For the next eleven and a half hours, the old bastard and I drank potions. Usually, pairs of potions – one to do something godawful, and the other to cure it, or try.

Consequently, I learned about half a dozen strains of zombie rattles, a uniquely undead disease. Fortunately, Pepin, the elven sadist in charge of our experiment had developed a cure for zombie rattles. Unfortunately, his cure tasted like ass.

And I’m not talking fresh washed ass. This was pure, unadulterated swamp ass in a bottle.

Not only did it taste like garbage, it had a list of side effects almost as long as your standard prescription back on Earth. Only, they hit all at once.

So we puked and fainted and itched and puked some more, all day long. I temporarily lost vision in one eye, felt periods of intense rage and soul crushing sadness. I fell asleep standing, and when I woke, couldn’t stop talking. And – did I mention? – I puked.

A lot.

I couldn’t even make a break for it in between rounds. I was too damned exhausted from all the puking, and every time I caught my breath and started to eye the door, Pepin was back with another potion.

I came to a pair of decisions during those long hours of misery. First, I wasn’t going to do this a second time. There’d be no day two on the job for yours truly. I’d get my answers from Williamson today, whatever it took.

And second, sooner or later, I was going to get my revenge on Pepin.

In fact, I thought about it so much that Kharon must have sensed my animosity. All at once, I felt an objective form, and when I checked, sure enough – there it was.

<<<<>>>>

Rogue Objectives:

* Avenge yourself on Pepin

* The mage’s torments cannot go unanswered. Figure out a way to get even

* Quest giver: self, new arrival and wayward soul

<<<<>>>>

When the bell sounded, Williamson was on his feet. It took me a few seconds longer to get going, and he’d already hobbled out to the door. With a call of, “See you tomorrow, loser,” he was gone.

I followed, as fast as my unsteady legs could take me. People were swarming the halls, last-minute stragglers getting to their posts.

But I caught sight of the old man, and rushed up behind him. I waited for the right moment before making my play. A dark hall leading to a set of closed doors on either side loomed up ahead. I grabbed Williamson and pulled him into the hall with me.

He yelped, but not louder than the sound of tramping feet all around. I pressed my hand to his mouth. “Now listen, old man,” I snarled, “I’m done asking nicely. I want –”

I broke off with a yelp of my own as the old bastard’s teeth sank into my hand. “Ow! You son of a –”

He brought his knee up swift and hard toward my groin. I saw it coming a moment before it struck, and pivoted just in time. Not that a knee to the thigh felt great, but better than the alternative anyway.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” I warned.

He thumped me upside the head with one hand, and brought the other in for a slap. I pinned one hand and started to squeeze, while grabbing for the other.

“You’re hurting me,” he hollered. “You’re hurting me!”

“Not yet,” I said, “but if you don’t –”

“Halt,” a hissing voice interrupted. A spider beast crawled into sight from the ceiling of the main hall, dropping abruptly to the floor beside us. “What’s going on here?”

Williamson’s craggy face broke into a grin. “You’re in for it now.”

“Nothing,” I lied. “Just a little disagreement.”

“He’s hurting me,” Williamson said.

Snitch.

The spider beast reached out a beefy but tiny arm, and pulled me away from the old man. “Fraternization between employees is expressly prohibited. You will both be reported for this infraction. Expect to see an additional sixteen hours of service added to your sentence.”

The monster let me go and started to walk away. But Williamson lunged for him. “Oh no you don’t.”

In an instant, he’d plunged a shiv – a shiv I hadn’t seen until that moment – into the beast’s throat. It flailed, waving its baby-sized arms impotently and wheezing as purple blood spurted from its neck.

“I’m not serving another godsdamned second,” Williamson told the monster.

It sputtered and sagged forward, dead as the proverbial doornail.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

I’d done nothing but stare this whole time, too surprised for action. Now, as Williamson turned to me, grinning ear to ear and holding the knife aloft menacingly, I took a step backward.

“You want to run that last bit by me again?” he demanded. “I think I missed some of it.”

I shook my head and retreated another step. Sure, I had the scepter and I could brain the old bastard if it came down to it. But I hadn’t come here to murder him, or whatever the scepter might do to a soul.

“That’s what I figured. Now, we’d better make tracks. If they catch us, I’m telling them it was you that knifed this son of a bitch.”

We made it outside without being noticed by anyone, at least anyone who made any indication of spotting us. Still, it was the longest walk of my life.

Only when the fungal door slammed behind us, and the smell of fresh ash filled my nostrils did I relax.

We’d gotten out alive and, as far as I could tell, undetected.

I was fully prepared to part company with Williamson, and find some other means of locating the Grotto. In fact, I was in the process of moving away from him when he said, “Now, tell me again what it is you need in the Grotto.”

I paused to eye him warily. “I thought you weren’t going to help me.”

His brow lowered over his eyes in a familiar scowl. “You don’t want my help?”

“Of course I do. Just – why now?”

“Cause you ain’t a spy after all.”

“I told you that.”

“Yeah. But you seen me kill that beastie, and you didn’t do nothing about it. If you was a spy, you’d of done something. On account of that, I know you ain’t a spy.”

“Oh,” I said. I couldn’t argue with the reasoning, I supposed.

“So, you want my help, you tell me why for, and maybe I’ll give it you.”

“Fine,” I said. “But can we move? This place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Heebie what now?”

“Creeps.”

“Oh. Follow me then. You can talk as you walk.”

I did, explaining that I needed to make amends with a certain goddess as soon as possible. He snorted and once or twice spat as I spoke, at me and my story or just as a force of habit, I couldn’t quite tell.

When I’d finished, he said, “Can’t say as that surprises me none. You’re not exactly the winning friends type, are you?”

“And you are?” I demanded.

He flashed a set of half-missing teeth at me. “Never did claim to be, not I. Still, I suppose I can help you. If there’s something in it for me.”

“Like what?” I demanded.

He paused to ponder the question. “I don’t suppose you have any beer on your person?”

“I do not.”

He grunted. “And you’re not exactly my type, so the second thing won’t work neither.” I took a quick step backwards, and he cackled maliciously. “I’ll tell you what, big shot. You made my workday a lot more entertaining than it normally is. So I’ll give you this one on credit.”

“On credit? You mean…?”

“I mean, if I need a favor at some future date, you provide said favor.”

“Within reason,” I said dubiously. “And if it’s something I can do.”

He waved a gnarled hand through the air to dismiss my caveats. “Fine. But agree to that, and we’ve got ourselves a deal.”

“Okay,” I said. “Deal.” I didn’t think of it as lying, exactly. Sure, if everything worked out the way I expected, I’d be gone in a few hours. Maybe a day, worst case scenario.

But if Williamson didn’t call in his favor until I was out of the area, well, that wasn’t my fault, was it?

Anyway, it wasn’t like I could escape forever. Everyone died. Sooner or later, I’d be back. And he could call in his stupid favor.

Thus assuaging my conscience, or performing one of my signature moves – what I like to call, The Overthink – I urged, “Okay, so how do I get there?”

“You follow me.”

I eyed the old codger warily. I wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t mean to stick a knife in my back the first chance he got.

If he noticed my suspicion, he didn’t let on. He turned and ambled off, waving for me to follow. “Keep up. If you think I’m going to go slower just for you, you got another thing coming.”

Which was as well. His pace, even at the current hustle, rivaled a geriatric turtle. Not that he seemed to notice that he was the only one huffing and puffing.

On the contrary, he kept urging me to keep up, and complaining about the layabouts of today. “No stamina, you young people. Back in my day…”

Which was the exact point I tuned him out.

We wove our way through several different colors of gray, along broken city streets and past battered old wrecks of homes. We milled through dust heaps, and toward a deep, muddy hole that might have been a dried lake or reservoir.

Williamson was too busy complaining to answer any questions, so I consulted Kharon.

“This is Lake Perdition,” he explained. “It never reaches the banks, and dries up shortly after every rain.”

It was, however, to Lake Perdition that we seemed bound, for we followed the long eastern shore over craggy black rock and gray ash.

Williamson was still droning on about the caliber of men of the present era, when he stopped abruptly, turned in a full 360, and vanished from sight.

I blinked, making certain it was no trick of the evening light. But no. He’d simply disappeared.

All at once, his head and shoulders reappeared – and his oh-so-familiar scowl. “Well? Are you coming, dammit? Watch your step. It’s a bit of a drop if you’re not expecting it.”

He disappeared again, and this time, I followed. He’d stepped into a patch of black stone that seemed to swallow him up hole. So, gingerly, I stepped on the same patch.

My foot plummeted through the illusion of rock, straight down. Gravity did its thing, and the rest of me followed in a heavy heap.

A heap that landed directly on top of Williamson.

The old man hollered and hit, jabbing me with bony elbows and knees. “Get off me, you damned fool, afore I stick you one in the ribs.”

Which, alongside his rather ripe odor, was incentive enough. I scrambled to my feet, brushing off, while he sputtered and cursed.

We’d emerged in a dark cavern, made of the same stone I’d seen above. But here, ornate lanterns hung from wrought iron hooks in the walls, and silvery light illuminated the space. Gems and crystals glittered all around and overhead, like strange, subterranean constellations. A slightly damp chill hung in the air, and a cold breeze wafted gently through the open.

Williamson, meanwhile, righted himself and took a moment to complain at volume about his sore back and battered shins. But then he got back to the business at hand.

“We’re in a series of caves that run under the city. The entrance – what you just plunged your fool self down – is concealed by some kind of illusion. Magic, the kind the overlords of this here realm use. On account of them not wanting us to know its here.”

“Why?” I asked.

He snorted. “Don’t you know nothing, lad? They don’t want us talking to the gods.”

“I know that. But why?”

“Why? Why? What kind of fool question is that? Because as long as we can talk to the gods, interact with them, there’s a connection atween them and this place. And as long as there’s a connection, they can’t oust the gods. Not completely.”

“Okay,” I said, “but why are they so hellbent on ousting the gods?”

“You sure do like to ask questions.”

“I mean, as long as I live here, I’d kind of like to know what’s going on.”

The old man eyed me curiously, then nodded. “Because if the gods can maintain a hold here, they – them what runs this place – don’t have full control, do they? And they don’t want most of the power. They want it all.”