See, it didn't take me two weeks to update this time. Only one. :D Enjoy, and be sure to review for me.

The steady dripping of murky water. The faint murmurings. The raspy coughs of doomed men, plodding down the hallways. Liir rose and began to pace across the floor, amidst the noise that was the essence of Southstairs.

"Food."

Liir continued his uneasy pacing without looking up.

The rough voice growled again. "Food."

He looked up from the dirt floor to the uniformed giant of a man blocking the doorway. Quickly, he racked his brain. How long since he had eaten? How long until he would eat again? What day was it? He couldn't remember.

"I'm not hungry," he said.

The man at the doorway smiled a whiskery smile, his eyes coated with malice. "I am."

The man cracked his knuckles and advanced through the doorway as Liir backed away. His back met the wall.

"Come on. Don't you wanna play?" Liir's eyes widened as visions of his first trip to Southstairs flashed before his eyes. Screams from the cells.

"No," he croaked.

"I play fair."

He was upon Liir then, pushing him back into the corner and raising a fist to strike him. Liir pushed off of the wall and flung his foot wildly. He managed to land a hard kick near the guard's groin but missed his mark.

"Why you little…"

Liir was shoved to the ground. He could feel fists and feet, blows against his emaciated body, and bit his lip hard. One, two, three… he lost count. A cry escaped from his lips.

"Don't," the voice was a hoarse snarl, "try something like that again."

Clutching his knees to his chest, Liir raised his head tentatively. The door was closed and the man was gone.

• • • • •

Lena sat back on her heels, playing and replaying the day in her mind, weighing her options. Elphaba was dead, Chistery was more than halfway there himself, and Death seemed to have gained an imposing grip in her own life as well. She had no companions, and no belongings save a flying broom and a mysteriously scented cloak.

All she'd found on her trip to Kiamo Ko was the Grimmerie and the orb. Certainly she couldn't take them with her—they were hardly mobile. She stashed them away in the bucket of a dry well beneath the kitchens before setting off along the road to Red Windmill. Perhaps the soldiers there could lead her to this city of green.

• • • • •

The cell door opened with a bang and he pressed himself further into the wall.

Submission. If he ever wanted to see Lena again. Submission. If there was one thing he learned from the army, it was… Cherrystone. Trism. Submission?

He sprang up from the floor suddenly and was greeted with a hard blow to the crown of his head and a loud howl of pain. He took a few steps and turned back, catching sight of the guard, blood spurting from his nose. He slammed the door of the cell closed and hurried away, the guard's voice calling after him.

The halls of Southstairs were fleetingly familiar, like images from a dream long since forgotten. Indeed, he had forgotten, all except for the sight of the glorious moon growing as he sailed through the night. He hadn't remembered the cold gusts of air that seemed to originate from deep within the prison, or the stale air smelling of desperation and unwashed linens and cheap cigars.

He turned a corner tentatively, half-expecting to be greeted by Shell striding down the hallway, but found instead an empty corridor. He blinked. The walls were glittering. He blinked again. The length of the aging stone was covered with molding bulletin boards that had long since been out of use. On every one, thousands of staples glittered and shone like tiny shards of broken glass. They winked at him as he passed.

He came to a crossroads and glanced down two hallways, identical to the last torch. Before him hung the last board, words adorning its decaying surface. "The Wicked Witch of the West Lives." Pushing matted hair back from his eyes, he squinted at it. The words weren't written in the same hand that had been haunting his dreams. Nor hadn't been there.

A strong smell washed over him as a gust of shrill air blew in from the right. Animals.

He turned down the corridor to his right, vaguely unsure what he was going to do. He came to a flight of stairs that bisected the hallway. To his left, there were steps leading up into the center of Southstairs, where the cavernous roof gave way to small gleaming stars. The broken stones to his right told stories of a past stairway and of recent disuse. He made his way down the stones, leaning heavily on the wall for support.

The corridor before him was narrow and littered with broken rocks, and the ceiling seemed ready to collapse. His footsteps echoed hauntingly off the floor.

The lonely sound of his feet and the cautiousness of his movements brought him wandering back to his days of playtime at Kiamo Ko, and childish games of hide-and-seek. He imagined a giggle up ahead and stiffened. It took him a moment to realize that this was no game with Manek and Nor. Certainly he'd heard the sound. Hadn't he?

He heard it again, this time more like a whimpering sigh than a laugh. "Hello?" he called, running his fingers along the rough stones and advancing into the darkness. He saw the dim outline of a door and felt its moist wood beneath his palms. He pushed into it and it creaked inwards.

"Hooo…" The soft call greeted him.

Immediately his heart sank. No Nor, playfully ducking between moldy folds of a tapestry, no Elphaba, sighing her covert melodies. He sunk to his knees before the small white Bird glistening against the coal gray of the floor. "Hello?"

The Bird raised his head from his chest, where it had been resting as he slept. "Hello!" he called in a mixture of surprise and delight. Liir found him to be a rather puny Pigeon, his feathers coated with a thin layer of dirt. One of his wings was quite obviously broken.

"Erm…" Liir was awkward with introductions. "Are you of the Bird Conference?"

"But of course," the Pigeon sang out. "The very messenger of the lot of them. Flying about and delivering my messages, rain or shine! Dangerous missions, mind you," he added.

"What messages have you to deliver?" Liir was expecting a message for him, a plight of the Conference to remove him from the confines of the prison.

The Pigeon puffed out his chest haughtily. "That," he breathed, "is not a message for the likes of you."

"I'm Liir, the boy broomist!" he sputtered, suddenly aggravated.

"Well, since you put it that way," the Bird intoned sarcastically.

"You, Bird, tell me your message," he warned, his fingers twitching menacingly.

The Pigeon flapped a short distance away. "Don't you know?" he asked. "Elphaba lives. Here in Southstairs, as I hear it."

"What?" Liir sprang to his feet, sending the Bird flying backwards a foot or so. "Where? Here?"

The Pigeon seemed to consider his question for a moment before tilting his head to one side. "Yes, where else?"

He was out the door before the words were finished echoing off the walls, heading down the corridor. "Elphaba?" he whispered. He imagined that he saw her lurking in every shadow, poring over the Grimmerie or seething with her characteristic fury. The figure was always gone before he could look again.

"Elphaba," he growled angrily, tripping over a stone. The tunnel had grown dark, past the point of sight. Only the whispering of wind on the back of his neck and the old stench of Animals ahead held his directional sense intact. "Mom?" he tried tentatively. No answer.

"Oh, curse it all!" he cried, sinking to the floor. Elphaba wasn't here. She was gone. It was his fault. His own selfish, delusional desire to bring her back had sent him on a wild goose chase. Here he was in Southstairs, with only the howling wind for company, when he'd had a chance at escape. The crazy old Pigeon could have gotten word out to the Birds. He really did screw up at everything.

He opened his eyes slowly, realizing as he did so that he had nodded off against the wall. A chorus of footsteps was drifting down the hall, and a small light was floating his way.

So this is it, he thought. The light at the end of the tunnel. The Unnamed God has finally decided to take away my meager existence.

Oh, snap out of it! his subconscious chided, and he gathered his senses. A torch, held aloft by an unseen form, was drifting down the hallway towards him. He stood as Shell's face came into view.

It took Shell a moment to acknowledge Liir's presence. "Well, well. So you're a filthy Animal lover like my dear," he spat, "sister."

Liir clenched his fists at his sides, breaking out into a loud yell. "You will never have half the strength Elphaba had, nor the dignity."

"Liir!" The voice pulled him from his thoughts, calmed him somewhat. Shell leaned against the wall, obviously pleased to have regained control, and focus, of the conversation. He pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and lit it before taking a long draw. He let out a puff of smoke. "As I was saying. Are you about done with your little escapade, Liir?"

Liir glanced about quickly, searching for a means of escape. "Wait," he said. "What about… a bargain."

Shell seemed amused, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a smile around his cigar as he waited patiently for Liir to continue.

"I—I'll tell you what you need to know."

Shell's smile widened as he pulled the cigar from his mouth. He tossed it to the ground where it hissed quietly for a moment before it was extinguished. For good measure, he took extra care to stomp it beneath his heavy-soled boot as he crossed the hallway.

"Will you, now?" His breath reeked of cigars.

Liir searched for any alternate response, but knew his options were limited. "Yes."

"Like what?" Shell was drawing it out, enjoying Liir's torment.

Submission, he reminded himself. He needed to stay calm, for Lena. "I know where the green one is."

"Oh?" Shell's eyebrows were arched in surprise, his tone light and mocking. "I know all about our dear Lena by now, Liir. You never were much of one to take me up on my offer."

Liir tried to keep his face as emotionless as possible, tried to form a dismissive response. Shell snapped his fingers and a broad figure emerged from the shadows.

"Do try and make sure that he stays in his cell this time."

The man had a bandage across his nose.

"Like father like daughter, eh, Liir?" Shell asked mildly as Liir's arms were pulled behind his back. "After all, you always favored those soldiers in Red Windmill too, as I hear it."

Shell smiled sadistically as Liir was hauled out of sight.