“At least let me have my instrument.”
“Why, so you can work some magic maybe? Do a disappearing act? Huh-uh, kid, not a chance. This is my roll and I’m playing it for all it’s worth. I’m keeping these dice unless fate jerks them out of my hands. I’m going for the whole ball of wax this time, and I don’t need any wise punks from back home trying to muscle in on my territory. Tell you what I will do, though. I’ll tell Prugg to go easy on you. Maybe he won’t kill you. Maybe.” Then he was looking toward the door as though Jon-Tom had ceased to exist as a human being.
“Hey, Thornrack! Get in here.”
The jaguar who had conveyed Jon-Tom from the cell appeared. “Yes, Master?”
“Take this punk back downstairs and toss him in with his friends, but don’t hurt him. I want him in one piece for later.”
“Yes, Master.” Thornrack entered the room and put a powerful paw on Jon-Tom’s shoulder. “Let’s go, man.”
Markus’s jeering followed Jon-Tom as he was led from the chamber. “What’s wrong, kid? No snide remarks? No snappy comeback? I thought your kind had an answer for everything. Don’t you? Don’t you!”
The door slammed tight behind them, but as they rejoined the waiting escort and started out of the tower, Jon-Tom thought he could still hear Markus the Ineluctable ranting and raving furiously behind him.
He wasn’t feeling very optimistic as they led him back down into the bowels of the Quorumate, down below the water line and into the dungeons again. Somehow he had to regain possession of his duar. The only way to unseat the two-bit dictator that Markle Kratzmeier had turned into was with magic.
Certainly without the duar he wouldn’t stand a chance against the bear-mountain named Prugg.
“Open it up,” the jaguar said to the javelina turnkey. Jon-Tom saw his companions lined up against the bars. Clearly they read the expression on his face, because there was no cheering. Only Oplode eyed him with something approaching interest as the grille was opened and he was shoved unceremoniously inside. The grate closed with a metallic clang which echoed through the darkness.
Guards and turnkey retreated up the stairs, chatting conversationally. As soon as they were gone, the otters crowded around him.
“Well, mate, ’ow’d it go?”
“What did you learn?” Oplode asked curiously.
“He’s from my world, all right, but I resent having to admit it. I didn’t actually see him work any magic, but I don’t doubt that he can. His living quarters were full of evidence.”
“He proved his abilities to me in person,” Oplode said softly.
“Well, wot do ’e want?” Mudge asked.
“The same thing every other tin-pot would-be emperor wants: everything. He’s a dangerous, homicidal, frightened, thoroughgoing bastard, and that’s giving him the benefit of the doubt. Oh, he did make one show of magnanimity. He said that if I could outfight his bodyguard, I might get my duar back.”
“Prugg.” Domurmur nodded knowingly. “I like you, man, but I’d put my wagering money on your opponent.”
“So would I,” said Jon-Tom grimly. “I’ve got about as much chance of beating him as I do of getting Thornrack to let us escape. Less, probably.” He glanced down at Mudge. “Remember the bouncer at Madame Lorsha’s in Timswitty? This one makes him look like a cub.”
Mudge’s whiskers twitched. “That don’t sound none too promisin’, mate.”
“It isn’t.” He paused. Something had been troubling him since he’d reentered the cell, but he’d been too busy telling of his meeting with Markus to focus on it. Now he did, and it gave him a start. “Hey, I think I can feel a—”
Three pairs of furry paws slapped over his mouth and most of the rest of his face, muffling him completely. Memaw stepped close, put her Fingers to her lips. Jon-Tom nodded slowly and the paws were withdrawn.
Taking his hand in her paw, she quietly drew him toward the darkest corner of the cell. The rest of the otters moved aside to let them through. There was a small twist and bend in the far corner where the cell curved around to follow the contours of the outer wall. It was there that Jon-Tom saw the source of the thing that had bothered him since he’d rejoined his companions.
A steady breeze.
It rose from a section of floor where the paving had been removed. The hole was rapidly being enlarged by the otters’ best diggers. A pile of cracked and broken rock was stacked neatly against the far wall. Memaw pointed at it.
“Rotten, from age and the dampness. Quorly smelled the air coming in and we traced it back here to the floor. We managed to break the old stones away.” She leaned forward and whispered anxiously. “How is it coming, my friends?”
Knorckle looked up at them. His face was smeared with wet dirt and pulverized rock. “There’s somethin’ else down ’ere, all right, mum. It ain’t solid and it ain’t water.”
“Don’t smell none too good,” opined Mudge. He’d moved up to stand next to Jon-Tom, who reflected on the fact that the otter’s shifts in mood were as fast as his fingers. “But ’tis air. Where’s she comin’ from?” He leaned over and tried to see into the hole. Flying paws and dirt made it difficult.
“Maybe a way out,” murmured Memaw, hardly daring to hope.
Selryndi had walked over to watch. The squirrel drew his tattered cloak tightly around him, sniffed. “Can’t be. This is the lowest level of the Quorumate.”
“Not necessarily, my friends.” Those who weren’t digging turned to look at Oplode, whose expression for the first time reflected his nickname. That in itself gave Jon-Tom cause to hope. “There are … stories.” His wise, shining eyes roved over the ancient masonry. “The Quorumate Complex is the largest structure in Quasequa, and the oldest. It is said that as it was built, the Lake of Sorrowful Pearls rose around it, so that the dungeon we are now imprisoned in once stood above the water line.
“It is, therefore, not inconceivable that there could be still older levels farther below.”
The digging crews worked in relays while the rest kept a careful watch on the stairway. Their energy and determination was wondrous to behold, except when someone got in someone else’s way. Then Memaw would have to step in and break up the fight. These were always brief and harmless, but they cost precious minutes. There was no telling when the turnkey or Thornrack might return and decide to make a cursory inspection of their cell.
Jon-Tom didn’t much care what lay below the broken, sodden stones. Anything would be better than having to face Markus’s bodyguard in combat. “She’s wide enough now.” Frangel wiped his paws on his shorts. “Who’s first down the bung-’ole?”
“I’ll go,” said Memaw. Sasswise pushed her aside.
“No you don’t, mum. Beauty before brains.”
“That’s what I said, my dear,” countered Memaw, shoving back.
While the two of them argued, Flutzasarangelik (but you can call him Flutz) jumped between them and disappeared through the gap in the floor. The soft thump of his landing was heard clearly by those waiting anxiously above.
“It’s not too bad,” he whispered up at them. “I’m in some kind of tunnel. There’s a little water runnin’ along the bottom, and I can ’ear it drippin’ down the walls in a couple o’ places, but she seems solid enough.”
“How big is it?” Memaw called to him.
“Not very. Old drainage tunnel, I thinks. I ’ave to bend to clear the ceiling.”
Jon-Tom went cold. He’d always been a little claustrophobic and had trouble enough in local buildings with low ceilings. If Flutz had to bend, that meant he’d have to go on hands and knees, or crab-walk. This through a narrow tunnel full of water, below the level of the lake beyond, toward an unknown destination.
And the tunnel might get smaller as they went, closing in around them tighter and tighter, pressing against his sides as well as his legs until…
A hand nudged him. “Hey, mate, are you all right?” There was genuine concern on Mudge’s face. “
�
��You look a mite green.”
Jon-Tom took several long, measured breaths. “I’m okay. Let’s go.”
Quorly followed Flutz, then Sasswise, then Frangel. Selryndi was next in line and pulled up short, eyeing the dark hole uneasily.
“Let’s not be hasty. We don’t know what’s down there.”
“But we do know what is up here,” said Oplode, stepping around him. The salamander’s tail twitched as he spoke. “Slow starvation and continued humiliation, or worse.”
“Easy for you to say, wizard. You are as much at home underwater as a fish.” He gestured at the otters. “To a certain extent, so are these industrious visitors. But the rest of us are strictly dry-land air-breathers. What if the water should rise to the ceiling?”
“What if the sun should fail to rise tomorrow?” said Oplode. “Remain here if you wish, and give our apologies to Markus the Ineluctable. The rest of us have an appointment with freedom.” He turned and plunged through the opening, displaying an agility that belied his age.
Old Trendavi followed him, the pangolin’s scales barely clearing the gap. The rest of the Quorum followed until only Selryndi remained.
Jon-Tom dropped through the hole and looked up at him. “I’m as much of a drylander as you are, Selryndi. If I can stand it, so can you.”
The squirrel stood staring down at the tall young human. Then he muttered something under his breath, tucked his tail up against his back, and jumped. The rest of the otters brought up the rear. They took care to replace the floor as best they could. Any delay in discovering the hole would help to confuse pursuers.
Once the gap had been reseated, it was pitch-black inside the tunnel. Jon-Tom found he could still walk so long as he kept bent double. It hurt his back, but it was better than trying to crawl through the shallow, cold water that ran along the bottom of the tunnel. Still, he kept knocking his head against the ceiling, which fortunately had been worn smooth over the years.
It was anything but a pleasant hike. He kept bumping into furry bodies ahead and others stumbled into him from behind. Their only link and only guides were touch, smell, and anxious whispers.
They walked for what seemed like miles in the darkness before Frangel’s voice echoed down the tunnel. “There’s a branching up ’ere. Which way?”
“From which direction does the air flow most strongly?” Memaw inquired.
“From the left, mum, but the ceiling there is a bit lower.” Jon-Tom cursed softly.
“Ignore it, mate,” said Mudge from just in front of him. “You can ’andle it.”
“I’ll have to. If I go back to that cell, I’ll have to go two falls out of three with a two-ton rug.”
“Move on!” Mudge shouted toward the front of the line. “We’re all okay back ’ere.”
They pushed ahead until Frangel called another halt. “There’s water comin’ in ’ere pretty good.”
The line shuffled slightly and Jon-Tom could hear the otters scratching around.
“Stone’s loose,” Memaw announced evenly. “We could probably break through. If the lake didn’t come in too fast we could get out this way.”
“Maybe you could,” said Selryndi, “but what about the rest of us? We don’t know how long we’d have to hold our breath.”
“Is not the chance of freedom better than the sure death that awaits us all back in our prison?” Oplode asked him.
“Easy for you to say, gill-wizard.”
“Memaw,” Jon-Tom broke in, “does the tunnel go on?”
“Yes.”
“Then I think we should keep going. Maybe we’ll find a better place. If not, we can still come back and try to break through here.”
“My thoughts are the same, young man,” she replied. “We are not abandoning anyone.” A chorus of ayes rose from the rest of the otters and the line started forward once again.
As he stumbled past the place Frangel had found, cold water spurted over Jon-Tom’s legs. The lake lay just beyond that feeble wall, ready to break in at any moment. If it gave way while they were further up the tunnel…
He forced himself to concentrate on the path ahead.
They seemed to be walking in a wide curve back toward the left, though the darkness had him completely disoriented. It didn’t seem to bother the otters, though. He wondered if they would eventually arrive back at their starting point beneath the cell. Better the lake should break in.
Then Frangel’s voice from up ahead, “It’s opening up!”
Moments later they emerged from the tunnel into a vast open bowl. Jon-Tom’s back protested as he straightened up. At first the big chamber seemed as dark as the tunnel, but as his eyes adjusted he found he was just able to make out dim outlines in the darkness.
The source of illumination was weak with distance: a tiny circle of light far above them.
“A well o’ some kind,” Quorly suggested, “inside the bloomin’ Quorumate. That sound familiar to any o’ you blokes?”
The Quorum members put their heads together and considered. None of them had taken much of an interest in the architecture of the rambling collection of structures they ruled from. Only Oplode had any ideas.
“In less civilized times condemned criminals were rumored to have been thrown into such pits. It may be that this is such a place, long abandoned and only recently rediscovered.”
“Damn!” Mudge shouted abruptly.
“What is it, what’s wrong?” Jon-Tom asked him.
“Tripped over somethin’, mate.” He fumbled a bit in the darkness, lifted something for all of them to feel. Jon-Tom identified it immediately. It was a primate skull.
Oplode took it from Mudge and they could see his hands moving over the bone. “Cracked when the owner was thrown from above,” he announced. Eyes immediately went to that distant circle of light.
It was quiet for a moment. Then Sasswise said, “Come on then, you lazy lot. Let’s see ‘ow big this ‘ole is. Maybe there’s another way in.”
Everyone fanned out and began feeling along the wall. Climbing was out of the question, even for the agile otters. The damp stones arched to form a dome overhead. Only Oplode might have been able to manage it, in his younger days. Now he did not have the strength to cling to such a slick overhang.
“Got an idea,” said Mudge. “Let’s make a pyramid.”
The otters discussed the proposal briefly, then settled themselves in the center of the chamber and proceeded to put on an astonishing display of acrobatics. They managed to stack themselves four high, but Splitch was still yards shy of the point where the vertical shaft of the well broadened out to form the curved ceiling.
The pyramid was collapsed and the otters brushed themselves off. “Wouldn’t ’ave mattered if I could’ve reached the bottom,” Splitch told them. “The shaft’s as slick as a snowslide, and there ain’t a ’and’old in sight. She’s too wide to bridge.” She eyed Jon-Tom thoughtfully. “You’re long enough to do it, Jonny-Tom, but we’ve no way to get you up there.”
“We had best find some way out,” said Oplode. “This skull is fresh.” Everyone shuffled about uneasily.
“Doesn’t mean a lot,” said Domurmur. “One of Markus’s latest victims, no doubt.”
“No doubt,” agreed Oplode readily. “The question is, if the victim is a recent one, who or what has so efficiently removed the flesh from the bone?” Faint light glinted off his bulging eyes as he searched the darkness.
“If I only had my duar,” Jon-Tom was muttering. “I might be able to sing up a ladder or rope or something. If only we—”
He was interrupted by noise from above. Voices, and the blare of ceremonial trumpets.
“Everyone, get back from the opening and keep quiet!” Oplode ordered them. They spread out quickly.
Sounds of a scuffle overhead, another blare of trumpets, and then a horrible high-pitched scream that increased rapidly in volume. It stopped abruptly when something struck the stone floor with a wet, sickening thud. The object bounced once and then la
y still.
The sounds from above went away. Jon-Tom leaned cautiously into the light and saw nothing. Slowly, the refugees gathered around the thing that had been thrown down the well.
It was a small macaque, no more than four feet tall. A torn white lace ruffle ringed the neck above a green-and-blue jersey which was tucked into dark green shorts of bright snakeskin. Gold embroidery decorated the sleeves, and a belt of thin gold links circled the narrow waist.
The neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. One arm lay bent straight up behind the spine. Open eyes stared toward the well.
“Died instantly,” commented Oplode softly. “Neck broke when he hit. Poor fellow.” Cascuyom pushed his way to the fore. “I know him. That is the honorable Jestutia.”
“Yes, I know him also.” Selryndi bent over the body. “One of our most respected citizens.” He glanced up toward the top of the shaft. “Markus must be feeling very confident, to begin murdering such prominent individuals.”
“Quiet, be quiet!” That was Mudge, snapping at them from somewhere far off to the left.
“Listen, otter, one of our colleagues and friends has just been foully slain, and I see no reason to—”
“Shut up, nut-eater, or I’ll stuff that tail of yours down your throat.” His voice dropped an octave. “There’s somethin’ else in ’ere with us.”
A chill raced down Jon-Tom’s back. Something had removed the meat from that first skull. “Mudge, we checked out…”
“There’s another tunnel over ’ere, mates. A big one. And there’s somethin’ in it, and I think ’tis startin’ to move.”
“You are trying to frighten us,” Selryndi said nervously.
“Oh, why sure, now, that’s it, guv’nor,” said Mudge sarcastically. “I’ve got nothin’ better to do than make up scary stories, right?” He rejoined them and put a hand on the squirrel’s back. “’Ow about you go and ’ave a looksee over there, guv, and prove me out to be the liar you say I am.” Selryndi’s feet dug into the floor.
The Moment of the Magician: A Spellsinger Adventure (Book Four) Page 24
