Scram Scallie was packed. This was no great feat since a capacity crowd numbered only a dozen warm bodies, but that night, two dozen and more squeezed in through the ancient stone door. A larger venue ought to have been chosen, but the little alehouse was the only place near the center of town that every Dromeian knew but the big folk didn't.

Everyone but Gravis was there for the meeting; he came for a drink.

"All the drain lines are nearly blocked from Tier Seven to Tier Five," Copper Pot said. His real name was Niblangree Optimverganon, but only his mother ever called him that, and it was suggested, by more than a few, that she had only gone to the trouble on his first birthday and regretted doing so ever since. "While I can't say, because I haven't looked at 'em me self, it would be my assumption that most of the drains are in dire need of a washout."

"The freshwater lines are even worse than the sewers."  Trig the Elder leaned in at this point. "The Alabaster Chute portion of duct-line seven had a cave-in. Nothing devastating, mind you. Happens all the time. Roots push through the soil and rock, and then runoff gets in there and erodes the ceiling. The Chute is a special problem because it draws from the hot springs, and with that, you also get steam, which can be mischievous. Normally, I'd have sent a team in to reinforce the section and clear the debris, but acourse we're not doing that. And while the Alabaster Chute isn't the only blocked or clogged feed, that chute services the baths, and problems there . . . well, that's something the scallie notice. They go in to soak and find the basins barely deep enough to cover their knees."

"What about drinking water?" Sloan asked.

Trig cleared his throat. "Tur's not likely to ever run out of that. The ancient runs are nearly foolproof, but the end lines, the ones that go from the big channels to the homes, those might be impacted. I know that cutting off fresh water was what you were hoping for most. An inability to drink would put the fear of Drome in the scallie, but it's not likely to happen, and that's probably for the best. You don't want to be losing the primes. A lack of potable water out here, with all these people, would be more than dangerous. Whether you're Dromeian or human, no one can last long without potable water."

"It's not working, not having enough of an impact." Sloan leaned hard on the bar. "I thought they would come around, ask for help, but they haven't."

"And didn't I tell you it wouldn't work?" Gravis said. He was on his fourth pint and had never been a big drinker, though he was getting plenty of practice lately. Bubbles or no, the ale went to his head and loosened his tongue. The normally taciturn descendant of Andvari and Alberich Berling was becoming more opinionated every day.

"You also said you were going to steal Drumindor, now didn't you, Berling?" Baric shouted at him. "Well, what happened with that plan? Towers are still there, aren't they? Sloan here is trying to actually do something. You, on the other hand, just talk and talk. Big words always coming out of your little mouth, but you never do anything."

"Leave him be, Baric," Sloan said. "He's right. He did tell me it wouldn't work. And it hasn't. It's as if they've forgotten we exist."

"That's your fault, not theirs," Auberon said. He was near the door. Either the ancient one had slipped in late or just liked to be near the exit. At the sound of his voice, the room went silent.

"Auberon," Sloan said, surprised. "I wondered if ya would come."

"You invited me, didn't you?"

"I did." She nodded and gathered herself. "And what do ya mean by, it's my fault?"

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The old dwarf with the sunbaked skin and pure white beard took another step into the room. He was what the word ancient was invented for, and yet he managed to stand straighter than any other in the room. "Everyone's underground," he said. "That was your plan, yes?"

Sloan nodded.

"Smart idea. You never know how things will turn out, so it's best not to leave families vulnerable to revenge or to be used as bargaining chips. But the problem is, you didn't leave anyone topside for them to negotiate with. With the complete absence of Dromeians, they think we've left."

"Left?" Sloan stared, confused. "Where would we go? This is our home."

"They don't see it that way. All they know is the dwarfs are gone, which is what they wanted all along."

Sloan studied the bar counter for answers. "Maybe I should go and talk ta them," Sloan said. "Perhaps I should . . . "

She looked up to see what everyone else saw: Auberon shaking his head.

"No?"

"You go down there as spokesperson and they'll target you as a leader or, more accurately, an agitator. Appear before the Triumvirate and lay out an ultimatum, and they will see an insurrectionist intent on starting a revolution — an enemy. You want to start a war, that's a good way to go about it."

"I don't want a war."

"I know you don't, and that's good. Wars never achieve the goals that start them, but they do make living with the prior problems more palatable by comparison."

"What should we do?"

Auberon shook his head. "I'm the last person to ask. More than anyone here, I've proven I'm an idiot. And only a fool would ever take my advice."

"Yer the wisest person I've ever known," Sloan said with a sincerity that no one hearing those words could doubt.

Auberon nodded. "You should get out more."

She continued to stare at him with desperation in her eyes.

"That's what I came to say. Listen or not. Good luck to you," Auberon said. "To all of you." And with that, he made use of his proximity to the exit and walked out the door.

Sloan continued to stare at the place where the ancient one had stood.

"We need to let them know we're still here," Kiln said.

Sloan nodded. "But how do we do that? How do we stand up for ourselves — how do we demand fairness without appearing to threaten them?"

"Everything frightens the scallie,"  Trig the Elder said.

Sloan had her towel over her shoulder, and she walked out from behind the bar. The place was packed tight, but they made room for her to pass. She wasn't going anywhere, just walking and thinking. Then some of those thoughts spilled out of her mouth. "We need ta show them we're still here . . . we need ta show them . . . " She stopped, her eyes shifting left and right. "But we also need ta show them who we are."

"I think they know that," Baric said.

"No, they don't." Sloan's eyes widened. "All they know are the stories — the bad ones. The tales of Gronbach. All they ever see are dwarfs scurrying about like rats — fixing this, tinkering with that. We've become fairy tales ta them — and cautionary ones. We need ta show them we're more than that. We need to show them our true history in all its glory."

"Got a crystal ball, do you?" Gravis asked. "Even if you have, how would that help?"

Sloan looked at the floor. "I don't know."

"Bah!" Gravis waved a dismissive hand.

"Aw, go and be on your way, Berling!" Baric shouted at him. "Be off — you and your mouth. Don't you have a pair of towers to steal?"

"Baric, please." Sloan said gently, trying to make him heel.

"He's no right to denounce anyone," Baric went right on. "The dwarf is a bag of air. He blows out all manner of grand talk, but he hasn't the courage to act. I pity you, Berling, I truly do. You've only ever been good at being a cog in a machine, and now here you are without any teeth."

Gravis wanted to remove a few of Baric's teeth, but he saw no allies in the place — not that this was new. During his entire life, he'd been alone except for Ena. She had been his friend. She had loved him, but he had only realized that fact on the night she died. Gravis saw no more point in being there. So, not quite as dignified as Auberon, he walked out.

"Don't be pushing him, ya fool!" Sloan's shout whispered through the stone. "Do ya also jump on thin ice? The poor fellow is suffering. Can't ya see that?"

"Where do you think he goes?" someone asked. "They forced him out of his shack, you know."

"He's a Berling,"  Trig said. "Lived here his whole life. He knows places the rest of us have never discovered."

"Likely has a secret palace somewhere deep in the cliffs."

"Aye, he's probably in a room of gold, sleeping on King Linden's bed."

Their voices faded as he walked away into the dark.

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