots that were relatively cooler, particularly two corners that didn’t spew fire from the ground. He would not be getting any sleep — but he would survive the night.

“There is a way to make your stay more comfortable,” Sebas offered.

There was a look of hesitance on the butler’s face — but he was ready to accept whatever it took to alleviate the stifling heat.

The butler took his leave, leaving him and the duke alone. Deckard noticed a touch of pity on the duke’s face.

“That bad, huh?” he jokingly asked.

“Worse,” the duke answered. “You might need to get a new identity — and a face to match it. You’ll also have to stop selling Longswords™ in the open, lest you attract prying eyes.”

“That would cut into my profits!” he protested, almost forgetting he was standing in front of a duke.

“Would you rather it was your neck that was cut?”

Deckard balked at the duke’s words. Perhaps using more discreet avenues of transactions was preferable to constantly fearing for his life and freedom.

“I understand, my duke,” he answered somberly.

They discussed matters of little import in the following minutes. The duke was careful not to inquire about the time he spent in captivity — steering their conversation to events that happened before he left for the capital.

The sound of footsteps alerted them to the arrival of the butler. Behind him walked what seemed to be a featureless human in red leather armor.

“Oh no, not that thing again,” Duke Cedric seemed to be on the verge of panic. “I’ll be going now, I hope you well, Deckard.”

The duke left as if he saw a ghost. Deckard wondered what it was about the strange golem that the duke found distasteful — and how it could possibly help with his heat problem.

“This is Staffany,” Sebas introduced the golem. “He’s cool.”

The golem offered a hand and he was on the verge of shaking it when the butler coughed to get his attention.

“I would advise you not to do that,” he warned him. Staying close to Staffany would keep you comfortable — but getting too close will bring you a hell of a lot of pain.”

Deckard frowned. He knew of wizards that were possessive of their creations — even to the point of forbidding others to touch them. It seemed the golem was such a thing, and the Scourge was such a wizard.

“I also brought beddings that won’t burn,” Sebas started, “and I’ve asked the servants to bring a suitable table and chair if you couldn’t sleep.”

“What am I to do with the golem?” he asked. It was certainly cool — and by that, it meant it exuded comfortably cool air to an area around its body.

“I don’t know,” Sebas seemed thoughtful. “You can probably teach it to play cards,” the butler remarked as he took two prepared decks from his pockets.

***

“Who was it, dear?” Hanna asked. She wondered who it was who could rouse a duke from his bed at this hour.

“The Scourge’s butler, Sebas,” her husband answered. “You know him, he brought the cake from before.”

“That was a very good cake! Did he bring any, perchance? Though that would be strange, seeing how late it is.”

“No. He asked for a favor,” Cedric curtly explained. “A complicated favor that I had to address.”

Hanna stared at her husband. Very few things rattled him — but everything related to the Scourge and his butler put him on edge.

“Is it another attack?”

The last one was downright horrific. Thankfully, none of their men lost their lives — though some of them lost body parts.

“Worse,” Cedric answered. “It’s something involving politics — with the Scourge mixed in somehow.”

The wizard again. She was hearing his name more often than she would have wanted — and the memory of what his golem did to them was still fresh on her mind. Her husband’s scream made her faint in horror — only to wake up to a world of pain as the golem cradled her fallen form.

“By the way, don’t go to the new kitchen,” Cedric warned. “I advised the staff to use the old one for the meantime.”

“But how would they bake the bread we’ll be having for breakfast?” she coyly asked. “The new kitchen is much better than the old one for baking.”

“Hush woman — the thing is there!”

Hanna shrank, surprised at her husband’s outburst. “Thing? What thing?”

She straightened herself. Even her husband could not just raise his voice at her for no reason. He better have a good explanation — or there would be a steep price to pay.

“The red golem,” Cedric placed his face on his palms downcast. “Stephanie is there.”

“Oh,” Hanna paused, all her thoughts about arguing with her husband vanishing in an instant. “I see.”