“A what?” Durham asked.
“It degnomes the immediate vicinity.” He pulled the trigger. There was a ZOOP noise and he was gone. They all looked up to where he was now dangling from the eaves of the warehouse roof. “Very handy at times,” he said.
Thud peeked into the pouch Keezix had dropped in his hand, pushed his top hat back on his brow and rubbed at his forehead. “So, we got a murdered contact, a crate of gizmos, an assassin made out of sand, a missing dwarf…”
“There he is,” Mungo said, pointing from his dangling vantage point. Dadger was fifty yards away on the wharf. He had procured a camel from somewhere and was perched atop the saddle, letting the camel do the work of navigating the crowd. The camel crowd-shouldering technique employed teeth as well, giving it the advantage.
“Cancel the missing dwarf,” Thud said. “Things are looking up already. What happened to the dead gnome?”
“Still dead I would expect,” Mungo said. There was a zipper-like noise as he lowered himself to the ground. “I only took long enough to search him before rolling him off into the water to be consumed by alligators. He had…”
“You did what with alligators?” Thud asked.
“This is a covert operation. We can’t draw too much attention. It’s a hazard of the trade and spies have to play by a different set of rules.”
“And we’ll beat them by playing by our own rules, not theirs.”
Mungo frowned. “That’s how we lose.”
Thud snorted. “Vampires and sea monsters and lich lords don’t play by rules. Nothing we go up against plays by a set of rules. We come out on top because we’re the ones that do. Just not the rules they’re expectin’.”
Mungo looked skeptical. “We have a rule against feeding dead gnomes to alligators?”
“Normally I’d answer that it’s one of those unwritten rules that should be inferred by our general code of conduct but in this case, we actually do have a specific rule against that. Rule 347, No feeding dead gnomes to alligators. Came up on that bog job we did when you was stung by that swampdaddy and were laid out for three days.”
“Who wanted to feed me to alligators?”
“Now see, I’m sure that gnome you rolled off the wharf would be askin’ that very same question.”
“I walk in on the strangest conversations in this troupe,” Dadger said from the camel now looming over them. “Do we really have 347 rules?”
“Not as such,” Thud said, rubbing his beard. “They just kinda have whatever number I call out when I first invent ‘em. That rule probably had a different number when I made it but now it’s rule 347. Ping keeps track of ‘em. He’s probably already updating it in the book.”
“Of course that’s how it works,” Dadger said. He climbed off of the camel in a manner that was indistinguishable from falling. “I managed to follow the assassin,” he said as he stood and brushed the sand off. “Chap with a wagon drove him to that fancy building up on top of the hill there.”
“The palace?” Mungo asked.
“That would explain the guards. Their wagon went past without a challenge and that was where I stopped following. Didn’t figure I’d be on their guest list.”
“Interesting.” Mungo rubbed his shiny chin.
“That’s the word you’re going with?” Thud asked. “Interesting?”
“No, it’s just that when I searched the dead gnome…was that against the rules too?”
“No, actually,” Thud said.
“He had a handkerchief and two invitations.”
“To the palace?” Dadger asked. “That’s far too convenient for my liking.”
“No, for tonight’s grand opening ceremony for The Mazerynth. It’s at the palace wharves.”
“It’s on a hill,” Thud said. “Where’ve they got wharves?”
Dadger made a hill-shaped motion with his hand. “Entire side of the hill, crown to shore. All palace grounds.”
“Why are they having the party at the wharves?” Durham asked. “The Mazerynth is at least a quarter-mile downriver from the palace.”
Mungo shrugged. “Perhaps the view from there is pleasing. Perhaps there will be a boat tour. It’s still threads coming together. The agent was carrying party invitations, presumably to give to us. Whomever is behind the Mazerynth is certain to be there. Frothnozzle might even crawl out from wherever he’s hiding in order to attend.” He patted Durham’s knee. “I’ll take Durham with me. We’ll go undercover.”
“Why me?” asked Durham by way of defensive reflex.
“Ostensibly because you’re my sidekick in training. But primarily because you’re someone who could have legitimately received invitations. After all, you’re the King of Tanahael.”
“Yes, but my kingdom is a poisonous lake and an onion farm twenty leagues from anywhere someone might want to go.”
Mungo shrugged. “Still counts. You’re in the official registry. I will go in my merchant disguise.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together.
“That sounds like an evening filled with panic and desperation,” Durham said, voice warbling with panic and desperation.
“Easy lad,” Dadger said. “Just hang out by the food table with a drink in your hand and listen. If someone actually talks to you, act startled and spill your drink on yourself. Then just excuse yourself to go clean up and find a different food table to stand by.”
“A social event? Ah, Mungo.” There was a scratchy rustle as Thud rubbed his hand across his face. “What have ye gotten us into?”
Chapter Five
Ruby stood in the shade of an awning, watching the bustling street and trying to get a feel for the new city. They hadn’t had any luck finding an inn with available rooms. The city was bursting to the seams with travelers. Warehouse space was readily available, however, and as the wagons were designed to function as living accommodations the team was now headquartered in a warehouse parking lot. Apparently adventurers didn’t tend to travel with wagon trains. Ruby found the process a bit tedious—finding space for the wagons, hiring teams of pack animals to move them about, setting them up into their camp configurations. All of her own possessions fit into a single battered leather satchel, freeing her from the ordeal. She tended to sleep on the wagon that carried the sacks of grains and beans but she wasn’t officially responsible for the wagon or its contents. She could just as easily claim one of the hammocks strung beneath the wagons or even find an inn nearby with space for one small and elderly scribe. Having no part in the arranging of the wagons freed her up to do something far more interesting: spend time poking around in the city.
Nibbly and Leery had come with her. Nibbly was head of the acquisitions team and was always looking for things to acquire. Leery was also on the acquisitions team but more in the role of acquiring things that others didn’t want to be taken. She was present on this venture in case they ran into trouble. Ordinarily they’d have brought Gong, the head of the vanguard team, but he was busy directing the unloading of the team’s armaments and less inclined to shopping and sightseeing than Leery was.
They were several blocks into the city from the wharf and the street traffic here was more varied. There were still plenty of adventurers wandering about but now as merely one ingredient in the mix. There were carts of grain and of vegetables, mounted soldiers on patrol, porters bearing jugs, jars and baskets. Rag-clad wretches clustered along the sides of the street in places, hands outstretched for whatever one might care to place there. Locals were easy to spot. They were the ones dressed for the heat in light colored linens. The adventurers tended toward the red and sweaty end of the spectrum, their armor and fur-lined cloaks oppressive in the sun.
Ruby had been in hot places before but the heat there had been wet, making her feel like she’d just stepped into a bathhouse. Here it was more like an oven. Sweat evaporated in an instant, leaving one feeling dry and cool but in imminent danger of keeling over from dehydration. Doc, the aptly nicknamed dwarf in charge of the team’s medical need
s had mandated that anyone setting foot outside the warehouse needed to take a skin of water with them.
Nibbly stepped out of the warehouse doorway and joined Ruby in the shade. His turban, pointed beard and polished teak complexion made him look almost like one of the locals in dwarf form. Being head of acquisitions team allowed him to skip the camp set-up duties but left an obligation in obtaining dinner ingredients and camp accoutrements. Officially this was a shopping trip.
Leery was already out in the street, peering around at the tops of nearby buildings and generally getting in the way of traffic. It would be just like her to get run over by a cart as they were leaving. Leery had what could only be described as a supernatural healing speed but the same could be said for her ability to injure herself.
Nibbly called her over. Leery immediately stepped in front of a camel and was knocked under a cart. She came rolling out the other side in one piece, turning Nibbly’s wince into a rueful headshake as he started up the street.
“We got one main objective to my mind,” he said as Ruby and Leery fell in to either side of him. “Apart from the errands, leastways. We want to get a closer look at that pyramid and try to get a notion of what’s going on. It’s going to take all three of us looking at it to be able to answer the stream of questions Thud is meaning to lay on us when we get back. His interest in all of this begins and ends with that dungeon.”
There was no question of which way to head. The pyramid loomed over the city and the road to it was wide. Their warehouse was a street or two away from the thoroughfare but they could hear the noise. Rumbling cart wheels, shouting voices, snatches of music, laughter. Ruby almost expected to see clouds of confetti as they drew near.
Clouds of dust was what they got. This was where all of the adventurers were ending up as well and the street was as crowded as a festival. The walkways were lined with merchant stalls selling wares, taverns open to the street with tables and benches loaded with drinkers and feasters. Each group seemed to have their own musician playing for them with their hat out in hope.
Just next to them was a stall selling pyramid shaped cheese on a stick and meltsugar candy that looked like scarab beetles. Next to it were tunics and scarves with an image of the pyramid painted onto them. Beyond was an inn with a gaudily painted sign proclaiming ‘Mummy’s Home Cooking: Try Our Wraps!’
“Something is very wrong here,” Leery said.
“D’ye see anything that looks like a produce stand?” Nibbly asked, turning in place and frowning at the tunic stalls.
“Amazingly enough, yes.” Leery pointed. “Where the crowd is.”
It was an interesting observation, Ruby thought, whether Leery had meant to make it or not. There were scores of people and the inns and taverns were overflowing but very few people seemed to be paying any attention to the souvenir stalls. What was the fascination with the produce market? They pushed their way through the crowd, attempting to get closer. The market was lined on three sides with a counter at which adventurers stood shoulder to shoulder, chopping onions and carrots, peeling potatoes and cracking eggs.
A brutish looking man in black plate armor with spikes all over stepped out as they approached, bearing a crate loaded with food.
“Buying provisions, friend?” Nibbly asked amiably.
“I make the provisions,” the man said in a thick Mondolian accent. “I’ve got fifty salads here for sale if you’re looking to buy.”
“Fifty?” Nibbly’s eyebrows raised. “You wanna find yerself an elf picnic or something. I’m more in the market for cheese, bread and sausages.”
“How about roast chicken legs, yes? Have sixty of them, give or take a few. Yours for a silver talon.”
“One talon for sixty chicken legs?” Nibbly’s tone was carefully neutral but Ruby was sure he was feeling the same surprise she was. She could see the stall in the market selling raw chicken legs at ten a talon.
“Yes,” the warrior said. “Half a talon more and I’ll throw in the salads too.”
“Got any pickles perchance? Buying rations for twenty.”
The man shook his head. “Not yet. If I make another thirty salads then I’ll be qualified to make pickles, so if you wish to wait a little…”
“I’ve got pickles!” another voice interjected. It was a woman in gold-trimmed green robes bearing a staff with a swirling light around the end. “Twenty copper thumbs for a barrel!”
“Puccatali!” the man barked at her. “This is my sale!”
Ruby glanced about until she saw the stall with the cucumbers, selling for a thumb each. How many pickles were in a barrel? A hundred or so? Two hundred?
“Why are you selling below market value?” she asked.
Nibbly kicked her in the ankle, his eyes widened in shock. “Don’t ask questions like that until after the sale,” he hissed.
The woman waved her hand toward the market behind her. “It’s not about the profit,” she said. “It’s cooking lessons. I’ve made enough pickles to be able to learn grilled cheese sandwiches but I need to sell my pickles to raise the money for the recipe and some ingredients.”
“Well,” Leery said. “I ain’t really a cook but I reckon I can tell you how to make a grilled cheese sandwich. The ingredients and technique is all pretty much implied in the name.”
“Are you an authorized recipe seller?”
Leery considered this. “I need a license to tell you how to make a toasty?”
“They’re very strict here,” the woman said.
The warrior nodded. “I will not be risking banishment over a grilled cheese recipe,” he said. He turned back to Nibbly. “Do you want these chicken legs? No? One talon and that includes the salads.”
Ruby let her attention wander from the haggling. She watched as a mousy looking adventurer arrived pushing a cart loaded with weapons and leather armor. He sold it to the lettuce merchant for a small pouch of coins and then immediately spent the coins on a dozen heads of lettuce. The merchant snapped his fingers and a boy came running to wheel the arsenal-laden cart through an opening into the building that ran along the back of the market. She could see others doing the same, all with carts piled high with weaponry. She made her way over to the mousy adventurer who was now at the workbench, cheerfully chopping the lettuce up for salads.
“Where did you get all of those weapons you sold?” she asked him.
He looked up as if ready with a smart retort, catching himself when he saw her scribe scapular. “Erm, blessings, mum. Did a run this morning, nothing major.” He waved his hand up the street in a manner that indicated the pyramid, the one thing notable enough to qualify as the subject of a vague gesture on a crowded street.
“You went into the dungeon? This morning?”
“Aye, once so far. Might try to squeeze in another go before lunch.”
“I thought it didn’t open until tonight?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “They’ve been letting us do test runs to make sure it’s ready.”
She nodded and smiled. “Well, good luck to you.” She turned and made her way back to where Leery was watching Nibbly arrange for carts to carry all of the food he was buying. “Something is very wrong here,” she told Leery.
Nibbly had a tear streaming down his cheek.
“It’s so beautiful,” he said. “This place funnels money out of pockets and into coffers with a brilliance that borders on art. I’ve ne’er seen the like before.”
***
They passed brass markets and linen shops, stalls selling dried beetles and bundles of sticks, pickled flowers and strange vinegars. There were dice-houses and alcoves from which curled wisps of colored smoke, fortune tellers and magicians with spinning silver rings. The air was thick with incense, dust and dung and the bells on the reins of the camels chimed as they brayed and snorted their way through the crowds. The buildings lining the street were larger the closer they got to the pyramid. Two and three stories now, the roofs and balconies filled with hawkers yelling to be heard o
ver each other. Colored awnings were stretched overhead to shade the street and the fountains misted a cool spray.
“Watch yer pockets,” Nibbly said.
The street ended in a plaza bordered on the far side by a six-meter stone wall, painted with giant figures and rows of glyphs. A large gate split the middle, uniformed city guards controlling the access. Above the gate was a large stone plaque with a stylized pyramid design and the words ‘THE MAZERYNTH’ in red on a golden background.
There was a tent next to the gate, a row of adventurers leading away from it in a roped-off line that snaked back and forth. They clustered in small groups, chatting as they waited. Every few minutes a new group entered the tent as the prior group emerged from the other side, passing through the gate with a nod from the guards. At the tail end of the line stood a large placard lined with text, both in Karthorian and gnostiglyphics, the odd little squiggles and pictures that passed for writing in Karsin. Merchant stalls occupied the rest of the plaza but here they all matched, their colors complimenting the red and gold used on the signs. The displays were filled with swords, armor, ropes and bows. There was a shop selling potions and scrolls, another with ornate wooden staffs and carved wands.
Mazerynth Page 5
