As I step outside, I can see that another of the crab creatures has attached itself to Calmorien's head. Well, that explains why there wasn't one for his body inside. Heh. I circle around and look him briefly in the face. Indigo flames glow from his eye sockets and mouth. His mouth is moving slowly, opening and closing wetly in the rain. Little bursts of magic shoot out along the stick from where it enters the underside of his head.

The little aura-encased crab creatures are even more alien and creepy close up. Impulsively, I raise my blade and bring it down hard on the crab, cutting it in half like I did the other one, and making a deep gash in Calmorien's skull. The creature's two halves fall to either side, hanging off Calmorien's head by the claw and leg pieces which are still implanted in his brain. The lights in his eye sockets and mouth go out, and his mouth stops moving. 

I didn't kill the creature for Calmorien's sake. But I didn't want it to figure out that it was wasting its time with his head and move on, putting some other elf in danger. The fewer of these things running loose through Elftown, the better.

I lift the hand holding my sword to my head and use the pommel to push back my hood. Let the damn rain do something useful for once and clean the phosphorescent insect eye juice out of my hair. Then I turn away from Calmorien and follow the jerking corpses of the elf-children.

The corpses turn left, cutting through the narrow alley between two warehouses, before turning left again. From behind, in the darkness, the crab creatures almost look like floating balls of magic. There is a growing gap between the first three, Calmorien's two guards and his human bodyguard, and the last two, because the elf-children have smaller strides and walk slower. I move up within a dozen paces of the last two corpses. Neither the corpses themselves nor the creatures controlling them give any indication that they are aware of my presence.

After we pass a few more buildings, I begin to feel and then hear a steady pounding. Thump thump thump thump, like a forge hammer. Except the forges are on the other side of the harbor. There is no industry in this stretch of Elftown, huddled under the seawall to the right of the harbor. The walking dead turn left again and shamble down another alley toward the seawall. Following them, I hear raucous voices over the pounding. Now I understand. I am in the alley behind the Footstomp, a noisy tavern run by Rien, one of Jet's rivals. Known for drumming and stomp-dancing, it's open late into the night. Goddess, what a goblinish racket! I feel sorry for anyone who has to live around here.

The dead move past the back of the tavern to a large olive oil warehouse. Most goods are scarce here in Elftown. But three things are cheap enough most elves can afford them, even on the meager salaries of the tannery and fish sauce yards: bread, fish, and olive oil. We use the oil to light our lamps, we cook our fish in it and we dip our bread in it. The back of the warehouse looks to be a busy place during the day; there are several wagon loading bays. Next to the closest of these, on the side of the warehouse away from the seawall and next to the tavern, is a door. As I come down the alley, I see the corpse of the nameless bodyguard push through the door and into the warehouse.

I slow to a stop against the shadows of the adjacent building, watching the last two corpses move haltingly toward the door. Each of them also pushes through the door, which is unlocked and hinges inward. I study the warehouse. There are no visible windows. Good. 

I gently lower Alvar's body to the ground. Then I move swiftly forward, hugging the tavern wall to my right and then the wall of the olive oil warehouse for the last few feet before the door. I slip forward, as stealthily as I can, and hold my ear against the crack of the door, listening. I hear nothing, except the stomping and drunken yelling from the tavern behind me.

I lightly touch the door handle.

Before I can push it inward, I hear voices on the other side.