I awoke with the sound of Vowli’s harsh laughter in my ears, and a headache that made me long for a power drill. I sat up on the low couch I’d slept on and rubbed my face.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” said Jane. “Another dream, birdbrain?”
“Yeah. More flying.”
Jane shrugged. “Better than falling.”
“I guess,” I said with a sigh. “But this time, I saw Vowli. He carried me down into the dungeons of Helhaym.”
“Lucky he didn’t eat your liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti.”
“Don’t make the slurpy sound. You’re horrible at it.”
“Bah. I’m good at everything I do. Don’t you know that by now?”
“Of course, but I can’t let you get The Big Head.”
“Sif says it’s time for your checkup, and you will comply. Resistance is futile.”
“Hannibal Lector and Seven of Nine in the same morning? Give a guy a break.”
“Which arm?” She smirked at me and waved Sif over. “Watch out, Sif, he’s ornery this morning.”
“He’s ornery every morning, isn’t he?”
“Well, there’s that.” Jane walked away, whistling.
“How have you been feeling?” Sif asked while she poked and prodded my joints.
“Good. I didn’t enjoy the forced insomnia, but it was…survivable.”
Sif harrumphed. “I’d say you did more than survive.”
“Yes, I’ve felt much better since you started the anti-inflammatory bacon.”
“Bacon?” she asked with her eyebrow crooked.
“You said you made the anti-inflammatory from pigs. Everyone knows the best thing to come from pigs is bacon, so there you are.”
She shook her head, but I could see the grin in her eyes. “So…you are admitting I was right?”
“Sure,” I said without hesitation.
“Such a refreshing attitude,” she said raising her voice so it would carry to where Meuhlnir lounged on one of the many couches.
“Hank, I wish you’d stop getting me in trouble with my wife!” yelled Meuhlnir.
Sif grinned, patted my shoulder, and left.
I stood and looked around. Veethar had convinced the horses to stay in one corner of the vast room, and they seemed content there. Keri and Fretyi had invented a new game with Sig and Mothi—which amounted to the puppies attacking either Sig or Mothi’s feet, then switching and attacking the other for no discernable reason.
Farmathr watched us all as we performed our morning routines. It was as if he didn’t know how to interact with people anymore. He sat by himself, almost in the shadows near the far end of the room.
I grabbed two pieces of bread and two slices of dried fish that Yowrnsaxa had laid out for breakfast and joined him, sitting across from him in the little conversation grouping he’d set up camp in. He looked at me with a vague smile on his lips.
“Breakfast,” I said, holding out a piece of bread and fish.
He took the food but put it aside, eyes drifting back to the others.
“You’ve been alone for a long time, haven’t you?”
As he looked away, a strange expression crept over his face. “Yes. A long time. Well, alone in all ways that matter.”
“You said before that Vowli imprisoned you somewhere. Was it at Helhaym? A big lump of black basalt near the Stormur Syow?”
He flinched and looked up, raw eyes locking onto my own. “I…I think so. It’s been so long…”
“Do you know how to get back there?”
He shook his head. “No. And I would not take you there if I did. It is a vile place.”
I sighed. “I know it’s not a great spot, but…but I think Vowli has another prisoner there.”
His expression knotted up like a fist, but his eyes blazed. “Why would you think that?”
“It’s…” His reaction perplexed me. Is he angry I asked him about this? Or is it PTSD from being held prisoner? “It may be nothing. I’ve been having these dreams… Dreams about being a bird. I fly different places, see different things, but they seem to be prophetic. I…” I shrugged.
“Being a bird?” His voice was barely above that of a whisper.
“Yeah. In the dream, I’m a raven or something. Probably a silly, meaningless dream, but…”
Farmathr scoffed, and again, his eyes drifted away from mine.
“I dreamed about Helhaym. I saw Vowli, and he took me down into the dungeon caves below the fortress. He spoke to a man in a cell…a man who wanted to die—he even slit his own throat with a piece of sharpened stone, but Vowli resurrected him. He—”
“I don’t want to hear anymore!” Farmathr shot to his feet, scattering the food I’d brought him, and stomped away.
“Sorry!” I called after him, but he didn’t slow, didn’t turn. He strode out of the lobby area, into a darkened hall nestled in the shadows. “At least take your breakfast!”
One of the doors—a blue one—clicked open, and a sound like a cross between a vacuum cleaner and a riding mower sounded from behind it. After a moment, the door swung wide, and through it, I glimpsed a sea of chrome appendages.
A thing made from a nightmarish combination of spider-like limbs, metal tentacles, and an insect-like torso and head, skittered out the door and with a clatter of multi-jointed legs, spun around to face me. It clicked toward me, moving with the slow, careful grace of a ninety-year-old. As it moved, one of its spindly arms contorted, bending back at the wrist to expose a matte-black tube. I got up and backed away, hands automatically seeking the butts of my pistols—which I hadn’t strapped on yet.
“Leave it be!” yelled Farmathr from the darkness at the end of the room. “It just wants to clean.”
The robot aimed the black tube at Farmathr’s spilled food and a high-pitched whine tore the air as a greenish-white bolt of energy flew from the tube and obliterated the mess. There was no smoke, no charred marks on the floor, no sign that the food had ever been there. With a series of clanks, the robot’s hand flipped forward to cover the tube, and the robot pirouetted toward the door from which it emerged and clattered back inside.
“That’s some janitor,” muttered Jane.