The rest of the night was rather uneventful, and soon the morning came again, same as it always did. With it came Keggr and Mug, both stretching and rubbing their eyes. I noticed that Mug’s thin shirt had gotten a few more holes in the fight last night; I made a note to Recycle him some new clothes as soon as possible. As they sat and ate a sort of green cheese from Keggr’s pocket (he refused to tell us what animal it came from, luckily), we discussed what our next steps would be. Both Keggr and Mug were flat broke. Keggr was a homeless vagrant and disgraced worker thrown out of the castle after losing his sight—even though it didn’t really seem to slow him down. Mug was a “goblin” servant who had been paid in… well, from the way he put it, he had really only been paid in humiliation, though he called it "royal affectation." I couldn’t spend either, so I guess it came down to the same thing.

  I was just on the verge of asking Keggr where would-be adventurers go to be tasked to fight goblin gangs or clear sewers of giant rats when someone knocked on the door. For some reason, I felt a chill of cold, which was impressive since I never really felt anything temperature-wise.

  Mug opened the door, and standing hunched in the frame of our humble abode was Stelheim. His hands were clasped together inside his robe and his face was positively beaming, as if he were a child at a candy-themed amusement park. I had never been a morning person, and Stelheim being here at the crack of dawn was not helping.

  “Ah, Lugenhelm! So this is the seed of your humble beginnings? The headquarters of your holy mission? The Batcave of your brave band! It’s so… quaint! And I see you’ve found a new stray to add to your menagerie! A dwarf! Very progressive, very cosmopolitan! I see you’re becoming a hero of the downtrodden, defender of the defenseless! How noble!” Keggr sniffed in an annoyed fashion.

  “Trashcan, who the hell is this joker? Tell him I can hear he’s lyin’, by the way. I can hear it—hell, you probably can too. Everything he says is as true as a succubus nun. I'm goin' back upstairs, call me if you need anything fixed.” Keggr didn’t wait for any kind of answer before excusing himself upstairs. That was pretty understandable; if Stelheim wasn’t here to torment me in particular, I would have followed.

  Stelheim’s fa?ade of calm compassion and gratitude dropped for only a split second, but I could see it on his face: anger, hatred, and malign discontent at someone not only seeing through him, but treating him as if he didn’t matter. It was an ugly sight—his normally perfect features morphing into something wolflike and predatory—before he regained his composure, bowed, and brushed dirt off his robe.

  “What an… interesting fellow you’ve met, Lugenhelm! Surely, you are full of surprises.” I knew that it would be easier to give Stelheim an Earring of Messaging in the long run, but I just didn’t want a direct line of contact to someone so foul. Instead, I spat out a note.

  “What am I doing here? Well, one: I’ve come to collect the royal cart and donkey that the king so graciously lent you to find your new home. Two: I must record your exact address, so that the king and myself always know just where to find you! Three: I must introduce you to someone! The king has many subjects, and this one is in dire need of your assistance!” He motioned to the street behind him, where an ornate carriage attached to two brown stallions was waiting.

  The carriage door opened, and out stepped a middle-aged gentleman in ornate black robes. He had a high, pointed face, and his widow's peak was so far back it practically started in the middle of his head. His face was pinched in an expression of sneering only the rich could afford, and he closed his nostrils with one gloved hand as if to avoid breathing the same air as the rest of us slum-dwellers. He gave me a quick glance, then looked back to Stelheim.

  “I say, is this really the holy spirit of Freise? It looks like a dustbin. Is the king having a laugh?” Stelheim laughed and slapped my lid at that as if it were the funniest thing he had ever heard.

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  “Don’t be deceived by appearances, Lord Pauvert! Ah, sorry, where are my manners? Lugenhelm, spirit of the House of Freise, this is Lord Alard Pauvert, master of the House of Pauvert and Warden of the Silken Forest. Lord Pauvert, this is Lugenhelm—master of a dwarf and a goblin, warden of this here… I believe it might have been a bakery? Or a former bakery?” Lord Pauvert didn’t respond, only glared at me. I sent Stelheim a note.

  “What do we want? Well, it’s quite simple, really. Gather your goblin and come, come! We’ll explain on the way! Come now, Lugenhelm, time is wasting!” I sighed internally, then told Mug to follow me. I guess all my plans didn’t mean squat in front of the king’s demands. My home renovation would have to wait.

  We squeezed into the carriage, Mug sitting beside me facing opposite Pauvert and Stelheim. Pauvert looked downright offended to be sharing a carriage with a trashcan and a goblin. Surprisingly, it was the goblin part that seemed to prick his backside more than the trashcan. He hardly gave Mug a glance, while he at least glared at me. As the carriage began to move, he began to explain his predicament after a little goading from Stelheim. He didn’t remove his fingers from his nose the entire time.

  “The problem, as it were, is the damned monsters in the Silken Forest! You see, my family has guarded these forests for generations and maintained order and peace inside of them. There are all sorts of vile beasts who would lay claim to the land, and with good old-fashioned steel and mettle, we’ve mostly kept them in check! But lately, they’ve grown bolder, more volatile. They’ve started attacking my workers and soldiers with no provocation whatsoever! They are mad, mindless monsters, and they must go!” I spat out a note asking what his workers were doing in the forest, causing him to sneer at me.

  “The Silken Forest is home to a particular kind of tree: the Silk Willow. It’s a rare, wonderful tree that produces the finest silk imaginable. Even now you rest your metallic backside on its luxuriousness—can you not tell?” I couldn’t, but decided not to let him know that. “Anyway, it needs careful pruning and tending to in the seasons in order to harvest the silk, which as you can imagine is a great amount of commerce for both myself and the kingdom. Recently, with the monsters going crazy, I cannot possibly hope to harvest anytime soon! Which is why the king has lent me you; apparently, you managed to get the kobolds into shape and mining again, so I was wondering if you could work your, ah, spiritual magic and help calm the locals. Or evict them. Or exterminate them. You’re the professional, so it’s up to you, of course.”

  So, the king wanted me to go kill or evict a bunch of non-humans that had been messing up his cash-flow crop. That was nice. I guess he wasn’t too worried about me being recalled back to the celestial plane like I had lied—either that, or this was Stelheim’s idea, which seemed equally likely. I wasn't crazy about the idea of him 'lending' me out though. I was a man! Well, a trashcan pretending to be a holy spirit, but inside all that I was a man! I had hopes and dreams and feelings! I felt pain, and might even be able to bleed! Despite my distaste at being treated as an object, I saw one silver lining. This could be my opportunity, though; I needed things, and now I had a rich noble for a client. I sent my note to Stelheim.

  “‘Of course, I, as the spirit of the House of Freise, would love to assist you in this manner, but it seems that my new retainer requires more than just noble gratitude in order to exist. Perhaps if you can find it in your heart to spare some coin for this service? And maybe some minor magic items? Of course, this is purely a gratuity, as service is its own reward, but you know… the goblin here can’t eat that, and he’s the one with opposable thumbs.’ Why, of course, Lugenhelm! As a show of good faith, I will give you some of my own coin as a gesture of goodwill!” Stelheim made a show of rummaging through his robes before depositing two gold coins into my opening. Hardly a fortune, but hey, it was a start.

  Pauvert grumbled but managed to promise a percentage of this year’s crop profits if I could succeed. He didn’t specify what percentage, but that would have to do for now. With the price negotiated, we settled into the carriage, watching the city give way to country as we made our way to Manor Pauvert and the Silken Forest. Stelheim flattered and cajoled, Pauvert looked annoyed to be there, and Mug wiggled uncomfortably.

  Me? I sat there and hoped that this next task would be a bit easier than my first. A quick adventure, in and out, twenty minutes tops, right? Right?

  Wrong.