The half-ogre thrust her face into Flint's. He leaned away from her, startled and, if truth be told, a little scared. Her breath blew over him like a hot wind. "Garsh! A dwarf! I ain't never seen one—alive, I mean! 'Course, I see all kinds of dwarf skeletons and bones, but it ain't the same as seeing a live one."
The female half-ogre reached out her stubby hands and touched the dwarf's long, full beard. "Garsh, what a pretty beard!"
Flint scowled. His eyes rolled pleadingly toward Tanis and Raistlin.
The half-ogre spun around and faced the other two companions, putting a thick finger to her fleshy lips. "It wouldn't do to let the chief know. He'd kill the dwarf right off and then make me clean this room ten, twenty times to get rid of the stench"—she nodded politely to Flint—"pardon my saying so. And then he'd eat his heart for breakfast."
She thought for a moment. "He'd probably give his innards to the others, but the heart would be his, f'sure. The head, of course, would sit in a position of importance on a spear." She shook her head and made a clucking sound.
Flint blanched.
"Such a pretty dwarf," she peered at him again, batting her eyes. "I don't know but that I have a hankering for 'im." Her face darkened, and she looked conspiratorially at Tanis and Raistlin. "But we must make sure he isn't spotted, or it’s death f'sure."
Flint opened his mouth, but Raistlin stepped forward and put his arm around the cleaning woman's shoulders. "Then can you help him . . . us . . . escape from Ogrebond?"
The female half-ogre's eyes narrowed. "I suppose I could . . . and I suppose I would. I don't like these ogres very much, you know. I've been their slave ever since they kilt my father, a poor farmer, and spared me only so's I could clean for them. And let me tell you, for such a loutish lot, these ogres are surprisingly picky about cleaning.
"I'm not one of them, of course. I'm only a half-ogre. My name is Kirsig. What're yours?"
Raistlin made introductions all around, although Kirsig seemed most interested in Flint. "Flint Fireforge," she mused, her eyes shining.
For one of the few times in his life, Flint felt helpless. He looked to Tanis for aid, but the half-elf only shrugged.
"And could you help us arrange to hire a boat to take us across the Blood Sea?" asked Raistlin.
Kirsig clapped her knobby hands girlishly. "The Blood Sea! Garsh, you are a daring band, I can see that! Why d'you want to cross the Blood Sea? It's a terribly risky voyage. You have to skirt the Maelstrom and know your seamanship. Your captain must be bold and skilled, and he'll be sure to demand a pretty purse."
"We'll pay as much as we can," answered Tanis warily, "Do you know such a captain?"
"If he can be found," replied Kirsig coyly, her face dark with secrecy, "but"—she paused—"I cannot leave the keep until after midnight, when my duties are done. You can stay here, but you'll have to be careful. The chief, his band, the legion that guards the keep . . . any of them might appear outside this door. They get confused easy, y'know," she said, winking conspiratorially, "and sometimes wander about the keep, looking for their weapons or shoes.
"Tonight the chief's entertaining a tribal delegation from the Vale of Vipers. They'll be staying just above you, on the top floor. You dare not make a move until everyone inside the keep is asleep. If you escape"—she corrected herself—"when you escape, you'll have to lie in hiding until I can locate the captain and make the arrangements."
"Are you certain . . . ?" asked Raistlin tentatively.
Kirsig laughed lustily. "Oh, don't worry. He's a capable one, more than capable."
"How—how will we escape?" stammered Flint. He was reluctant to draw attention to himself, yet the question loomed in his mind. Kirsig turned to regard him solicitously. As Flint stared, she reached out a hand and touched his beard, stroking it.
"Escape, yes!" she said excitedly. "That is the problem, and we shall solve it. We'll teach those dumb ogres a lesson." She lowered her voice, motioning Raistlin and Tanis to draw closer. "But there's only two ways out of Ogre-bond. One is if you're dead—that's the sure way—and the other—" She hesitated.
She blabbers more than Tasslehoff, thought Flint.
"Yes?" prompted Tanis.
"The other," Kirsig whispered, "is worse."
* * * * *
They had to confer quickly, for time was wasting and Kirsig would be missed if she stayed away from her housekeeping chores too long.
Raistlin told Kirsig about their quest. The young mage explained about his brother, Sturm, and Tasslehoff being missing, and even the portal they had used to get here. Kirsig's eyes bulged at the mention of the minotaur isles. She had never been across the Blood Sea, which she knew all about from folk tales, and indeed had never been anywhere except the Ogrelands. But recently, she told Raistlin, some bull-men had visited Ogrebond and parleyed with the chief.
"What about?" Raistlin wanted to know, keenly interested.
"How should I know?" Kirsig said. "I'm not custodian of the secrets around here. All I can tell you is that those minotaurs smell terrible and leave their quarters in disgusting condition. Filthy cows!" She spat. The spittle landed near Tanis's feet. The half-elf took a diplomatic step backward.
According to Kirsig, the only way out of Ogrebond, without fighting your way through the front gate, was through the sewage channel. If they were lucky, said Kirsig, their visit and escape would remain a secret. Nobody would even suspect that outsiders had been in the keep.
Tanis made a face at the thought of the sewage channel.
"Go on," urged Raistlin, sensing that Kirsig had more to say.
"I pour all the slops and dregs down there,
