The Thirteenth Monk (Bartholomew the Adventurer Trilogy Book 2)

by Tom Hoffman

  The Blue Spectre no longer held any fear for Edmund. There was a kindness about the figure which was clear to him now. Edmund asked, “Are you a ghost?”

  Edmund couldn’t tell if the figure had smiled, but he thought it might have. “No, Edmund, I’m not a ghost. I live in the world just as you do. I am a friend you do not remember, and I am here to help you. You must seek out the Queen’s Treasure Chamber. This is where you will find the lost Seventh Key. You will be tested again, once again walking of your own free will into the fires of life. Do what you know to be right.”

  Edmund’s insides twisted into a painful knot. The last time he met the Blue Spectre it had warned him of a terrible loss, which turned out to be the death of Edmund the Explorer. Now it was telling him he would once again be walking into the fires of life. “Where is this treasure chamber? Why must I be tested again?”

  The Blue Spectre vanished before the words were out of Edmund’s mouth.

  In the morning Edmund told Bartholomew and Oliver about the Blue Spectre and it’s cryptic message regarding the Queen’s Treasure Chamber.

  “What queen could it be talking about? There are no kings and queens in Nirriim. Could it be back on Earth? Perhaps Grymmore?”

  It was Oliver who solved the riddle. “Great heavens, there are queens on Nirriim! Ant colonies have a queen, and the ants of the Timere Forest would be no exception. The Blue Spectre must be referring to the ant queen’s treasure chamber.”

  “Oliver, you are brilliant. It has to be the ants – they must have taken Edmund’s pack back to their nest. Now we know what we are looking for.”

  Oliver covered his mouth with his paw. “Oh dear, I just had a rather unnerving thought – if the ants are twenty feet long, how big will their queen be?”

  Edmund felt cold fear creeping up his arms like a thousand tiny marching ants.

  Bartholomew took one look at Edmund and changed the subject. “Let’s have breakfast and then we’ll head out to the Paw and Dagger Tavern.”

  Edmund’s fear diminished over breakfast as they discussed their impending visit to the Paw and Dagger, but now he had a new concern. “Song told me we need to be wary of the Paw and Dagger Tavern. It’s frequented by ruffians, treasure hunters, and vicious bandits. I’ll keep my eyes open for troublemakers, but you and Oliver need to be careful just the same.”

  “We’ll be fine, Edmund. I’ll just blink a defense sphere up if there’s any danger.”

  “Of course, but if things go bad, I’ll be there.” Edmund smacked his two fists together.

  Bartholomew didn’t know what to think about Edmund’s comment – it was unlike him to say such things. The pace of Edmund’s worrisome transformation seemed to be increasing. “I’m not expecting trouble, Edmund. We’re simply seeking out a treasure hunter who can help us find the Queen’s Treasure Chamber. The Seventh Key certainly could be in the Timere Forest, but you never know. Ants that big could have tunnels extending out hundreds of miles. A seasoned treasure hunter will know more about these things than we do.”

  They left their room and walked downstairs to the dining hall where Song was waiting for them.

  “Ah, good morning, everyone. You’re just in time for breakfast. I trust you all slept well?”

  After listening to a few lively stories from Song about the shady goings on at the Paw and Dagger Tavern, Bartholomew, Oliver, and Edmund made their way through the streets and alleys toward the southern end of the island, then on to the dock district. Song had been quite correct about this being a rough part of town. Edmund was getting more than his share of surly stares, but his imposing presence also kept the ruffians at bay. Nobody wanted to tangle with a Rabbiton, especially in a world where they still told tales of the ancient A6 Warrior Rabbitons.

  Following Song’s directions they arrived at the Paw and Dagger in less than a half hour. It was a dilapidated two story structure protruding out over the lake, supported by heavy wood pilings. The sign hanging out in front was gray, weathered, and barely readable.

  THE PAW & DAGGER TAVERN

  Walk In and Crawl Out

  Oliver frowned. “Good heavens, Bartholomew, do you really think we should go in there? This establishment looks disreputable at best, and completely treacherous at worst.”

  Edmund snorted. “Just the way I like ’em.” He swung the door open and strode into the tavern.

  Oliver looked as though he might come unraveled. “‘Just the way I like ’em??’ Bartholomew, what has come over Edmund? Why is he behaving this way? Is he looking for trouble?”

  Bartholomew shook his head. “I have no answer. Maybe reliving his memories of the ants changed him somehow. Nothing seems to scare him anymore. I hate to say it, but he does seem to be looking for a fight. I guess we’d better make certain he doesn’t cause any trouble. Stay close behind me. I’ll pop up a sphere of defense if anything goes wrong.”

  Bartholomew swung the door open and they stepped into the tavern, their noses instantly assaulted by the pungent odors of stale smoke and week old ale. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Bartholomew saw at least twenty patrons in the tavern. Most were sitting at tables with pints of ale in front of them, some sat at the bar, and a few were lying unconscious on the floor. Song was right, this was a tough looking group of individuals, a ragged mix of rabbits, muroidians and mice. Bandoleers seemed to be the accoutrement of choice, most holding daggers or throwing knives. A few had glass vaporizer pistols strapped to their belts, and several carried the ancient but still deadly bender bows.

  The tavern was eerily quiet, with only a few low whispers. Every patron there was staring at Edmund, who was leaning back against the bar facing the tables. Some of the customers had their paws resting nervously on their weapons. Edmund’s presence was making them very uncomfortable.

  Bartholomew decided he’d better take control of the situation. “The Rabbiton is with us. We’re not looking for trouble, we’re looking to hire a treasure hunter.”

  Seconds later the tavern was once again filled with the sound of a dozen conversations and the clinking of ale mugs. No treasure hunters came forward so they found an empty table and sat down. The bartender shuffled over to them, drying his hands with a ratty gray towel. “What’ll it be, rabs?”

  Oliver slowly tapped his chin, trying to decide. “Hmm... I believe I shall have a small glass of Orvieto Pinot Grigio and an éclair, if they are freshly baked.”

  The bartender’s face could have been carved from stone. “You got two choices. Ale or ale.”

  “Ah, very well then, I shall have a tall glass of ale. I trust your glasses are clean?”

  “When you’re drunk enough it don’t matter.”

  Bartholomew spoke up. “Ale for me too. You know any treasure hunters looking for work?”

  “Ehh. Most of these derelict furballs would rather sit and drink than earn a few honest credits. I got two mice who might be lookin’. I’ll send them over. Watch yourself though, they don’t come any tougher than these two.” The bartender shuffled back towards the bar.

  Edmund had been watching Bartholomew talk to the bartender and strolled across the room to their table. “Any luck with a treasure hunter?”

  Bartholomew nodded. “He’s sending a couple of hunters over now. He said they’re tough.”

  Edmund gave a snort. “We’ll see about that.”

  Oliver gave Edmund a worrisome look. “Great heavens, Edmund, what a strange thing to say. Please don’t cause any trouble.”

  Edmund looked sincerely perplexed. “Why would I start any trouble?”

  Oliver shook his head. “I apologize, Edmund, I’m not sure why I said that.” He glanced over to Bartholomew, who was studying Edmund’s face closely.

  “These must be the treasure hunters.” Oliver pointed to two mice heading across the tavern towards them. The bartender hadn’t been joking, this was a pair of tough looking hunters. Each had two bandoleers forming an X across their chest, both filled with an assortment of gleam
ing daggers and knives. The mouse on the left was carrying a wicked looking two-bladed axe, while the mouse on the right had a battered old sword in a worn leather sheath strapped to his back. Their hats were pulled down low, almost covering their eyes. Both of them had vicious scowls on their faces.

  Oliver whispered, “I don’t like the looks of them. Perhaps we should leave now.”

  Bartholomew gave a reassuring smile. “I’m wearing the Eleventh Ring, Oliver. That puts the odds in our favor, no matter what happens.”

  The two mice approached the table. The axe-wielding mouse looked them over slowly, then growled, “Who’s in charge here?”

  Bartholomew replied. “I guess that would be me. You’re the treasure hunters?”

  The mouse snorted. “Good guess. You must be the smart one, cause it sure ain’t him.” He nodded towards Oliver. The mouse turned his head and spat disgustingly onto the floor. The second mouse gave an unpleasant laugh.

  Oliver gulped, his eyes darting over to Edmund.

  Bartholomew saw a green thought cloud float out of the second mouse’s ear and drew it to him. He blinked twice, rubbing his paw quickly back and forth across his mouth. “Umm... what do they call you?”

  “I’m Lightning...”

  Without missing a beat the second mouse added, “...and I’m Thunder.”

  This was followed by a strained silence, broken a moment later by Oliver. “Why do they call you Lightning? Is that what your parents named you?”

  The scowl on Lightning’s face grew more pronounced. “They call me that because I move like lightning.”

  Oliver nodded, the light of understanding in his eyes. “Ah, so you’re a shaper then. You have the ability to blink instantly from place to place?”

  Lightning stared coldly Oliver. “Did I say I was a shaper?? I said I move like lightning. It’s an expression. You know, to move like lightning? Get it?”

  “So you’re saying you don’t have shaping skills, but in general you move a great deal faster than ordinary mice do?”

  Lightning’s temper boiled over. “Holy creekers, are you even dimmer than you look?? Do you need to have a talk with the blade of my axe??”

  Bartholomew stepped in to rescue Oliver from the rapidly escalating confrontation. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lightning. My name is Bartholomew. We’re looking for a couple of experienced treasure hunters.”

  Oliver was oblivious, turning to the second mouse. “Why do they call you Thunder? It seems beyond simple chance that two treasure hunters named Thunder and Lightning would meet and become partners. Do all Nirriimian treasure hunters have weather related names?”

  Thunder glared at Oliver, his lip curling with unmasked derision. “They call me Thunder because my fists MAKE THE SOUND OF THUNDER WHEN THEY RAIN DOWN DESTRUCTION ON MY ENEMIES!” He pounded his fists on the table, his face contorted with anger.

  “That’s extraordinary. Did you know thunder is caused by lightning? The intensity of the heat from the lightning expands the air so rapidly it creates explosive shock waves, resulting in the sound we know as thunder.” Oliver looked as though he expected Thunder to find this a rather fascinating bit of knowledge.

  Thunder looked helplessly over to Bartholomew. “Creekers, what’s wrong with your friend? Our names are Thunder and Lightning and we are rough and tumble treasure hunters. There’s no need to make this so complicated.”

  Lightning growled, “Perhaps this will help you understand my name!” His arm shot up and a gleaming dagger appeared in it. There was a silver blur and the dagger stood quivering in the wooden table top. A cold smile played across his face. He twirled his long whiskers with one paw.

  Edmund nonchalantly plucked the dagger out of the table with two fingers and held it in front of Bartholomew. Bartholomew flicked his wrist and the dagger vanished in a blink of light. He flicked his wrist again and the dagger shot down from the ceiling, burying itself to the hilt in the table top only inches from Thunder’s paw.

  Lightning looked at the dagger, then at Edmund and Bartholomew, then back at the dagger. He held up one paw, a frozen smile on his face. “Excuse us for one moment, please.” Thunder and Lightning walked out of earshot, glancing back at Edmund and Bartholomew. Thunder was whispering to Lightning in a highly animated fashion. Lightning held up both paws, making a vehement reply, obviously upset by whatever Thunder had whispered. Their conversation continued on for several minutes, replete with waving paws, stomping feet, and the occasional shouted insult, but finally they returned to the table. Lightning smiled pleasantly, his eyes on the silver dagger protruding from the table top.

  “Perhaps we should begin again. We may look a little tougher than we really are. The problem is no one will hire us if they think we can’t handle danger.”

  Bartholomew nodded, doing his best not to smile. He had seen through their facade the moment he drew Lightning’s thought to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both, and we would like to hire you. We are not looking for hardened warriors or murderous bandits, we are looking for treasure hunters – mice who can think clearly and unravel a trail of clues which will lead us to a lost object of great importance. I believe you are exactly who we are looking for.”

  Thunder and Lightning gave each other gleeful grins. “When do we start?” Lightning set the oversized axe down on the floor. “Whew, that thing is a lot heavier than it looks. My name is Klanndirr, and this is Binndirr, but you should call us Thunder and Lightning. We grew up together and always wanted to be treasure hunters. We made up our own names.”

  Oliver nodded stiffly. His feathers were still ruffled by Lightning’s comment about him looking dim. “Bartholomew and I are old friends also. May I ask what experience you have in the field of treasure hunting?”

  “This will be our first job.”

  Chapter 30

  The Map

  After finishing their ale the group exited the Paw and Dagger, heading back to the Singers Guild to discuss their plans. Edmund struck up a conversation with Thunder and Lightning, eventually telling them he had met the Blue Monks.

  Lightning was enthralled with Edmund’s tale. “I can’t believe the Blue Monks sang for you – the Master Singers of Nirriim! Creekers, weren’t you afraid? I heard you burn to ashes if they even look at your eyes. And your friend Bartholomew is a shaper– that’s amazing! My mom’s cousin knew a shaper who could stick a dagger through his arm and it didn’t hurt him. Can you imagine? A dagger right through his arm! Hey, what are you guys looking for anyway?”

  After listening to Thunder and Lightning for a few minutes, Oliver lost all hope the two mice would be of any help to them. He leaned over to Bartholomew and whispered, “I hope you’re not paying them very much.” He chuckled at his own joke.

  Bartholomew just smiled. “Oliver, you should know by now things are seldom what they seem to be. I have a good feeling about them.”

  Edmund answered Lightning’s question. “We’re looking for something called the Queen’s Treasure Chamber.”

  Lightning took a step back. “What now? You’re looking for what??”

  “The Queen’s Treasure Chamber.”

  Thunder let out a raspy, “Holy creekers, the Queen’s Treasure Chamber?”

  Lightning began laughing wildly, pounding Thunder on the arm. “I told you! I told you! Didn’t I tell you?”

  Thunder nodded. “Holy creekers, you were right. You did tell me.”

  Lightning turned to Bartholomew. “We have to go. We’ll see you tomorrow at the Singers Guild.” He grabbed Thunder by the arm. “Hurry up! Let’s go!” The two of them took off down the cobblestone street, laughing and yelling until they disappeared around a corner.

  Oliver was the first to speak. “Great heavens, what in the world was that about? Are they dim? Are you sure it’s safe to be around those two? To be quite honest, they seem a little unstable.”

  Bartholomew shrugged. “They’re just young, that’s all. I have a strong feeling by tomorrow afternoon we’ll be very gl
ad we met them. They were certainly excited about something.”

  During dinner that evening Bartholomew recounted to Song the details of their visit to the Paw and Dagger. Song had spoken with his inner voice earlier in the day, asking about the Seventh Key, but had received no information of any practical value. “Why do you think Edmund needs to find the key? Is it possible the key’s return will trigger an event?”

  Bartholomew answered. “I don’t think so. The keys have been together for thousands of years and nothing has happened. More than likely returning the Seventh Key will affect some event far in the future. Look at how much Edmund has influenced our lives, fifteen hundred years after he was created. Perhaps a thousand years from now some adventuring rabbit will desperately need the Seventh Key, just the way Edmund the Explorer needed it to retrieve the time throttle. We simply have no way of knowing why the key must be returned. There could be a hundred separate reasons, each one important in its own way.”

  Early the following morning there was a furious pounding at the front door of the Guild. A rather vexed Song hurried from the dining room to answer it. “What ever happened to patience?”

  Two rough looking mice stood at the entryway wearing crossed bandoleers and daggers, their hats pulled down low. “We are here to see Bartholomew Rabbit regarding an extremely urgent matter of the utmost importance.”

  “Ah, you must be Thunder and Lightning.”

  “You’ve heard of us??” Lightning grinned with delight.

  “Indeed so. Bartholomew has told us... all about you. Do come in. Have you had breakfast yet?”

  Thunder shook his head. “No time for breakfast. We have to talk to Bartholomew, Edmund, and Oliver immediately. This is urgent business. Urgent.”

  Song nodded. “Of course, you must see them immediately. Wait here and I will inform Bartholomew of your arrival.”