Lidia had a strong stomach, and when she went into the Copper Coronet's kitchen the next afternoon, she was confident that the tasks ahead of her would be easy.
Still, within half an hour of starting work, she wondered whether the cooks, Skratha and Dibbler, had actually killed someone. The kitchen was overdue for cleaning by several years. Spots of black mold dotted the floor, especially around the main table where Skratha worked. The smell of rotting food was overwhelming. As she spooned a watery stew into stale, hollowed-out rounds of bread, Lidia could have sworn she saw dead maggots flow out of the ladle.
Lidia and Bernard had made an arrangement and cleared it with Lehtinan: until the group came up with money to pay their way, Lidia would help in the kitchen whenever an extra hand was needed. She had insisted to the others that it would be no trouble at all.
Jaheira had disapproved. "For pity's sake, I will seek out a place to sell the scrolls," she'd said. "Do what you must for now, but let this day be the last."
Lidia had told herself that, regardless of what her own history was, no task should be too low for her if it meant clearing a debt or helping out the group. By the end of the dinner rush, however, she was thankful that this arrangement would likely be temporary. Besides the foul smells, Skratha seemed to spend half of her time threatening Dibbler with a large hooked knife. Lidia didn't fear for herself, but the cook's constant, full-throated yelling was beginning to get on her nerves.
She was relieved when Dibbler, a sly-looking, rat-faced man, called her off to the side. Two of the guards, one of the waitresses, and a girl of about twelve were waiting. The waitress had switched her stained brown dress for one made of fine red muslin.
Dibbler said, "'Ey, can ye help take the evening guests? We're expecting a crowd tonight, and no mistake."
"Of course," Lidia said. It'd mean that the Company could stay another night or two, at least.
"All right, then, follow me 'ere." He held his hand against a spot on the door, and it briefly glowed. The wall opened up to reveal a hallway with concrete walls and a packed dirt floor. Lidia waited for the others to follow Dibbler through, then went last.
She ended up walking next to the child. The girl's name was Celyce, and she performed a number of menial tasks around the inn. She and her pale, thin limbs could flit between the kitchen, the bar, and the main hall unnoticed and almost unseen, seemingly never resting. Madam Nin, who ran the upstairs brothel, had taken the girl in as a ward and put her to work as soon as she could follow instructions.
"Where are we going?" Lidia asked her.
"The back," she replied, her voice a perpetual near-whisper.
"What's in the back?"
"It's where the special guests go."
The hallway continued a ways, where two guards watched them warily outside the door. but they stopped in front of a simple wooden door. Dibbler opened it, and a warm firelight spilled out, along with a smell of well-made sausage that instantly made Lidia hungry.
She barely got a glimpse of what was cooking before she was pushed over to a giant vat of dirty water and a two-feet pile of wooden trenchers. She spent a couple of hours washing dishes. She tried to overhear the cooks' discussion, but their only chatter had to do with the task at hand. The only noises that leaked in from outside were animalistic roars, spirited conversation, and raucous cheers.
Finally, Dibbler ordered, "Celyce, take Lidia with you and go to the cells."
Celyce slipped out with a handful of old pieces of bread. Lidia followed her with a bucket of water, wondering what Dibbler meant. The girl darted down the hallway, then struggled to prop the door open with her foot. Lidia used her free hand to let her in, then went in after.
She found herself in a dungeon, with a dozen cells lining the walls. The grey stones lining the walls were wet with condensation. Each cell was divided by the same solid grey bricks; the only entrance were iron bars and grates; the only comforts in each cell was a bucket for waste, a thin sheet, and limp, damp straw on the cold stone floor.
She and Celyce passed by each cell, slipping a piece of bread and a bowl of water into a small slit at the bottom of each barred gate. There were about a dozen prisoners in all: several strong men and dwarves, a few women, and a couple of children that looked even younger than Celyce. Some shot her looks of defiance, others of fear, and others of resignation.
Several white mice scattered down the hallway and into one of the cells. She followed them to where an old man was hunched over, murmuring something and holding a talisman. His face was hidden; his bald head was ringed by a curly ridge of gray-white hair. He wore a hair shirt and pants made of rough cloth; these were covered with a gray tabard and all dirtied by the floor of his cell. Thin white scars criss-crossed his bare, leathery arms.
Lidia leaned in to hear him. In a thin, gravelly voice, he whispered, "Ilmater, rescue your servant. Free me from this cold, dark place…" From there, he started rocking, speaking a prayer that she couldn't make out.
She waited to speak until his whispers faded. "Excuse me?"
He didn't so much look up as he uncurled, turning to look at her with clouded eyes. "I can't place your voice, but rarely do my captors have such manners."
"Ganthet, it's Celyce," the young girl said, bread in hand. She didn't push the food through the slit on the floor, but instead slipped her small arm through one of the bars, at about the height of her shoulder, holding out the bread so that Ganthet wouldn't have to bend over to get it. She tapped on the spot with her other hand. He felt along the bar, following the sound until he found the bread, then took it into his hand.
Lidia asked, "Would you tell me what you doing here?"
"Carrying my yoke of suffering, as I must. Perhaps he can tell you more." Ganthet pointed directly across from his cell.
Celyce had already gone in that direction, and was leaning against the barred door. On the other side of the bars was a mountain of a man. He was pacing in his cell, though Lidia could not tell what mood had moved him to do so; his head and face were nearly hidden under an overgrown mass of blond hair. His arms and legs were marked with slashing scars. Some of them looked like bite marks.
Celyce pleaded, "Hendak, eat something."
"I'm sorry, little one. I will not," the man said. Lidia immediately placed the man's accent as one from the far north.
Lidia went over to them. "What's the problem?" she asked.
"I'll get in trouble," said Celyce.
Lidia thought for a moment. She said to Celyce, "Take care of the others and go back to the kitchen. I'll be along."
Celyce handed a piece of bread to her, sharply nodded in acknowledgment, and moved on to the next cell.
Lidia stood in front of Hendak's cage. He kept pacing and refused to acknowledge her.
She waited until the door shut behind Celyce, then whispered, "I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers."
He also kept his voice low. "I have refused to eat until I am granted my freedom, one way or another, through death or life."
"Through death? What do you mean?"
He stopped and finally looked her in the eye. "Do you not know? Lehtinan sends us to fight his beasts, for the amusement of his noble fiends."
So that's what the cheering was, Lidia thought.
Hendak continued, "I was a proud warrior from the North until my capture by slavers. I have been imprisoned longer than any of these and survived, though only barely. I have tried to aid these other slaves and keep them living through these battles, but there was only so much I could do."
"And I don't doubt you, but why are there children here? What about this priest?"
"Lehtinan forces the women and children into servitude, and the priest there was standing in the way of it. He and his wife tried to free shipments of slaves. Every so often, they would save some. Lehtinan finally sent his guards after them and took the priest here, then ordered me taken from the roster for the games. I have been trapped here for nearly half a tenday."
"Let me help you," Lidia said.
He stared at her in disbelief. "Lehtinan has his guards, his rich friends, a steady stream of gold bought with our blood. And even if you free us, he will buy more slaves to take our place. You are only one kitchen girl. What could you do?"
Lidia straightened up and looked him in the eye. He loomed at least a head taller than her. "Nothing can repay you for all that you have suffered, but I will set you free."
"Why should I put my life into your hands?"
Lidia withdrew her hidden dagger, showing it to Hendak. The other inmates peered at her through their prison bars, their faces a mixture of bewilderment and doubt.
"I have my own resources, and I'm not alone," she said. "I serve the cause of Ilmater, the One Who Weeps. My duty is to the lost and forgotten, my sword against those who would harm them."
Hendak said nothing, but leaned against his bars, his massive hands tightening around them. Desperation came into his eyes. He could barely keep his voice down. "If...if what you say is true - I beg of you, please free us. I have never begged before, and yet I do it now!"
"Is there anything you know that might help?"
He whispered, "The beastmaster has the key to our cells. If you get the key from him, we will be able to escape." He finally smiled. "I will take the bread, friend. My strength will be needed soon, and though my body is still imprisoned, my soul feels free for the first time in an age."
She pushed the bread and the dagger under Hendak's door.
Ganthet called out to her. "What is your name?"
"I'm Lidia."
"There is a small temple to Ilmater above this place. My wife is there. Seek her out." He reached out, and Lidia took his hand. "May the One Who Endures give you strength."
"And also to you," Lidia said. "I'll be back."