Eva snapped open a housekeeping closet at the end of a hallway. A stream of opaque blue bubbles shot out at her.
“Isidor?”
“What?”
“The inn is under attack by what may possibly be an earthquake or Legions of Terror, we can’t get into Matvei’s room to wake him up, and Pasha is wearing my clothes.” Eva updated her friend. He handed a blue flowered sheet out to the witch.
“Wake me when it’s over.”
“You could be kill- okay. Stay. See you later.” Eva wrapped the sheet firmly about her waist to form a skirt of sorts and headed back down the hall with Misha at her heels.
“Eva, wait!”
Eva did not wait.
A large pile of socks materialized in front of her.
“I’m coming!” Isidor ran after Eva and they headed for Matvei’s room, where Pasha was still tinkering with the lock.
“Six tumblers.” He muttered.
“This is what we get for safe rooms.” Eva sighed.
“Where’s Rus?” Isidor asked, trying to hide his concern.
“We sent him out to do battle against the forces of evil. C’mon, you blasted lock…”
“Misha and I will try the window.” Eva offered, heading back into her destroyed room. Isidor stood with his hands in his pockets, watching Pasha swear at the doorknob.
“Did you try calling to him?” The magician asked.
“No answer. We think Irina was in with him earlier, but there’s no telling where she is now. If she’s got half an ounce of sense she’ll have left the building already.”
“Did Eva try the door?”
“You think they don’t spellproof doors at a fine establishment like The Guarded Inn?”
“Fine establishment?”
“Can you afford better?”
“No. You know, I’ve got my suspicions about that Irina.”
“She seems to be a sweet enough girl.”
“She’s a con.”
“What do you mean by that? Damn! EVA!”
“I’m working on it!” Eva shouted back.
“A con. Not even a very good one.”
“So she’s a little flakey-”
There was a satisfying click and Pasha swung the door open. Misha was curled placidly on Matvei’s chest and Eva was swinging a leg over the window sill.
Matvei was nearly unrecognizable. His face and chest were bruised, cut, and swollen. The bedsheets were covered in blood. Chunks of broken porcelain were scattered liberally across the floor. Isidor picked up a large fragment while Pasha and Eva began to examine their friend for signs of life. THE BAW- it read in large red letters. A nearby shard sported a fragment of a D.
“The Bawdy Bent.” Isidor sighed.
Ruslan stepped boldly in front of the three men heading upstairs.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” he said gallantly, “but I can’t allow you to come up here. It’s very dangerous.”
“Yes, so are the assassins infiltrating the mobs.” One of the men, clearly the leader, said.
“Are you looking for someone?” Ruslan asked stubbornly. The building shook and more walls crumbled.
“Yes, our demolitions expert.” Another man sighed.
“We’re trying to stop this inn from going completely to the ground… have you ever heard of a woman named Pasnakovya Elyshya?” The leader asked. Large chunks of plaster fell near Ruslan’s feet.
“The girl who took down a council hall in Ylva?”
“The same.”
“What about her?”
“Ivani Pushkinyi is worlds better at demolitions and at tracking them down.” The leader hinted.
“Ah…” Ruslan nodded seriously, “I’m sorry, gentlemen, you can’t come up.”
One of the men groaned loudly.
“Look here, mister…”
“Ruslan. Ilyanski Ruslan.”
“Mister Ilyanski-”
“And what’s your name?” Ruslan asked.
“I’m Fyodor and these are my associates, Garsha and Lev.” The leader spoke up.
“Excellent,” Ruslan struck a heroic pose, “Fyodor. Garsha. Lev. I’m afraid I can’t allow you to come up here. My people will look for your Ivani Pushkinyi and send him out as soon as feasible.”
The man identified as Garsha kicked the wall heavily and a painting fell down. Behind him, one of the few people still trying to exit the building dropped dead.
Isidor ran upstairs to see if anything was salvagable from his room while Eva and Pasha prepared to carry Matvei out of the building. The pieces of porcelain bearing the words THE BAWDY BENT had been stashed with Pasha’s lockpicking kit.
Misha followed the magician upstairs and prowled about the hallway while Isidor carefully made his way into what was left of the room. His bag was sitting on a corner of floor that had remained near the door. All the furniture had dropped through into Eva and Pasha’s room below when the floor collapsed.
When Isidor emerged from the room with his knapsack on, Misha was mewling loudly outside the door to another room.
“Come on, kitty.” Isidor made kissing noises, hoping to distract Misha from whatever had caught his attention. Misha gave Isidor a very bitter, condescending look and hissed once before resuming his caterwauling.
To placate the cat, Isidor concentrated on the door. It turned into a barrage of pink and purple feathers that floated harmlessly out of the way when Isidor walked through it.
The floor was still for the most part in place, and on a bed in the middle of the room lay a mostly-naked young man, apparently asleep. Isidor bundled the boy up in a sheet and picked him up to carry him downstairs. The sleeper yawned.
“Who are you?” He mumbled.
“I’m Isidor and the inn seems to be falling apart, so I’m just going to carry you outside with me.” Isidor explained. Misha, very pleased, followed the magician down the hallway.
“I’m Pushki.”