by Layton Green
“Please, Dashi, tell me something of which I’m unaware.” She leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “But here is what I need.”
-21-
Val hung on for his life as the metal bar whipped around a corner in the sewer canal, moving faster and faster and faster. They must have been traveling sixty miles an hour, and he could only hope Sinias and Synne were alive. He tried not to think about the filth that filled the canal. It was the most disgusting thing he had ever experienced. As the metal contraption kept speeding forward, he worried about having enough air to complete the journey, as well as the nature of their rescuer. Where were they being taken?
Just before he thought his lungs would burst, the iron railing slowed and then came to a stop. Val shot upward without waiting for someone to grab him. When he reached the surface, gasping and covered in muck, he was surprised to find himself in a huge underground cavern. The sewage had a far thinner consistency, allowing him to swim through the dark green water. The smell was still bad but not overpowering, compared to what he had just experienced.
Not far in front of him, the water merged into an underground beach made of turquoise-colored sand. The solid ground beyond the shore was an island of sorts, about as big as a football field and riddled with canals that fed into the rock walls of the cavern.
Glow orbs strung high on the walls cast a jaundiced light throughout the grotto, and a squat black structure dominated the center. Plenty of people were milling about, loading crates onto small vessels or congregating around canvas shelters. Everyone looked armed and capable.
Synne and Sinias emerged beside Val, followed by a pair of kethropi. Though Val knew Synne must be in severe pain, she gave no sign of it. The serpentus had a rigid set to his face, as if he had just returned from the front lines of a war. His pincers shook as he reached into a pouch, withdrew a vial, and took a deep inhalation. The journey had caused the golden lacquer on his pincers to flake away, exposing the dark green surface underneath. “Zagath,” he rasped, as a score of armed men approached the edge of the water.
“You’ve been here?” Val asked.
“The trident,” Sinias replied, as if full sentences were too much for him after the journey.
Confused at first, Val took a look around and noticed most of the men and women had a tattoo of a barbed trident on the sides of their necks, jabbing upward. There was a tall, wiry redhead leading the group, dressed in leather breeches and a sleeveless vest with knives strapped into the pockets. His wary eyes canvased Val and the others as he beckoned for them to wade ashore.
There wasn’t much of a choice. As he emerged dripping from the water, Val inhaled his own stench and recoiled at the bits of unnamable substances clinging to his hair and clothes. A bout of nausea overcame him, and he leaned over to retch.
The approaching men laughed at the condition of Val and his companions. “Got a ride on the mercart, did ye?” one hooted.
“Don’t know how much Zagath pays ’em for a ride through the sewer, but it ain’t enough for me. Ye smell like a pile of corpses covered in pig vomit.”
“Thanks,” Val said dryly.
The redhead stepped forward. “Fancy a bath before ye meet the king?”
“As long as it’s not in sewer water.”
He grinned and led them along the side of the cavern to a place where two wooden blockades cordoned off a portion of the surrounding lake. The dammed water was not exactly crystal clear, but it looked clean enough. The man pointed at the channel leading through the rock wall on the far side. “That one leads to the Great River.”
Val didn’t bother asking questions. Nor did he bother with modesty. After stripping off his clothes, he set his staff down and dove into the cool water, rubbing the muck off his body and hair as if covered in fire ants. Synne followed suit, though she dove deeper and cleansed herself calmly beneath the water. Sinias elected to stay ashore, miserable and silent.
After Val and Synne emerged, one of the men threw them each a towel and a pair of cotton breeches and shirts. They slipped into the new clothes and retrieved their belongings out of the pockets of their old garments, leaving the soiled rags where they lay. “Burn them,” Val muttered.
The redhead led them to the heart of the island, which bristled with armed denizens of both genders, as well as different races. During the walk, he saw canoes and other small watercraft slipping into and out of the canals strung along the perimeter.
“Do you know where we are?” he whispered to Sinias.
“I have never ssseen thisss.”
They approached a squat and unimaginative structure built of interlocking, rough cut stones the color of powdered graphite. It was a somber contrast to the eerie beauty of the blue-green sand. The building straddled the convergence of a dozen canals, and it had a utilitarian feel, as if it had once served as an administrative center for some ancient race of cavern dwellers.
Their guide led them to a canoe moored alongside one of the canals. Val, Synne, and Sinius crowded inside with the redhead and three other men, all of whom bore the trident tattoo. One of the men untied the vessel, then guided it down the canal and into the structure. Val and one of the taller men had to duck their heads to clear the bottom of the entrance cut into the stone wall.
Inside was no different. Stark, dimly lit, crisscrossed by canals.
“Who built this place?” Val asked.
A bearded man missing half an ear spoke up. “Dunno, mate. Zagath found the place abandoned and took it for his own.”
“What was that thing that attacked us?”
“Eh? Which one?”
“A giant white worm or something. It came up through a well.”
“We call those larvies.” A grin split the edges of his ruined mouth. “Want to know why?”
“Probably not.”
“We call ’em larvies cuz we think they’re just the larvae of something much bigger.” The hardened smuggler shuddered. “Thank the Queen it can’t get up here. Zagath thinks whoever built the canals used to feed on the larvies, but I dunno. Maybe it was the other way around.”
“What’s down there? Inside the well?”
The man shrugged. “Zagath sent some men down, once. No one ever came back.”
Inside the structure, the canoe passed through a series of interconnecting canals. Every now and then, a kethropi could be seen swimming in the dark water, and one time a pair of females surfaced to deposit a waterproof sack on the floor.
Their canoe approached a stone wall, the top of which disappeared into the gloom above, and Val again had to duck as the canoe passed into a large chamber, the terminus of the canals. In the center, resembling the hub of a wheel with the canals as the spokes, was a circular basin of water with a throne floating atop it. Lounging atop the high-backed chair, half in the throne and half in the water, was a being whose head and torso belonged to a human male, yet whose lower half was scaly and mottled green, like a kethropi. Though the mermerus had human facial organs, he also had gills on the side of his neck that opened and closed as he breathed.
“Welcome to my palace,” the mermerus said, with only a trace of the gargling voice distinctive to the kethropi. “I am Zagath.”
After tying off the canoe to a wooden post, the red-haired man stepped out of the vessel and waved at them to follow. Val offered Synne a hand, knowing she was in pain, but she cut him off with a glare. Sinias took another deep sniff from his stoppered vial and followed them on shaky legs.
Val planted his staff on the stone floor and drew up tall. He was representing the Congregation and needed to act the part. “Thank you for saving us.”
“It’s not often that a Congregation mage comes to visit. In fact, if memory recalls, you’re the first. Welcome, Valjean.” He bowed in his chair towards Synne. “Lady of the Rigid Hand. You are welcome, too. And Sinias! Well met again. I assume you were selected to guide our illustrious visitors?”
“Yesss.”
“As you can see, I’ve h
ad to move my base of operations. I daresay it’s an improvement. We can reach anywhere in the city from here, and even the gulf.” Zagath turned the chair to address Val again, the dangerous smile returning. “I only found this place once the black sash forced us deeper inside. Unless one has wandered these tunnels for years, one would never find one’s way home.”
“There’s no need for threats,” Val said. “We came on business.”
“Not a threat, mage. Just a statement of mutual understanding.”
Val summoned a flicker of Spirit Fire to play across his fingertips. “Then I suppose we understand each other.”
The mermerus arched his eyebrows at the display. “I’ve been aware of your presence since the moment you entered Undertown, but I confess the purpose of your visit eludes me.”
“The Congregation desires your assistance with a simple question.”
“Nothing to do with the Congregation is simple, and information is power.”
A green-gilled head broke the surface of the water. Zagath paused to converse in the language of the fish men. After the kethropi slipped beneath the surface again, Val said, “The Congregation is seeking an artifact that has returned to Urfe.”
“The Coffer of Devla.”
Val spread his hands. “You have good sources.”
“I am the source.”
“Then that bodes well for our inquiry. We wish to know who stole it, and where they took it.”
“Most understandable,” Zagath said. “The Coffer is a grave threat to the Congregation.”
Val knew what Zagath was doing: bargaining for the price by elevating the importance of the request. “Grave is an overstatement. We view it more as a nuisance.”
“A simple nuisance has brought you all the way to Undertown?”
“They have hardly sent an elder mage.”
“Yet they sent a spirit mage, no less. One who completed the Planewalk on his own, returned the Star Crown, and has the ear of Lord Alistair.”
Val didn’t respond, stunned that he knew those facts.
“No one in New Victoria,” Zagath said, leaning forward on his watery throne, “has the eyes and ears that I have.”
“Impressive,” Val murmured. “Conducting an empire from such an isolated location.”
Zagath leaned back in his chair. He seemed both pleased and troubled by the compliment. “Do you know why I live beneath the surface, mage? Surrounded by filth and muck, doomed to a half-life of stench and darkness? I have an empire, yes. But it is not one that pleases me.”
The mermerus spun his floating chair slowly in the water, as if collecting his thoughts. Val glanced at Synne and found her gaze roaming the chamber, wary.
“I am . . . unwelcome . . . in the Kethropi Kingdom. The oceans and seas are not safe for me. Oh, there are plenty of uncharted pockets in which I could dwell. But I am both human and kethropi. I desire society. The sunlit world of men and its pleasures.” He smirked. “Certain companionship. Yet these,” he swept a hand towards his legs, “limit me to a half-life. We mermerus, you see, cannot survive fully in the water, and on land, without moisture, my poor scaled limbs will suffocate. Thus I conduct my business from this waterlogged tomb.” His green eyes blazed as he planted his hands on the side of his throne. “My men saved your lives in the tunnels. Even without an answer to your question, I consider you in my debt.”
“So you know who took the Coffer?”
“I was approached by someone for the job. I don’t know who stole it, but I know who ordered it done.”
“And where it now rests?”
Zagath gave a single, brief nod.
“What is it that you want?” Val said.
“The one who ordered the Coffer stolen is a very dangerous adversary. A person it would be unwise to cross. A wizard. This, too, impacts the price of my knowledge. I am a reasonable man, and there is one thing I desire above all others. Yet it lies in the heart of the Kethropi Kingdom, and I am unable to reach it myself. But you, mage. You can get it for me.”
“Go on,” Val said.
“You will hear many things about me from the kethropi.” He grinned again. “Most of them true. Not long before I was banished, I uncovered knowledge of a legendary trident—the inspiration for my organization—that allows its bearer to swim the oceans without air, and walk at will on land. An artifact made specifically for a mermerus. Yet the trident rests in an ancient temple sunk deep beneath the ocean. The kethropi care not for this artifact. They have no desire to walk on land, and should they have the need, they have their own mages and ensorcelled items.”
“Why not get it yourself?” Val asked.
“I would be caught and imprisoned before I swam within a hundred fathoms. This, then, is my price for the knowledge you seek. The retrieval of the Trident of Terengotha.”
Val glanced at his companions. Sinias was gripping his staff just below the spiked iron bauble, observing the exchange with an impassive air. He brought his vial to his face now and again, rolling his neck after he sniffed. Synne was standing between Val and Zagath’s men, ensuring no one got too close.
Val knew this was his decision to make. “If I retrieve this item for you, how do I know you’ll keep your word? As you said yourself, the possessor of the Coffer is a dangerous enemy to cross.”
Zagath gave a harsh laugh. “More dangerous than breaking a promise to the Congregation?”
“No,” Val said quietly. “Not more dangerous than that.”
“As I thought. Bring it to me, mage. Bring me the Trident and we will conduct business.”
“How do I find you again?”
“Step foot in Undertown, and I will know.”
Lord Alistair leaned back in his chair and took a long sip of granth. “Interesting.”
Six hours earlier, Val had returned from his journey to Undertown, blindfolded by Zagath’s men as they led Val and the others to the surface. Sinias had already been paid, and he left them at the entrance to the Goblin Market, still shivering with cold, his reptilian eyes flat and menacing, proclaiming he hoped never to see either of them again.
After returning home for the longest shower of his life, Val treated Synne to dinner at his favorite pub, then reported to Lord Alistair in the study of his St. Charles manor.
“Interesting,” Val repeated. “Yes, it was definitely that.”
“Do you trust him?”
“In my career on Earth, I was a lawyer. I’m a pretty good judge of when someone is lying. I think Zagath wants this Trident—desperately. I also think he knows it would be foolish to cross the Congregation.”
Lord Alistair crossed his legs. “The Trident of Terengotha does exist. Its creation is well documented. Whether it resides in this ruined temple is another matter.”
“Should we bring Zagath here and force him to divulge the information?”
“Unfortunately, I fear he’ll be wary of just that, and take precautions to avoid us. If we lose the opportunity, we might not get another. No, better to attempt the retrieval, and if that fails, pay him another visit.”
Val read between the lines. If I die or fail on my mission, the Congregation will send someone who can get the job done.
“He gave me a nautical chart he acquired from a kethropi boundary surveyor who found the temple,” Val said, holding out a vellum scroll.
Lord Alistair unrolled it and examined the map. “You understand this?”
“Zagath interpreted for me.”
“What if someone else has reached it first?”
“I asked the same question. Zagath said it’s very remote, and no one outside the kingdom knows about it. He said it took him years of searching to find the location.”
“And why did he himself not retrieve it?”
“He was caught and imprisoned before his planned expedition.”
“Does that not strike you as contrived?”
“It does.”
“And?”
“I think Zagath isn’t telling us the whole stor
y. I think maybe he tried to go himself and couldn’t get the Trident for some reason.”
Lord Alistair pressed his lips together. “Perhaps a guardian or danger of some kind? How long would this journey take?”
“According to Zagath, the temple rests on a sunken landmass outside Kethropi City. I suppose we could fly there, or take a boat.”
After another long sip, Alistair steepled his fingers against his lips as he considered the situation. “The Congregation is in possession of two items, Skincloths, that allow for underwater exploration. They were developed by a powerful aquamancer ages ago.”
Val chuckled to himself. We call it scuba gear.
“The Skincloths allow the wearer to breathe and speak underwater, swim with ease, and walk on underwater surfaces as if on land.”
Val nodded. “I’m game, if you think we have time. How long does it take to reach Kethropi City?”
Lord Alistair looked amused. “As long as it takes to reach the Sanctum.”
“A portal?”
“Of course. If you choose this route, I’ll allow a companion mage, though I’d prefer it not be someone from the Congregation. For the same reasons as before.”
“I’ll go,” Adaira said, as she stepped into the room. Though the door had been cracked, Val had thought they were alone in the house.
“You forgot to knock,” Lord Alistair said, with a frown at his daughter. “I thought you were away for the day.”
“And Father,” she said sweetly, taking a seat beside him in a richly upholstered chair, “you’re forgetting something about the kethropi. They’re very concerned with formality, and Val will need a representative who knows their customs. They’re too important an ally to ruffle feathers.”
Val wanted to tell Adaira not to put herself in danger, but he dared not intervene.
“You’re right,” Lord Alistair said calmly. “It would be prudent to send an emissary. It would be good training for you.”
