Keen interrupted Voice’s nervous babbling by thrusting me forward at the desk, which had an elaborate and stylized CLC logo inlaid into the wood. “We are here,” he announced, “for an insurance policy.”
The receptionist flicked her eyes over myself and Keen, disapprovingly. “Another one?”
“What, you suddenly have a problem with my money?”
The woman came out from behind the desk and focused on me. “Our clients,” she told me, “are the people whom the policy covers, regardless of who pays the premiums. No one can enter into a contract except of their own free will, and there is legal recourse available to you if you are being forced or manipulated into signing such a contract. Do you understand?”
“Yes! I do. I mean, I understand. I’m here of my own free will. Really!” And I’m not the one being manipulated.
The woman lifted her chin at a glass walled ingress off to the side. “Very well then. Step into my office.”
So, she was an agent as well as a receptionist. Inside the office was a small, simple desk, an entire wall of neat wooden drawers, and a magic circle on the floor, inlaid in red carnelian. The woman opened a drawer on the other side of the desk and motioned myself and Keen to stand in front.
“Now. What level of coverage are you interested in? Due to the current, ahh, outbreak, we are not offering Copper level policies at the moment. We hope to have that resolved soon.”
“Silver.” Keen said perfunctorily, impatiently tapping his foot.
“Our Silver level policy,” she was still determinedly interacting with me, “offers all usual divine healing of wounds, curses, diseases, ailments and disabilities both natural and magical, up to and including resurrection, with fixed, flat rate co-pays. It does not cover regeneration of severed limbs unless the limb is in your possession at the time of healing. In order to be resurrected, your body must not be more than one week decayed, must not be disintegrated or turned to ash, and of course must not be undead. Silver level policies do not cover body retrievals. There are several independent contractors available who will fetch your corpse back to the temple, and I recommend you sign up with one of them.”
She pulled out a scroll and dipped her quill into an inkwell.
“I’ll take the Gold policy.” I interrupted her, just as if I knew what I was talking about.
Keen snarled at me, but I gave him my best blank stare, daring him to call my bluff. He didn’t.
“Our Gold policy,” the agent continued, barely raising an eyebrow, “covers all of the divine healing mentioned above, without co-pays, and includes body retrieval in and around the Triport area. It also grants priority access to resurrections as well as non-essential services.”
“What does that mean?” I asked her.
“It means that if you die, you get to skip the line when coming back. We will resurrect you as soon as one of our res-capable divines is available, or cure whatever wounds you have right away, even if they are non-life-threatening.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Gold level policies are seven hundred gold per month, payable in advance. You may pay for as many months as you wish.”
I about choked on this absurd sum, but Keen didn’t so much as bat an eye.
“One month is all I need.” he sneered at us, but pulled out a pouch and tossed it casually onto the desk. The agent began counting out neat stacks of coins, gold and platinum, setting the occasional stray gem off to the side. When she was done, she handed the bag and gems back to Keen, wrote some official looking language on the scroll, and then cleaned off her quill and handed it to me. Swallowing nervously, I pricked my finger with the sharpened quill, scanned the scroll (which basically said that I accepted the policy, freely, and that it had been paid) and signed my sigil.
The agent took the quill and scroll back, and to my surprise, captured my hand and pressed her finger to mine. I felt a pleasant warmth and the brief high of sudden cessation of pain, and when I took my hand back, there wasn’t a scratch on it. I looked at the woman in wonder, and she gave me a slight, amused smile. “I did say your policy covers all wounds.” Her disapproving glance flicked over Keen again. “And you’ve paid for it, after all.”
“She hasn’t yet.” he growled.
I was just wondering if we were done when she pulled out a different inkwell, removed the stopper, and gestured me to step into the magic circle. “Roll up your sleeve.” she ordered.
Nervously, I did so. “Umm, what are you doing now?” This ink, if ink it was, was a syrupy amber color, and glowed faintly with its own light.
“The contract you just signed is the secular one, covering pecuniarial and legal matters. This is the divine one, between you and the Temple and the gods.”
I suddenly wasn’t sure about this. What have I gotten myself into?
The cleric began chanting, holding my hand for a minute, palm up, and then, without stopping the chant, began carving a complicated, uninterrupted series of sigils into my flesh, like a rune sequence in cursive. I gritted my teeth against the pain as blood seeped up, swelled into dark rivulets, and dropped onto the floor where it was rather disturbingly soaked up by the stone without so much as a stain. It was probably just my imagination that the carnelian inlay reflected an even brighter red. Of course, everything else seemed brighter too, and sharp edged, like the lights were being turned too far up…
And then, abruptly, it was over. The ambient illumination returned to normal, and the cleric pressed her hand to my arm for another flash of warmth and curing. The runes on my skin were still there, a dark red tattoo. I rubbed at it with some misgiving.
“Just show it to any temple functionary if you are wounded, and they will direct you an appropriate divine. Don’t worry,” she had noticed my furtive scratching, “it will fade when your policy expires.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“Well then.” I turned imperiously to Keen. “What are you waiting for?”
The vampire suppressed his own look of triumph and led the way back out, through yet another side door, causing me to wonder how in the nine circles of hell he knew these offices so well. As we emerged back outside, I had a moment of rising panic when I didn’t recognize the street we were on; this whole plan hinged on a certain storm drain… but yes, there it was, just through the alley with the wall and the spire.
I stopped abruptly, causing Keen to stumble over my half-height obstacle. “Sixteen more steps to the Arena, you little—”
I kicked him in the ankles one last time for good luck. “So long, sucker!” I cheered at him, and bounced off my heels and away down the alley.
Instead of the retort I expected to follow me, I heard chanting. The shadows in the alley grew solid, and then grew tentacles, which reached out to grab at me. I twisted and turned in mid-air, slippery as a sand cat, and landed in the better lit grey of the street beyond.
[Escape Artist check: Success]
I didn’t pause to see if anyone was following me (the echoing screech of rage told me everything I needed to know), but took two bounding steps to the storm drain and dove for it, hands out and headfirst. I landed on my stomach and slid into the narrow egress just as the shadows there grew thick and firm, then tumbled into the shallow water of the storm sewers beneath. I scrambled hastily to my feet and ran blindly down the tunnel in the direction I had once come from in company of a trio of squabbling goblins, while behind me Keen shouted curses down the drain, which was too narrow for him to fit through. I smiled to myself in the dark, and spared a brief moment of pity for the tall races, for whom the world was necessarily a smaller place.
I stopped running when I could no longer hear the shouting.
; Voice was a giddy as I felt.
“Yeah, well, he can go file a complaint.” I carefully reached into the blue silk folds of my wraps and removed a suspiciously familiar, gently flickering, heatless light. “With the QA Department of Gum.”
“Whatever.” The little stolen divine Light spell didn’t illuminate the tunnel as thoroughly as a torch, but it was something to remind me that my eyes still worked. “Now, let’s go find this dead dwarf.”
The heatless flame gave little warning as I approached the first sabotaged intersection, but my more visceral memories of blood and impending rockfalls stopped my feet as if of their own accord. I held up my light and surveyed the branching tunnel, which had been (sort of) cleaned of debris. Or rather, the debris had been shoved back up into the hole in the ceiling, and affixed there by some shims and a buggered keystone. Courtesy of a trio of lazy goblins, no doubt. I scowled at the trap.
“You little…!” I yelled ineffectually at the darkness “You traitorous little imps!”
From around the bend I heard bubbles of whispering. An idea occurred to me, and on impulse I cupped both hands over the flame, quenching the light, and made loud splashes with my feet, and noises of distress. Which I wasn’t very good at.
“Argh!” I yelled. “Oh no, ack! The water! It’s, uh… wet! Help!”
However stupid my bluff was, the goblins proved to be stupider. I waited until I saw the glimmer of eyes coming around the corner, then reached down, grabbed the tripwire, and rocketed backwards.
I skidded to a halt about a dozen feet down the tunnel, light in one hand and wire in the other, while in front of me the rockfall rumbled and skittered to a conclusion. I went to tie the wire into a loop, realized I needed both hands to do so, and was temporarily flummoxed by what to do with my heatless flame. In a hurry, I finally just put it into my mouth, making a careful hollow with my tongue and reminding myself firmly not to swallow.
I bounded forward again. To my disappointment, I saw the flicking tail tips of two goblins running away down the far tunnel.
Two, but not three. I recognized Smart Mouth by the bone necklace, even as he tried to dig his way out of the rubble. I dropped the wire lasso over his head just as he wiggled free of the debris.
“New Boss!” he squeaked in surprised recognition.
“I let you go, and you promised no more traps! Is this what I get for letting you live?” I demanded. Or tried to, anyway. My cupped tongue made my words sound hollow and unrecognizable.
“New Bos—EEEK!” he shrieked as I spoke. “It’s a dragon! Aaaagggg! Aaahhh!” and then, “Parce, o potentissime!”
If I thought the prostration before was anything, this brought whole new standards to the art of groveling. Smart Mouth threw himself to the ground, limbs splayed, and knocked his head into the seeping water. He then rolled over on his back, showing off his belly, and writhed further into the muck, while covering his eyes with his foreclaws, and all the while simpering and fawning. After a moment he opened one eye and peeked between his claws, to see what effect this was having.
I spat out the flame into my palm. Smart Mouth made an approving “Ooooo” noise.
Still keeping the lasso firmly in one hand, I knelt down and pressed my dagger to his midsection. “I told you no more traps. And no more eating people!”
“Yes, Boss!”
“But you just rebuilt this trap! It could have killed me, and then you would have eaten me, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, Boss! Err, no, Boss! Err…” Smart Mouth waved his claws feebly in the air. “Parley!”
I leaned forward, pressing my dagger into Smart Mouth’s belly. He looked like this was starting to be a bad plan. “Are you completely useless?” I asked him.
“No, Dragon Boss! Have many, many usefullnesses…es!” he trilled, happy to have a question he knew the right answer to.
“Good.” I told him, still not letting up. “Then what you’re going to do is take me to all the traps you have set up here in the sewers. Starting with the four-way floor trap full of rabid rats, and one dead dwarf. If you don’t, Smart Mouth, your new name is Useless, and I’m sure you can guess what use Dragon Bosses have for useless goblins, can’t you?”
[Intimidate check: Success]
[-2 penalty for non-acquired skill]
Chapter Eleven
Smart Mouth proved to be quite knowledgeable about the sewers, even if he lacked any ability to describe or forewarn me of upcoming obstacles. We eventually negotiated (by way of a short wire choke leash and a gleaming dagger poked nearly up his nose) that Smart Mouth would walk in front of me and stop at all traps on pain of being decapitated should Dragon Boss go into violent death throes because of falling into sudden pits, being crushed to death, or maybe just stubbing her toe.
It was not a quick trip back to the doomed dwarf. Smart Mouth got very nervous once we were outside of his territory. He would sometimes make low whistling noises as we approached new tunnels, but we didn’t see any other goblins. I kept my own vigil for traps, and on three more occasions I had to stop my guide and disable sabotaged ceilings, floors, and once a rusty valve on a tensely humming steel pipe leaking ominous steam from its joints. One lone Lucerna Nanorum blossomed bravely in the wet heat, making a comeback from the earlier destruction. I wasn’t at all sure I had made the area safe by releasing the pressure, and finally had to compromise by having Smart Mouth and I step very carefully over it. In several other places the sewers were collapsed, flooded, or otherwise impassable, and by the growling of my stomach clock, it was early evening before we came to a familiar intersection.
The rats made a dark, rushing whisper in the pit, their mad red eyes flickering in the feeble candlelight. I spotted my old quarterstaff down there, broken and gnawed, next to the skeleton. The rotting timber floor had not been replaced and only a few beams still sagged over the shaft. I didn’t even try my weight on these. I frowned down at the pit, wondering how the heck I was going to get in and out, and carrying the dwarf’s loot besides. There must have been a hundred rats down there.
“Yeah.” I agreed, not really worried if I sounded crazy in front of Smart Mouth. “Maybe I could scare them away?”
“Dragon Boss very scary.” Smart Mouth assured me with a nervous look. “Very, very scary. No worries.”
“I wonder just how hungry they are?”
“Err, extra hungry?” Smart Mouth gave me a rather petulant look, and muttered under his breath. “Goblin is hungry. Goblin is extra hungry. No ate yummy squishy skins for hours. Weeks. Probably years.”
“What I need,” I mused, suddenly inspired, “is a distraction.” I looked appraisingly over at Smart Mouth.
The goblin caught my look. “Nuh uh!” he cried, backing up to the edge of his leash. “Mercy, mighty Dragon Boss! Goblin is yucky! Yucky, yucky goblin!”
“Yes, but would the rats think so?”
“Everybody think so! Yuckiest goblin ever!” To demonstrate, Smart Mouth turned and
licked his forearm. “Eeew! Gak! Taste like, like…” Smart Mouth tried to think of something he wouldn’t at least try to eat, and came up temporarily blank. “Taste like soap!”
I highly doubted this. Still, I didn’t let it show on my face, but gave Smart Mouth my best imperious frown. “I suppose,” I sighed melodramatically, “I can’t be feeding a useful goblin to the rats.”
“Useful goblin! Useful, yucky goblin!”
“Very well then, Smart Mouth, we need to catch a different goblin.” He stopped panicking and cocked his head to the side, looking thoughtful. “But first,” I continued, “we need to catch some bait.”
I took the rope out of my backpack and unspooled a length onto the floor, and then began feeding the rope down into the pit.
“If you have a better idea,” I shot back. “I’m happy to hear it.”
“Good plan, Dragon Boss. Very very good.” Smart Mouth nodded eagerly. “Err, what is plan, again?”
“The plan is, we catch a couple of rats, which is a manageable number, and then you show me where some goblins are, and we feed the rats to the goblins, as bait. Then, we catch a goblin, a useless goblin,” I gave Smart Mouth a significant look, and he bowed and scraped accordingly, “and we feed it to the rats. Then I loot the body while the rats are busy. Got it?”
“Yes, boss!” Smart Mouth was still nodding like his head was on a spring.
Below me, I felt the slightest of tugs on the rope. I began hauling it back up, and a few squeaks rose up with it.
“Rats!” I yelled as the first pair of feverish, beady eyes crested the lip of the pit. My twitching hands wanted to drop the rope immediately, as if it were a live viper, as if the rats were somehow contaminating it, but I made myself pull the rest of the length all the way up, so as to not create an express connection for the angry, climbing rodents in the pit.
A Fist Full of Sand: A Book of Cerulea (Sam's Song 1) Page 23
