Stuck in a chimney, Parry thought, heart pounding. "I guess Saint Nicholas is real, and I'm him. Ho ho ho."

Styak perked. "Can this saint rescue us? Should I hide, lest they note you're bound to a demon?"

"No and yes. Go deep, dig through my memories, see if you can find anything helpful."

"Against a gnoll? You couldn't hold off three humans even after setting the room full of traps. I'm not hopeful. Unless...?"

"I couldn't use the Word of Consecration again even if we had the mana. The Lord of Wings disabled it."

"This is why it's foolish to align with the forces of good."

"I'll be sure to pick evil next time. Go!"

He breathed through his nose to keep the ashen chimney air from parching his throat, but he couldn't banish the taste of fear. It was only a matter of time before the monster tried this corridor and found this store room. Even if Styak finds some miracle resource, what can I hope to accomplish stuck up the flue? His arms were wedged in, he couldn't see.

Swallowing his uncertainty, Parry squirmed down, freeing himself for now. A rain of dust accompanied him, then came an oppressive silence. This was a gamble: could he return to the "safety" of the chimney if he heard the creature closing in? Any moment might bring the sound of heavy footsteps from the corridor.

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Push the crates against the door? Too loud, and it wouldn't slow down a gnoll. Maybe there's something inside them?

Of the four wooden crates, two were nailed or warped shut with no way to open them quietly. The third held old cloth and the rest of Parry's gear, freeing him to fit up the chimney. The last contained only parts of furnishings: table leaves, turned wood legs and canvas for chair backs. There was nothing else in the room but the torches burning impossibly and eternally against each of the four walls.

Idiot. Stupid. Seduced by your own preparations, blindly trusting the clues you left yourself without fully understanding them. You had to waltz right into danger, brimming with misplaced confidence. Just when you'd realized you couldn't do everything yourself, you repeat the same damn mistakes.

Rage and panic warred in his thoughts. He wanted to break something, to scream, to apologize to the universe, anything but stand frozen to the spot--but he couldn't risk making a sound. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, he reached into the crate and hefted a table leg. It was solid and heavy but no better than his sword.

"I've got something," meowed Styak from his memories.

"Oh thank all the heavens. What did you find?"

"It's not much. I don't even know how these mortal magics work. It--"

"Nevermind, show me!"

The demon took a moment to check all the memory cells adjacent, but as usual for a memory this old, there was nothing remotely connected anywhere nearby. It was just a lone recollection isolated among others from different lifetimes.

"Fine," the cat growled. "But I'm going to keep searching for useful memories while you hug the rabbit."