"No time for prayers, ladies." The dwarf gestured sharply, signaling his two subordinates to execute their plan. "Godma has seized the Grand Market already. They're locked in a standstill near Triumphant Fort."

  "Then they'll be upon us at any moment!" The heavily painted woman gnawed anxiously at the silver ring on her finger, panic flooding her features.

  "Precisely. Which is why I'm here to instruct you on handling those Southerners."

  "But aren't you meant to evacuate us, sir?" The praying woman had forgotten every sacred word in her terror. "We were told His Grace the Duke of Pafaheim would dispatch escorts to lead us to safety!"

  "If circumstances demand it, I shall do exactly that—you have my word. For now, I need you to gather every pot capable of boiling water and kindle a proper fire."

  "What, have your bellies started growling?" The previously stupefied woman finally stirred to awareness.

  "It's a welcome gift for our Godman visitors," the dwarf replied with a grim smile. "They'll be parched upon arrival. So please—set plenty of water to boil."

  Off-Key labored to transport firewood into the stove. Hard Stone bustled between the storage closet and kitchen, each journey yielding another dust-coated kettle or rusted iron pot. "Who claims ownership of these quarters?" Gondolin and the veiled woman rummaged through the apartment's far corner, searching for additional water vessels.

  "Do you mean our specific rooms, or the entire structure?"

  "This whole tenement belongs to a single individual?" Gondolin couldn't mask his astonishment.

  "Many buildings in Pafaheim operate similarly," the woman confirmed with a nod. "Most have a solitary owner. We merely rent our space."

  The dwarf cast a sidelong glance toward the three modest beds crowded in the corner. "So your acquaintance began only after securing these accommodations?"

  "Christine and I knew each other previously. We rented jointly to facilitate our laundry trade." She indicated the unscarved woman with her eyes. "As for Rose—the one who tried to knife you—she moved in later."

  Gondolin turned his attention toward Rose, noting something distinctly peculiar about her demeanor. She sat listlessly atop the storage chest in the corner, hands dangling uselessly, neither contributing to the effort nor interfering with it. "You two practice washing trades, you say. What occupation does she pursue?"

  "Rose?" The dwarf nodded confirmation. "Oh—she's a whore."

  Gondolin abandoned any lingering notion that apartment dwellings signified wealth.

  Despite staircases being the natural enemy of dwarven-kind, Hard Stone managed to set eight pots bubbling within a quarter-hour. "Allow me to assume the burden now, sir." Christine cradled two earthenware vessels. "You've made sufficient trips already. Residing here renders water-fetching a perpetual torment—half the time I'm tempted to hurl myself from the window rather than face those stairs again..." She had already stepped into the corridor before suddenly doubling back. "Hey—what mischief are you about?"

  Rose remained oblivious to the washerwoman's inquiry. With her back presented to the room, she crouched in the corner, evidently preoccupied with the storage chest. "If your hands seek occupation, accompany me to draw water." Christine rattled the clay jars pointedly. Rose remained deaf to the summons.

  "You persistently useless creature—never once contributing an ounce of effort." She approached Rose from behind, intending merely to nudge her with a foot to capture her attention. She had scarcely reached the prostitute when both jars shattered against the floorboards. Every soul in the chamber snapped to alertness.

  "What in heaven's name is THAT?!" Christine pointed accusingly into the chest—at its contents gleaming with golden yellow, verdant emerald, sapphire blue, and scarlet red. "How came you to possess such an abundance of jewelry?!"

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The veiled woman bounded across the room with feline swiftness. She stared, utterly stupefied, at the chest overflowing with precious metals and gemstones. "What sorcery is this?!" Her hand had barely extended toward the treasure when Rose slapped it away with surprising ferocity. "Don't touch!"

  "You dare strike me!" The veiled woman thrust Rose violently backward. The prostitute collapsed to the floor with the softness of unspun wool.

  "No striking permitted." Off-Key finally broke her silence, her peculiar melodic cadence instantly commanding the room's attention. She wedged her compact frame between the whore and washerwoman. "Violence against... persons... is prohibited. Please?"

  Only when dwarves speak do humans discern their women from their men. "You remain ignorant of her transgressions, miss." Gondolin and Hard Stone shouldered their way into the tightening circle, determined to prevent further escalation. "She's been hiding this hoard while we starved!"

  "These treasures are MINE!" Rose struggled to rise; Off-Key provided steady support. "I earned every piece." Her gaze flitted between the chest and her own ample bosom. "I... exchanged my physical self for them..."

  "Since those items... rightfully belong to another," Hard Stone observed gruffly.

  "Indeed—since they constitute another's property, why interfere with her possession?" Off-Key continued comforting Rose, who had already drawn her shoulders inward defensively, tears streaming unchecked.

  "Certainly—and if that were the entirety of the matter, we would raise no objections regarding her hoarded treasure." Christine kicked the clay fragments aside and folded her arms rigidly across her chest. "But shall I illuminate the complete truth?" She extended an accusing finger toward the prostitute, each syllable dripping with unfiltered contempt. "From the moment Godma encircled our walls with siege, prosperity abandoned us. Wealthy citizens fled Pafaheim in droves. Demand for laundresses evaporated entirely. The sole individual maintaining gainful employment was her—this whore." She spat the final word like poison. "Yet never once did she contribute to our collective welfare. She never lifted a finger around the house, treated the place like a sty, just came back and passed out. Nevertheless, Natalia and I refrained from condemnation. We share womanhood. We comprehend the grueling nature of her profession. We maintained the domicile in her absence. When hunger gnawed at her, we prepared sustenance. When rent payments eluded her means, we provided financial coverage. When clients inflicted violence upon her, we purchased medicinal remedies. She told us she had a son in Liesnite, left with relatives, and that's where all her money went. Always short, she said. And we believed her." She pressed her palm against her breast, forcing herself to moderate her breathing. "Then a few weeks ago, the price of grain in the market went insane. We sold the clothes off our backs just to buy a few mouthfuls of stale, sandy bread so we wouldn't starve... And she," Christine spat, pointing at Rose, "offered nothing. She would silently accept whatever sustenance we provided, retreat to her corner, and consume it in utter silence. I believe further elaboration proves unnecessary."

  The dwarves clearly found themselves unprepared for this revelation. Off-Key's hands remained compassionately positioned on Rose's trembling shoulders, though she could summon no further defense.

  "I should have recognized the peculiarity." The veiled woman's expression darkened with retrospective contemplation. "Occasionally she would present you with delicate pastries—or similar delicacies. We attached minimal significance to these gestures at the time." She exchanged a meaningful glance with Christine. "Such indulgences commanded substantial cost, did they not? Yet we remained oblivious. Divine powers, what monumental fools we proved ourselves."

  Renewed fury surged through Christine's veins. Remembering those cakes—and Rose's childlike expression of delight while consuming them—ignited every ember of jealousy smoldering within her. She dropped abruptly to a crouch and forcefully dragged the chest toward herself. "This belongs to ME!"

  The prostitute hurled herself forward desperately, embracing the box while delivering ineffectual blows against the washerwoman's forearms. Gondolin and Hard Stone struggled mightily to separate the combatants.

  "I comprehend your despicable scheme now, you treacherous harlot." The veiled woman seized Rose's collar and delivered a stinging backhand slap. Off-Key inserted herself between them, her resolve outweighing her uncertainty, determined to shield the prostitute. "You fabricated the Godman invasion of our building and instructed us to conceal ourselves in that closet while you supposedly confronted them. Contemptible falsehood!" She spat venomously into Rose's tangled hair. Off-Key silently lamented her insufficient height, which prevented her from intercepting the degrading assault. "You were just trying to grab your treasure and run! Leave us here to die! I never knew anyone could be so vile!" She raised her hand again—delivering two additional resounding slaps. Off-Key stood immobilized, powerless to intervene. When the washerwoman's tirade concluded, her rage seemed momentarily spent. Rose remained kneeling, clutching the precious chest against her breast, weeping uncontrollably.

  A horn blast ripped through the air, so loud it felt like it would tear the roof off. Down on the first-floor landing, the dwarf lookout was blowing the signal, his face red as a forge fire. The little conch shell horn unleashed a sound far bigger and deeper than seemed possible. "They've arrived." Gondolin's terse announcement severed the domestic drama instantly. "Quickly—battle stations!"