What is that other smell?
The whole floor was covered with overlapping rugs. That wasn't in itself unusual; big drafty buildings like this, it was commonplace to insulate them as much as possible with floor coverings and tapestries. But as Tiri crossed the room to examine the contents of another table, she noticed that parts of the fabric squelched unpleasantly beneath her boots.
A glance up at the ceiling confirmed there were no leaks. And the dropped cup could not have held so much liquid as to soak into the rugs this far from where it had fallen.
With more than a little trepidation, she crouched and touched her fingertips to the woven fabric. It was sodden, soaked with a greasy substance that smelled of charcoal and burning hair.
A tiny spark of recognition flared in her brain. She remembered reading a description of such a substance not too long ago. It was...
That's it! It's sparktree oil.
She'd researched it last year as part of a paper on the Forge Wars. The dwarves had paid in ancestral gold for the stuff, and its use over the last century had increased the life expectancy of their forgemasters by an average of fifty years. It was one of the most expensive substances in the entire realm, in part because it was the only smokeless fuel known to exist.
"And it doesn't leave behind any residue," she whispered.
Icy realization slid along her veins. Sparktree oil. An unlocked door. She hadn't just stumbled upon a murder; she'd stumbled upon a murder in progress.
She straightened, wiping her oily fingers on her shirt. Her eyes darted around the office. She was torn between looking for further evidence, running away, or sounding the alarm.
Given that she might soon find herself at the mercy of a cold-blooded criminal, running away definitely seemed like the smartest option right now. But she hadn't taken three strides toward the door when she heard quick footsteps beyond.
The killer, come back to complete the job.
She stood there, frozen, poised between fight and flight. Adrenaline surged through her limbs and her heart thumped painfully against her ribcage as though it were trying to burst free.
Then common sense kicked in again and sent her bolting for the nearest desk. Unfortunately, it was the one currently propping up the dead professor's husk. She held her breath and ducked behind it, extinguishing her light just as a dark-clad figure entered the room.
The figure was small and lithe, and though his face was covered by a cowl, Tiri guessed him to be male. She thanked her past self for pushing the door closed behind her after she entered, so the stranger had no reason to suspect anyone had arrived during his absence.
He didn't so much as glance over at the corpse, padding straight toward the door in the far wall. He opened it and disappeared inside. Tiri glanced between that doorway and the door to the hallway, now ajar. Could she reach it before he emerged again and spotted her?
Her agony of indecision went on for too long; the killer appeared once more in the main room. He examined the alchemy equipment in the corner to his left, and after some deliberation, began dragging the entire rig toward the center of the room.
Tiri wiped her sweaty palms on her breeches and squinted into the shadows around her, looking for options. A darker shadow between two bookcases beckoned, and after making sure the killer's back was still turned, she crouch-walked toward it, emerging into a previously concealed reading nook.
Safe for the moment, she collapsed against the shelves. The smells of death and oil mingled with her own fear and tension to send a wave of nausea over her.
Then she felt it. A slight breeze, cool against the sweat-soaked shirt that was sticking to her back. As quietly as she could, she pulled books off the shelves one at a time until the stone wall behind them was laid bare. The mortar around one of the enormous blocks was crumbling conspicuously.
A secret passageway? What, am I in some cliched fantasy novel now?
The clink of glass beakers in the main room reminded her that she didn't really have another option. Peering through a gap in the shelves, she could just about see the man in black take two stoppered tubes from an inside pocket. Chemicals? But why?
Taking Lila's arrow from her satchel once more, Tiri began to scrape at the remaining mortar around the block, careful to make as little noise as possible. It didn't take long.
Musty air whistled gently through the gap. There's no way I can move this stone myself. It must weigh more than Coll. Feeling foolish, she nonetheless spread her fingers around the edges of the block and pulled.
To her absolute shock, the stone moved as easily as if it had been hollow. Which, judging from the timbre of the scraping sound it made against the ground, it probably was.
"Is someone there?"
Oh no.
The killer had heard it too, and now his shadowed face was staring directly toward Tiri's hiding place.
"Someone there?" he said again. "Show yourself, or I'll—shit!"
The beaker in his hands had bubbled over, slopping what was presumably scalding-hot liquid over his fingers. He cursed again and set it down on the ground, then backed hurriedly through the door into the hallway, slamming it closed behind him. A key turned in the lock with a heavy metallic snick.
The beaker on the floor began to spit, blue sparks flying from the reaction of the volatile substances within.
The intellectual part of Tiri’s mind was curious to see how sparktree oil burned. The more practical part knew it would likely be the last thing she ever saw, and urged her to make her escape now while there was still time. She eyed up the crawlspace. She'd fit, but it would be tight.
Another sound drew her attention back to the door.
