Sat on a chair, contemplating, Zero looked up very, very slowly.

‘What was that?’ he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

‘Wha…?’ came the muffled response from Tradden, his mouth half full of the makeshift bandage he was applying to one arm.

Tying-off a knot, Tradden levered himself out of the ancient chair and walked hesitantly towards the general area where the noise had seemed to come from.

Hesitating halfway across the floor, Tradden drew the swords usually slung over his back, mindful of the fact that the vicious dog which had so nearly done for him before might have found a way back in. Inching forwards with blades at the ready, Tradden went to investigate.

‘Erm,’ he half-whispered over his shoulder, without taking his eyes off the various bits of ominous darkness ahead. ‘I am kind of new at this really, Zero, but I believe the phrase here is “Cover me”?’

Zero sighed and drew his crossbow. He advanced slowly, keeping a prudent ten feet between him and Tradden.

‘Oh, here's a thought… hang on…’ mumbled Tradden.

Tradden sheathed his swords and removed the torch from his newly acquired adventurer's pack. Not used to using a torch, he fumbled around clumsily lighting it. Re-drawing his short sword he turned to towards the south of the room, holding the torch up as high as he could.

‘Now, let's see if that is better.;’

Tradden felt his pulse rise and the pounding of his heart seemed to echo around the room. ‘Sweet Corellon!’ he whispered to himself.

‘Hmm,’ he gulped. ‘Could be something under there — a trap door or something.’ A thought hit him. ‘Could be a good citizen tied up by the ruffians.’ And then another, ‘Of course, it could just as easily be a nasty. Another dog even.’

‘Any thoughts, Zero?’

‘Thoughts?’ replied Zero. ‘Hmm, how about I wish I was enjoying a five course meal at The Plucked Duck in Deepingwald instead of being stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with a bloodthirsty hound outside, the lovely scent of rotting bandit making me want to vomit and some thing banging on the cellar door presumably wanting to have me for its dinner!?’

Clearing his throat and wiping the remnants of a thousand, airless days dust away from his face, Tradden surveyed the area of floor revealed by the rug. Buoyed by the fact that there was no obvious and immediate danger, he dropped the corner of the rug and jogged over to the trap door, standing next to it. Drawing his short sword again in one hand he bent down and checked to see if it was indeed locked.

‘No point making assumptions — you never know.;’

Zero looked in curiosity at the lock. He liked locks. He enjoyed the challenge of defeating them. The ca-click of the mechanism yielding to his skill was the sweet sound of success.

He then ambled over the the first ruffian and, holding his nose, checked it for a key.

The search was fruitless.

Tradden bent over the trapdoor and grabbed the handle in one hand. He gave it a slight pull — there was no give in the door, but there was a small “click”.

Tradden tucked his slightly singed arm under the armpit of his other arm and wheeled around on one foot, stamping the pain away with the other.

‘Tsssss — one for you I think,’ he hissed, fighting back tears.

Zero whipped around at the sound. ‘Are you, okay?’ he asked.

He then examined the trap door closely, very aptly named it seemed.

Zero lay on his stomach for a moment, squinting closely at the lock.

‘A-ha!’ he finally exclaimed. ‘There you are. Nice work.’

He kept mumbling to himself whilst he fished in his pocket and withdrew a small leather pouch. He untied the cord and rolled it open on the floor. Inside were various delicate tools, bearing an array of shaped heads.

His fingers danced back and forth before finally seizing the one best suited for the task at hand. Then he lay down again, cleared his throat, shook his sleeves free of his wrists and carefully tinkered with the dangerous mechanism.

Still shaking his reddened fingers to cool them down, Tradden made his feelings on next steps known. ‘Well, my thief friend, you are down there — you open it.’

Zero looked up at Tradden. He would have argued, but the swordsman was clearly still angry from the sting of the trap and unfortunately he had just done away with the only thing he could have used to stay the man's hand.

He let out a long, weary sigh, packed his tools away and grabbed the trapdoor's handle.

‘Pearls before swine,’ he whispered.

Then he opened the trap door.

Zero smiled at the smoothness of his own actions.

Tradden, despite his whiter-than-white goody two shoes approach to all things was nevertheless clearly impressed by Zero's skill — clearly the rogue's dexterity with fine instruments was at least comparable with old Mr Ironfoot, the artificer and Tradden's old dwarven neighbour.

With a begrudging grunt Tradden took a step towards the trap door, pulling out his longsword and taking a few practice swings as he did so.

‘Right then — here we go.’

Waiting for Zero to stand up again, Tradden opened the trapdoor.

Zero’s face soured.

‘Delightful,’ he said.

He took a coin and dropped it down the hole, listening for its eventual landing.

‘Phew — delightful indeed!’ Tradden agreed.

Picking up the torch with his free hand from where it still lay burning, Tradden carefully walked over to the edge of the hole, holding the flickering light source aloft to see if any more could be seen down below.

Tradden bent down, holding the torch closer to the hole to try and better understand what the passageway might have been used for in the original house design. Was it a wine cellar, typical of such fine houses, or was it a way out, underneath the gardens and away from the angry dog outside?

‘Hmm,’ said Tradden, still intently staring into the semi-darkness below, trying to pick out any shapes of note in the flickering light that the torch afforded. ‘I can't imagine the ruffians came in this way and then locked the door behind them, especially given that they locked the door behind them. This kind of passageway is suggestive of a way out to my mind.’

Still kneeling, he turned his head towards the concerned-looking Zero, flashing him a mischievous grin.

‘Only one way to find out!’

Not waiting for a response from the be-cloaked rogue, Tradden tossed the torch down the hole, sheathed his weapon and swung himself down onto the ladder. Nimbly clambering down the first five feet of rungs Tradden's height allowed him to easily drop the last few feet to the floor. Picking up the torch again and drawing his short sword, more suited to close confines, he looked around and waited to see if Zero would follow.

Zero’s bearded face intruded into the square of light above.

‘Anything hostile down there?’ he queried.

‘Nothing with teeth leaping at me so far,’ replied Tradden. ‘Get yourself down here though,’ he added as an afterthought, suddenly aware of the fact that he was on his own.

He looked around to see if there were any other light sources, such as unlit torches on the wall. He also looked to see if there had been any sign of previous use of the passage — tracks and the like.

Zero clambered down the ladder. He'd almost got halfway down when there was an ominous creak followed by a snap as the ladder gave way.

‘Bless you,’ he said.

Tradden clenched his teeth. ‘Nice. Ah, well, better than that huge dog's I dare say — let's see where this leads.;’

Tradden led the way down the hallway, torch in one hand, shortsword in the other hand, ready for anything.

‘Anyway, bad smell or no, it is only a few little rats.’

‘No going back, I guess,’ said Tradden, turning the corner without hesitation and edging down the new passageway.

‘Right, been here before. No mini-lightning shocks for me this time!’

Tradden held up his torch to better allow Zero a good look at the doorway, and made a mock flourish with his sword in the door's direction.

Zero rolled his eyes and took out his thieves' tools. ‘Would you mind awfully, Zero?’ he muttered to himself. ‘No, no. I'd be delighted.’

He inspected the door closely.

Tradden cleared his throat.

‘Well, we have come this far. Sorry, but I am afraid you may have to show off your lock picking skills again.’

Tradden held up his sword as if to hold out his palm, whilst closing his eyes and smiled, ‘No, don't be modest. I can see you are not that type,’ he laughed.

Zero chuckled. ‘Just be ready to whack whatever might jump out, eh?’

He examined the lock for traps.

Flexing what passed for muscles on his otherwise fairly slim physique, a thought occurred to Tradden. Without waiting for Zero to get out his tools he took a run at the door, aiming the sole of his sturdy leather boot at the place where the lock mechanism would be.

Tradden picked himself up, holding up his arms and trying to crane his neck around to see exactly how badly his designer pantaloons had been affected by the foul slime covering the floor.

Having seen the full extent of the damage, he made a note to himself not to look again until he had escaped the damn cellar and could attend Feversham & Son on the high-street (“Tailors for the distinguished gentlemen about town”).

‘Right, okay, fine. Erm, you do it your way,’ he muttered in Zero's direction.

Zero passed his torch to Tradden.

‘Thank you,’ he said, as his companion held it up giving him some light to work by.

Then he went to work on the lock.

Tradden passed the torch back to Zero.

‘What chances a quick and easy passage out to sweet, sweet daylight on the other side?’

Typical of the boy, Tradden didn't wait for Zero to reply and swung the door open.

Disappointed, but unsurprised at the same time, as to the lack of streaming sunlight, Tradden stepped inside, looking around intently on the basis that if this was a dead end then if there were anything nasty around, there would be no further for it to go.

Working on the assumption that dead or alive it's never nice to have a gag in one's mouth, Tradden walked over and removed the gag with his free hand, holding the torch aloft so as to take an even better look at the figure.

‘Not bandits, I presume! Always a bonus, methinks. My thanks, longshanks! Now, a hand with these ropes and I'll be sure to buy you a tankard next time we happen on an inn!’ said the dwarf with gusto.

Tradden was unsure about the “longshanks” remark and for a brief second considered putting the gag back.

But, having spent a lot of time around dwarves he got the distinct impression that it was essentially a term of endearment and he seemed like an amiable old character.

That said, he went about cutting the ropes.

The dwarf scrambled to his feet, trying to muster a little dignity after his misadventure. He scurried quickly to the wall to retrieve his trusty hammer and shield. ‘Ah, a fine hammer is a part of a warlord's arm! Hail and well met! Khalin's the name, clobbering's the game! Er, of bandits that is, haha!’ boomed the dwarf. ‘At your service it appears!’

‘Nice to meet you also, Master Dwarf,’ said Tradden, who then gestured towards the figure stood behind him. ‘My companion here is Mr Zero Uhlit and apart from telling you that he is a mean shot with a crossbow and an even meaner lock-pick I can tell you little else, for we are of recent acquaintance ourselves. And I, I am Tradden Aversward, agile in blade, agile mind, and I too am at your service.’

They all agreed afterwards that the flourish with which Tradden then executed his bow was most exquisite and that it was a shame that it was ruined by the large section of flattened rat faeces which fell to the earth with a “splurt” just as he had reached the end and was holding the bow in a near-crouch.

Unperturbed, Tradden suggested their next course of action.

‘Well, unless either of you gents have any further business here, can I suggest we leave in civilised fashion — via the front door? Khalin, if thine arms are numbed through being tied back, we may have the perfect therapy for you to get them back into shape — there is a nasty, angry guard dog outside who Zero and I have a score with which to settle, should you be willing to assist?’

Tradden turned back towards the door as he spoke, wiping off bits of brown goo from his elbows as he did so. ‘Heh! At least we didn't run into any rats!’

As if on cue, Zero picked up a keen shrieking sound from further down the corridor. He listened for a moment, trying to pick up other cues — the biggest of which was that it was getting closer.

Zero backed away from the doorway and hastily drew his crossbow.

‘Would this be a good time to mention that I really dislike rats?’ he said.

‘Ha! I like you, Mister Nothing! Though what is that thing beneath your nose, sir! I can teach you a thing or two about facial hair!’ Khalin gave Zero a hearty slap on the back and a playful chortle, then charged towards the sounds with a fearsome cry!

‘Ow,’ said Zero, rearranging his spine and shoulder blades.

‘Come on!’ urged a grinning Tradden as he pushed past Zero, giving him another friendly slap to the back as he did so.

With one hand holding the torch and the other holding his short sword, Tradden chased after Khalin.

‘Nothing like proceeding with caution, is there?’ Zero quipped to himself before slipping out of the room in pursuit of his comrades, crossbow at the ready.