The Downside of Dungeon Delving (2/2)

“Or that they're saving their power for something more lethal later on,” Threadbare pointed out. “But just in case it's the time thing let's get a move on. We need to save everyone and either get out or kick whoever's in the core chamber out.”

“How are you so calm about this?” the Mousewife whispered. “We could die here!”

Threadbare nodded. “That is true. And I am a little afraid. But the juveniles could die here if we don't save them. So I have to do that, and it's more important than being afraid.”

“Oh. Oh! Oh no. They could die, couldn't they? Oh dear, that won't do at all,” the Mousewife said. She quickly tucked her skirts into her bloomers. “Let's go save them.”

The hallways stretched on, lit by glowing stones in the ceiling, and the first few doors they opened revealed small and simple rooms full of furniture. But the furniture was off in bizarre ways. Chairs the size of beds sat next to tables that a cat couldn't perch on. Fireplaces in the ceiling dropped soot to floors that had pictures attached to them. Some rooms were simply full of beds, mattresses smooshed together and frames tangled and linked together like a magician's ring trick.

But there was no sign of anyone among the objects.

“These look like the standard quarters,” Graves muttered. “Our foe is repurposing them, or just shuffled them off here in the same place to get them out of the way for something else on the map.”

“I think I see a sign at the end,” Threadbare pointed.

“The end of the hallway? You can see it?” the Mousewife squeaked.

“Yes. The stones stop before the hall does, and there's a sign there in the darkness that says I.H.O.M. There's writing below that but it's too small to read from here. Graves, does that mean anything to you?”

The mage shook his head. “Nothing, sorry. It could be a fragment of one of the other signs we had about.”

Midway through the hall, two of the doors opened to cross corridors. The one to the left was hot and steamy and gave off thumping sounds. The one to the right descended into darkness, concrete walls giving way to carved stone as it went.

But the sign still intrigued Threadbare. “I think we have time to go and read it,” he decided. “It could be a clue of some sort.”

“Before we do, it occurs to me we might get split up, here,” Graves decided. “Want to form the party, or shall I?”

“I've got it,” Threadbare said. “Form Party. Invite Graves. Invite Mousewife.”

Herbert Graves has joined your party!

Karen Mousewife has joined your party!

The three of them headed further along the hall, past the last glowstone light and into the edge of the darkness.

“Stop!” said Threadbare, not half a minute later. “Oh dear.”

“Oh dear?” Graves asked, squinting to see in the dim light.

“There's things moving behind us!” The Mousewife squeaked, pointing back the way they'd come. “The beds and chairs and thingies are coming out of the rooms!”

Of course they were.

Because now that Threadbare could read the sign, the words on it made a sort of grim sense.

I.H.O.M

And below it in smaller letters:

International Hall of Mimics.