Mr. Jashenzizok, the mushroom man, struggles in his fungoid form, but most of his body is still enveloped by spongy puffball. He clears his throat and adopts a moderately more conciliatory tone. “Let’s just take a look at what you’ve brought me, hmm?”

“Not so fast,” Shyan says. She steps up to Mr. Jashenzizok to square her eyes with his.

“Have you goods or coin to exchange for these wares?” Cang asks. “We do not accept spores.”

The mushroom man laughs. “Fear not, foolish child. I possess many riches.”

“Do not call me child, mushrump.”

Fassn lays at the base of the puffball, idly poking his pitted, yellow teeth. “Not feeling so great, you guys,” he says.

“Enough. We have chemicals and compounds such that surely a cure for your condition can be found,” Shyan says. “Show us the loot.”

Burbaloo, the alchemist, looks at Shyan in awe. “We’re splitting it five ways, right?”

“A debt!” the mushroom man exclaims. “Burbaloo, explain yourself!”

“You see, Mr. Jashenzizok, these four wei–” here the alchemist, Burbaloo, catches herself. She takes in the glares of the gang and continues. “These four people were transporting crates of tonics and tinctures, which I bought for a fair price.”

Groans of protest go up from all but Abia, who watches impassively.

“Then these hoodlums caught up to me, tied me up, and forced me to bring them here.”

Mr. Jashenzizok the mushroom wizard blinks his freshly-cut eyes. “You, there, winged one. Consumed you one of the tinctures?”

Fassn slumps to the ground at the base of the mushroom, patting his swollen belly. “Yeah,” he says.

“And there are yet more crates in your wagon?”

“Perhaps so,” Cang says. “If you have money to buy.”

“Look at me, peasant!” Mr. Jashenzizok shouts. “I’m a forsaken fungus. Bring me the antidote and you’ll have your reward.”

“Heard that one before,” Burbaloo mutters.

“Now this I’ve gotta try,” says Fassn. He catches the mushroom shavings on his tongue. Between gulps, he cries, “Old Ajralan, may you have your fill!”

“That’s probably not good for you,” Shyan says.

“Mushroom man,” Abia says.

The alchemist shoots her a glare, then continues delicately carving away the mushroom man’s mouth.

“I’m not a mushroom,” he says, sputtering through the last of the spongy puffball. “I’m a wizard. What have you brought me, Burbaloo?”

“Her name’s Burbaloo?” Fassn asks.

“What happened to you, wizard?” Shyan asks. She touches the mushroom. “Can you feel this?”

“Go you by the moniker Eric Wagon?” Cang asks.

“Enough questions,” shouts the mushroom man. “Burbaloo, what have you brought me?”

“A great debt,” Shyan says.

The alchemist gestures frantically at it, such that Shyan removes her gag. “Here he is,” she says. “This is Eric.”

“This mushroom is Eric?” Cang asks. “And he’s your buyer of valuable tinctures and tonics?”

“Yeah,” the alchemist says. “But I haven’t been here in a while, looks like he’s mostly grown over again. Loosen my bonds, and I’ll show you.”

Shyan and Cang share a skeptical look, but she stands close, weapon drawn, as Cang removes the alchemist’s bonds.

She flexes her joints and lets out a prodigious grunt. “It’s good to be free.” Approaching the enormous mushroom, the alchemist produces a dagger and begins flaking away some of the fibrous flesh. “Come on, Eric, where are you?”

The gang crowds in to observe the alchemist’s work. Soon, her cutting and carving reveals a humanoid face, its eyeline a few centimetres above the alchemist’s own.

The eyes blink.