The next day, Harald found himself sitting at a small table in a quaint café, strategically positioned across from Skinner's bustling restaurant. Disguised with a plain leather cap (which he detested, yet Nathan insisted on wearing) and a pair of round spectacles, he blended in with the clientele. The pyromancer took a sip from his coffee, eyes scanning the long line of patrons eagerly waiting to enter the restaurant.
"This restaurant has bewitched this city," Harald muttered to himself, twirling his cup in his hands. "Such a plethora of patrons! Ah, Herr Skinner, had I not known the kinds of skeletons you keep in your armoire, I would have been tempted to try a morsel of your cooking."
As he was about to take another sip, someone caught his eye. Across the street, moving in a hurried, erratic manner, was Ms. Noble. The woman darted through the crowds, her head jerking from side to side like a hunted animal, eyes wide with what could only be described as paranoia. Harald arched an eyebrow. Driven by curiosity and concern, he left some copper coins on the table and started tailing her through the winding streets. She twisted and turned through narrow passageways until, at last, she stopped in front of a shady-looking man standing by an old wall. Harald quickly ducked behind a barrel, peeking out to watch the exchange. From where he stood, he could catch only snippets of their conversation, but it was enough.
"I need more... very soon," Ms. Noble was saying, her voice tight with desperation. She handed the man a satchel, which from the heavy clink it made, was clearly filled with a significant amount of florins. The man nodded and in return, produced a small package, wrapped in a thin layer of cloth. Ms. Noble's hands trembled slightly as she took the package and hurriedly stashed it in her bag before glancing around nervously. She muttered a few quick words to the man before turning to leave.
Harald kept still until the man had also disappeared from view, then quietly resumed his pursuit. His mind raced with questions. What could this transaction be about? What was in that package?
Ms. Noble led him to a modest-looking house, and he watched as she fumbled with her keys and quickly slipped inside. Harald waited a moment, considering his next move.
Harald strode to the front door and knocked, his knuckles rapping sharply on the wood. After a brief moment, Ms. Noble's voice called from the other side, her tone harried and fraught with tension.
"Who is it? I'm very busy!" she cried.
"Ah, Frau Noble," Harald began, his voice measured and calm, "It is I, Harald. I merely seek a moment of your time."
Ms. Noble's voice was strained as she replied, "I'm sorry Harald, but not now. Come back tomorrow. I have...important work to tend to. Yes, something important!"
Harald paused for a moment before speaking again. "Frau Noble, I couldn't help but notice your meeting earlier with a rather dubious individual. You seemed distressed, and I am concerned for you."
A sudden silence hung in the air for a moment.
"What I do is none of your concern!" she snapped. "Stay out of my business, or I'll call the City Watch!"
Harald sighed deeply, leaning closer to the door. "I mean you no harm, Frau Noble, but I cannot turn a blind eye to what I've seen. You are in danger, whether you realise it or not."
There was a sharp intake of breath from inside, followed by the sounds of retreating footsteps.
Harald grimaced. "So be it," he muttered to himself, stepping away from the door. Instead of leaving, Harald circled around the house to the back, and tried the back door for access. Sure enough, it was locked, and he cursed under his breath when the windows on each side of the door were closed as well. He searched wildly for anything he could use to force his way into the house, and he even considered burning the wooden door down with a well-placed fire bolt at one point, when he noticed that the walls of the house were made of roughly-hewn stones piled on top of each other, forming an uneven surface with noticeable and uneven juts all over. Inspiration struck, and his eyes immediately scanned the walls for any exploitable footholds. With a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, he carefully climbed up to the second-floor window. Reaching a small balcony, he carefully hoisted himself up and peeked through the window.
What he saw made his breath catch. Inside, Ms. Noble was slumped on the floor, her face a mask of euphoria. Several vials lay scattered across her vanity table, their contents a dark, sinister black. Harald watched in horror as she downed the last few drops from one of the vials before the glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.
"Himmel..." Harald muttered under his breath. Completely forgetting about his tiring climb, he heaved himself over the windowsill and rushed to her side, kneeling by her prone figure. Ms. Noble's eyes were glazed, and her breathing was slow but steady. Whatever was in those vials had an unmistakable grip on her mind. Harald's eyes moved from her to the bottles on the vanity, all of them filled with the same dark tincture. Harald couldn't possibly leave alone in such a vulnerable state. Quickly, he gathered the remaining vials into his satchel, and he gently lifted her into his arms before racing his way downstairs. Once he made his exit, a passing cart caught his attention, and he waved down the driver with utmost urgency.
"Guter Herr, I implore you," Harald said, his voice steady but urgent, "Take me to the city's healing temple, and quickly. This woman's life may depend on it."
The driver was startled by the suddenness of it all, but he was still convinced by Harald's serious tone. He nodded and helped him load Ms. Noble into the back of the cart, before driving his horses in haste. As the cart rumbled through the city streets toward the healing temple, Harald glanced down at Ms. Noble's unconscious form and the bag of vials he now carried. His thoughts churned with worry and suspicion.
Frau Noble... what have you gotten yourself into?
They arrived at Dunsgoil Hill's healing temple moments later, which was decidedly bigger and grander-looking than the humble edifice at Wayside. Harald gave the driver a quick thanks before carrying Ms. Noble into the ornate stone building, her weight slight in his arms, and was greeted by the sight of several patients laid out on narrow beds just past the foyer. Their bodies trembled, some writhing with discomfort, while others were lost in a stupor. The young mage's brow furrowed as he surveyed the room, taking in the severity of the situation.
The local head healer, a mature man with blonde wavy hair tied in a ponytail, small metal-rimmed glasses and a calming presence, quickly approached them. He gestured to one of the attendants. "Place her here. She needs rest," the head healer said as the other healers settled Ms. Noble onto a bed. The head healer then turned to Harald, saying, "I see you found her in time. From what I can tell, she's not as far gone as most we get these days."
Harald sighed in relief. "Ah, that is good to hear." His voice wavered slightly as he handed over the vials of the black tincture he'd collected from Ms. Noble's house.
The head healer examined one of the bottles carefully, his expression darkening. "Spice tincture," he muttered under his breath. "We've been seeing more of this. Those who indulge in it get their strength for a time, but it drains them, body and mind. It's no different from the powders and vapours that circulate, but this... this is far more concentrated. She's fortunate you brought her here when you did, young man."
"Fortunate indeed," Harald replied, his voice tinged with unease. "When I found her, she already collapsed, her body seized by... ecstasy, if you could call it that. It's unnatural." He shook his head, eyes narrowed as he recalled the scene.
"You did well," the healer said, placing a hand on Harald's shoulder. "Most addicts we see here have been lost to this curse for weeks, months even. Their recovery will be long and agonising. Ms. Noble, on the other hand, has a chance to come back from this. The withdrawal won't be easy, but if she's strong, she'll make it." He then looked at Harald, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Tell me, how did you come upon her? And what made you think to bring her here?"
With a sigh, Harald began to recount the events earlier, from his encounter with Ms. Noble and the shady man in the back alleys, up until he brought her to the healing temple. The head healer nodded thoughtfully, a frown deepening the lines on his face. "We need to know more about where this is coming from. The City Watch seems to be lacking in vigilance these days. Or perhaps they're just overwhelmed."
"Perhaps," Harald added, his voice low. "It seems these Spice pushers operate with impunity. Is it not odd how the city's pulse quickens with such dark trade, and yet no force moves against it?"
The head healer sighed. "Indeed. Leave these vials with me. I will investigate their contents more thoroughly. But…" he looked at Harald seriously, "…I would advise you to be cautious. Those who sell this poison do not look kindly upon those who meddle in their affairs."
Harald nodded solemnly, handing over the remaining bottles. "I will bear that in mind, guter Heiler." Harald gave a small bow before turning to leave.
As he made his way to the exit, a familiar face caught his eye. It was the young healer girl, the one who had stared at doors in that unsettling manner before. This time, however, her expression was uncharacteristically serious. She met Harald's gaze, her lips pressed together in determination.
"I'll do my best to save her," she said, her voice quiet but resolute.
Harald was momentarily taken aback by her conviction but managed a nod of appreciation. "I trust you will, Fräulein."
Without another word, the girl turned back to her duties, and Harald left the shrine, his mind swirling with thoughts of the Spice, Skinner, and the growing conspiracy he had only just begun to unravel.
... … … … …
Nathan and Keith sat across from Gusteau in the bustling Dunsgoil dining hall, the warm aromas of fresh bread and roasted meats filling the air around them. Keith was leaning back in his chair, a grin on his face as he chuckled. "Blimey, chef. You're telling me they just up an' took you in like that? No questions asked?"
Gusteau smiled, a touch of pride in his voice. "That's right, mon ami. The chef, he is retiring soon. And when he heard that I had lost my restaurant to Skinner, he sought me out. He had been looking for someone to take his place. He saw me as a fitting successor." Gusteau leaned back, folding his arms. "I accepted, but my heart is still heavy for my colleagues who remain under Skinner's thumb."
Nathan nodded thoughtfully, swirling a mug of ale in his hand. "It's a relief to hear you've found refuge here, Chef Gusteau. But I share your concern. Those still working under Skinner... they're likely stuck in that kitchen of his, suffering the same hardships as before. It's a difficult position for anyone."
"Aye," Keith said, leaning forward now, his tone serious. "We ain't got a shred of proof against the bloke, not yet at least, but we're following leads. But we'll get 'im yet."
Gusteau sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he rubbed his temples. "Sacré bleu, I hope you are right."
Nathan, feeling the weight of the conversation, leaned forward, suddenly remembering something he found at Gusteau's old warehouse. "Chef Gusteau…" he began, setting his mug down, "I found something in Skinner's warehouse that might interest you." He reached into his trusty rucksack and pulled out the pair of light gauntlets, laying them carefully on the table. The worn leather and faintly tarnished metal caught the light of the hall. "I, uh… I need to confess: Skinner once hired me to clear out your old warehouse, and I found these in one of the crates." Nathan said sheepishly. "Since he said I could take anything interesting, so I took these gauntlets. But now that I've got the chance to meet the original owner of the warehouse, I feel bound to return these to you."
Gusteau's eyes lit up with recognition as he reached for the bracers, running his fingers over the familiar material. A soft chuckle escaped him. "Ah, I remember these well. They have a curious bit of histoire, if I may say as much." He leaned back, a fond smile playing at his lips as he launched into the tale. "It was many years ago, you see. A man, a soldier I believe, came to my restaurant. He had been travelling for days, and the poor soldat looked half-dead from hunger at my table. He had no money left for food since he needed to pay his coachman to take him home. So, he offered me his gauntlets as payment for a bowl of broth."
"He paid you with his gauntlets?" Keith cut in, his eyes wide with curiosity.
"Oui," Gusteau confirmed, his smile widening. "He was reluctant, of course. These were his treasures, his trusty equipment that saved his life during his service. But hunger drove him to desperation, and the last thing he wanted was to die on an empty stomach before he could see his wife and their little boy again. So, he offered his valued treasures in exchange for a meal." Gusteau chuckled, shaking his head. "I couldn't help but feel so moved for the man, so I served him a feast: a multi-course meal, with an endless flow of wine. The poor man was too stunned to speak, but I insisted. Not only that, I gave him provisions for the road, five days' worth, in fact."
Nathan smiled at the thought. "You gave him all of that in exchange for these?"
Gusteau nodded, a wistful look in his eyes. "Oui. The former soldier's devotion to his family touched me that day, and these gauntlets symbolized it. It has become a thing of great value to me. Anyway, we parted ways as friends, and he promised to return one day, with his family, to dine again at my restaurant. Alas, such a day will never come. The restaurant is gone, and who knows where that soldier is now."
"There's no denying that's bloody generous of you, chef," Keith muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "If that soldier's still around, I bet he still tells this tale."
Gusteau shrugged, his smile fading slightly. "It was what I could do. And now..." He pushed the gauntlets back toward Nathan. "These should be with you. You are an adventurer, yes? These belong with those who can make use of them, not a chef."
Nathan's brow furrowed, glancing down at the bracers in thought. "I appreciate it, Chef Gusteau. These could come in handy."
Keith grinned. "We'll make sure Skinner gets what's coming to him. That slimy bastard's gonna get a nice al dente serving of justice."
Nathan nodded in agreement, his gaze steady. "Indeed. Skinner's time is running short. We'll gather what we need, and when the time comes, justice will be served." He smiled slightly, glancing at Gusteau. "And perhaps, we'll toast to it with one of your famous meals."
Gusteau's eyes twinkled as he raised his glass of wine. "To your health, my friends. I will prepare a feast fit for heroes at your success."
… … … … …
Some days passed with nothing of note happening in Dreisterne's daily lives as they waited for Keith to fully recover from the effects of his involuntary Spice addiction. With the money the party made together from doing menial jobs since they first stayed in Dunsgoil Hill, Nathan asked Harald for permission to take some of them for the armourer, to replace the hard and worn leather gauntlets attached to the plates with a fresh pair. With some skilful negotiation, Harald managed to obtain the armourer's service for a more agreeable price, and Nathan only needed to wait for a couple of days until he finally put Gusteau's old gauntlets on, finding the feel of the velvety inner linings of the new leather gloves and straps completely agreeable.
"Shame the smith couldn't do something about the scratches on that metal," Keith remarked once, watching wryly at Nathan admired the new pieces of armour wrapped around his forearms. "Though I have to say, those plates had to be really tough if the smith couldn't even smooth out the scratches no matter what he did to 'em."
"And he couldn't even add new ones, either," Nathan replied, amused. "I don't mind, though. I suppose it proves how reliable these gauntlets are. Besides, people would feel less tempted to grab them off me when they look so used like this. Hopefully." Nathan slid his hands into the gauntlets, the leather and cloth padding smooth against his skin. The leather straps cinched tight, flexing smoothly with each movement. Nathan traced a finger over the worn grooves. They almost felt deeper than before, like scars that refused to fade. He frowned, pushing the thought aside for now. Satisfied with the fit and finish of his new equipment, Nathan took them off and asked, "How is your shield treating you, Keith?"
Hearing that, Keith flexed his fingers absentmindedly, the tremors that once plagued them now barely noticeable. The withdrawal had been brutal, but he was finally past it. He lifted his sword and shield with an eager grin, the weapons looking very light in his hands as he performed a few practice swings. "Just tell me where to swing these things, Nate."
Nathan chuckled. "Excellent. I think we can start planning our second trip to Skinner's abandoned restaurant. I trust we will be able to go there better prepared this time. Though, we're missing Harald. I wonder where he went."
"Said he's going to the healing temple for a bit. I really hope Ms. Noble's gonna be alright very soon. She's a nice lady. Blimey, I hope the same for Harald too. The poor bugger's been taking her sickness rather hard, didn't he?" Keith said as he put away his equipment.
Nathan replied soberly, "It's clear that he cared for her, even more than we realised." He took another look at his new gauntlets, his mind recalling his and Keith's conversation with Gusteau at the dining hall. "You know, Keith? My father was something of a former soldier himself."
"Iff tha' righ'?" said Keith through a mouthful of butter and sugar bun.
"Yeah. He used to serve in the royal navy when I was very little. Just a common sailor, doing his part defending the kingdom's eastern seas from corsairs of all stripes." Nathan took a sip from his mug of mead, his eyes gleaming with reminiscence. "My mother told me that my father answered his call for duty in full sailor's uniform, only to come back a year and a half later in nothing but his tunic and hose as he got off a coach by our front door one winter's night. Apparently, he had to sell all his worldly belongings to pay his way home."
Keith stared at his friend in disbelief. "Poor man. He came back from service to the Crown destitute?"
"Not for the reason you might think," said Nathan with a laugh. "His services won him a sizable share of war spoils in addition to his pay. He just didn't want to spend even one coin from his earnings, since he meant it for our family. My parents and I lived off his navy earnings for the rest of their lives."
Keith shook his head in amazement. "I'd really like to meet your Da some time, mate."
As Nathan was about to respond, Harald entered the scene. The room immediately fell into silence as Nathan and Keith watched their friend, whose face was a portrait of grim determination. No words were exchanged for a significant moment.
"Meine Herren…" Harald spoke, at last, his tone uncharacteristically flat. "…we have waited long enough. It is high time we resume our investigations."
Nathan said, "If by that you mean poking into Skinner's old cellar, we're just about to discuss-"
"We will go there straight away." Harald's terse pronouncement caught his friends off guard. Neither of them could think of a response before he continued. "We will go back to that abandoned establishment and plumb its depths, see what we can uncover. However, carry what manner of equipment you need, just in case our investigation turns ugly. Keith, I trust you are fully recovered by now?"
Keith raised his shield high, nodding.
"Gut. Get prepared right away. We should get there before sundown."
Minutes later, Dreisterne emerged from the city's main gate, walking past by other travellers and carts as if they were just another set of adventurers on a Freelancer's Guild-related job. The golden skies over Dunsgoil steadily turned red as the trio trudged through the weed-ridden path breaking from the side of the main road. The sun had already set by the time Dreisterne arrived at Skinner's old restaurant. They exchanged glances every few moments, trying not to appear paranoid but staying alert for any signs of a tail.
"Crikey, it's getting so dark out here," Keith exclaimed, his eyes narrowed as he tried to see through the forest area and inside the abandoned building in vain. "I hope one of us brings a candle, at least.
"Einen Moment." Harald reached into his satchel and pulled out three small, finely crafted oil lanterns, each barely larger than a clenched fist. With a wave of his hand, the lanterns were lit instantly, allowing the trio to have a better look at them. The metal casings gleamed faintly, their designs sleek and utilitarian, with narrow slits to shield the flame while allowing a subtle glow to escape. "Here," he said, handing one to Nathan and another to Keith. "These are perfect for our line of work; compact, discreet, and sturdy. You can hang them on your belts, and the wick is adjustable to dim or brighten the light as needed."
"These are brilliant, Harald," said Nathan as he admired his new lantern. "I think I saw these in Capriccola's Curios a week ago. I never thought we'd need these so soon."
"You could conjure a fireball on your hand, H. Why'd you even need one?" asked Keith.
Harald raised one of his eyebrows as he answered, "Well, my body would heat up, thus tiring me if I had to continually channel Mana into my conjured flame, no matter how small. It is also the same reason why we hired a carriage to travel from Lyonsmeade to Dunsgoil when we could have just walked all the way, Herr Nimbus."
"Oh…" Keith said. He then scratched the back of his head, looking apologetic. "Dumb question."
Harald's expression softened into a faint smile as Nathan and Keith clipped their lanterns to their belts, nodding in quiet approval.
After a final sweep around the perimeter to ensure they weren't followed, they made a beeline for the window Nathan and Keith broke into in their first foray. Nathan slid inside first, his footsteps silent as a cat's. Harald and Keith followed suit, their boots making minimal noise as they landed in the darkened interior of the restaurant. Thanks to their new lanterns, they were more than able to make their way through the pitch blackness without stumbling into anything, though the trio still trod carefully as their eyes darted about the environs. They eventually reached the cellar door that had stayed at the back of Nathan and Keith's minds for so long.
Nathan stepped forward, confidently cracking his fingers before he brought out his lockpicking tools. "So, here we are again. Oh, right. It's your first time here, Harald," he said, smiling as Harald chuckled. He knelt by the cellar door, his fingers deftly manipulating the torsion wrench and pick, using them to feel his way into the lock. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he could tell this lock boasted intricate mechanisms within. "This is no ordinary lock," he said. "Whoever installed it clearly wanted to keep something hidden down there at all costs."
"I hope you won't take too long, mate." Keith muttered, his eyes darting to the shadows lingering at the edges of the hallway. "Not that I'm rushing you or anything, but I ain't too keen on sticking around."
"Patience, Keith," Harald replied smoothly, his gaze sweeping over the room. "Let the master of unlocking perform his craft."
Nathan refused to let the door deter him again this time, however. Minutes passed as he fiddled endlessly on the lock. Harald and Keith kept an increasingly uneasy vigil, and the shield bearer's eyes were glued at the front door, half-expecting to see it opened again by armed thugs. Finally, after what seemed to be a long time, Dreisterne heard a soft click. Nathan stood, sighing in relief. "There we are. A bit tricky, but nothing I couldn't handle."
"Well done, mate!" Keith grinned, his relief palpable as he patted Nathan on the shoulder. "Right then, down to the cellar at long last. Let's see what old Skinner's been hiding."
The trio descended into the cellar, greeted by the faint musty scent of old wood and lingering wine. The space seemed ordinary, with barrels and racks loaded with bottled of alcohol stacked neatly against the walls, in addition to a small desk located near a wall.
"Strange…" Nathan muttered, his voice low. "For someplace abandoned, this cellar is surprisingly stocked up." He approached the row of bottles, sliding his index finger along the glossy surface. He noticed that all of them contained inky black liquid. "These bottles are new," he told his friends.
Harald moved cautiously for the desk, a piece of writing coal and a notebook resting atop it. "What have we here…?" he murmured, picking it up.
Keith sidled up beside him, peering over his shoulder. "Anything interesting, H?"
Harald flipped through a few pages before stopping, his brow furrowing. "It appears to be a ledger, of sorts…" He flipped through the pages, his expression serious. "The lists here... they appear to be Spice shipments."
"Spice?" Keith raised an eyebrow, looking back at the shelves. "Blimey, Skinner's running more than a kitchen, didn't he?"
Nathan joined them, his eyes skimming the page. "Wait, what's this?" He pointed to a different section titled "EXPERIMENTAL", noting a list of things such as "Dreamweaver", "Night Tonic", "Sleep Potion #9", and other similarly whimsical names, with success and failure noted at the second row of the list. He said, "What in the world does this mean? Could it be sales figures?"
Keith, now seated at the table, leaned back in the chair against the wall on his back as he watched his friends ruminate over the contents of the book. Suddenly, a loud click echoed through the cellar, causing Keith to fall off his chair from surprise. A low, mechanical groan emanated from a section of an adjacent wall as it shifted, revealing a narrow, spiralling staircase descending into darkness.
The trio froze, staring at the hidden passageway.
Nathan raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to peer into the void. "What did you do, Keith?"
Keith scrambled to his feet, brushing dust from his tabard. "Don't look at me, I touched nothing!"
Harald chuckled softly, his expression both impressed and wary. "Mein Freund, you may have uncovered something significant. Now, we can truly see what Skinner is trying to hide behind lock and key."
Nathan nodded grimly. "Keep your eyes peeled. We might find more than wine down there."
With that, they exchanged grim looks as they realised the gravity of the situation. Skinner's secrets ran far deeper than they had ever imagined. And now, they were in the thick of it.
The moment Dreisterne entered the hidden corridor, they were greeted by a dimly lit, ominous hallway. Candlelight flickered along the walls, casting long shadows that seemed to dance in time with the ever-growing din of noise from deeper within. A rack along the wall caught Harald's eye. It was filled with protective clothing: heavy robes and long, bird-like masks. The grim sight made Harald's brow furrow in recognition.
"Protective garb for those who toy with dangerous substances," he muttered, running a gloved hand over one of the bird-like masks. "Ah ja, this is precisely what they would wear in such clandestine operations."
Keith raised an eyebrow at the masks. "Bloody hell. These'd give any poor bloke a real fright in the dark."
Nathan stated, "I have the feeling that everyone would be dressed in these wherever we're heading. We'd better put them on ourselves."
"Good call, Herr Festivus!" Harald responded with a thumbs up.
The trio quickly donned the robes and masks, their vision narrowed through the small glass lenses. They noticed a weapons rack at a wall opposite the robe rack, so Nathan and Keith put their weapons there, and Harald reluctantly hung his hat at the pommel of Nathan's greatsword. Dreisterne then made their way further down the hallway. Even with the mask blocking most smells, there was still a sharp and unsettling whiff of chemicals that barely seeped through the filters.
"It reeks of cat piss in here," said Keith, vainly trying to pinch his nose under the thick leather beak-shaped protrusion of his mask.
The trio proceeded further into the complex. As they descended deeper into the long hallway, the air became thick with the noise of activity, and soon, their suspicions were confirmed. They entered a massive chamber, one brimming with workers processing various substances in an assembly line of dangerous concoctions. Massive vats of black, viscous liquids sat under flickering lantern light, the sickening sight of spice production in full swing. Dreisterne's eyes widened beneath their masks as they took it all in.
"Cor…" Keith muttered, his voice laced with disgust. "They've got enough of this filth to flood the whole damn city."
A familiar, gruff voice suddenly barked at them, cutting through the chaos. "Oi! I ain't payin' ya to gawk! Get that shipment to the transport tunnel!"
The trio stiffened but quickly fell into step, doing their best to mimic the behaviour of the other workers. They each grabbed a cart loaded with crates of bottled Spice, following a long, intermittent line of workers walking in and out of a dark tunnel. As Dreisterne pushed their carts along, Nathan glanced towards a section of the chamber that sent a chill down his spine. There were rows of cells, each filled with people groaning in agony. The sight made his heart lurch.
Nathan whispered to his friends. "Look at them."
"Curses…" Harald muttered, his voice barely audible. "I think I see what the 'experimental' list was for."
"Shut it!" Keith hissed. He stubbornly kept his gaze forward, refusing to let the horror sink in. The prisoners reminded Keith too much of himself while under the thrall of Skinner's 'tonic'.
Dreisterne walked down the tunnel for a good while until they eventually reached a junction, where another worker inspected the crates. The man barely gave Nathan and Keith's carts a glance before barking, "Left for you two, and don't dally. The boss woke up at the wrong side of the bed today."
Nathan nodded and promptly proceeded, followed closely by Keith while Harald was instructed to head the other way. Keith grumbled under his breath but pushed his cart along. "This place…it just stinks."
Nathan and Keith pushed on until they arrived at a set of narrow stairs leading up to a trapdoor. With no one else around, they were forced to carry the crates themselves. They grunted with effort as they hefted one of the crates, and Nathan had to catch his breath while Keith flipped open the heavy trapdoor above them, which led them to a curiously small space with boxes piled high around them.
"I was expecting a storeroom, but turning up directly inside the cargo pile has to be a first," said Nathan, his puzzled expression concealed behind his mask.
Keith took a better look at his surroundings, particularly the stonework ceiling some significant ways above the topmost boxes, and he could not shake the feeling of how familiar it looked. Suddenly, a familiar face popped in from one of the lower piles of crates. It was Skinner, his beady eyes narrowing at the duo as he barked, "You there! Give me ten bottles of Zhongese soy sauce."
Nathan and Keith jumped at Skinner's sudden order. Keith's heart raced, but he managed to respond with "R-right away, sir!" in a raspy voice to disguise his normal one. He and Nathan quickly grabbed the nearest bottles and handed them over two by two, and Keith nearly fumbled a pair of them in his haste.
"Be careful with that! Each one would cost you more than you could ever earn in a year!" Skinner berated Keith as he took the last two bottles. He then asked, "What happened to your voice anyway?"
"First day on duty, sir. Throat's sore," Keith croaked, managing to keep his nerves steady before his former employer.
Skinner grunted before he left, and the duo heaved a sigh of relief after such a close call. That still didn't dull Keith's shock when Skinner's presence in his chef's uniform imply.
"Nate, you won't believe this…" Keith whispered. "We're in the basement storeroom of Skinner's place!"
"You've got to be joking," was all Nathan could say to express his disbelief.
Keith shook his head. "I ain't. In fact, I think now we know why Skinner wanted this place so badly."
Nathan whispered, "Let's talk about it later. For now, we fall back and regroup with Harald"
They didn't waste a second and descended the staircase after shutting the trap door, returning to the underground junction post haste with their empty, lighter carts. But when they arrived, a commotion caught their attention. Harald was in the middle of a heated argument with another worker.
Nathan hurried over, addressing to them while maintaining a calm front. "What's going on here?"
The worker snarled, pointing a finger at Harald. "This fella broke a whole crate of the Spices I'm carrying! That's gonna cost 'im."
Harald stood tall, his voice cold as ice. "I insist, mein guter Herr, that such is an untruth! It was not my doing, and several others can attest to that."
The accuser wasn't deterred. "Have it your way then. But, let's you and me see what the Headmasher thinks about this!"
At that, a burly figure clad in a similar set of robe, gloves, and mask entered the scene, his footsteps heavy as lead, and his body built like a brick wall. The junction fell silent in his presence, and Dreisterne felt an odd sense of déjà vu when they laid their eyes on this person.
"Headmasher…" one of the workers breathed in awe, fear rippling through the crowd.
The hulking man's eyes scanned the scene from behind the lenses of his mask, his voice low and menacing. "Anyone care to explain this ruckus?"
The accuser stepped forward, pointing his finger at Harald as he spoke. "This blighter ran his cart into me and made me drop a whole crate of the good stuff!"
"I assure you that the fault was his own. He was reckless with his own cart, and he tipped the crate after the wheel hit a stray pebble!" Harald countered, his tone suggesting annoyance.
Harald and the worker bickered again. But without warning, the Headmasher grabbed the worker by the head with his massive hand and crushed it into a paste with a sickening crunch. The crowd could feel their collective jaws drop at the gruesome sight, even moreso for Harald, who stood still like a statue in front of the monster of a man. Headmasher tossed aside what remained of the headless worker and turned to the stunned crowd, a number of them unable to take their eyes off the man's massive, bloodied digits.
"Each bottle of this merchandise is worth more than your miserable lives," said Headmasher. "I'd rather not punish the lot of you. It's a waste of time and manpower. But slip up again, and you'll wish you were never born."
With that, he dismissed the crowd, and none of them even dared to breathe out a sigh of relief. Dreisterne regrouped, not needing to communicate that they need to make themselves scarce right now.
"You, right there!" Headmasher barked suddenly, pointing his finger at Nathan.
Nathan was transfixed on the spot, his blood froze in an instant. His head went haywire as he tried to figure out what gave him away.
"Fix your mask. I see a gap along your neck," said Headmasher evenly, pointing at his neck.
Nathan was relieved. Yet, he instinctually obeyed in an instant, not daring to appear relaxed. "Thank you, sir," he muttered.
Headmasher glared at them once more before turning away towards the restaurant basement, the lantern he carried doing little to dispel the darkness that consumed him the further he went.
Dreisterne didn't waste any time, swiftly making their way towards the exit, their minds still reeling from the horrors they'd witnessed. They quickly jogged past the prison area, pretending not to hear the agonized cries of the prisoners, and they carefully sneaked their way through the assembly lines, taking care not to run into the supervisor, until they reached the hallway leading back to the cellar, and eventually to freedom. However, the cries of the imprisoned echoed in their ears long after they made their exit from Skinner's abandoned restaurant, now to them a grim reminder of the darkness that lurked beneath Dunsgoil Hill.