The inside of Foredrake Merri’s headquarters was surprisingly tidy. While the outside was a sprawling mess of a mining camp, the interior was perfectly organized. Filing cabinets and blueprints lined the walls, and tables held miniature models of the mines and their equipment. Stacks of looming paperwork were meticulously sorted, and all the kobolds—save for Merri—seemed more clerically inclined than the miners lounging outside. She escorted us to a table and climbed into an exquisitely crafted leather chair. It was so large that her feet didn’t touch the ground. Mug sat on the opposite side on a stool made of rock, and I stood beside him, letting my legs fade away. She eyed my polymorphed limbs but made no comment; I suppose what was impressive to me was just a party trick in a world with mages and demon lords.

  A small blue kobold in neat, wire-framed glasses hurried over and placed a mug of something resembling coffee in front of Merri and a glass of water in front of Mug. Merri watched us carefully as she took a short sip. Mug was squirming on his stool, looking painfully nervous. I was going to have to teach this guy about the power of sitting still when I got a chance.

  “So. Lugenhelm. You really helpin’ us with mine? Frankly, don’t see it. Frankly, you look like slightly interestin’ trashcan and uninterestin’ gob. My scale-hides ain’t been paid in two weeks. Needin’ money, or soon whole camp leavin’. Leavin’, or King put us in prisons for rebellious attitude for not minin’. Can you really stop it?”

  I felt a pang of pity. That sounded exactly like King Odval—imprisoning these kobolds if they weren’t giving him what he wanted. Plus, from what I had seen outside the city walls, it seemed non-humans had it rough in the Nation of Aeternia. I remembered from the lore that kobolds were famous for two things: mining and the sheer number of children they produced. Merri wasn't showing it, but she was clearly anxious about the future of her people.

  I didn't want to give Mug a chance to lose what little faith she had in us, so I decided to make communication easier. I shot out an Earring of Messaging that landed neatly on her desk. After Mug assured her it was safe, she held it to the side of her head.

  ‘Foredrake Merri. I think we got off on the wrong foot, but know that I really do want to help. I realize how this looks, but if you can have faith in me, I know that Mug and I can save this camp.’

  She seemed a little surprised that I could "talk," but recovered quickly. She tapped her claws on the desk, then took another long sip of her drink.

  “Ok. Believin’ you, for now. If you die, no big deal. We run in dead of night, far away, before King knows. Ok, Lugenhelm. Help us.”

  I liked her straightforward attitude. It was refreshing after spending years in the court listening to people lie and scheme from both sides of their mouths. Her honesty was appreciated, even if she was being blunt about my potential death and abandonment.

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  ‘Great! Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, but it’s always good to have options, I suppose. Can you tell me about the problem? In the court, they said this mine was cursed, but you don’t seem worried about that. What is going on?’

  She sighed in frustration and wrapped her tail around to the front, stroking it gently as she thought.

  “Three issues. One leadin’ to the next. First, poison gas. Mana-steel lets off poison gas when bein’ mined. No real issue—my workers have masks and air pumps. Pump fresh air in and poison out. But! Can’t run pumps cause slag leeches! Comin’ up from lowest level. Usually not too bad, but them plus the gas… can’t do it. All cause of last problem—fume wyrm, right on our biggest air pump. Don’t know where it came from, but it disconnected hoses. Now, whole lower level filled with gas. Too much for masks or smaller pumps. Gas comin’ up, bringin’ slag leeches and more poison than small pumps can handle! Get it? Fume wyrm stoppin’ everything!”

  She leaned back in exasperation. I had another moment of time dilation as I processed the information. I could see how their hands—or claws—were tied. They couldn’t handle this without either heavy machinery or heavy magic, and the King was entirely too stingy to provide either. Based on the camp, everything here was likely made by the kobolds themselves. Of course, the King was also too greedy to understand or offer amnesty while their work was stalled. Odval had seemed like a pathetic man-child in his throne room, and in many ways he was, but in others, he was as dangerous as any tyrant. His whims had put these kobolds in a precarious position.

  What I needed was a weapon. I could move on my own, but I had no way to drive off a creature. Banana peels were a surprise tactic, not a battle strategy. I recounted everything I had seen coming into the camp: picks, hammers, masks, gloves, anvils, air pumps, tubes, pipes… and the answer appeared in my mind.

  ‘Foredrake Merri, I think I have an idea. First, how big and tough are slag leeches and fume wyrms? Could you shoot them with a bow and do damage? And second, do you have an air pump I could borrow? Preferably small enough to go on a cart with me, and as powerful as possible.’

  She thought for a second and sat upright, something in my tone making her less defeatist.

  “Yeah. With bows, sure, no problem. Slag leeches long, but not weigh much. Fume wyrm—bigger, sure, but not real dragon. Just wyrm. Good bow, good archer, put one down clean. For air pump? I can get you a good one. Not too big, maybe size of gob. Good compression, though. You really can do it? Save my camp?”

  She was looking at me earnestly now. It was odd; I realized no one had ever relied on me for anything as a person. As a trashcan, I now had one hundred thirty-three kobolds, plus myself and a goblin, to be responsible for. I had always dodged responsibility in my old life, making sure I was as useless as possible so that the only thing someone ever wanted from me was the time of day. Now, I had inserted myself into a life-or-death struggle.

  ‘Foredrake Merri, in the next two days, I’ll have your scale-hides back in business or die trying. Deal?’ I polymorphed my crude arm and hand, extending it toward her the same way I had done for Mug in the dungeon. She gave me a wide, toothy grin, spat on her palm, and pressed it into my lump of steel.

  “Deal!”