Ragna ended up using the kitchen to question Ol’ Cleatus. Demetra banned them from using the office because she didn’t want any distractions, and there were mimics in every other room of the house. There were likely mimics in the kitchen too, but it was deemed the safest room. The bowl of fruit on the table was the cleanest and most vibrant thing in the kitchen, and it happened to be filled with mimics. Even the bright blue crystalline bowl was a mimic.

  Everything else in the kitchen matched the run-down exterior of the farmhouse. The walls were dark weathered planks of wood, while the floor was grime-crusted stone tile. All of the furniture was partially rotted and made from old pieces of wood. The appliances on the counter looked as if they came from a different era, being hulking, rusted behemoths compared to their modern counterparts.

  Cleatus offered both Keylynn and Ragna a cup of tea; she accepted, while he declined. After one sip she wished she did the same. It was more fermented grain juices than tea.

  Ragna gave her a told-you-so look before turning to Cleatus. “Are you the only employee working on this quest?”

  Cleatus sat down and kicked off his unlaced oversized boots and rested his feet on the table, leaning back in his chair. His socks were more hole than sock, giving Keylynn a clear view of his yellowed toenails.

  “As far as I remember, it’s only been Ol’ Cleatus. Before that it was Papie an’ before that it was Grandpapie. Don’t know who was before him, but I reckon Grandpapie’s papie.” He picked up his own cup of tea and drank deeply from it. “Are ye sure ye don’t want no tea?”

  Ragna made a note on his clipboard. “The boss prefers it when I don’t drink on the job.”

  Cleatus nodded in agreement. “I hear that. All them rules that they don’t even abide by. Papie always told me, ‘Ol’ Cleatus ya can’t be drinking yer grandmamie’s tea when you tend to the fields.’ And you know what he was doing? Drinking Grandmamie’s tea. Well, he ain’t here now to tell me what for on me own farm.” He gulped down his tea and looked at Keylynn’s tea questioningly. She handed it to him, and he gulped that one down too. “No use wasting good tea.”

  “So, you don’t have a storymancer or anyone from HR? No one at all?” Ragna asked, trying to hide his disbelief. Even the smallest quests had someone from HR assigned to them and a storymancer.

  “I think ya need to clean them ears out. I said it’s only been Ol’ Cleatus an’ before that it was Papie, and before that Grandpapie, and before that I assume it was Grandpapie’s papie.”

  “My apologies, I had to ask a clarifying question. As per the bosses, they like us to be very thorough with our paperwork,” Ragna replied, gesturing to Keylynn.

  Cleatus nodded again in understanding. “I hear ya, every dang month they want me to fill out the same forms and submit them as if things be changing around here. They got nothing but a coin slot between them ears.” He shook his head.

  Ragna nodded. “I knew you were a wise man who understood. Since there is only you, we can skip a large portion of the form,” Ragna said, crossing out most of the form before flipping it over to show Cleatus.

  Keylynn was impressed with how Ragna was handling Cleatus. He had a knack for conversation that she lacked.

  “See? I knew having no employees was a boon for ya!”

  Ragna nodded. “Alright, do you ever get sick?”

  Cleatus leaned forward, almost falling from his chair. “Heh? Ol’ Cleatus sick? Never in a day of my life have I ever succumbed to any illness. A whisky a day keeps the doctors away, as they say.”

  “I don’t suppose you take any days off at all, do you?” Ragna continued his questions, ignoring Cleatus as he drank from his flask.

  “Why would I do something like that for?”

  Ragna made a note. “You’re right. How ridiculous of me to ask such a thing. The bosses are curious, though. What happens to all the adventurers who pay your farm a visit?”

  Cleatus kicked his feet off the table and leaned in close to Ragna. “They be thinking that me mimics be killin’ all them adventurers, don’t they? Accusing Ol’ Cleatus of murder and the like. They is all the same. No, don’t answer. I won’t make ya choose between them and me. I knows they hold all the power. Most o’ them leave the way they came. Some get bit while others get ate. Exactly as they wanted it ta be.”

  That caught Keylynn’s attention. Not only did it sound like there are deaths on the quest that are not reported, but these were agreed-upon deaths. Regardless of Cleatus’s love for fermented grain juices, they have to investigate the deaths on his farm. Not to mention she has to get to the bottom of what he meant by ‘Exactly as they wanted it to be.’

  “Thank you for your time. I think that’s everything.” Ragna stood up from the table. He now had something specific to investigate in the office. “I’ll be in the office helping Demetra if you need anything.” He made his escape to the office.

  “Thank you for your cooperation and allowing me to observe. I will now go find my other two trainees and see what they are up to,” Keylynn explained as she stood up from the table. She felt uneasy at the thought of Tsunami and Inferno alone with countless mimics after hearing about what happens to some adventurers.

  Outside of the farm, the sky was still overcast. She no longer thinks that’s by design. Cleatus just didn’t seem to be the type to think about the effect of weather on quest success. She quickly scanned the farm and didn’t see a sign of either Tsunami or Inferno. The eerie quiet of the farm was unsettling.

  She walked further away from the farmhouse, hoping she would see the two. She didn’t.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Spit him out right now! Chartreuse!!! He’s a chartreuse!!!” Inferno bellowed, shattering the silence. She looked around quickly and reached out with her magic and found him by the windmill. She ran, fearing the worst.

  Inferno waved his hands frantically in the air at the windmill mimic. “I know you can hear me! Chartreuse!! Ol’ Cleatus said you wouldn’t eat us if we said that. So Chartreuse!”

  Tsunami didn’t have long if the mimic ate him. She dashed back to the farmhouse, yanking the door open. “Cleatus! The windmill is in the process of eating one of my trainees. You will return him to be living at once!” She ordered coldly.

  “That would be Lucille. She’s the matriarch and doesn’t listen too good no more. She can also be persnickety. Ye know how the ladies can get. I don’t fault them none, it's just how they be.” He explained pulling his boots on. He was moving much slower than the situation required of him. “Not ta worry, I’ll get the lad out safe as houses.” He grabbed a floppy, worn straw hat and put it on as he sauntered out to his farm.

  Keylynn wanted to urge the old man to walk faster, but she didn’t know if he could walk faster. Lucille was a ridiculous name for a mimic that can become a windmill. Gust or Billows would be a much better name.

  Cleatus walked right up to the windmill, Lucille, and stroked where the door was. “Alright ol' girl, Ol’ Cleatus is a here to set things straight. Spit out the lad. He was just doing his job.”

  Lucille undulated and gurgled in protest. Through the small crack in her mouth, she could hear Tsunami.

  “Chartreuse!”

  Cleatus gave the windmill a stern look. “Lucille, is this how Grandpapie say we treat our guests? No, it ain’t. You spit him out right now, or ya won’t get story time.”

  Lucille grumbled loudly and slowly opened her mouth and unrolled her large purple tongue, releasing Tsunami. He scrambled away before she could change her mind.

  Slowly her tongue rolled back up into her mouth.

  “That’s my good girl. You’ll get an extra story tonight,” Cleatus crooned, giving the mimic a pat.

  “She really didn’t mean nothing by it. She’s the oldest one I’ve got. She started it all with Grandpapie’s papie. He found her in the field sad, lost, and hungry. He had a heart of gold. We all do. Took her home and fed her, and she grew like a weed, she did. I still remember the first clutch o’ eggs she let Ol’ Cleatus see and move. Warmed me straight through, it did.” He pulled out a grease-stained handkerchief and dabbed his eyes with it. “She used to gobble me up and spit me out when I was a yungin’. It was our game. Should have heard me ma hooting and a hollering whenever it happened. Always threatened to leave Papie, although she never did.”

  “I said Chartreuse,” Tsunami grumbled, trying to wipe away the thick saliva that covered him.

  “She don’t hear too good no more. Should have told ya sooner. Well now ya know,” Cleatus explained and turned to return to his farmhouse.

  “Wait! Before you go, can I ask you something?” Inferno asked. Cleatus paused and nodded. “What is the quest that adventurers undertake on your farm?”

  Keylynn frowned. They shouldn’t have to ask that question. Quests should be obvious to everyone, especially so for the adventurers.

  “Quest? We ain’t got something like that. They come, and sometimes they play with the mimics, while other times the mimics play with them. It’s how it works. We get too many mimics ta feed, and ya get too many adventures thinking they are the best thing since Soylent Green,” Cleatus explained before spitting.

  “This is just a farm?” Inferno asked dumbfounded.

  “Always has been, always will. Gots the paperwork in me office. We was promised help with the mimic population provided we remain exclusive in selling our mimics. We have done that. In fact, every mimic ya see could be one o’ mine.” Cleatus squinted and leaned close to Keylynn’s shoulder. He had to stand on the tip of his toes to get a better look. “Xecp’ that one. I ain’t seen that one before.”

  “I found Pebble on a quest where there weren’t supposed to be any. I have found mimic caretaking to be fulfilling,” she explained with a smile. He nodded absently.

  “Well, if that’s everything, I’ve got lots ta do. The farm don’t run itself,” Cleatus announced before returning to his farmhouse.

  “That old man is insane!” Tsunami hissed.

  Keylynn walked over and laid her hand on Tsunami’s shoulder. “Would it insult or disgust you if my fungal colonies help clean you?” She asked softly.

  “Anything is better than being covered in slime, and she needs to brush her teeth.” He glared at the windmill. Several eyes on the windmill were staring right back at him.

  Keylynn sent her hyphae out to help clean Tsunami. In addition to her hyphae, several slug mushrooms joined them. She watched as her various fungal colonies spread across Tsunami, absorbing as much of the mimic's saliva as possible. He was right. It was extremely pungent.

  “Boss, what do we do? There is no quest to assess,” Inferno asked.

  “You can assess the farm and the mimics themselves cautiously, and Tsunami will fill in ‘not applicable’ for everything we can’t answer about the quest because of the lacking of a quest,” she answered. “Tsunami, are you feeling better?”

  “Less slimy, and the stench has lessened. I think I have to burn these clothes.” He grimaced at his now dry clothes. Most of her fungal colonies have returned to her.

  “Yeah, I don’t think I need to see more of the farm than what we have already seen,” Inferno said, looking around at the farm. Keylynn didn’t fault his hesitation. They didn’t know how many older mimics like Lucille would simply fail to hear the safe word.

  “Then we join Demetra and Ragna and help them read through the office paperwork and start on our list of recommendations to give Ol’ Cleatus,” she explained, hoping the office had enough room for them all. She didn’t think setting up a secondary office on-site would be a safe idea. As much as she can send Tsunami and Inferno off-site to acquire their evening accommodations as required, but she can’t leave Demetra and Ragna.

  “Fix this mess?” Tsunami asked incredulously. “We will need a lot more than just a list of recommendations for that.”

  “We should also find this deal that he mentioned,” Keylynn said, gesturing for them to follow her back to the farmhouse.

  She needs to see a copy of that agreement and send a picture of it to Lark. What they have on their hands is a quest that has an agreement to alleviate RADAWC of excess adventurers. The Mimic Farm exists to cull adventurers, while the survivors cull the mimics. That sort of arrangement was unheard of and broke company policy. The whole point of the company was to ensure adventurer safety and welfare.

  “Yeah, yeah, we will get the thing so we can crucify the suited asshole who signed off on this hellhole,” Tsunami grumbled.

  Inferno gave his brother a sniff. “No wonder you’re in a shit mood. You smell like an outhouse left out in the sun for a year.”

  “Next time you get eaten.”

  The office wasn’t much better than the rest of the farm. It was filled with stacks of abandoned forms and stacked haphazardly on any available surface, including other stacks of paper.

  “Oh thank gods you’re here! It’s a mess in here, and I’m pretty sure there’s a mimic in here,” Demetra explained rapidly.

  “Fuck,” Tsunami muttered.

  Ragna raised his arm, revealing several small chests with sharp teeth clamped down on his arm. “I have it well in hand.”

  Demetra turned her head. “What the fuck! I thought there was only the one that bit my ass.”

  Ragna raised his foot, revealing a seat cushion biting his boot. “Nope, that one likes my boot.”

  “Ragna, please hold very still,” Keylynn asked before she reached with her hyphae to each of the mimics currently attempting to eat him. Once she had enough hyphae attached to each mimic, she rapidly absorbed them. As much as she hated to terminate a mimic for no good reason, she can't allow her preferences to harm her team. Cleatus also failed to mention the possibility of mimics in the office. The sooner they found that document and finished their assessment, the sooner they could leave the farm.