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All of this shuffling and stowing has also netted an unexpected benefit - with the apron sagging as it is, the central pocket, burdened by the False Silverware, is now pressing against your midriff. With the contents of the pocket Shielding your stomach from most of the remediation cast, it no longer feels as if it is going to run away with itself. Struck with inspiration, you slowly turn keeperwise, and bit by bit, your stomach starts to feel worse and worse. You stop, then start to turn counter-keeperwise instead, and your stomach feels progressively better, back to the point it was at when you first put the False Silverware into the pocket, then even beyond that. Eventually though, as you keep turning, it starts to feel worse - which as far as you are concerned, is cause for celebration. Somewhere ahead of you - at some height - is the point of origin of the cast. You are grinning broadly. The 'compass of misery' has just gotten a lot more precise.
You do what you can to conceal your labors on the crate containing the False Silverware, then you slowly leave the room, following your 'heading'. You aren't able to exactly go 'as the crow flies', but the 'compass' is definitely pointing into one of the four adjoining rooms off of this one, and you make your way inside of it, slowly and steadily. Very slowly. Even though you are making a point of keeping the room your just left to your back, your eyes are adjusting even slower. Assuming there are no other sources of light in the basement, it could very easily get dark enough that you won't be able to see anything no matter how long you wait for your eyes to adjust - and before it gets to that point, skulking around without walking into things is going get progressively harder and harder. Eventually you will have to either accept the risk of bumping into things, accept the risk of groping around, accept the risk of lighting the candle ... or throw in the towel. Hopefully it will not come to that though.
At least you can see in this room ... sort of. Like the last one, it is a square room with the grass-and-flagstone floor, without any obvious accommodations for light sources, and with three adjoining rooms, not counting the one that you just came through. This room has shelves and racks along the walls - which are crammed full of pickled and preserved food. There is also a battered wooden table with empty glass bottles on top of and underneath it, presumably on hand for further preserving - as well as a brace of barrels that even at nearly ten paces smell of vinegar. And above your head, there is a veritable forest of sausage, hanging from the ceiling to dry-cure.
