The final negotiated rate ended up being fifteen percent of admissions. More complicated matters were included in the contract as well - severability of the contract, conditions of their living arrangements, indemnity against unintended fatalities in the arena, obligation for care of injuries, and most importantly - if one judged by Wikwocket's attention to it - bigger blankets and a silk pillowcase. The blankets would remain with the warden at the end of the contract, but Patrick agreed to give up the pillowcase.

  “And a minimum of three performances, with the first tomorrow evening. Subsequent performances subject to our needs,” Patrick said aloud as he finished filling in the contract terms. “We provide opportunities for violent exhibition at least weekly, at least every three days if your gnoll demonstrates he can stop short of fatality, otherwise we'll just have to hope a few more murderers turn up, ha ha!”

  “Do you really get at least one person sentenced to death every week?” Al wondered. “And several every week sentenced to almost death?”

  “Hey, lots of people in the area, there's always a few who think they can get away with something. We've also got a few waiting for their sentences to be carried out already. No shortage of low-life criminals! Maybe we'll get lucky and someone will assault a bunch of people and accidentally kill a few. That sort of thing usually gets one of the if the gods forgive you, you won't die sorts of sentences where we could test your gnoll's self-restraint.”

  “You've got an odd idea of lucky.”

  “I'm an optimist! Speaking of which, I'm ready to sign if you are,” Patrick said, finishing the adjustments to the contract and turning the paper around for the others to read. Wikwocket reached out, grabbed it, and held it up. She read through it, nodding along.

  “Uh huh. Yes. Yes. Good. Wait! We want the blankets and Sir Fluffington's pillowcase tonight!”

  “I'm not the only optimist here tonight I see. The markets are closed by now.”

  “Eh, you seem like a resourceful guy, I'll bet you can find a way!” Wikwocket insisted.

  Patrick and Wikwocket stared defiantly at each other in silence for several seconds before Patrick conceded with a laugh.

  “You know what, I think I can! Do we have a deal?”

  “That's up to our leader! What do you think, magical sword hero?”

  “I'm not… look, if you think this is a good deal, I'm willing to trust your judgement,” Al answered.

  With a broad smile, Patrick signed his name and turned the paper around for Al and the others to sign. He seemed surprised to see Gruntle take up the pen and slowly, crudely write his given name as well.

  “This has been an enjoyable and very unique experience,” Patrick said as he folded the contract up and tucked it into a pocket. “Now, don't go to sleep just yet, I'll go get your blankets and pillowcase!”

  He took his keyring and detached a key, handing it over to Al.

  “Here you go, enjoy your stay! I don't recommend wandering around too much, but if you get lost one of the guards can show you the way in or out. I'll be back!”

  The warden waved and headed for the door. He paused to theatrically blow a kiss in the general direction of the group, then closed the door behind him.

  A key turned in the lock, then Patrick's footsteps faded away down the hall. Looking suspicious, Al rose and went to test the key in the lock. He nodded when it did, as expected, unlock the door, and he returned to the table.

  “Well?” Wikwocket asked expectantly.

  “Well, what?”

  “What do you think, good deal, right?”

  “It's more than I would have thought to ask for, so I certainly can't complain. Maybe I'll just push negotiation duty off onto you from now on.”

  “Excellent delegation, magical sword leader!”

  Take the compliment, Al, he thought to himself, biting back a complaint. “Thank you. At least this is good food. I feel somewhat better now that I've had a chance to sit down and rest and eat. I think I can manage some more research before I go to sleep. The more I understand before I get to this former library and hopefully find that book I promised to read, the faster I can finish what I'm doing and devise a way to bind a spirit.”

  “And then you can summon your demon-slave!” Wikwocket said in anticipation. “Can we watch?”

  “Let me finish my research first, but if it doesn't seem excessively dangerous I don't see why not. And it's not a demon-slave!”

  “You said the idea was that it would be obedient and do what you told it to, right?”

  “Well, yes, obviously, it'd be stupid to conjure a potentially malevolent spirit manifestation that can run loose and cause problems.”

  “And it'll be a demon, right?”

  “Not exactly, what I'll be looking for is a barely-formed demonic spirit, just enough to have an existence but not an actual demon yet. The point of the exercise is to learn how to understand and control demonic things.”

  “You'll enslave a demon baby? Brutal!” Wikwocket exclaimed with incongruous approval. “Like in Dark Abduction of the Infernal Prince! A hero with a dark side is popular with a lot of people!”

  “It's not anything as simple as enslavement! I've got to offer it form and identity to bring it into this world, in a philosophical way it'll be almost like it's made of a part of me.”

  Wikwocket stared at him dubiously.

  “You're going to make a demon baby? I mean, I know demons are supposed to be unnatural things, does that mean you'll have to give birth to it through your, uh…”

  “I honestly can't tell if you're just having fun at my expense or if you're seriously asking me this,” Al said before she could finish that question.

  “That means I'm doing it right!” she laughed.

  Bote chose this as a good moment to bring the subject back to more immediate concerns.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Speaking on the subject of doing right, while we have some privacy we should discuss what we shall reveal to Will.”

  Al blinked. “Who?”

  “Oh, that's what Patrick called the captain who brought us here, isn't it?” Wikwocket answered.

  “Correct. It may have been presumptuous of me to do so, but I did suggest to him that we would reveal the details of our unexpected meeting with Charles formerly-Smitherton. He will want to question us when he returns for the body.”

  “And gives us our reward!” Wikwocket made sure to add.

  Al sighed. “I don't want to lie, but I'm worried that the whole truth of what happened might make us seem suspicious. Why did his conjuration bring us to him? From what Darius told me, it seems like there might be some sort of cult involved. It's not going to make things easier for us if they think we're part of it.”

  “My own inclination would be to reveal honestly as much as we are able, though I will defer to your decision,” said Bote. “What principles govern conjuration magic? Might there be a likely explanation for us being caught up in this without prior affiliation?”

  “Well,” Al speculated, “I suppose there are several ways we might have been accidentally pulled in, depending on exactly what he intended the magic to do. It seems obvious that his intent was to conjure gnolls, since he didn't seem surprised to see Gruntle. I doubt he was trying to conjure Gruntle specifically, otherwise I don't think we'd have gotten pulled in, too. Hmmm.”

  Al considered for a moment.

  “In accordance with the well established principle of Aurelius' Law of Subtlety, the effects of intent through magic will tend to be mitigated…”

  Wikwocket yawned theatrically. Al rolled his eyes.

  “Magic works more easily the less it deviates from what's natural,” he simplified, “so if the intent of the ritual was just to, uh, cause gnolls, it seems less unnatural if one that's nearby in the same world is simply moved rather than reaching all the way out to wherever gnolls go when they're not raiding and rampaging. Maybe this is good news, maybe it means Gruntle is the only gnoll nearby and it was just coincidence that we were in the area when Charlie wanted to conjure up a gnoll group. Instead of opening a gate all the way in whatever hidden place or demon-realm gnolls normally live in, maybe the magic just found the nearest gnoll and dragged the whole gnoll group to Charlie. Magic can do some unexpected things if one's intent isn't very distinct. If the ritual just assumes gnolls only associate with other gnolls, the concept of what's in the group might not be well-defined in the magic-worker's mind. Gruntle seems like he's going through some unexpected changes, too, compared to what's described in Melissa's research. Maybe he's sort of built up as much gnollishness as several ordinary gnolls, that might also make him more sought out by magic that targets gnolls.”

  “You're saying Gruntle may be the gnolliest gnoll the world has ever gnolln?” Wikwocket asked with a grin.

  “That's not how I would say it, but maybe. Do you feel any different, Gruntle?”

  The gnoll looked up from the pitcher of wine he was lazily lapping from. His head tilted as he considered the question.

  “Fed,” he finally answered.

  “Not just right now, I mean since we first met.”

  The gnoll's head tilted slowly in the other direction as Gruntle tried to make sense of the question.

  “Existentially, I mean… no, wait, forget that. Just, are you still the same you?”

  A tentative grunt of affirmation said yes, but the completely-sideways head-tilt said this question does not make any sense to me.

  “Well, that answers the question, at least. I swear it seems like you've gotten more intense over the last few weeks when violence starts, though.”

  Wikwocket snorted in amusement as Gruntle's head slowly tilted back in the other direction.

  “I think perhaps this is because he does not hold anything back, so even if some change is taking place, it will subjectively feel the same to him,” Bote suggested.

  “Probably something we don't need to bring up with the guards, they seem nervous enough about having an ordinary gnoll inside the city,” Al said. “Do you think we should mention our suspicions of Charlie being involved with a demon-cult of some kind? I don't think that angle of the gnoll problem is well-known.”

  “Then we definitely should tell them!” Wikwocket answered. “If nobody else really knows about it, that makes us the experts! If we want heroic jobs dealing with bad gnolls, that should give us an edge over other adventurers and mercenaries!”

  “Do we want that, though? What happens if we come up against a clan of gnolls?”

  “Other clan submits or we fight them,” Gruntle answered.

  “They would submit? Not just fight until they die?”

  “Stop fighting means submit. Dying means stop fighting. Running means stop fighting. Small clan becomes big clan means stop fighting.”

  “Small clan becomes…? Just…no. I am not prepared to try to wrangle a whole additional clan of gnolls.”

  “I think that can be a problem for later consideration,” Bote said, bringing the discussion back to the original topic. “Are there any matters regarding our arrival in Wayfarer's Rest and our participation that we feel we should keep from Will when he comes to ask?”

  “I suppose not, since there seems to be a reasonable explanation for how we got involved that doesn't incriminate us. Maybe avoid anything about Gruntle that might worry them more than he already does, though,” Al conceded.

  “Good! That means our whole exciting story can be told!” Wikwocket agreed.

  “Since that's settled, I think I'm going to go use that desk over there to do some reading. Now that I finally have some time, there's some reading in Auswelte Sachen that I think is relevant to what Charlie was doing. Do you mind if I borrow that piece of paper you got off of him with the sketch on it?”

  —

  The subject of metaphysically poking holes out of reality into other realities had already caught Al's attention during his research on the conjuration of spirits, so finding the more detailed chapters on the subject was easy. Al lost track of the time as he read, fascinated, with one brief interruption where he noticed that Wikwocket seemed to have entirely disappeared, and he realized he'd heard her draw the curtain in front of the gold-plated privy. He allowed himself to force one last bit of spellcasting to sensitize himself to magical influences. From this perspective, the curtain appeared sheathed in dark shadows, devouring sight and sound. And maybe smell, too, he thought. This is an expensive jail-cell.

  Wikwocket reappeared abruptly from behind the curtain soon after, looking relieved, and Al returned to his reading. Some time later, a knock on the door pulled his attention back to the world around him.

  “I'm back!” Patrick's voice announced from behind the door. “I've got your blankets! Are you decent in there?”

  “If we weren't, would it stop you from coming in?” Wikwocket called back.

  “Not unless you told me not to!”

  A key turned in the lock and Patrick pulled the door open. A whole bear skin and three colorful silk quilts hung over his right shoulder.

  “Here are the four largest blankets I have,” he said, dropping it all to the floor. “As well as the promised silk pillowcase!”

  He reached down to rummage in the pile of blankets, and pulled out a bright red pillowcase. He held it out proudly for Wikwocket to take. She did, turning it over and looking warily at the drool-stains.

  “Hey, you were the one who was in a hurry, I didn't have time to wash it after I took it off my pillow,” said Patrick.

  “That's fine,” Wikwocket replied, “Hey, Al! Would you mind…?”

  She held the pillowcase out in Al's direction. He sighed.

  “Sure, why not.” He wadded the pillowcase up and magicked it clean. Wikwocket took it back, shook it out for inspection, and nodded approvingly.

  “Sir Fluffington, I have your pajamas!” she said, hurrying to the bed she'd chosen and jumping up onto it to begin the process of clothing her pillow.

  The squeaking of wheels approached from the hallway, and the dwarf who had brought the feedbag for Haunch earlier pushed a serving cart through the doorway.

  “I am here, Herr Direktor.”

  “Ah, Hilda, excellent, come help me clear the table so our guests can get some rest for tomorrow.”

  They put a pitcher of water on the table and loaded the cart with the plates and what little leftover food remained. Hilda froze when Gruntle stood up, but then relaxed as the gnoll headed away from her towards the privy-curtain. She nearly dropped the plates she was holding when the donkey turned to follow directly behind the gnoll, and both of them disappeared behind the curtain. Gruntle and Haunch reappeared shortly thereafter. Gruntle yawned.

  “Will sent word that he'll want to collect Charlie and question you two hours after sunrise tomorrow. I'll ask one of the guards to make sure you're awake an hour before,” Patrick said as Hilda's head shook in disbelief. “Get some rest, now! Big day tomorrow evening!”

  —

  Al's dreams that night were made of doors, windows, and hallways, all connected. Things waited behind some of them, waiting and wanting. The latches and locks seemed to get simpler as the dreams went on.

  technically being in a prison cell is the opposite of "escapism", but anyway here's some much needed escapism for all of us.