What’s a Natural Twenty? I thought, remembering to not talk to imaginary voices out loud this time.
Any answer to this was interrupted by two women fleeing in through the kitchen door, one in a familiar green dress, the other in flaming bronze. Actually flaming, as in, on fire. She twisted and swatted at a sooty darting shadow that hissed and clung to her corset.
“Get it off me! Get it off me!”
The lady in green swiped at it with a silver fork, heedless of the venomous mandibles, but was thwarted by the thing’s agility and her unwillingness to stab the other woman. Behind them the much abused door swung shut with a thump, dislodging a hefty puff of flour dust. The cloud of flammable particles rained down between them and was promptly set alight by the still smoldering bug.
The explosion went woosh! with red tinged flames, hot and brief, singing silks and engulfing the ladies torsos. I grabbed the bucket next to the sink, stepped forward, and heaved the slopping water over them in a wave of dishwater.
I almost took the time to breathe a sigh of relief when the centipede reemerged from behind the bronze ladies corset, perversely having evaded the dousing, and still alight. I saw it coil, then rear back, its mandibles aimed at her throat.
Oh no you don’t. I jumped forward, weaponless, and grabbed the blazing bug off her chest with both hands, searing the skin on my palms.
[-2 Hit Points: Fire damage]
[Hit points: 5/8]
It writhed, trying to bite me, but I held on, gritting my teeth against the pain, and threw it down into the spreading puddle at our feet. Bronze Lady, the expression on her face an equal mixture of fury and loathing, daintily picked up her skirt and impaled the smoking creature with an authoritative stomp of her six inch spiked heel.
[Bugs in the Basement: Quest update!]
[Exterminate the centipedes: 5/5]
We stood there for a moment, alternatively scorched, smoking, or dripping. Behind the ladies the door opened to emit a striding Ishàmae, who surveyed the scene with his hands on his hips, and then announced “Your cabinet is safe, Madame, yes, everyone is outside, awaiting transportation. And you, Madame, my lady, are you injured?”
The senator pulled a long, dishwater soaked potato peel from her hair, and then gently felt her raw, pink face. “I will be fine.” she announced. “My dear..?”
Bronze Lady gave up trying to disentangle the dead centipede from her heel. She looked down at me, then at the remains of the centipede, and her long fingers went to her throat, unawares. “Yes.” she replied, still looking at me. “Thank you.”
Isha gave his kitchen, and us, one last appraising glance, and then gently herded the ladies out the back door. “This way, yes, I shall call you a palanquin and you may stand here out of the rain. Or, yes, also you may stand in the rain, of course, no doubt it does feel refreshing. Not-to-worry, Madame, I am sure your eyebrows will come back eventually…”
I supposed I should leave. Normally I like the rain, but tonight I didn’t really feel like wandering around in it, aimlessly, in a city I didn’t know at all. I looked up at Marrisa, who was descending the step stool with great care. “Can I help clean up?” I asked.
Marrisa gave me a look that couldn’t have been more surprised if I had morphed into a tap dancing unicorn. “You want to what?” Her voice held equal parts astonishment and gratitude.
I looked at the floor and tried to stuff my hands into my pockets before remembering that that was a bad idea. I shrugged instead. “It’s not like I have somewhere to go.”
Marrisa made me stand still while she washed and wrapped my hands, over my objections that I could do it myself, and even gave Sarah a significant glance when her daughter made some snarky comment about how now that the adventure was over, wasn’t I going to be leaving?
It took us until after midnight to clean everything up. Finally the last broken plate was swept away, the last mucky puddle mopped, and the last burnt bug disposed of. Marrisa and Sarah left for home, bundled in waxed raincoats against the night. With a great sigh, Isha unstacked one of the chairs, and set it in the middle of the dining room, and poured himself a cup of the last unspilt Espirit de Feu, topped with a slightly smashed cherry and drizzled with what was almost certainly syrup of cacao. I perched on one of the trampled but unbroken greenery pots opposite him, bolting down some of the leftover lobster bisque. Feeling was returning to my left hand, in pins and needles, but I could move it again.
[Food bestowed: 2 Hit Points]
[Hit Points: 7/8]
Ishàmae waved the tiny cup of liquor at me invitingly, but I declined. We stared meditatively at the scorch marks on the ceiling.
“I think,” he said after a moment, “that one looks like a dwarf doing a cartwheel.”
I squinted up at it. Could be a dwarf. “Maybe one that’s been hit by lightning?”
Isha snorted amusement. “And there, yes, that one is Startled Cat, and this one, perhaps, Poached Egg Surprise.”
I cocked my head. Poached Egg Surprise eluded me.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“Flowers.” I replied, without thinking. “Barrel cacti blooms, in the full moon, outlined by their own shadows. And see, the scrape marks next to it could be the thorns…”
“Hmm.” He swirled the last of the liquor in his cup. “Do you always see beauty in destruction?”
I caught my breath at this, though his tone had only been inquirious, not accusatory.
“So.” he finally said. “What happened?”
I related the story of my adventure in the basement, and the discovery of not one, but five centipedes, and my suspicion that they had chewed through the wood to gain dining room access. I even confessed to breaking open his trunk of goodies, at which he actually laughed out loud.
“That old thing?” He waved his empty tiny cup around. “I don’t even remember where I lost the key. If it pleases you, it is yours, with my apologies for the multiplication of myriapoda. I cannot pay you for all five with gold, just now.” He scowled at the charred dining room.
“Even these amazing boots?”
“Especially those accursed boots.” His scowl turned thoughtful again. “I have never met anyone nimble enough to wear them, actually.”
I looked down at my newly shod feet, pleased. And then out at the still raining night. I managed not to sigh, but Isha must have read something in my face.
“If you would like,” he began, and then tossed back the dregs of the tiny cup, before remembering it was empty. He scowled at it, and began again. “If it pleases you, you are welcome to stay here. As long as you like. Though I have no proper accommodations to offer you.”
“Even after I set your restaurant on fire?” I asked, grateful and disbelieving.
Ishàmae shrugged. “If you had not acted as swiftly and tenaciously as you had, I would have had more than a fire in La Baleine. It would have been a tragedy. I saw you take that, that thing in your bare hands… And now no one is dead, many-thanks-to-you.”
“Wouldn’t a bunch of rich politicians have good insurance policies? So they can get resurrected?”
“I am sure they do. Resurrection, however…” He stared deeply into the tiny, empty cup. “...is never a thing that is guaranteed. No matter how the priests pray or what incense they burn, sometimes people just do not come back.”
Voice? I thought. Is that true?
“If you don’t mind, can I use the room in your basement?”
Ishàmae gave me a querying look.
“I’ll double check, make sure there are no more eggs. You know. Make sure your wine cellar is clean. In exchange for the room.”
“Very well then. I will find you a key tomorrow.” He waved his hand, expansively. “Welcome aboard, Samiel.”
Chapter Four
I was too tired to bother cleaning or arranging the room, so I just tipped one of the tall, overstuffed chairs to lean at an angle agains
t the dusty hassock and curled up in the crook made by the seat cushion and the back. The chair was sized for a human, and for me made the biggest, softest bed I had ever slept in. “No proper accommodations”, indeed. Isha must be as snobbish about his hospitality as he was about his food.
“So.” I addressed Voice, now that there was no one to overhear. “What was this thing earlier? That killed the centipede?”
“No, the natural thing. A Natural Dozen.”
Voice corrected me.
“So you play dice with my life?” I asked, wryly. “What are you, some kind of god?”
“Virtual dice.” I said, starting to get sleepy. “Sure.”
Voice took on a lecturing tone.
I drifted off to sleep while Voice went on about dice systems and probability curves and the difference between natural and modified numbers, of interest, as far as I could tell, only to gamblers and madmen. So which am I?
I dreamed. I dreamed of rolling dice, yellow and red and black, and on fire. They rolled out of the fire, and chased me around the room, but I couldn’t move for the bronze corset I wore, too big for me. Must go faster. I dreamed of boots that jumped to the moon, and me with them. But the moon rolled too, rolled like a boulder down stone basement hallways, smashing open wooden doors and iron bound chests, chasing Ramsey and I. Noob! It taunted us, noob! then shattered when I struck it with a steel dagger. Little moon fragments, faceted dice, rolling around and came up five. Clusters of five, round white leather shelled dice, like eggs, hatching gusts of flame with stitching clicks.
…clickityclickityclickity…
And I awoke in the pale, grimy dawnlight, drenched in sweat, with one thought ringing through my mind:
Where do clutches of little leathery eggs come from, anyway?
The answer pushed open my unlatched door and oozed into the room, flowing against the ceiling in total defiance of gravity. The bright yellow had gone the color of old resin, the blood red turned the shade of scabs, and the long black legs left splintered dents in the hard wood. Alien mandibles glistened at me from a head as big as my own.
[Bugs in the Basement: Quest update!]
[Optional objective: Kill the Queen]
I froze, barely breathing, trying to assess the situation.
[Rest bestowed: 1 Hit Point]
[Hit Points: 8/8]
Has it seen me yet? Or rather, felt? Moving nothing but my arm, I slowly reached up to the head of the overstuffed chair, where I had stashed my daggers, sticking out of the furniture like pins in a pincushion and within easy reach. My fingers brushed one of the hilts. Above me, the centipede queen continued her search, unhurriedly. I grasped the dagger, and as slowly as a sunset, pulled it out of its upholstered sheath.
[Stealth check: Success]
Thus armed, I reached for my second dagger. The giant bug’s waving feelers were directly above me, now. I dared not even blink.
The second dagger came loose, making the softest noise of steel on fabric. The antennae twirled, pointed at me. I weighed the advantages of hurling my daggers now, first, versus the disadvantages of doing so while still in my chair.
I very carefully positioned my feet so my heels had something to strike against, in case this didn’t work, when clumping sounds from the kitchen resonated through the ceiling. Isha, by the weight of the footsteps, starting the dough for the day.
The queen spun, her attention captured, and she shot off through my doorway and towards the thumping of kneading dough. She was nearly as fast as her hatchlings, though she had twenty times their bulk, and I glumly supposed that centipedes didn’t dump Strength either.
I kicked, rocketing off the back of my chair, and spun over in mid-air so that my feet hit the wall first, bouncing me forward and into the hallway without ever touching the floor of my room.
[Jump check: Success]
I landed on my toes, daggers in hand, and saw the queen making for the stairwell. In one smooth motion, I threw my dagger and hit the queen in the middle of her back, burying it deep in her segmented body. She fell from the ceiling, hissing and twisting, and landed right side up on the packed earth floor.
“Cummon.” I taunted her, dragging one toe in the dirt. “Pick on someone your own size.”
It might have worked, if at that moment Isha hadn’t opened the basement door.
“Oh good.” I heard him say. “The new key works.”
“No!” I yelled as the queen scurried up the stairs, clickityclickityclickity, taking my dagger with her. “Isha watch out!”
There was a yell from above as enraged centipede met astonished elf, followed by the swishing sounds of a rolling pin being swung through the air as an improvised club.
“Begone, beast!” he hollered.
swish!
“Get out of my kitchen!”
swish! swish!
I bounded forward, remembering not to let my boots bash my head into the ceiling, and then took the flight of stairs in a single leap.
“Unclean creature! Misbegotten spawn of sorcerers! Take your foul forcipules away from my sourdough this MOMENT!”
I emerged into the damp morning just in time to see a heavy marble rolling pin coming towards my head, level as a scythe, only deadlier. I ducked.
[Dodge check: Success]
“Samiel!” Isha addressed my flattened form. “You are not eaten!”
“Not yet.” I agreed, as the centipede recollected itself for another go. “Isha, get away!”
The bug came after me, and I skipped into the kitchen, grabbing a pot off the hanging collection.
“Here, buggy, buggy!” I banged the pot on the ground in front of me, trying to get the centipede’s attention away from Isha. “Come on, you!”
The creature turned, waving antennae along the floor, and arced around towards me again. I pulled out my second dagger.
Ishàmae, meanwhile, appraised the centipede’s path through his kitchen. I saw his eyes light up with an idea. Isha, what are you doing? Without moving his feet, the elf carefully reached out one long arm and used the handle of the rolling pin to poke at a pot of water just beginning to boil on the stove. It tipped over, splashing steam and scalding water over the centipede’s head.
The queen writhed and hissed. I jumped forward to take a stab at her, but she turned in a tight loop and fled out into the garden.
“She’s getting away!” I cried, going after her.
“Samiel, wait!”
I dared not stop. The queen was running for the far wall, and beyond that, into the peopled street just waking up for the day.
Out under the sky, I didn’t have to constrain my boots, and leapt across the yard in two great bounds. Weee! I though. Run away from me, will you? I have Talarian Boots! Indeed, the magic in the boots was the only thing that allowed me to catch up to the fleeing centipede. She went up and over the wall behind the compost heap, and I swung my arms, trying to aim my momentum, and managed to land right next to her.
[Jump check: Success]
Ha! I thought. Sting first! I swung my dagger down, hitting her in the side, and severing so
me of her legs. She snapped at me, and I twitched back, barely avoiding the envenomed pinchers. Unbalanced, I fell back, and she moved on, listing to the left but unslowed.
“I don’t know.” I growled. “But I’ve got to find some way to slow it down.” I hopped to my feet and ran after the queen. Out in the open, I was starting to get the knack for turning the propulsion of the Talarian Boots into forward momentum. The queen went around a corner, onto the much busier street fronting La Baleine. I rounded the corner too, just in time to see the centipede collide with one of the floating-chairs-on-strings contraptions I had seen the other day.
Voice identified for me.
Screams ensued form the busses only occupants, a teenaged human and her younger brother, both dressed in identical uniforms. The centipede was thrashing amongst the forward chairs. The older girl managed to hop off the bus, and then turned back to her sibling. “Bobby!” she cried, holding out her arms. “Jump!”
The younger boy carefully stood up on the floating chair, but was arrested by the sight of the queen as she darted underneath him. The driver sawed at the reigns of his boarox, trying to keep the beast from stampeding, cursing in dwarvish. The queen reared back, the front half of her body leaving the ground, as she sought the bare legs above her.
The floating chairs ruined any chance I had of a decent throw, so I did the only thing I could think of and jumped forward, tackling the queen as she went to strike. Faster than I could blink, the hissing queen hooked around and sunk her mandibles into my side, then snapped back, ripping out a chunk of my waist as she did so.
[-3 Hit Points: Slashing damage]
[Hit Points: 5/8]
Pain stabbed through my midsection, followed by a far more disturbing creeping numbness.
A Fist Full of Sand: A Book of Cerulea (Sam's Song 1) Page 8
