“No,” he heard Givup answer. “They must have headed topside. I assume you sent Yorgi that way to cut them off?”
“Too slow,” the man answered. There was the sound of his boots headed up the stairs. “Yorgi’s covering the aft…” his voice trailed off as he moved out of earshot.
"...hiding from assassins," Thud picked back up. "Escaping by swimming through beast infested waters..." he opened the door for a peek, “...and empty hallways.” He stepped out. “C'mon. We can get that cargo hatch open before we dock. Then we can just hop out. Should be a short enough swim."
They ran to the other end of the hall and slid the bar on the forehatch, letting the door swing in. Beyond a stretch of dark water the Mazerynth rose, gleaming. The night air was cool and smelled of jasmine.
The assassin dropped down from the deck above and landed in the open hatchway. He slowly slid a long dagger free of its sheath, drawing out the rasp. His other hand was a menacing barbed hook. A smile carved its way across his face.
“It’s dangerous to swim at night,” he said then slumped to the floor with a gurgle due to Thud having poked him very hard in the solar plexus just as he finished speaking.
“New plan,” Thud said. “This guy swims…” he shoved hard with his foot. There was a yelp and a splash. “…and we take the gangplank like decent folk. That’s why you shouldn’t rely on adventurers.”
“What makes you think he was an adventurer?”
“Only adventurer assassins do the whole black leather, straps, studs and daggers look. That and delivering one liners when they should be stabbin’ things.”
“You do that all the time,” Durham said.
“No lad. I’m a Dungeoneer. Stab first, THEN deliver the one-liner. Rule Twelve.”
***
“So,” Durham said. “The Knearaoh paid Frothnozzle to build a training facility disguised as a dungeon in order to create an adventurer army to take over the rest of Karsin?”
The path from the wharf was wide and paved with white stone. It ran along one side of the pyramid looming over them, lit by flickering torches as it wound its way through broken walls and pillars draped in greenery studded with flowers. A park-style ruin built as part of the attraction’s decor. They moved with the dispersing party-goers, among drifting knots of people, chattered conversations and laughter. A crouching rabbit statue marked an intersection and the knots began breaking into pairs and trios.
“That doesn’t explain how the djinn lamp fits in,” Mungo said.
“Maybe it doesn’t,” Durham said. “We don’t even know that it’s here. It might not have anything to do with this.”
“Or,” Thud said. “It might have almost everything to do with this. Healing potions? A dungeon that somehow repopulates itself every few minutes? Not so sure about the rest of your theory though. Training an army of adventurers ain’t the same as actually having an army of adventurers. They’re not going to just form up and march for you because you asked nice and gave ‘em a good time. Rabbit-head flaunts a lot of gold but if he had enough to pay an adventurer army he’d have enough to buy the kingdom outright.”
“Nor does it explain Frothnozzle,” Mungo said. “He works for an outcome, not for money. Nor does he scheme to put someone other than himself in power.”
“What about the gnome?”
“Givup Notachance?” Mungo asked. “That might not be her real name. Nothing she said to me made any sense and then she helped us escape which also doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does if she has an agenda that’s different,” Durham said. “One where we’re more useful alive. Oof.”
This last was said due to his having run into the back of Thud, who had stopped and was staring up at the pyramid.
“Something look off about that pyramid to you?” the dwarf asked.
Mungo and Durham squinted up at it. It gleamed in the darkness, sides smooth and white, cap glittering gold.
“What am I looking for?” the human asked.
“That ain’t stone or I ain’t a dwarf,” Thud said. “And I’m thinking I’m still a dwarf based on what you just ran into me with. That pyramid is made o’ painted wood.”
“That probably made it easier and cheaper to build. Stage-dressing inside and out.” Durham was silent for a few seconds. He cast a sidelong glance at Mungo. “I have some other questions, though.”
There was a note of caution in his voice and Mungo felt a wash of nerves. Here it came.
“Frothnozzle mentioned something about you working in the mailroom.”
“Undercover,” Mungo said. “You wouldn’t believe how much intelligence flows through the Gnome Intelligence Agency mailroom. I was…”
“Unbelievable is right,” Durham said. “You’re saying the Agency had you spying on itself?”
Thud and Durham both had their arms crossed. Thud had the frown of a dwarf prepared to be disappointed. Mungo had to look away.
“I learned a lot,” he said. “Being around spies all day, delivering their mail. Field self-education, you could say.”
“Not quite the phrase I’d choose.” Thud’s words came out ringed by cigar smoke.
“You’re not delivering anyone’s mail that I’ve ever noticed,” Durham said. “Do you even work for the G.I.A. anymore?”
“I’m what you would call an independent opportunistic freelance operative…”
“…which is about a dozen syllables longer than ‘no’ needed to be,” Thud said. “I’m still puffin’ whiskers over you being a spy in the first place and now turns out that was just doublin’ down on the lie.”
“They didn’t want me,” Mungo said. His gaze was focused on an orange ant making its way along the cobblestone cracks. “They said I wasn’t good enough. They put me in the mailroom as a joke.” The memory flared the old spark of anger. It gave him enough nerve to look up again. “I was angry and hurt. I determined I’d show them my spying skills by learning all of their secrets. They’d either be amazed and accept me or I’d find something on them that would leverage me in. What I found was the layered onion of Frothnozzle’s treason and corruption. He thought himself safe. He had his hooks throughout the G.I.A.”
One of Thud’s eyebrows was still furrowed in a glare but the other had started to curl with a hint of intrigue.
“So I went outside the agency with my evidence. I went straight to the top and presented my evidence in the court of the gnome parliament. There was a huge scandal. The agency was disbanded and Frothnozzle fled. They were going to banish him anyway as punishment so as far as the parliament was concerned everything had worked out just fine. I knew out of sight is not the equivalent of out of action. So I declared myself the new G.I.A. and vowed to pursue Frothnozzle and put a stop to whatever he was up to once I found him.”
“Who was your gnomatic tube message from?” Durham asked.
“Wallace,” Mungo answered. “He was the other clerk in the mailroom. Now he’s my handler and the intelligence analyst. Well, he’s the entire rest of the current Agency, really, apart from the field agents so deep undercover that they haven’t found out about the personnel changes yet. That was the reason I was trying to recruit you. I was hoping to expand.” He looked back to Thud, opened his mouth to try and apologize some more but enough of his thought processes thought better of it to snap his mouth back shut.
“I get it,” Thud said. “You wanted to be something and there was an obstacle. So you found a way around it and achieved your goal. You set yourself a new goal and joined up with us as a means to that end. And now here we are, standing at the foot of your archnemesis’ masterpiece.” He waved his hand at the pyramid above. “I get the whole progression of things that led you here and it don’t matter that we’re just a chapter. I understand you were joining us as a spy so you kept your secrets. I get all of that. Don’t mean I like it.” He flicked his cigar butt in the direction of the pyramid. “We’re going into that thing tomorrow and we’re going to try to sort out what it’s up to. You’re going to
be part of that because I need my engineer. After that we can have a talk about your future with the team. Assuming we come out in one piece. Or in pieces where one of ‘em is large enough to still be talking.”
Chapter Eight
Dawn in the lands of Karsin was marked by the priesthood ascending to the tops of their towers and banging very large gongs. It was the ritual to greet Messahn, god of the sun, a bird-headed Knearaoh that was three kingdoms over from Khomen-Te. He wasn’t considered a serious contender for power in Karsin due to the time required of him by his day-job.
The towers were scattered across the cities of each kingdom, each tuned differently and each seeing the rim of the sun edge over the desert at different moments. Together they rang out the song of Messahn. Or at least the song that Messahn had desired to be his morning alarm.
Durham appreciated none of this as he jerked upright in his hammock and banged his forehead on the bottom of the wagon. He lay back, rubbed his head and made a mental note to string his hammock lower or to start wearing his helmet to bed. Then he wondered why there were gong noises ringing in his ears.
Gammi already had breakfast hot in the pot and Durham was soon situated on a stool with a trencher of mashed beans and sausage alongside a mug of coffee. Voices were hushed. There was a dungeon in the immediate future and a mood of seriousness lay over the morning. Thud emerged from his wagon midway through breakfast. He was wearing what Durham thought of as his work clothes. Leather and metal-rings had replaced his vest and coat and there was a chainmail-coif beneath his top hat. He had a mace slung on his belt and a pack on his back.
He stepped up next to the cook pot. It was the traditional location to address the team from. Everyone habitually arrayed themselves around it at mealtime on the chance that someone would turn them into an audience.
“Showtime is in half an hour,” he said. “Keezix and Gong have been up half the night with the map, planning out some tactics.”
Keezix stepped up to one side of Thud. Her mustache ends were tied back. Gong stepped up and filled in all the other sides of Thud.
“This ‘dungeon’ has a set of rules that comes with it,” Thud continued. “Most notable is that we’re allowed personal kit only. We can’t take the ballista. Or the barrels. Or the chickens. Unless you want to stuff one in your pack. Chosen not to, meself. We’re limited to a team of six, at least on the inside. In addition to the three of us, Mungo will be on traps on account of being the patron on this job. Leery will represent acquisitions as our fifth member. Number six is Durham.”
Durham swallowed a bean wrong and coughed.
“Mungo says you’re his sidekick on this job,” Thud said. “Everyone going needs to check in with Keezix for special load-outs for your packs. Now, we had Grott watching and timing runs yesterday and it looks like most groups move through the entire place in an hour. We’ll have a secondary team positioned outside the pyramid. If we don’t come out within two hours they’re going to blow a hole in the side and go in hot. If you have any questions find Keezix instead of me. I’ll be busy having breakfast and she’s the one running point for this job.”
The special load-out for Durham’s pack turned out to be several pieces of lumber that he had to squeeze in around the iron spikes, rope, chalk, mirrors, lanterns and towels that the pack came pre-loaded with. At least they weren’t distance-hiking, he thought, as if that might be somehow be a less desirable future than crawling through a dungeon. Thud, Keezix and Gong were sitting with their coffee and beans as if it were any other morning. Mungo was tinkering with the pile of spare parts he had squirreled away in his own pack and Leery was doing stretches. She was the only one that seemed to be taking any preparation that wasn’t part of her usual morning routine. Durham passed on a second plate of bean-mash out of concern that he’d just throw it up later. The stress of impending dungeon exploration always gave him tummy troubles.
Thirty minutes later and they were in the line, the morning sun now high enough to get a start on burning the day. Metal armor and weapons began to heat and leather to warm. They were in line behind a group of pale elves in silvery armor. Durham could almost see the sunburn occurring before his eyes. Behind them was a group that included a fur-clad half-giant from The Reach and both he and his fur started exuding odors that grew with the heat. Next to the giant was a man with half of a sword welded to either side of his helmet, making it look like he’d been impaled through the cranium. Sweat trickled from under his helmet and spattered the dirt as it dripped off his beard.
The face of the pyramid ahead reflected the sun and Durham had to squint to look at it. The pyramid didn’t seem very big until you were standing at the foot of it, at which point the scale of the thing registered as enormous. It replaced the horizon and the sky and made the fountains before it ripple with light.
At the head of the line stood a woman dressed up in traditional Karsinian garb, all flowing white robes with dangling jewels and heavy eye-liner. She had a papyrus umbrella to protect her from the sun and stood next to a stone chest with a slot in the top to collect entry-tickets. Behind her was a gated wall covered in gnostiglyphics and murals.
The elves were ushered through the tall gate. It clanged shut behind them.
Thud stepped forward and tipped his top-hat. “The Dungeoneers, ma’am.”
“You’ve read the rules?” she asked. She frowned at the lumber sticking out of everyone’s backpack.
“Aye,” Thud said. “The lumber is crafting materials. They’re allowed.”
She shrugged. “Six tickets each, go through this gate and wait for the next gate to open.”
Thud dropped a wad of tickets in her hand and went through, leaving her to count them and put them in the slot. Durham followed him through the gate into a waiting area. It was fenced on three sides, the fourth side being a heavy-bricked stone wall with a wooden gate set in it. The gate was colored with bright designs over which ‘THE MAZERYNTH’ had been painted in fancy letters.
They had a five minute wait before the gate was due to open. Thud leaned against the fence and focused on making progress on his cigar. Gong and Keezix extended the supports on their tower shields and sat in their shade, sharpening axes and passing a waterskin back and forth. Leery was nearby doing stretches, her joints sounding like popcorn. She had a grappling hook on her waist and a crossbow slung on her back.
Durham had a mace on one hip and an ax on the other, both of which he’d grabbed from the box on the smithy wagon. He had no pretension of using the pair simultaneously but felt that the selection offered some versatility. Some things needed bashed more than hacked.
The gate swung open.
***
The plaza beyond lay before a pair of thirty foot rabbit-headed statues that flanked a rectangular building set into the side of the pyramid. They stepped through and the gate swung shut behind them. Durham imagined Swordhead was depositing his tickets now and stepping into the waiting area.
“Your show, Keezix,” Thud said. Gong gave her an encouraging nod.
“First room should be straightforward,” she said. “Let’s head in.”
The interior of the antechamber was sandstone, glowing gold in the torchlight. The air was stuffy with heat. Thick red pillars supported a vaulted ceiling. The center of the room was occupied by a massive statue of a lion with a human head. It wore a Karsinian headdress as if that was a normal thing to do when it was the only place human clothing would fit. Beyond it was a stone slab of a door that blocked entry to the pyramid. The statue was far bigger than either of the doors. Durham wondered if they’d built the room around it.
“The Sphincts,” Keezix whispered.
“What an odd name,” Durham whispered back.
“Seems it has a very complicated digestive process.”
“It’s alive? Do we have to fight it?” Durham asked. The human head seemed an upside in that regard. The teeth weren’t nearly as pokey. The thing’s claws, however, looked to be as long as baguettes.
“It’s going to ask us a riddle,” Keezix said, as if the Sphincts hadn’t said anything.
“Oh?” asked the Sphincts. It looked pointedly at the map clutched in her hand. “However would you guess something like that would happen?”
Keezix took a step forward and met its glare. “Got all your riddles and their answers right here.”
“Not all,” the Sphincts said. “There’s a list there because I come up with a new one every time they add an old one.”
“You ain’t running short on riddles yet?”
“No, I am a master of labyrinthine wit and…”
“What’s invisible and smells like a garden?”
“Sorry?”
“Elf farts. There’s a new one for you.”
“That’s not quite…”
“What’s purple and smells like an orc?”
“I don’t…”
“A purple orc.”
“That’s…”
“How many elephants can you fit in a spike trap?”
“Enough!” the Sphincts roared. Well, a roar if it had a lion head. The human voice just made it sound grumpy. “I’m supposed to ask you a riddle, not the other way around.”
“Fine,” Keezix said. “Let’s hear it.”
The Sphincts glared for a few seconds longer to see if anyone else had anything they wanted to say then made a great show of clearing its throat. “What walks on four legs in the morning, two by day and three in the evening?”
“A person getting old,” Keezix said. “That one’s on the list.” She pointed.
“Ah, is it?” The Sphincts frowned. “A box without hinges, key or lid…”
“Egg,” Keezix said. “That one’s on here too.”
There was a growl deep in the Sphinct’s throat. “What have I got in my pockets? Bet that’s not on your list.”
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