After breakfast they came down from the room. Clara took the girl with her and went to the residence of the Clean Heel clan. She hoped the clan would accept the girl, as they had once accepted Clara.

After saying goodbye and trying not to look into eyes of the child, Cyril asked Freya where the bartender was. She replied that Dyck fell asleep, because at this time, customers bypassed the beer halls. Freya herself was cleaning up the bar, ready to meet an occasional guest.

"Freya, stop this goddamn cleaning." Cyril wanted to stop her. "I told you it would be as clean as toilet."

"It's my job." Freya snapped. "What do you want me to do otherwise? Another blow job?"

Freya was oozing poison again, and Cyril didn't press the point. He decided to change the subject.

"How did the tavern end up in debt?"

"Fewer tourists have come to the capital since the war." Freya said, polishing a beer barrel. "You don't earn much from drunks."

She said the only way to make things better was to attract more guests. Cyril didn't argue, because that was his own plan.

"Is there another way out?" He asked, looking at the double doors.

"There, behind the stairs." Freya nodded in the right direction.

"Thank you." He said.

With that kind of venom in your eyes, you're more likely to scare away guests than attract new ones. He said to himself. I wonder if there's any way to fix this?

He reached the stairs and turned.

"Freya!"

The waitress stopped scraping the counter and gave Cyril an icy look.

"You're beautiful." Cyril said, smiling. "Remember it. I'll take a walk."

He left the tavern through the back door, without knowing that in Freya's empty eyes a light began to glow.

Outside, a waste ground opened up for Cyril. A hundred meters to the left and right grew thick grass. At the opposite end of the waste ground, he could see the walls of houses on a parallel street. To the left was a thick fence, and beyond it was a wall without windows, but with external beams. To the right, the waste ground stretched for another couple of hundred meters.

The morning sun was already quite high, and it was desperately warm on the top of Cyril's head.

It must be noon. He thought. I need to do this quickly before I get sunstroke.

"Gurgle." He called to the elemental.

As steam gathered over him, forming a dark cloud, Cyril thought about the rather strange layout of the capital.

Why do they leave so much space behind the houses without using in any way?

He decided to get an answer later, but in the meantime he watched as a small tornado reached out of the cloud toward the ground. With a flash of lightning, the cloud disappeared, and the tornado took the shape of a water snail. A pair of bubbles darted from below to the transparent head.

[Did you call me master?]

"Yes, show me where the river runs."

Gurgle shook his watery body, and his tentacles began to spin in place of his arms, flowing from his sides to his belly, backside, and back again. The tentacles moved faster and slower as they sent out waves. All the while, bubbles danced inside the elemental, though Gurgle said nothing. After about a minute, Gurgle returned to its usual motionless form.

[Follow me, master.] The elemental said, dropping its limp tentacles and crawling along the ground.

The elemental swam a couple of dozen meters, leaving behind blooming flowers where tall but withered grass had just grown. Finally, he stopped.

[At this point, where I stand, the underground river is the widest and most accessible.] He let out a couple of bubbles. [If master starts digging here, he will find almost no stones.]

"Thanks, Gurgle." Cyril nodded. "Would you mind hanging over me while I dig here? The sun is hot, I can't stand it."

[I can stay in this form for a very short time, master.] Gurgle said in Cyril's head, and Cyril felt regret in the elemental's words. [If I could eat good shit more often, I would stay a cloud much longer.]

"I understand, bro." Cyril said, and motioned for the elemental to move away. "You'd definitely like it in my world. Should I dig here?"

[Yes.]

"Fuck." Cyril stopped on a spot, where the elemental had just stood. "How can I dig?"

Cyril wanted to hide the fact that he had a personal elemental. Such news would have led to questions. Too much attention would lead to problems and, perhaps, opposition to the authorities. Cyril knew that he was being paranoid thinking this way.

As my mother-in-law used to say, it's better to be safe that sorry. He thought, but still he shook his head. But it would be easier with a shovel.

He could have asked for a shovel in the tavern, or even stolen it from a neighbor, but he wanted to dig the well before nightfall. He was tired of standing in the hot sun, and now he was simply too lazy to look for a shovel.

"Okay." He sighed, taking off his shirt. “I already have a couple of great tools for digging. And death from sunstroke seems like a pipe dream.”

[I must go, master.] Gurgle said, turning into a cloud.

Cyril didn't answer and tossed the shirt aside. He thought for a moment and took off his pants. After a little more thought, he took off his thin underwear and remained naked. Then he stretched and threw up his hands, enjoying the hot rays, and exposed his pubic hair to the sun.

"Well, my body." He said. "Let's rock!"

Cyril straightened both palms and focused on them, trying to feel the strength of the invisible armor. With another sigh, he knelt.

"I hope I'm digging my own grave." Cyril said, and quickly threw down his right hand.

The palm skipped through the thick grass, and Cyril felt no tickling or cuts. A moment later, the fingers slammed into the ground without a hint of resistance. Cyril raked a little and threw his arm to the left, sending a handful of dirt flying.

"It works!" Cyril exclamed, thrusting in his other hand. The left hand also scooped up the soil without much difficulty.

Cyril began to tear up the grass, clearing the area with a diameter of one and a half meters. When he had finished with the grass, he began to work actively with his hands, raking and throwing out the earth. He moved in a circle, gradually and evenly deepening. When he sank to a depth of half a meter, his eyes stung with sweat.

"Fuck." He grumbled, sinking down on his bare ass.

The sun dominated the blue sky, and there was no hint of clouds. The ground at this point was fairly wet, but beyond that there was a layer of sand. Even deeper promised to meet clay.

"And it's not a fact that a shovel would be easier. There would fit a bulldozer."

He shook his head. Of all the equipment in this world, he met only a musket and a steam engine. But the musket was not technically a machine, and the steam engine went to hell. Cyril had no choice but to continue. He knelt again and drove the shovels of his hands into the sandy soil.

Dynamite could be nice. He thought.

The sun rose higher, and Cyril plunged into the depths. Soon he reached a layer of clay, and it became much more difficult to dig. His fingers had no trouble breaking through the thick clay, but Cyril had never worked so hard. By this time, anyone would have collapsed, but Cyril kept digging.

”It seems that the body is now not only impenetrable, but also more enduring." Cyril was surprised.

As he sank to the depth of his own height, it became harder to dig. The walls of the pit crumbled, and he had to throw out what fell from above. This added to the work, and now he had to throw the ground much higher.

”Oh, I'm not lucky in death." Cyril remembered an old song and sighed. "I'd get luck in love."

At the same time, it was much cooler at the depth. The wall of earth cooled the air in the pit, the sun had already passed zenith, and the slanting rays did not reach the bottom. Cyril cheered up and stretched to rest.

"Judging by the sun, I've been digging for a couple of hours." He said to himself, to break the unaccustomed silence. "Just make it before dark."

Suddenly, his stomach gave an unmistakable signal.

I'm hungry. Cyril sighed. But I don't want to get out.

It wasn't as hot down here as it was on the surface, and Cyril enjoyed the coolness. His body was sweating profusely, except for his hands, which were smeared with clay up to the elbows. Cyril thought it would be a good idea to make a body mask, since there was so much natural material at hand.

He began to rub the body with clay, remembering how once he went with his wife to her parents. There, on a small river in the forest, she showed how effectively clay helps to clean the skin.

It's really refreshing. Cyril chuckled. It's just a pity you can't eat the clay.

"Why not?" He asked himself suddenly. "If I'm such a monster, maybe I can eat rocks now."

He broke off a piece of clay from the wall, crushed it to make a small ball, and put it in his mouth.

"Ugh, fuck! Fucking moron!"

His hopes were not fulfilled.

The body mask helped to get rid of the sweat, though, and he continued to dig. Gradually, the mask dried and peeled off from the body, leaving a feeling of freshness.

After another couple of hours, the clay under his feet gave way to loose, sandy soil. It darkened noticeably. Finally, the first signs of water appeared.

"I'm getting close!" Cyril was delighted, slapping his feet on the wet ground.

He looked up.

"Holy shit." Cyril said, looking up.

He would have to stand on his shoulders twice to reach the surface. There was a circle of light up there. The sheer walls of the well were hidden in darkness.

"How do I get out now?"