"Good," Fallah said. "Come with me."
She led the way into the back room, and Sharon and Merissa followed. Lenius, the assistant, stayed up at the counter and idly watched the front door of the shop.
Sharon glanced around the back room. Barrels, crates, racks of bottles and corks and bowls and spoons and knives and tongs and all sorts of other equipment. Fallah had to light the lantern once she closed the door behind them. Then she stood by one particular barrel, no different from the others stacked up around it.
"Let me talk first," she said. "Introduce the four of you to him. Names. Now."
"Sharon." Then she pointed to the others. "Merissa. Volkhard. Otto."
Fallah nodded. "Good enough. I'll introduce you, then leave, and you can have your word with him. Don't make any sudden movements. No fires while you're down there. Just be direct and say what you need to say only. Now then."
Fallah opened the top of the barrel. Reached inside. Pressed or touched something out of sight.
And the center of the back room's floor seemed to shift. The wood becoming hazy and out of focus, much like the distant heat distortions of a hot day. Where once there was a smooth floor, straight boards of wood, now a large square trap door.
A cold chill ran down Sharon's spine. She could never get used to the sight of magic.
Fallah kneeled down and reached her hand into the small slit of the trap door and pulled it up, revealing a short ladder down to a small room. A few dark blue runes etched on the walls.
Then Fallah blew out the lantern, extinguishing its flame. Nothing but the magical light of the runes from below. A meager light.
Fallah and Sharon and Merissa all climbed down the ladder. Cramped into the small landing.
And the iron door Laython spoke of was right in front of them.
Sharon watched Fallah step forward and place her hand on the door with no small amount of trepidation. Sharon tried her best to calm herself. Or to at least appear so on the outside.
The door shuddered at Fallah's touch.
Runes lit up on the iron.
A loud, metallic ker-chunk.
And the door swung itself open.
The smell was the first thing that hit Sharon. Like the Pit, but far worse. Old, musty, sour air, permeated with the smothering scent of the volatile drugs in the walls.
More of the blue runes scattered along the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The only sources of light. Still, the haze and the overall dimness of the room made it difficult to see. A few tables, here and there, large piles and messes of parchments and books and orbs made of a glass-like material on them.
An altar, or what appeared to be an altar, at the far end of the room. A yellow light coming from it, the brightest in the room. Two pedestals were a part of it, each with a human skull on top.
And Strathus stood between the pedestals, facing the altar. His back to them. His long, gray, unkempt hair reaching down below his shoulders. A dark, sleeveless robe.
A noise. Coming from him. A sharp hiss of air. Followed by a long, drawn out release, like a strained wind. Rhythmic.
Fallah spoke quickly, "Strathus, this is Sharon, Volkhard, Otto, and Merissa. They'd like to speak with you. They are guests."
And with that, Fallah left as quickly as she had spoken.
Strathus said nothing. Only straightened out his back. The hiss and flow of air from him.
And the iron door swung shut on its own.
Merissa spoke next, smiling even though he couldn't see it. "My dear Strathus, how have you been? A pleasure to speak with you again. Surely you remember me?"
Strathus said nothing.
"I'd love to have a little chat with you. We never did have that cup of tea together. Perhaps you'd like that?"
Finally, the sorcerer spoke. His voice distorted. Muffled and enhanced at the same time by something. "I once knew a woman. Named Merissa. But I've seen her death. A knife plunged into her back. A tragedy. This Merissa then, who speaks now, only waits to become a ghost. Or time has slipped from me yet again. And I am speaking to an illusion."
Strathus turned around.
And Sharon reflexively grabbed the handle of her holstered pistol. Forced herself to let it go.
The flesh was melted over Strathus' right eye. His face, old and ragged and pale. And he wore a black mask over his mouth and nose, resembling a muzzle. A faint blue glow emanated from underneath the metal of the mask, mostly hidden. A rush of air from the valve on the right side of the mask. A slow release of it from the valve on the left.
The fingers of his right hand flexed. "Shall I purge these illusions?"
Merissa, still smiling, slowly backed away and stood behind Volkhard.