EARTH ONLINE

Chapter 11 — Those Damned Stowaways

The mole dragged one sharp claw across the match's red head. Snick — a spark, and then flame swallowed the whole match. It set the burning thing on the floor, skewered the great turkey on its long claws, and held it over the fire to roast.

Lena went to the corner and propped Zane up. "He's alright. Just out cold."

Cole and Wes hauled Ben to his feet. The six of them — Penny had crept back, white and silent — sat as far from the mole as the cavern allowed. Which was not far. There was no escaping the crackle of the burning match or the unbearable smell of roasting meat.

Bright fat ran off the bird and dripped hissing into the flames. Cole had never smelled anything like it — no seasoning at all, just turkey over matchfire, and the scent of it bored straight into the back of the skull. Six stomachs growled in miserable chorus. Nobody dared move; the claws and the teeth saw to that.

The match burned down to ash, and the turkey was done. The mole settled onto its haunches, eyes gleaming, and bit in — and the instant the meat hit its tongue its whole face went soft.

"Turkey roasted on Mosaic's match is the finest thing in the world. I've told no one. This is the happiest Thanksgiving I've ever had."

It tore at the bird, ignoring the humans entirely.

There was nothing to say. Of the six still conscious, Cole was the strongest, and even Cole — working that snide little book, with only one collected ability to his name — had thrown an ambush and been swatted aside, his weapon stolen for kindling. So they sat, and listened to their own stomachs, and watched the thing eat.

In a good mood now, the mole finished one drumstick, bit into the second, and mumbled, "How'd you come by Mosaic's match, anyway?"

Cole started, then said, evenly, "I had the misfortune of meeting her. Once."

"Oh." The mole chewed. "Did little Mosaic set fires this time, or kill someone? She's a good, obedient girl, you know. Just has unusual hobbies. You think she's cute too, don't you?"

Cole weighed his life against his conscience and chose, ruthlessly, the former. "She's very cute," he said, flat.

The mole nodded. "Yes. She's as cute as me."

Cole said nothing. The others said nothing.

Whatever makes you happy.

The mole moved on to the wings, and its claws stripped the bones in the blink of an eye. Cole's eyes narrowed. At that speed, killing all seven of them would take no effort at all. So the long fight earlier, the toying — it had been playing. He went quietly, fully on guard.

"I really must thank you for the match," the mole said around a mouthful. "Mosaic's matches are the best fuel for roasting, but that girl is so selfish — always wanting them for her fires, never giving me one."

"You just called her good and obedient," Cole noted.

The mole scratched its head. "Did I? Don't remember." It changed the subject. "By rights you lot shouldn't be assaulting the tower yet. Mosaic's match is a fine weapon — it'd carry you through the second floor, even hold up against the nasty bugs on the third. How lucky I am, to run into you early and get my turkey early. Ah — thank you, Spire. Happy Thanksgiving."

A hand brushed Cole's. He turned; Lucan mouthed two words. Draw it out.

Cole had already meant to. While the thing was happy, he asked, as if idle: "We shouldn't be assaulting the tower yet?"

"At your level? How many of you have even woken an ability?" the mole said. "On the normal first floor you'd have died the moment you arrived — the earth-drakes up top would've chewed you to pieces before you ever reached my burrow. You're in Moron Mode."

The morons looked at one another.

…The system had, in fairness, said Moron Mode.

Cole wanted to ask about the abilities, the normal mode, but he had a more urgent question. "Uncle Mole. What does it actually mean — to assault the tower?"

"The assault is the assault. You can't really do it — you got dragged in early because some Stowaway hit assault-level ahead of schedule and force-opened the floor." The mole paused, licked grease off a claw. "Hm. Maybe I ought to thank that Stowaway too. If he hadn't opened the game early, you wouldn't be here, and if you weren't here I'd have no turkey. But he's a Stowaway…"

"What's a Stowaway?" Cole asked.

So the mole told them — between bites — the shape of this new world. Three ways into the tower, three kinds of survivor. The Registered Players, who'd played a game of the Spire's in the first three days and won. The Reserves, who'd skipped the Spire's games but played some other game and earned partial favor. And the Stowaways: those who, in the three days, had logged in by killing a fellow human. Every Stowaway woke an ability. Every Stowaway carried a stink that the tower's creatures could smell and humans could not. The Spire loathed them. And to eat one — the mole's small eyes glittered — was to swallow great power, and great reward.

"I do so love eating Stowaways," it sighed. "Tender, fragrant, full of strength."

Then it stopped. Its red nose twitched, twitched again, and its whole body went taut with a terrible excitement. "What's this I smell — hidden under the turkey all this while, I almost missed it—" It lifted its head, and its eyes burned. "Among you seven, there are two Registered Players, four Reserves… and one Stowaway. Oh, my Spire, why are you so good to me today! I'll eat the Stowaway! Happy Thanksgiving!"

> [ Ding-dong! Side Quest 2 unlocked: Find the damned Stowaway. ]

"A Stowaway stinks," the mole said, savoring it. "Eat one and the rewards are rich. One of you seven is a rotten little Stowaway. Hand him over, and I'll eat him." Its nose worked again, frustrated. "But there are too many of you all crowded together — the stink fills my whole burrow, I can't pick him out. So I'll give you one hour. Find me the Stowaway. If you don't—" it smiled, all teeth "—I'll eat one of you every hour, until I get him."

It looked at Cole.

"Oh — and you. You're friendly with little Mosaic, and you lent me your match. So I'll eat you last."