"Now gentles. Once we open this door you will see a set of stairs leading down. Follow them all the way down then follow the tunnel at the bottom. You should emerge in a large cavern at the end. Wait there and we shall regroup."

The Brettonians went first, grumbling and dawdling in their own manner. Some had the foresight to grab candles from the brackets on the wall. Murich quickly moved to grab some candles. He managed to grab one. He reached for another but one of the Brettos was quicker. He growled and threatened Murich, poising his arm for a back swipe. Murich just held up
his hands and backed up, with a smile.

The Bretto spat at his feet and followed his friends down the trapdoor.

"Come, come now, you three, time is wasting. Move along quickly."

With Murich in the lead they entered the stairwell.

The steps were rough cut from the solid rock. The walls of the sloping tunnel were not reinforced with bricks at all. The rock was smooth and black like the surface of a still loch. Murich guessed it was once a blow hole on the Oudgeldwijk island rim. The height was barely enough for him to clear his head. He had to stoop and hold the candle aloft several times.

The tunnel itself wound down in a direct line. In places it was quite steep. In the distance he could make out the glow from the Brettonians' candles, their chatter flitting back to him in staccato bursts, their laughter lewd and boisterous.

After a few minutes walking, the downwards slope stopped abruptly at a stone wall. A hewn passage led off towards the east. Murich examined the wall more closely. He could see the milled edges of the stones, this wall had been built. Where the stones met the blowhole wall, the joins were seamless.

"Bunt, come look at this."

"Hi Murich, what is it?"

Murich indicated the joins. "You said you travelled the Empire. Ever seen any dwarfholds?"

Bunt puffed his chest proudly, "I was the personal guest of Chief Namir Rockson at Karaz-Ungol in Kislev actually."

Murich was impressed. "Karaz-Ungol? I haven't heard of Karaz-Ungol."

"Well, it is a new settlement. Apparently Namir and a bunch of human friends did some work for the Tsar, clearing out undead from a city, killing a necromancer or something. Anyway, as a reward he asked for title to some land with an old dwarfhold on it. The Tsar granted it and he's been restoring it with members of his clan ever since."

"What? The Tsar, granting land to people? You're filling me with swamp gas you are!"

"No, honest. Apparently it's a good spot for fighting hobgoblins and raiding
their trade routes. That's why the Tsar let him have it, I'd say."

"Sounds reasonable. Well then, you should be able to answer this. Does this stone work look dwarven to you?"

Bunt squinted in the dim candle light .

"No, I'd want to see more mortar for a job like this. If it were dwarven that is"

"Hmmm, that's what I thought. Oh well, lets press on shall we? No time for chatter"

"Oh, I got plenty more of that, don't you worry you're big ole noggin about that!"

The trio continued down the cut passage. The going was made easier as the floor was smooth and covered in sand. After a short distance the grey basalt walls became wet, covered in patches of algae. A soft rumbling could be heard from above.

"Say Bunt, you don't think we're going under a canal here do you?"

"Stands to reason don't it?" We were already on the edge of the island and we've been headed towards Templewijk ever since."

The grumbling became louder ahead. The damp and algae completely covered
the passage now. In places the water was visibly dribbling down the walls. Their
footsteps sloshed as they walked through the wet sand. No sight or sound of the Brettonians could be heard ahead.

Zloremar broke the gentle rumble and dripping sounds. "Ya, me not in tunnel is good? You go in tunnel is good, me like you in tunnel!"

Murich guessed at what Zloremar was talking about. "I think he's scared, yeah?"

"Oh yes. I'd say he feels better that we are with him. He wouldn't do this on his own."

"Friendly guy, isn't he?"

Bunt sighed at that.

"Unfortunately yes. It's gotten us into more trouble in the past than I'd like to mention."

"I can imagine."

Their stroll continued in silence. Gradually the water on the walls thinned until they were walking on dry sand again. Ahead, they could make out a dim glow.

The three workmates emerged into a cavern. The height and depth of it ate the light from the candles. Words and whispers bounced back from the distance, regurgitated pieces of Breton.

They stood for a while absorbing the depth of the setting before Mr Mooks sounded behind them.

"Git out the way, snottas. Times-a wasting!"

Zloremar was shoved aside as Mooks and Johns made their way into the sandy space.

"Just another moment, sirs, and we shall be underway. Those of you that have
torches set them into wall brackets please."

The Brettonians mumbled a little before complying. Slowly the circle of orange light expanded but did not reveal the whole cavern.

"Now then. Come to order, sirs, and I shall begin."

"Yeah, git yer arses and eyes front and centre, sharpish!"

Murich wasstarting to get annoyed with Mr Mooks. He was the kind of foreman who gets knocked under a passing barge by the cargo crane, accidentally-on-purpose.
Unfortunately, they didn't seem to have one handy down here.

"Tonight we shall be offloading cargo from a small vessel and bringing it into this cavern. This should take us about a week or so to accomplish. After that, we should spend the other week moving the load hence to a warehouse above ground."

Murich had heard this line before. Smuggling. A hanging offense. But smuggling jobs were always good for pay-rise leverage once the cargo was off the boat. Smugglers needed to move their cargo fast or be sitting ducks for the Black Caps.

"So, any questions?"

Murich cleared his throat, "Where's the boat?"

Mr Johns affected a superior expression, "Cave tunnels lead from here to the boat and to the warehouse. The distance is not far."

Murich nodded, "What about rigging, I assume there isn't a dock so how do we unload?"

Mt Johns paused briefly, as if he had expected this comment. "All cargo will be unloaded by hand."

The Brettonians raised their voices in protest, babbling and waving their hands about enthusiastically. Murich was nonplussed by this. Unloading by hand was justification to take longer on a job and get paid for resting days. To let 'blisters' heal and such. These Brettonians obviously hadn't worked Marienburg docks before.