Roland had to hold his head at an awkward angle, and there was a cramp in his leg that was only getting worse as time passed. Underneath him, he could feel the cart jostling against the uneven cobblestones of the city streets, and he could hear the slight patter of rain as it assaulted the city.

An hour and a half. That’s how long Roland had staked out the keep, and he had found nothing in the way of weaknesses.

The keep was impregnable, which was a fancy way of saying he wasn’t getting in. Between the tubheads manning the battlements, the heavily armoured gates, smooth walls, and a myriad of servants, there wasn’t a hope’s chance without being spotted and slapped in iron.

That meant they had, very reluctantly, needed to go with Holsley’s brilliant plan instead.

At this current moment, he and Holsley were stuffed inside two ale barrels they had borrowed from the tavern, travelling the city's many streets on the back of Merhim’s rickety cart alongside four real barrels containing ale.

‘I kind of wish I hadn’t gone in headfirst,’ Holsley whispered from the next barrel over. ‘It’s, uh, pretty uncomfortable, right? Or is it just me?’

‘I’m upright, and I’m still uncomfortable,’ Roland replied, shuffling his trapped arm and squirming a little to try and ease the cramp in his calf. ‘I warned you not to go in headfirst.’

‘I thought I’d be right-side up when the barrel was loaded.’

‘Wrong about that, weren’t you?’

Holsley’s plan wasn’t perfect. As Roland would describe it, it was something a little out of the box, but it would have to do. There was very little time for anything else. Hidden inside their sealed barrels, Merhim would lead them to the side door of the Stone Keep and try to coax his way into the kitchen. Once there, he would convince the staff that he had a delivery, and if things went right, their barrels would be loaded into the cellar.

From there, Roland and Holsley only needed to break out of their wooden confinements and search the keep until they found the rapier. The rogue wasn’t too worried about that part. The only thing that did worry him was what kind of security it would be behind. He imagined a vault of some sort.

The barrel suddenly trembled, exacerbating Roland’s cramp. He bit down on his hand to stop himself from screaming out in pain. The cart came to an abrupt halt, and suddenly, a lot of authoritative shouting picked up. He listened carefully but could only catch every other word.

It was obvious what they were talking about, however, and he quickly caught the gist of it. The cart had reached the Old Stone Keep, and Merhim was arguing with the tubheads outside about a delivery they had no record of.

Roland held his breath. If ever there were a moment to turn him in, it was now. The rogue was trapped and crammed inside of a barrel. An easy target. If the tubheads inspected the barrel’s contents, they would have him. He could be strung up and dead before the moon began to wane, and it could all be done with a single nod from the gnome.

Then, he thought about Holsley.

He didn’t quite know the extent of the bard’s friendship with Merhim, but he was sure that most of the gnome’s ambivalence towards him came from a need to protect Holsley. Merhim was clearly watching out for the young bard and thought of Roland as bad news.

So, with bated breath, he sat there inside the tight barrel, unable to even draw a dagger to defend himself.

***

It was amazing how often Holsley found himself crammed inside a wooden box. At least, he sighed, there were no tasteful nudes of the gnome this time.

Holsley got the idea after visiting the Keep’s Square yesterday. After his escape from the dungeons under the guise of a tubhead, he had spotted the cart of a particularly rude tiefling and had defaced it. She was making a food delivery to a side door of the keep, which meant, he reasoned, that the kitchens were around there and that he may do the same.

The cart came to a stop, and Holsley heard the telltale sounds of light conversation being heard somewhere towards his left.

He supposed then that there were a couple of things that could go wrong. For example, what if the guards thought it suspicious that someone was delivering barrels at this time of night without anyone expecting them? What if they decided to look inside the barrels? What if they simply turned them away?

Holsley pressed his ear against the hole they’d drilled in his barrel.

‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ Merhim said belligerently. ‘I’ve got a tidy delivery of six barrels of ale for the kitchens at the Old Stone Keep, and I expect to get my dues for them.’

‘We’re not expecting any deliveries.’ The voice was the gruffest of the pair Merhim was talking to — definitely a tubhead. From the voice alone, Holsley imagined it belonged to an overweight guard, ageing not so gracefully and barely able to wrap his armour around his wide gut. ‘We’ve not received any word of it, and all deliveries need to be approved beforehand by the stockmaster. Have you got a receipt?’

‘I do!’ Merhim bellowed. Holsley could hear him shuffling into this satchel. Earlier today, he had used his artistic talents to create a forgery of an actual receipt Gannamane had lent them. Although, admittedly, he had needed to make up some of the names.

‘Who the fuck is Sniffman Woolbeam?’ The tubhead asked, then apparently, from what Holsley could hear, he turned to another tubhead. ‘You ever heard of that name?’

‘Listen, I’m just going to leave the barrels here then.’ Merhim sounded sweaty. His voice was creaking and cracking when he spoke, which, even to Holsley, sounded like he was putting on a performance. ‘I’ve been escorting these barrels up through the Further Kingdoms on the long road. I’m tired, hungry, and, quite frankly, done with it. So, I’ll just unload them here and you can sort it out, eh.’

‘Hold on, we’ll get this—’

‘It might have been the new kitchen boy.’ The second voice was brimming with confidence, and, in Holsley’s mind, they were coming out of a set of lips located directly beneath an extravagantly curled moustache. ‘Jayson has been making a few mistakes with the deliveries as of late. Maybe he was supposed to tell us?’

‘We’ve got a new kitchen boy,’ the first guard explained to Merhim. ‘He’s a bit thick in the head if you know what I mean.’

‘I’ve been travelling with someone like that lately,’ came Merhim’s reply. ‘I know exactly how you feel.’

Holsley rattled inside of the barrel.

‘Follow us to the kitchens, and we’ll try to sort this out there,’ said the second voice. ‘Though, we don’t know if the head chef will pay you. It’s more likely he’ll turn you away.’

With a crack of the reigns, the cart jolted forward. It moved steadily, probably trying to keep pace with the slow-moving tubheads. At least the slighter movements made the journey a little more tolerable for the occupants of the barrels.

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As they rolled, Merhim continued the conversation with the tubhead, and his voice became a little more natural and more relaxed in pitch, like he wasn’t trying to swindle them into smuggling two lads into the keep.

Another cart halt came three minutes later, or just about. Merhim’s voice disappeared shortly after, alongside the two guards that had been accompanying the cart. Holsley could guess what was happening now. Merhim had probably gone into the kitchens with the fake receipt to iron out the details.

‘How long do you think they’ll be?’ Holsley whisper-shouted across the Roland. ‘Can’t be too long, right?’

‘I bloody hope it’s soon,’ replied Roland. ‘I’ve got such a bad cramp in my leg.’

‘Sucks. I had that on my way to Tressa,’ said Holsley. ‘That time, I was stuck inside a chest.’

‘Do you often find yourself in situations like this?’ Roland asked curiously. ‘Crammed into tight spaces, no room to breathe, and with the muscles in your calves spasming?’

‘Funny you should ask. I was literally just thinking about how often I end up in these positions.’

They waited and ignored the urge to jump out and spoil the surprise.

Holsley listened intently for any sign of Merhim’s return, but the rain was picking up now, and he couldn’t hear a thing through the patter. That’s when his mind got turning. What if they had ousted Merhim as a fraud? His heartbeat quickened. Right now, Merhim could be inside the keep being tortured while they were stuck inside these stupid barrels.

Thankfully, Merhim did come back, but new voices followed him.

For a second, Holsley did think that they had been caught out and clutched hold of the redrose lute that had been stuffed in with him. Then, he felt the jostle of people climbing aboard, followed by the familiar thunks of barrels hitting the cobblestones. Kitchen staff, he guessed, who were taking the barrels to the cellar.

However, knowing everything was going according to plan didn’t make the next part any less painful.

Holsley’s barrel was tipped onto its side, then rolled towards the cart's edge. The young bard held his breath and tensed as he felt the wooden container come towards the edge. Something grabbed hold of him and lowered his barrel to the floor.

Then came the rolling.

End over end over end over end. Round and round he went in the darkness for minutes that felt like hours. He became incredibly dizzy, enough to make his stomach groan, but it became even worse when the barrel was brought to the edge of some stone steps and carelessly thrown down.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

He shook and bounced in the barrel with every rattling step downwards but finally settled a moment later. More barrels landed next to him, bouncing off the wall before coming to an abrupt stop.

Silence haunted the next few moments, followed by the slam of a door. Pretty soon, it became clear that they were the only ones in the room. Merhim was gone, the kitchen staff were gone, and the tubheads were gone.

It was just Roland and Holsley.

***

Roland didn’t care to wait anymore; he was getting out of this damned barrel.

Using only his forearm, as that was his only choice, he growled as he pushed on the lid that had sealed him inside. It was stubborn and stuck, which was to be expected. He doubled down, utilising his need for escape to drive his strength, and a moment later, the lid slipped out of the top with a satisfying pop.

Roland spilled out onto a cold concrete floor. It was dark, although some light was still coming in from underneath the door at the top of a short set of stone steps. Just enough to see by, in any case. He took in his surroundings. He could see casks of ale, hundreds of them in all shapes and sizes, lined up against the walls like books on a shelf.

He took a few breaths.

‘Uh, little help?’ Holsley called from a barrel nearby. ‘I can’t get the lid off!’

Roland heard the barrel and rushed towards it. The lid was stuck fast, and he couldn’t pry it loose with just one hand. So, the rogue pulled out one of his daggers. The point went into where the lid met the barrel. Roland changed his position for a better angle. Then, with only one hand, he put his weight into the makeshift lever.

Holsley flopped onto the floor like a fish out of water, the lute trailing him a second later.

‘Well, that was fun,’ said Holsley, dusting himself off. He looked around. ‘Whoa. Someone likes their ales.’

‘And wine,’ added Roland, nodding to a shelf of stacked bottles. ‘I bet some of them are worth a pretty coin, too. We should—’

A sudden light cascaded down from the top of the short stairs.

Holsley and Roland paused, caught in it, as a silhouette stood similarly stunned above them. The man was perhaps a few years older than Roland, wearing a dirtied white apron and carrying none other than the lantern that was to blame for the sudden intrusion of light.

The three of them stood there like deer caught in a hunter's sight.

The stranger knew that Holsley and Roland didn’t belong in the cellar, and likewise, Holsley and Roland knew that they couldn’t let this stranger get away. This had resulted in a strange standoff while each party weighed their options.

Roland’s good hand gripped his dagger tightly.

The stranger started to turn, aiming for a quick escape, and held a scream in his throat.

Roland flung the dagger before the stranger ever fully broke into a run. The blade cut through the air until it swept past the man’s thigh, giving him a glancing blow that did more than enough to stop him without outright killing him.

The man lost his balance, fell backwards, and hit every step as he clumsily rolled down. ‘Oof. Oof. Oof.’ The lantern followed him shortly after. Tink. Tink. Tink. He was still conscious. Roland jumped on him, pressing his stone hand into his mouth, muffling his cries.

Holsley’s slow reaction time finally caught up with the situation. The bard swung the redrose lute around, searching for the strings in the darkness. He strummed once, then twice, then began to sing.

‘Hey, hey, o’ kitchen boy, hey, hey, hey,

I know this day probably hasn’t gone your way,

but on the floor, you’d best do well to stay,

my friend is kind of dangerous,

so just do as we say.’

The man stopped squirming against Roland’s grip. His face softened as if bewitched, and his shoulders eased.

‘Holy heck, it worked!’ Holsley said in disbelief. He admired the circles on his little finger, noting that one of them had become red.

One spell left for the day.

‘What did you do?’ Roland stood up and backed away from the stranger.

‘I charmed him,’ replied Holsley, finishing up the tune. ‘I mean, I think I charmed him?’

The pair leaned in to observe the stranger.

The man had, with no sense of hyperbole, the plainest face they had ever seen on a person. You could lose him in a crowd even if you’d had the sense to hold his hand. There were no distinguishing features, his hair had been kept pathetically simple, and his skin was free of scars and blemishes. An impressive thing these days. His garments told them that he worked in the kitchen, most likely as a runner for the food.

‘Gods, his face is hard to look at,’ said Holsley.

‘It’s like someone cast a spell to disguise themselves as a human without actually knowing what a human looked like,’ continued Roland. ‘Absolutely haunting.’

‘Uh, what’s your name?’ Holsley asked the stranger.

‘Jayson,’ he replied sweetly.

‘Oh, it’s that guy,’ said Holsley. ‘The new kitchen boy the guards were talking about.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Roland. ‘How long is this going to last?’

‘Hmmm, should be about an hour.’ Holsley tapped his chin. ‘If I did it right?’

‘Great.’ Roland bent down towards the guy. ‘Do you know where Love is keeping my rapier?’

Jayson didn’t reply to Roland, he was staring at Holsley with big eyes. ‘I would die for you.’

Roland gave Holsley a look, and the bard shrugged. ‘They always say that when they’re charmed.’

‘Could you ask him the question?’ Roland asked. ‘Before he snaps out of it?’

Holsley cleared his throat. ‘Dude, where is his rapier?’

‘No idea.’ Jayson sat up. ‘Sorry.’

‘Awesome, thanks,’ said Holsley, looking up at Roland. ‘What now?’

‘If we get close, I can tell where it is. Otherwise, we’ll have to find Love,’ replied Roland, placing his dagger inside his belt. ‘Make her tell us where it is. She said she was using it to make a dress or something. Not sure where that would be, but I bet her throne room is a good start. She kept a bunch of dressed-up mannequins in there.’

‘That’s on the top floor,’ said Jayson helpfully. ‘Right at the top of the keep. Love is about to settle down to dinner. You can find her in the dining room.’

‘Another awesome.’ Holsley shrugged. ‘Great.’

‘There’s actually an elevator you can take that gets you up there in moments.’

‘Oh, triple awesome,’ said Holsley. ‘New record.’

‘Stop saying awesome,’ said Roland, then nodded towards Jayson. ‘What are we going to do with him?’

‘Oh, I know!’ Holsley exclaimed. ‘Jayson, my guy, go and climb into that empty barrel over there.’

Without hesitation, the staff member did exactly as he was told. With some trouble, thanks mainly to the wound on his thigh, he stood up and meandered towards the barrel. Then, he climbed in. Jayson was about the same height as Holsley, so he went in without a struggle and had just enough room for Roland to seal him in tightly with the lid.

The rogue clapped the dust off his hands. ‘That’s a damn handy spell to—’

A blood-curdling scream came from the inside of the barrel. It didn’t take long for the pair to realise that Holsley’s charm spell had worn off. The spell hadn’t lasted for as long as Holsley had wanted, and he thought that was a little strange, seeing as he was carrying the redrose lute. Roland kicked the barrel a little, but all that seemed to do was encourage the screaming.

‘I just realised something,’ said Holsley, pointing at the barrel. ‘We could use his uniform to sneak through the keep undetected.’

Roland rolled his eyes.

With a pop, the lid came free once again, except this time Roland was holding his dagger to the occupant inside. Jayson froze in fear as he felt the cold steel press up against his throat. ‘Y-you’re Roland Darrow!?’

‘Alright,’ sighed Roland, gesturing with the dagger for him to get out quietly. ‘Strip down, throw your clothes on the floor, and climb back in the barrel.’

‘Bonus points if you do it quickly,’ Holsley added.