Audrey emerged from the woods into an idyllic clearing. A river ran through the clearing and the sunlight sparkled like it ran with diamonds rather than water. It powered a small waterwheel that was only noticeable above the whisper of the locusts howling in the grass that lined it.

The waterwheel spun a shaft that disappeared into a shack. A thin trail of smoke rose from its chimney, despite the warmth of the sun. Audrey used her walking stick to check for muck as she pushed towards the shack.

Finding a small, worn path, she followed it up to the shack’s door.

She knocked, twice. She looked around the outside of the shack, and she saw a dovecote and the occasional black bead of an inquiring eyeball. Her attention was pulled away when the door opened to reveal a hunchbacked man with a wince. He wore the tattered robes of an ascetic, yet the rich, round smell of roasting meat wafted from the shack.

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The refigerator rumbled.

Nancy was pretty drunk. She threw the bottle of vodka that she’d been drinking from all night back into the refrigerator and turned back to the blender. She hummed while it chopped up the ice and vodka and strawberries into a pleasant slushie.

When Nancy took her finger from the blender, she noticed it rumbling.

It had never rumbled before.

Now it rumbled again.

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“I still don’t feel right about stealing someone’s car,” Casimir said, sliding around the bench seat and slamming into the windows.

He kept his eyes shut as the car shuddered. Another zombie bit the dust.

“You’re such a moralist,” Emblem said. “And you can open your eyes. We’re getting onto the highway, there won’t be any foot traffic here. We’re like thirty feet off of the ground. Great shelter, by the way, if you find yourself caught in a downpour. Especially in those angles where the highway rises or falls. And if you find the right set of pillars, they’ll even block the wind and you won’t even need any soggy cardboard walls.”

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Leckalump the Redbearded Dwarf had already strained sixteen ales through his beard, and he was only getting warmed up. He drained another one, slammed the tankard down onto the table, and stood up.

He’d had a good day. A gang of vicious road bandits lay rotting in the forest, and he’d found a pile of loot in their animal hide tents. And there was no way of sorting out the ownership of the gold coins, so he’d decided that stealing from thieves made things all right if he didn’t think about it too hard. That’s what the ale was for, anyhow.

That’s what Leckalump liked about gold. It was always solving its own problems.

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Only Ivy’s hyperventilation stopped Amy from rushing out of the room. Casimir ran around the desk, sending piles of papers to the floor with shuffling crashes, and helped her into her chair. Her choking gasps gathered a crowd at the door. Emblem barged in a moment later. He held a bowl and spooned its contents into his mouth.

“What’d you do?” Emblem asked Casimir, who was awkwardly rubbing Ivy’s back to try to calm her down while Amy paced in front of the desk and fumed.

“That fucking moron, I’m going to choke him after I hug him! Or choke him while I hug him! I’d go all the way across this damn necropolis just to kill him!” Amy muttered.

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“Thou shalt not tell me my job!” roared Gimbus the Tormentor, standing over his latest victim, who was stretched out on the rack.

“You’ve hit the spot! My vertebral soldiers have fallen in line for the first time in sixteen seasons! So please pull it tighter!” said Ross, latest victim of Gimbus the Tormentor.

Gimbus took his hand off of the wheel that adjusted the tension on the rack.

“No,” Gimbus said, crossing his arms. “You just lay there and writhe in agony. In pain. In mild discomfort. Well, you can just lay there and think about how comfortable you might be if I cranked this wheel. But I won’t!”

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