Turns out the water idea… is double plus extra not good. After several hours of attempts, I did finally make water, pun intended. When I succeeded at making a water "burst", it was a dark, yellowish blob, looking sickly and foul in the glow that came from the trap door. I thought it might be a trick of the light, but then the reek hit my nostrils. It burned. It burned like the moon. Maybe the water came from me, maybe it came from some passing cat that happened to urinate outside our house, maybe from the sewer drain in the bathing room or even from the sewers themselves.

Fortunately, it didn’t actually "burst" and spray everywhere, but rather fell to the ground with a wet splurt. It smelled like a public bathroom after much use and nobody flushing for a couple of days. A pure concentrated funk. The stench of doom. This ability might work for something, someday, but I wasn’t practicing that in an enclosed space again, ever. I wouldn’t even practice it at all without some ridiculously good reason. I scraped up some loose dirt and kicked it over the spot, pressing it in and hoping to absorb some of the smell. I then departed the root cellar as quickly as I could without attracting attention from the parents.

Time to do regular practice somewhere else for a day or two. Perhaps a heat burst that doesn’t have a flame component? Infrared heat ray? Something like a heat lamp at a restaurant? Something like that I could fairly safely practice in the kitchen with a pan of water. What about a non-burst sustained heat? Crap, I need to write some of this down or I’m going to forget bits.

“All done for the night?” I froze. Panic rising in my breast, I turned to face my mom, desperately trying to keep my guilt at defiling the cellar off my face.

“Yeah. Um. I’m a little worn out from all the exercise and stuff, I think I’m gonna head to bed early after a quick rinse from the pump.”

“Ok, see you in the morning.”

I only made it to the door when the worst happened.

“Grintel Kartolivan Coddlestahl. What HAVE YOU DONE!”

Crap.

All.

Three.

Names.

I’m busted.

I slunk back into the room, facing my mom, but not meeting her eyes.

“I’ll fix it,” I mumble.

“You’re darn right you’ll fix it, mister.” Uh-oh. She never swears, so even a mild thing like darn means she is livid. “You’ll fix it right now. There’s a shovel and bucket in the garden shed. Hop to it.”

Every word was distinct and precise, with a clear undertone of menace and the promise of motherly retribution. I’d earned that before, and I don’t think it mattered that I was a full head taller than she was, she’d break me in half and I’d let her do it. I'd been trying to take the lazy path again. I know better.

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I expeditiously fled out the door to the garden area. It was a tiny patch of land, mostly left to its own devices, with a small ramshackle wooden shed built up against the house. I opened the shed door with a grunt of effort and a loud creaking sound. To be clear, the door creaked, I grunted. I didn’t creak. The hinges needed some oil or perhaps filtered grease, I’d have to remember that. I grabbed the small shovel and the wooden bucket from inside the shed and hustled back into the house.

Mom was there, giving me the highly apropos stink eye and a complimentary dose of CSL 12 for leaving the door open. Taking a final deep breath of the good air, I ventured back down the wooden stairs into the pit of despair. I’m pretty sure it didn’t suck any of my life away. But even the Guide doesn’t tell me for sure, since it doesn’t give me any kind of status update like “poisoned” or “dying of stench exposure”. OK, this was a bigger deal than I thought. It probably wasn’t dangerous to us, but that stink would flavor EVERYTHING down here. Cat-pee soup. Baked potatoes ugh-rotten a la ammonia. Pee and carrots… you get the idea. I may have gagged a bit, but you’d have to dig through that stink-dirt outside to prove it. Good hunting.

I got to work with the shovel, filling the bucket up, carefully taking it outside, dumping it in the far corner of the garden, then going back in for another round of chemical warfare exposure training. 15 trips and 30 gallons of dirt later --ten gallons of which were likely overkill but I added them as penance for not cleaning things up without getting busted-- I rinsed out the bucket and dumped it one last time in the back of the garden. Then I went to the other side of the garden and filled up the bucket with clean dirt and carefully carried it back into the house, down the stairs into what was now the pit of minor suffering, and filled in the hole.

Fortunately, on my fourth trip back into the house, I had an epiphany. In the words of Smeed, “Lightning struck my brain.” Not literally of course, or I’d be telling you about my quick trip back to the grey-green room. No, it was inspiration that struck. I noticed the woodpile, and that prompted the idea of tamping the dirt into place with the largest hunk of wood I could find. I grab one from the wood rick next to the shed. I’m already in a decent amount of trouble. If I stomped it into place, I’d likely track mud or dirt up into the house, and that would only make things worse. 11 trips later, I really needed a wash up.

When I finished that up, I left my spectacles on the table, and went outside one last time. Doffing my shirt, I bared my chest to the world, possibly causing blindness in anyone unlucky enough to be looking in my direction, and shoved my head under the water pump, working the lever with one hand while I let the cold, clean, non-stinky water gush over my head. I rinsed off quickly, ran my fingers vigorously through my hair to dry it some, and then put my shirt back on. Since it was evening, I wasn’t likely to get a sunburn, but no sense in taking chances, my luck hadn’t been running high today.

I almost screwed up again, going back into the house. I was a moment from stepping into the house when I heard my dad clear his throat and point at my feet. Sure enough, my shoes had gotten a bit muddy during the rinse, so I took them off and left them outside on top of the wood.

“OK, now I’m heading to bed.”

“Good night.”

Her words are still a bit frosty, but not frigid. I'm on thin ice, but at least I'm now out of the freezing water. Whew.

Tomorrow was back to Tenday, so I could do some more experiments along with light exercise. I’d head to the guard on Oneday, when I can’t do experiments. My parents would be off to the shop and I wouldn’t be experimenting, even if it might make hiding evidence easier. Exercise would be the order of the day for workdays. Since magic takes energy, I’d save that for when my muscles weren’t taking it at the same time, and when I had backup. For now, bed was looking really, really inviting. Tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow would have enough trouble of their own. They always do that. Tricky things, those tomorrows.