Swamped

Suddenly, you feel the laundry shifting underneath you. Is the cart that bumpy or something?

When things settle enough for you to actually get your bearings, you find yourself staring someone in the face. They're wearing a helmet, but it looks more like what the Bogknights were wearing than the Marshguard gear.

You barely restrain yourself from screaming. It looks like the other stowaway is doing the same.

The tension is lifted, slightly, as you feel a pile of laundry get pulled off your head. It's enough that you can hear some voices.

"No, no! This is where the clean sheets go! You can't just dump your filthy laundry in there, Clams!"

"Hmmph. The stuff I took out wasn't exactly clean, Crook. What's it matter?"

"We have to ration the laundry powder. It's a good thing I caught you when I did, looks like only one sheet got filth from your stuff on it. And why'd you run off with the cart in the first place, I was using that!"

"I needed to change my damn sheets. I figured it wasn't worth waiting around for you."

"Tough. I've got cart duty, I decide where the cart goes. I'll overlook it this time, but if you cross me one more time, you can bet Razor's going to hear about it."

"Bah. Whatever. I'm too tired for this."

You feel the cart start moving again.

"That was close," Crook whispers. "Sorry about that. And oh gods, my heart's pounding. I can't believe I stood up to Clams."

You get the distinct feeling you just got yourself caught up in a whole new set of problems. Exactly what you didn't need.

So now what are you going to do?