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Marble tiles made the floor, each polished to such a sheen that she could see her image multiplied
dozens of times. She hesitated, barely recognizing her reflection. In the red, dancing fireglow she looked
wild and feral, not a princess at all. Her frown disappeared, though, as she turned her gaze toward the
dining table that occupied the center of the room. Upon a tablecloth of fine Athenian lace lay plates and
bowls and cups seemingly of glittering gold!
Injera dashed across the floor and seized a plate. Indeed, it was gold! She quickly took stock. Thirteen
full place settings artfully embossed, with napkins of red silk and utensils of silver! And jewel-encrusted
oil lamps at either end of the table! Injera felt like shouting. She was rich once more!
Then her gaze fell upon a box at the center of the table. Among all the splendor and wealth it would have
been easy to overlook for it was plain wood, no longer than her forearm and no deeper than the width of
her hand, unadorned but for the iron bands and three thumb-sized iron locks.
She eyed the box uncertainly. She'd envisioned something larger a cask, perhaps, or something more
distinguished. Still, it might make a lady's jewelry box. Or and this was a troubling thought maybe
Gyro had spoken truthfully when he said it contained nothing of value.
There was only one way to find out. Injera rubbed a hand absently over her growling tummy, then
leaned across the table and picked up the box. It wasn't particularly heavy. She held it close to her ear
and shook it. Nothing rattled inside. Frowning, she studied the rough wood and the old locks, and picked
up a table knife. Maybe she could pry it open.
At the far side of the room, the fire in the hearth flared, and the cauldron began to bubble noisily. Clouds
of steam roiled into the air. Potent fumes of scallions and leeks suddenly stung Injera's eyes. Waves of
heat seared her skin. Clutching the box to her breast, she stumbled back and knocked over a goblet. It
fell to the floor with a clatter.
At the burning center of the hearth fire amid the hottest flames, a shape appeared and pointed an
accusing finger. An angry voice boomed through the room. "Let any hungry soul come to our table and
eat!" A second shape appeared behind the first, then a third and a fourth. "But whosoever would steal
from us must die!"
For a moment, Injera's courage deserted her, and she screamed as the shapes walked out of the flames.
More than four! Six! Ten! Twelve! One for each place setting at the table plus a guest! Gyro had called
them hideous. It was no exaggeration! They were tall with thin, lanky arms and legs and dark featureless
faces, and their skin if truly it was skin gleamed with the cooked green color of spinach!
With arms outreaching, they advanced toward her, spreading around the room to block her escape.
Injera gave another short scream. She grabbed a plate and flung it at the nearest figure. The metal edge
stuck in its chest with a wet sound but no visible effect.
Injera shot a desperate glance toward the tunnel as a long arm reached for her. Steam poured off the
creature's flesh, and she could feel the heat radiating from it. She barely ducked in time to avoid its
grasping, claw-shaped hands. Flinging herself back against the table, she kicked out with both bare feet
and sent the monster reeling into one of its companions. A green smear marked the floor where they fell,
but both rose again unharmed.
With little room to run, Injera leaped upon the table. With the box in her left hand she grabbed a knife in
her right. TheSpanakopitaringed the table. An arm reached for her from the left side, and she batted it
away with the box. A hand closed on her right ankle. She cried out at its steaming touch, bent, and
slashed with the knife. The hand went flying and struck the floor like a spoonful of collard greens.
"I'll never be able to eat my vegetables again!" Injera muttered under her breath as she watched a new
hand instantly take form at the end of the wounded creature's arm.
A strange rasping chant began to rise on the air as the creatures pressed around her.Spanakopita!
Spanakopita! Spanakopita!Injera wasn't sure if it came from the monsters or from some other source. It
sounded like hundreds of voices all whispering, hissing, demanding in terrible unison. She tried to shut it
out as she shoved a spoon into a featureless face, slammed a bowl over a head that squished flat and
reformed, drove a table knife through a lipless mouth.
She threw plates, cups, silverware, and still the monsters reached for her. One of them started to climb
upon the table with her. With all her strength she swung the flat box, knocking its head sideways. Again
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