Dink surveyed the people staring at him, a wry grin forming on his face. He gave Martha a mischievous wink. The action caused her to blush. Amazingly, she immediately fell silent, unable to look at him directly. Her unexpected reaction made Dink feel a wave of confidence.

“Martha, is it? Let me interrupt for a second. I need to ask you something important,” Dink said, holding his palms up.

“What do you need? I’ll be happy to help,” Martha demurely replied, looking at him with big doe eyes, eager to please.

“Tell me where the supervisor for the underground mine is. I need to pay them a visit,” Dink requested.

“Oh, that’s easy. You’re looking for Flea. She’s inside right now, on her lunch break. I can take you to her if you want?” Martha helpfully offered.

“No need. Just describe her to me. It’s best we keep this as private as possible,” Dink replied, waving away Martha's offer.

“Okay. You can talk with her out back, in the kitchen. I’ll send her to you right away. I’ll make sure she’s willing to talk to you. Follow me,” Martha replied.

She started wringing her broom tightly between both hands, the wood creaking in protest. She grabbed Dink’s wrist, leading him along behind her. She quickly ushered him through the common room. Dink saw dust-covered miners filling every table with a meal in front of them, accompanied by a pitcher filled with varying liquids.

He noticed a miner nudge one of his companions who was distracted by the food in front of him, pointing at Dink. The man paused his gnawing on the juicy chicken leg in front of him to investigate. His expression quickly turned murderous after seeing Dink being led by Martha. He lost sight of the table as the doors to the kitchen were thrown open and he was dragged inside.

“Everyone, out!” Martha ordered.

“But, Martha…” a balding portly man with a resemblance to Martha started to object while the rest of the staff quickly fled without retort.

“I said out, Father. Now!” Martha demanded.

“Sigh. Yes, dear,” the Innkeeper relented with a heavy exhale.

He carefully hung up the frying pan he was in the middle of wiping clean, leaving with a resigned expression. Martha turned, quickly realizing she had hold of Dink’s wrist. She hastily let go while blushing furiously.

“Wait right here. I’ll be back with Flea soon,” Martha pleaded, backing out of the room and motioning for him to stay.

A short time later, Dink heard a disturbance in the common room. There was loud shouting and crashing, followed by a scream of pain. Immediately after, Martha came back through the door, dragging a struggling bruised and battered Gnome woman. Dink retrieved a nearby stool, placing it in front of him before walking a distance away. He casually leaned against a table with his arms crossed. Martha roughly plopped the Gnome woman in the seat, taking a position behind her with a hand resting on her shoulder.

“Are you Flea?” Dink asked, stepping forward.

“Ptui, who’s asking?” Flea retorted, carelessly spitting out a broken tooth. Flea flinched, glancing over her shoulder at Martha menacingly raising her broom. “Alright, alright. I’ll talk. What do you want to know?”

“Heh, you’re really effective at this, Martha. I’m impressed,” Dink said, dismissing Flea’s questions.

“The trick is to start small or else they go into shock,” Martha replied, puffing with pride.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side. Now, Flea, I want you to do something for me. I need access to the mine. I think you’ve found something you probably shouldn’t have messed with. I ordinarily wouldn’t care, but you made it my problem when I felt that earthquake earlier,” Dink said, crouching in front of the Gnome and putting his face close.

“I, I, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Flea stammered.

“I think you do. Your people have disturbed a wurm nest. Those shakes earlier were just the beginning. Big mama isn’t happy, she’s on her way to check on her babies. They normally stay so far deep that we forget they even exist. That’s until it comes time to lay her eggs. Then mama comes close to the surface where it’s safe from her rivals. Do you see where I’m going with this?” Dink asked. Flea’s expression blanked as her face became pale. She otherwise remained silent. Let me tell you what’s about to happen. Big mama has been alerted that her babies are in danger. By something like the distinct smell of sulphur in the air. Except it's not sulphur, it’s an odour unique to her.”

“How do you know all this?” Flea weakly asked.

“My nose. A wurm’s sense of smell puts mine to shame. She’s coming to the surface, fast. If anything has harmed her eggs or they’re not there. We’re all at risk. She’ll go on a rampage and level this entire town and kill everything within a two-day radius. I’ve seen it happen before,” Dink said, tapping his nose.

As if to punctuate his words, a second quake buffeted the town. The magnitude was much higher than the one before. The frying pan the Innkeeper had carefully hung earlier clattered from its rack onto the counter underneath.

“Okay, say you’re right. What’s a wurm?” Flea asked as she relented.

“A wurm is a lesser dragon bloodline, designed for sieging castles during the Draconic Dividing. Many such bloodlines were created when the intelligent races rose up in defiance against our dragon overlords. As such, it shares many characteristics with other lesser dragons. What makes it different is the distinct lack of limbs, with an appearance similar to a worm. They tunnel through rock and dirt by using sonic vibration. Dealing with one can be a headache, so it’s better they stay deep below the surface,” Dink informed her.

“We already moved the eggs,” Flea whispered. Dink placed his palm against his face in exasperation.

“Well, you’re in luck. If you haven’t damaged the eggs, you have time to put them back. Based on the tremors, Big mama is more than half a day away. Those shakes are from her crossing fault lines and they’re still deep. Don’t even think about running away and leaving Burrowton to fend for themselves. It won’t end well for you. Now, go,” Dink said, dismissing her.

He turned away to rest his hands on the countertop, deep in thought. He looked up when the door to the kitchen opened, letting in Tahlea carrying the iron cage.

“Dink, I think it’s hungry. It won’t stop mewling,” Tahlea said, placing her finger through the cage.

“Don’t!” Dink shouted, lunging to stop her.

But it was too late, the mushroom monster had already latched onto Tahlea's finger.