Chapter 9: Ablaze

“Psst… Trik.” Vemelia tapped gently, then not-so-gently, on Trik’s shoulder. A muddled groan escaped her agape mouth. Slowly, she opened her eyes to the sight of Trammel's abs, rippling slightly as he interlocked his fingers and stretched his arms above his head.

“Put me back to sleep.”

“I'm not that bad,” Trammel retorted.

Vemelia declined to comment. “He insisted his shirt be the sacrificial noise-stop. He's much more… himself.”

“I get to hit things with a hammer, of course I'm myself. Now let's take a crack at it, shall we?” He leaned down to take one of three makeshift hammers in his hand, coarse straw poking the skin of his palm.

“Not so fast.” Quelter stayed him. “We need to heat the hammers, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“And apparently to re-establish the game plan,” Vemelia added. Trammel glared at her.

“No, we should anyway though,” Holber said. “And establish roles more definitively. So, thanks, Trammel, for reminding us.”

“Anytime,” he replied drily.

“Wait… like we’re actors?” Trik questioned groggily, massaging the sleep out of her temples.

“Something like that. Okay, so!” Holber began. “We have our hammers. Quelter and Trammel, you will both start on hammer duty,” he said, sweeping the hammers from Trammel’s hand and from the ground to place them before the fire, which crackled curiously at the makeshift tools before it. Its heat slithered between the fireplace’s grates to sniff at the oils in the shoe leather. “I will be holding Trammel’s tunic through the bars between the corridor and us, so hopefully the sound isn’t too echoey. That said, if we attract attention, Trik, we need you to have an ear-out so that way we can pelt whoever comes to check on us.” Holber gestured to the rockpiles in each cell, near the wall closest the entryway.