Elise Runs and Dorothy Falls

Chapter 35

Soil and soot bathed her place of exile so thickly that, in some places, she could no longer see the glossed garnet floorboards underfoot. A lantern hung in the air at her fingertips' command, creaking on its hinges louder than the decrepitude beneath her stockingfeet; a lantern itself so caked in grime that it aided her no better than a fainter candle, however. She wandered with a ready sneeze.

Dorothy had been separated from Giada and Elise, and while they had gone up, toward a place Jakun called 'Late Night', she had gone down, deep down, toward a place few ever saw. There she met a spectral animal of little import to her called Lokkadi, who kept the Onaime's cellars and who tasked her with unenviable duty of pest control. Tucked beneath the cellar was the obscurer basement, disused, where once upon another age the spirits stored perishable cargo. Minor demons had irritated those bowels ever since, but a rash of recent theft and vandalism upstairs called for an exterminator below.

By 'theft and vandalism', Dorothy knew a few kegs had been drained and a few lamps overturned. No one cared about this. This was dirty work, and banishment for a troublesome witch who wouldn't be anymore.

"Achoo!"

She tried to contain her convulsions, but the aspiration to use her hat like a mask didn't come to fruition; the blight crept through anyway. She sneezed more than once and surrendered to sneezing more.

"Damn all this." She could slug even with her spittle, which hit the wall hard. She turned the corner on someplace else. Fortunately the spirits hadn't found her spellbook, because although weaker without her wand, spellcraft would no doubt prove its use before the night's end; she had memorized her spells the moment she entered the basement.

However, the spirits had taken The Unholy Avenger, and that angered her. Tyrio, who with Albb and Sergius had apparently evaded capture, might get his wish after all. At least the spirits hadn't taken her magic belt or gauntlets, albeit she hadn't yet figured out what made them magical. She also had Elise's moonstone in her pocket, which felt even more useless.

Her each step a stride, she alternated among simple, synonymous rooms. Sometimes a string of paper lights or sometimes a beeswax candle, it mattered hardly what sat where. Regardless it didn't end. To say she worried would be imprecise, but she wondered when she might have her next meal. Her frustration settled in her about as well as a heated brand settled in a cold-water bath.

"Oi?"

The witch flicked her head across her shoulder; she'd heard scuttling. She scanned the floor. Besides her own footprints, she saw nothing.

"Oi!"

It happened again just like that, and this time when she whirled around she saw something disappear around a corner. Stamping reverse through the dust, she turned that corner. Only her own tracks met her gaze.

"What the hell..."

She went down the hall in curious steps and peeked through doors on all sides, until, through one large ingress, she discovered a room whose distant corners she couldn't discern. If pests congregated, it would be in a place like this. When her foot crossed the threshold, she heard the floorboard creak once for her foot and twice for the echo.

The walls were painted with pink roses and green, splintered vines, but once she soldiered forward, she lost sight of the walls altogether. It was as though she trod into deep water.

Clink!

Dorothy stopped in her tracks, as a small cylindrical object bounced into her light. A coin. Looking left and right, she saw blackness. She couldn't hear a soul but herself.