Remains, Part VI

As Boaz tore bandages from an old blanket in his pack, Shazer took his turn at examining the room.

“These barrels are strange,” he said. “What’s in them?”

“I don’t know,” Boaz said. “Here, give me your hand,”

“Surely there must be something we can sell,” Shazer said, his voice suddenly becoming excited. Boaz stopped wrapping the cloth around his friend’s hand, but he did not say anything.

“What is it?” Shazer said, lifting the lantern to illuminate his companion’s face.

“Nothing, really,” Boaz said. “Except, the whole time I was working to open that door up there, all I could think of was what treasures we might find, and the banquets we’d have when we’d brought them home. It was the sole purpose for coming into this dark place, for coming this far south, and yet….”

“What?”

Boaz shook his head.

“When I saw those barrels,” he said, “it never occurred to me there might be anything useful in them. They just made me feel peculiar.”

Shazer turned and surveyed the barrels again. Boaz finished the bandage.

“Shall we see what is in them?” Shazer said. Boaz nodded, but he was slow in pulling the heavy cudgel he wore on his pack, and he took a long, slow breath before broaching the nearest barrel.

The big man swore and jumped back as dark liquid erupted from the splinters. His skin recoiled from the tepid, oily moisture, and Boaz threw his club to the ground.

“What is it?” Shazer said, unnerved by his friends reaction. He looked from Boaz to the damage barrel, then slowly stepped in with the lantern. Inside the container, ripples of dark, disturbed liquid undulated and careened against the barrel walls and against each other. Shazer held the lantern close to the glistening surface.

The liquid proved to be clear on examination: the darkness had merely been a reflection of the atmosphere of the room. Shazer glanced at Boaz again, who was frantically brushing the wetness from him with his cloak as though it was acid. His eyes were wild and fearful.
Shazer slowly dipped a finger into the liquid, then brought it to his lips.

“You fool,” he said, spitting the rank-tasting stuff. “It’s water.”

“No water felt like that,” Boaz said, shivering at the memory of the oily stuff.

Shazer shook his head, looking first at the water and then across the dozens of barrels.

“It is very stale and old,” he said. He squatted and toyed with the splinters of a broken cask. “It is amazing more of them haven’t rotted through.”

“This one’s lined with something,” Boaz said, looking into the one he broke. “It’s a thin layer, but it’s a layer nonetheless.”

“What is it?” Shazer said.

Boaz shrugged, conspicuously putting his hands behind him.

“I don’t know,” he said, leaning in. “Hold up the light.”

With the added illumination, he looked more closely, then grunted in surprise.

“It looks like lead,” he said.

“Lead?” Shazer said, standing up. “There’s no lead in this area, is there?”

“I don’t think so,” Boaz said. “Bloc the smith pays a good deal to bring it in from the east. Or he used to.”

“You’re right,” Shazer said, looking into the water as well. “It is very thin. How peculiar. I don’t’ see anything else inside but water, do you?”

Boaz did not look again, but he shook his head anyway.

“It makes me very uncomfortable,” he said. “I don’t know why.”