The small family took us through a dining room to a closed door at the end of the left wall. The carpet in front of the doorway was filthy but looked as though it had been cleaned so many times, it was beginning to fall apart. The servant guiding Yaltu stopped at the door and looked her in the eye, a silent question on his lips.
“They are friends,” Yaltu said. “They may enter. They saved my life.”
The small humanoid eyed me suspiciously for a moment before turning back to the door. He pulled the handle, twisted it twice to the left, and once to the right. An audible click announced it was unlocked before he pulled it open.
I was instantly met by the heavy scents of damp earth, humidity, and something much more pleasant: cooking food. There was a staircase of sorts, constructed of the same wood as the outside of Yaltu’s home, but instead of feeling weathered and old, it was sturdy and firm. Someone had worked hard and often to keep the stairs in good repair.
The stairwell was dark. Only a soft, unidentified blue light at the end provided any illumination at all. I slid my hand along the wall as I made my way down. I’d expected to find more wood. Instead, I discovered rough-hewn stone and mortar. Rather than being cool to the touch, it was warm.
When we reached the bottom, I saw why the servants had been so dirty. They were digging. The enormous room, at least twice the size of the home above, was supported by pillars. Although there was no stone carving happening at the moment, along one wall, small piles of gray powder intermingled with chips of stone were neatly swept against the walls.
One of the little servants was filling his pockets with dirt and dust with the help of another, a pretty female. They both looked up in guilty surprise at the strangers before Yaltu smiled at them, and they relaxed.
That’s how they’re doing it undetected, I thought. They’re filling their pockets with the rubble and dirt. Then, they probably walk around the outskirts of the town and the forest, dumping a little here and there until their pockets are empty. When it’s done, they return and do it again. No doubt the guards would notice if any of them were dumping wheelbarrows full of dirt in any one place.
The lighting mystery was soon solved as well. Glowing mushrooms grew from the walls in spots where it would make sense to use torches. But instead of the smoke real torches would produce, there was only light.
“Oooh,” Skrew whispered, “is good for eating?”
“Only if you want to take its place,” I warned him. “You’ll start to glow, and mushrooms will grow out of your ass. Then, we’ll have to hang you from the wall until you become a mushroom yourself.”
Skrew clamped three of his hands over his mouth as his fourth held up two fingers like some kind of ward against eating something so bad. Good enough.
Yaltu ignored us, busy with two of her friends who kept running between a doorway on the right and back to her, bringing her things. One time, it was clean clothing that seemed to be made of a purple silk. Another time, it was a delicious-looking fruit that resembled a plum but was six times as big. Then, it was a comb, a bar of soap, a shoe, and a hammer-like tool.
She declined each of the gifts with grace and kindness, though I didn’t think it could have been easy for her. They hounded her for her attention and treated her like a goddess. Whoever she was to these people, she was important.
When an old woman offered her a purple fruit with salmon-colored stripes, she gratefully accepted. The little woman beamed with pleasure at having her gift accepted.
Yaltu’s smile of appreciation was genuine. The small scales along her neck seemed to smooth even more and appeared to be nothing more than makeup. I hadn’t seen her so relaxed, and when she was, her beauty shone through all the worries and stress she must have felt.
Yaltu leaned forward and kissed the top of the old woman’s head, whispered something in her ear, and the small alien ran off.
“Skrew,” she said as she turned to the vrak, who eyed the big fruit hungrily, “you will sleep with the servants. They are preparing a space for you. They are also preparing for dinner, and I’ve warned them that you enjoy eating until you are nearly ready to pop. Please join them.” She motioned toward the wall on our right, along which were two doors. Skrew picked the far one, peered around the corner, and walked inside.
I was nearest the closer door, so I took a step back and looked inside. Several small servants milled around the room, chatting about digging, food, and how many guards were present these days. Others napped on little beds or tended to an oven. I didn’t see any smoke, so I wasn’t certain what the heat source was.
Across the room was another open door, and inside, I spotted what appeared to be a tiled tub, large enough to hold about six of the little people. It was filled beyond capacity. Each was bathing, chatting, giggling, and appeared to be happy with their lot in life.
I liked the house because of the defense and concealment it provided. The people were the kindest I’d met since the Ish-Nul. I couldn’t help thinking of Enra and her people, and my stomach stirred with longing. One day, I hoped to return to her.
For now, I needed to find the Revenge crew members who were inside Brazud.
This place would be a perfect location to recuperate. The memory of Enra had reminded me what wonders a woman’s touch could do to revive
