https://youtu.be/7tDL1eDMtXY
Beatrix Sallow and the Wine Cellar Caper
produced by Phoenix Star
While this story was originally written by one R.E. Levy, it was produced by Phoenix Star, the game studio of the indie developer Saltome. Recently they have started a patreon account which will produce high quality content monthly, short stories, mainly light fantasy adventures, as well as other content like anime style illustrations, music, audio books, and ultimately video games. At the moment they are focuainf on establishing a patreon income to be used to further their future projects.
You can find this story and others as rewards on their patreon at https://www.patreon.com/phoenix_star
“Hello, Mr. Teapot. How are you this afternoon?” Beatrix pulled the fine china down
from the cabinet, standing on her tip-toes to do so. “Oh, I’m lovely, thanks for asking,” she
responded to the silence of the inanimate object. “And how is your wife, Ms. Sugar Bowl?”
Beatrix asked, retrieving the other piece of the set. “I see…” she replied stoically. “Thank you for
telling me.”
The kitchen of Lord Griswold’s mansion was empty, save for Beatrix, and in fact, the
silence that permeated it traveled throughout the entirety of the enormous house. At one time, it
had made her anxious, but now she talked to the tea sets, which made the immediate loneliness a
little more bearable. Beatrix had never liked other people much anyway, or at least that was what
she told herself.
“Not too hot for you, Mr. T?” she asked as she filled the wide white belly of the teapot
with the floral brown of earl grey.
“Oh, no, only one for me, Mrs. S. I shouldn’t indulge,” she said, placing one sparkling
white sugar cube into the bottom of a thin porcelain cup.
The tea steamed as she poured it over the sugar cube, the confectionary quickly melting
away and disappearing entirely into the brew.
“No, I haven’t had any word from Lord Griswold in quite some time, Mr. Creamer,” she
paused as if listening to a response, dribbling the tiniest splash of milk into her tea. “You’re right.
It is a bit disconcerting.”
She sat down at the table, the white linen of the tablecloth brushing her stockinged legs.
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. C,” she nodded solemnly, “But Lord Griswold entrusted
the care of his estate to me and only me. He trusts me,” she took a long, loud sip, “If he didn’t,
why would he have left me here?” the tenor of her voice lost some of its confidence, “Alone?”
There was a long, tense silence.
“I am very capable,” she said with a giggle, patting the teapot lid, “thank you for
noticing.”
Beatrix set the cup of tea down and smoothed the folds of her black skirt beneath her
hands, hearing only the swaying tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. For whatever reason,
she ended the conversation with the fine china there. There were no more awkward questions
from Mr. C, no more fawning compliments from Mr. T, and certainly not a peep out of Mrs. S.
Beatrix simply drank the pot of tea in the still quiet of the mansion.
There was no loneliness in her expression, however, and from time to time, she would
hum a tune to herself or swing her feet under the table, her demeanor something like a child
waiting for the return of a parent on an errand. When the tea was gone, she carefully cleaned up,
washing out the serving dishes and then drying them meticulously until they practically sparkled
with the effort. Then she slid the tea set back into the cabinet, placing it precisely where she had
found it as if it had never been used at all.
“Time for more work,” she said with a light sigh, tightening the strings of her apron at the
small of her back.
Beatrix skipped out into the foyer and inspected the intricate tile mosaic that made up the
entryway to Lord Griwold’s mansion of an estate.
“This could use a good scrub,” she proclaimed, her hands on her hips with determination.
Beatrix procured a mop and a bucket, filling the thing to the brim with hot, soaping water.
She struggled back to the entryway, some of the stuff slopping over the lip of the bucket
and splashing at her feet.
“Ugh,” Beatrix said distastefully, “too much work.”
She set the bucket down, and with a wave of her hand, the sudsy container of water was
levitating in the air. “That’s better!” she said gleefully.
Beatrix moved from one corner of the room to the next, sweeping the broom almost as if
she were dancing with it. The tile beneath her feet sparkled and shined. She used the same magic
to empty and return the bucket to its place with a twirl of a finger, wringing out the mop and
setting it inside the broom closet.
“What’s next?” she asked the empty mansion. “Mhhm,” she nodded her head and began to
walk up the grand staircase that led to the second floor. “A little dusting in the library sounds
perfect. I might even read a book!” she ended the thought with a hapless giggle.
The double doors to the library always filled Beatrix with a sense of wonder. Their
ornate, carved shape looked more like a painting than carpentry, and it was with a reverent hand
that she pushed them open. One of her many tasks was checking each tome for book lice, and
though it was a monotonous chore, it did allow her to get to know the selections of Lord
Griswold’s personal collection.
Today she started with the titles that began with ‘E,’ having finished up with ‘D’ the day
before. The first book she pulled from the shelf was titled Eggsellent, One Chef’s love affair with
the Humble Egg. Intrigued, Beatrix flipped open the book and began to peruse its recipes. After
her inspection revealed no sign of insect intruders, she snapped the book shut, ran her feather
duster over it, and returned it to the shelf.
“I’ll have to try making that quiche,” she said to herself.
She moved methodically down the row this way, finding travel diaries, biographies of
famous wizards, and even a field guide to exotic mushrooms. It was one of the less tedious tasks
she had been assigned by Lord Griswold in her singular upkeep of his estate and one she
not-so-secretly looked forward to every day. Perhaps it was the interruption of her favorite task
that led to the events that followed.
Beatrix’s focus and peace were shattered by a significant clamor coming from below. She
thrust the book in her hand back onto the shelf and raced out of the library, pausing at the landing
to the grand staircase. There was a prolonged silence, and then the ruckus came again. The
simple black flats on her feet slapped against the stairs as she flew down them, careening toward
the kitchen.
Beatrix skated into the room, gripping the wash sink for support as she slid to a stop and
listened once more, just to make sure. The noise was louder here, a chaotic mixture of chatter
and roughhousing. Beatrix paused her whole body tense with the act of listening. She took a
steadying breath and approached the servants’ stairwell that led down to the wine cellar. The
racket pinged off the stone stairwell, bubbling up from below.
“Bandits?” she whispered to herself, “After Lord Griswold’s rare collection of vintages?
Howdid they get in?”
Carefully she began her descent, one step at a time, her ears piqued to any noise or talk
that might reveal more about the intruders. There was a loud crash and the sound of shattering
glass, and Beatrix pressed herself into the wall as a gruff voice broke over the chaos.
“Grub! Watch those damn clumsy hands of yours, dammit!”
“Sorry, sir!” came a higher-pitched, almost wheezy response.
Beatrix peered around the corner, her eyes adjusting slowly to the dim light of the cellar.
Afew torches had been lit, their flickering orange glow dancing shadows across the stone floor
and walls. In the shadows moved odd shapes.
“These are the smallest bandits I’ve ever seen,” she murmured as the intruders continued
to argue amongst themselves.
Gradually, as her vision grew more precise, Beatrix realized that her newfound
roommates were not actually human at all. The tallest of them, the one that had been referred to
as “sir,” could be nearly her height, she supposed, but all the rest would come up to her waist, at
best.
“And they’re…green,” she said to herself, her eyes going wide.
One of the bandits came dangerously close to her as he stuffed bottles of wine into a large
sack. Beatrix studied him, calling to mind the many scientific guides she had perused in the
Lord’s library. The creature’s short stature and algae-green skin were not enough to identify his
species, but the large, almost luminous eyes combined with blunted fingers that ended in sharp
claws gave him away.
“Goblins!” she shrieked at full volume, and the thief closest to her startled with a loud
yelp, the bag of wine he was holding splashing to the floor and spreading out in a purple pool.
“Who’s there!” called the gruff, tall one, stepping fully into the torchlight.
Beatrix gripped the handle of her feather duster tightly in her right hand and moved out of
the stairwell into the center of the room. “Mine name is Beatrix Sallow, and you are trespassing
in Lord Griswold’s wine cellar!”
The goblins around her began to snicker, the what she now recognized as a hobgoblin
leader let out the loudest guffaw of them all.
“You’re awful brave for a maid,” he said, orange eyes glinting at her as his fanged mouth
opened in a grin. “But we can’t have you following us, now can we?”
The goblins surrounded them now, eager for whatever they assumed would happen next.
Beatrix pulled on the handle of her feather duster and watched at the blade inside it was
revealed, gleaming red in the light of the torches. The hobgoblin took a step back in surprise, his
cat-like eyes blinking rapidly.
“I said you’re trespassing,” Beatrix hissed before leaping at the leader.
The hobgoblin quickly drew his own weapon, a crude ax that met her blade mid-air,
sending an aching vibration down Beatrix’s arm. It did not deter her. She snarled and pushed
forward again as the goblins around her recovered from their surprise and began to cheer for
their leader.
“Get her, sir!”
“Snark! Snark! Snark!” chanted some others.
“Your name—” she gritted her teeth together as their weapons caught, “—is Snark?”
Snark, the hobgoblin gave a guttural laugh as he forced her backward, “Your name is
Beatrix?”
“Beatrix is a fine name!” she snapped back.
“Snark is a traditional Hobgoblin name! I am named after my grandfather,” said Snark,
brandishing his axe menacingly.
Beatrix paused, “Oh, that’s very nice, actually.”
“Thank—Thank you?”
“This fighting is getting us nowhere,” Beatrix sighed and shook her head.
“Why—”
Snark was cut off as Beatrix waved her blade, a blue glow now suffusing the metal. The
hobgoblin’s body went rigid.
“You’re going to take me to your leader,” she said authoritatively.
“Boss?” asked one of the goblins in concern as he raced to Snark’s side and began to tug
on his coat.
“There’s no problem here, Grub. This nice lady wants to meet the boss.”
“That seems like a problem if I’m honest, sir,” Grub pointed out.
Snark waved away the goblin, and Grub shuffled back to the small collection of goblins
at Beatrix’s back.
“You try anything, lady, and we’ll getcha!” said one of them.
Beatrix turned and fixed the offending goblin in her sternest gaze. The creature squeaked
in fear and ducked behind his compatriots. Snark turned and strode behind one of the large
caskets of golden ale that lined the back wall. Beatrix followed and let out a gasp as the
crumbled-away wall behind it was revealed.
“So that’s how you got in,” she whispered.
“Wasn’t so hard,” Grub chimed, “you should really tell your Lord to reinforce this
foundation.”
“Isn’t up to code,” said another.
Beatrix took in this information with a grave nod.
Grub skittered ahead, torch in his hand, leading the way down a crudely carved tunnel
that Beatrix had to crouch to fit through. The air around her felt damp, and the loamy smell of
dirt suffused the space.
“How far does this go?” she asked, her voice muted by the confines of her surroundings.
“Oh, it’ll take us most of the afternoon,” answered one of the other goblins. “Name’s Loo,
by the way,” he held out one forest-green, gnarled hand.
Beatrix shook Loo’s hand vigorously, “Nice to meet you,” she replied, “I have to say that
digging tunnels into cellars doesn’t seem like the most efficient way to rob people.”
“You think this is our first heist, Missus?” responded Loo with a wild cackle, “We’ve
broken into half the manors in this county alone.”
“Always through the cellar?”
Loo shook his head, “No, don’t be ridiculous. This was just the best option for this
particular job. Would have gone off without a hitch—” he raised his voice, “IF SOMEBODY
HADN’T MADESOMUCHNOISE.”
Grub snapped his head around and glared at Loo.
“First time,” Loo jabbed his thumb in Grub’s direction and shook his head at Beatrix as if
in commiseration.
“Ah,” Beatrix sighed knowingly.
The odd group traveled in silence for a while, Beatrix’s blade still glowing a subtle blue,
maintaining her control over Snark. The tunnel began to widen slightly and slant upward toward
the surface. Beatrix craned her gaze around the lumbering form of Snark and caught a glimpse of
a light glowing beyond. As they neared it, the goblins around her began to grow agitated.
“I really don’t think the boss is going to like this,” she heard one whisper.
“Especially coming back empty-handed,” said another.
“Snark is in charge. He’s gonna take the heat, not us.”
Snark, for his part, seemed unmoved. In fact, the hobgoblin was humming happily to
himself as they approached what Beatrix could only assume was the exit.
Asubtle heat radiated through the air now, and a distinct sulfur flavor to the atmosphere.
Beatrix covered her nose with her hand.
“Where on earth are we headed?” she asked.
“You wanted to see the boss, so to the boss, we go,” Snark said, his gravely voice mixing
oddly with the sing-song tone of his words.
Beatrix covered her eyes with her other hand as she stepped out of the tunnel and out into
whatever awaited them. The light was not altogether that bright; to her surprise, it only seemed
so in comparison to the dankness of the path that had led here. She blinked, her eyes more
comfortable now as she began to look around.
Beatrix and her green companions now stood in a large, cave-like structure. Massive
stalagmites and stalactites dotted the cavern, covered in effervescent mushrooms that lit up the
space like lanterns. The floor rippled with tiny rivulets of water streaming around their feet, a
mist of unknown to her gas hovered in the air, the source of the sulfuric smell.
“Where are we?” she asked, her mouth parted in awe.
“Home sweet home!” Answered Grub.
“We’re under White Peak Mountain,” Loo replied more informatively.
“Really?” Beatrix asked, her eyes going wide with surprise, “We really traveled that far?”
“Time flies when you’re walking through an endless tunnel of dirt,” Loo snorted.
“I don’t think that’s how that saying goes,” replied Beatrix in all seriousness; Loo’s
creased face furrowed further in frustration.
There was the sound of shifting rocks, and the ground beneath their feet began to tremble.
Beatrix gripped her feather-duster blade tightly in her fist, prepared for what was to come. A
large shape loomed out of the inky blue light, uncoiling itself like a rope.
“A dragon?” Beatrix stood her ground, watching as the goblins around her began to
tremble visibly.
“The boss,” whispered Loo as he ducked behind a stalagmite.
The dragon’s massive, scaled head glittered like a thousand stars as it swung back and
forth, its luminous red eyes searching.
“Snark…where is the loot?”
Snark, still unbothered, addressed the dragon. “We don’t have any boss. This maid here
wanted to meet ya, so we—”
Snark paused as the dragon lowered its head down to the hobgoblin’s level and fixed him
in a deep stare. “She’s charmed you…interesting…”
“What—” Snark was cut off as the dragon’s tail appeared out of the shadows and smacked
him full-force in the chest. His body flew to the side, smashing into the rock and sending
thousands of mushroom spores showering over him like snow. The hobgoblin slid down to the
cavern floor with a groan.
“Tell me,” the dragon addressed Beatrix now, and she felt the full weight of its ancient
magical gaze, “how did a powerful sorceress such as yourself end up a simple maid for Lord
Griswold of all people?”
Beatrix released her hold on Snark, the glow of her blade dimming as she replied in total
confidence, “Not even going to introduce yourself? I expected more manners from such a
distinguished beast.”
The dragon cocked its head to the side in surprise. “My, we are cheeky,” it said and then
gave a loud rumbling laugh that broke off one of the stalactites, sending goblins scattering away
as it smashed into the rock floor.
“You may call me Maulg,” the dragon finally answered, “Mistress of the White Peak.”
“Honored to meet you,” Beatrix gave a deep curtsey, “I am Beatrix Sallow.”
“Are you going to answer my query now, Beatrix Sallow?” The dragon lowered her head
to the ground, staring up at Beatrix with a surprisingly docile, curious look in her red eyes.
“I lost a bet,” Beatrix admitted with a light sigh.
“You…” Maulg arched her neck, raising her head back into the air and looking down over
the whole cavern. “You lost a bet?”
“Mhm,” Beatrix nodded. “Lord Griswold is a powerful wizard, you see, and nearly a
century ago, he cleaned me out in a poker game.”
“A poker—” Maulg seemed at a loss for words, and Beatrix rocked her small frame back
and forth on her feet as she waited for a complete response. “How long have you been paying off
this debt?”
“Oh,” Beatrix’s voice chimed lightly in the air, “Coming up on a century, I’m nearly
finished with my work for him.”
Maulg blinked, her tail slithering around a stalagmite and gripping it tightly in a coil. “I
see…”
“So I would appreciate it if you could hold off any further raids on his estate until I am
gone from the premise. Otherwise, I may have to kill all of your minions, and I’ll admit I’ve
grown fond of them.”
“Awww,” she heard Loo squeak from his hiding place.
The threat amused Maulg. “When are you free of your contract?”
Beatrix calculated something in her head, “A month and three days.”
Maulg’s head disappeared into the shadows, a low rumbling chuckle filling the air.
“Very well, Beatrix Sallow, this has been very amusing, I have to say. For that alone, I
will abide by your proposition.”
“Thank you,” Beatrix gave another curtsey.
“I have only one request,” Maulg reappeared, her neck snaking toward Beatrix until they
were nearly touching noses. “Come visit me when your debt to Griswold is paid.”
“Why, Mistress Maulg?” Beatrix asked, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead in
surprise.
“Goblings are not… titillating company.”
Beatrix giggled. “I think that can be arranged.”
“Very well,” Maulg slowly withdrew back into the shadows. “Escort her back to Lord
Griswold’s estate, boys, and see she gets there safely.”
Loo and Grub reappeared quickly, Loo even going so far as to grab Beatrix’s hand and
pull her back toward the exit. “You heard the boss!”
Beatrix glanced over her shoulder as they reached the tunnel’s threshold and waved.
There was a brief pause, and then the tip of Maulg’s tail waved back subtly in reply
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