Damien snuck down the basement stairs at midnight. The third step from the top had a loud squeak, but he was well aware of this and made sure to step on the very edge. It would be hard to explain why he was there, if caught.
Damien’s next challenge was to move the rack of empty flasks away from the wall. He had straightened up his dad’s rack one day when bored, though, and had all the flasks well stabilized. His dad had been pleasantly surprised, and Damien had silenced one more potential warning. The rat-men should be thankful, if they had capacity for such feelings. He moved the rack slowly and gently. Then he walked through the illusionary wall to meet his conspirators.
“Good, good. Manling shows on time. We not have to eat your innards while you watch.” The rat-men always greeted Damien this way, encouragement followed by subtle threats. “All clear for exit quick, quick?”
“Yes. The doors are all unlocked. The town’s all asleep, exhausted from fighting off the orc horde. Now is the time to show them the power of the Horned One.”