AHMM, March 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Polijn looked up at him, too startled to resist as he pulled her toward the door. Even in her hometown, where the best of the evening's tales were always about legendary outlaws, Tewayn the Red was something special in the way of murder and plunder. “Do you think he'll tell you?"

  The man shrugged. “After a thousand years he should realize he doesn't need it."

  "Nothing to buy down there,” the shortest man agreed, nodding toward the door.

  "Dozens of people have tried it and not come back,” the middle man pointed out, his face one of resignation as he lifted the box once more.

  Polijn was outside in the snow again, the tall man not far behind her. “Ah, but they didn't approach the question with a logical mind. We'll do better; once he sees what sort of brain he's dealing with, he'll be glad to see the treasure is in my good hands. Ha-ha!"

  "Ha-ha!” growled the short man, taking up his end of the big box.

  The leader urged Polijn ahead of him toward the circle of standing stones. “I hope it's not too cold down there,” murmured the middle man, behind them.

  "Oh, we won't be long,” the tall man told them.

  "Nobody else has ever come out.” The middle-sized man rubbed his nose with a gloved hand. “I know I have to be buried one day, but I was thinking of someplace a bit warmer."

  The leader's hands fluttered in the air. “Oh, what heroes! Always putting a brave face on things!” The tall man was taking them to one of the long horizontal lumps of snow. “Remember! You're in the hands of an organizing genius!"

  Polijn considered the circle with new interest. So this was the tomb of Tewayn the Red. Her eyes went left and right, scanning for danger and historic notes. She could possibly outrun these three, even on thawed and refrozen toes, but it would take a while, since there was no place handy to hide. And if staying might give her a good song about Tewayn the Red, the investment of a moment or two of discomfort might be worth it.

  The leader took up a stance before an oblong lump of snow that looked very much like the rest of them. Setting his feet shoulder width apart and squaring his shoulders so all three spectators knew he was doing it, he reached into a pouch at his belt and threw out a handful of something that made the two men sneeze. “Kazinga!"

  "The same to you too!” noted the small man, letting down the box and sitting on it.

  The tall man's head swung back, nostrils flared. “Kasilta!” he bellowed, throwing something white now.

  "Could we go inside and wait while you recite the names of all your old girlfriends?” inquired the middle man.

  "Be quiet, the pair of you! This is going to—” He whirled, eyes wide, as stone grated on stone.

  The foursome watched silently, in varying degrees of amazement, as a long patch of snow moved, dropping away into a dark hole. Polijn, leaning in, could see the top step of a long flight of stone stairs.

  "No lights,” noted the middle man. “Maybe he's not in."

  "Very good, very good.” The tall man rubbed his hands together, glee suffusing his chilled features. “Bring the torch now, friend. Step lively. We don't know how much time we'll have. You two lads, watch your step. Those ... blankets are heavy. Let's be getting on."

  The middle man rubbed a chilly nose. “I just got my footprints warm right here."

  "And I was looking for a rose to carry with me,” said the short man. “For luck, don't you know."

  "There won't be any roses for six months,” said the leader, frowning.

  "I'll wait."

  "Oh, come now!” The tall man threw his hands in the air. “Are we all suddenly allergic to money?” He turned to Polijn. “Come, you'll go, won't you, friend? Take the torch. Show these two the way. I'll, er, just sweep some of this snow off so it doesn't fall in after us and makes the steps slippery when we're carrying treasure out."

  Polijn looked from him to his two embarrassed companions and shrugged. She'd never find out what this was all about unless she started down. If there was something waiting, she could come back up, and if it was a trick, surely she could outwit this trio. She took the torch, nodded to the others, and stepped down into the opening. She heard grumbling as the box of “blankets” was lifted.

  No treasure was immediately revealed to her as she moved down. The stairs took her to a cold stone room, long and low. She had rather been expecting a sarcophagus, or a niche with a body in it. There were several niches and several rows of bodies, many of them skeletal. Some of these sat in niches, but most were shoulder to shoulder on long stone benches. A few nearby had either frozen solid or been mummified underground.

  "Oh, I do like this,” said the middle man, his voice showing no such satisfaction. “I see Tewayn could afford to have the decorators in."

  "He did know how to make a body feel welcome,” said the short man, stamping his feet.

  "No worse than a council meeting.” The tall man slapped his hands together, both to generate enthusiasm and to thaw them. “This shows we're on the right track, doesn't it? These must be the unwary looters who came around without thinking the thing through properly. Let's get a look up front."

  He hurried Polijn and the torch past the rows of corpses. “It's just as I imagined it."

  "Except for the piles of gold,” said the small man. “Where are these buckets of rubies we're on about?"

  "If everything were piled in the most convenient spots,” said the leader, taking the torch from Polijn's hand and sticking it into an old bracket high in the stone, “the treasure would be long gone. We'd find nothing."

  "Which we did find,” the middle man pointed out. “Let's go see if the stew is done, shall we?"

  "Nonsense. The spell worked, so this must be where we can ask Tewayn about the treasure."

  Polijn looked around the tomb, making mental notes for a song as well as considering her chances. The chamber was just narrow enough for two men shoulder to shoulder to block any fast exits. One of them, catching her gaze, realized what she was thinking and shrugged in an apologetic way.

  A flash made her turn back to the leader. He was sighting along the bright blade of a long, curved knife, his face one of doubt. He glanced down in her direction and saw her eyes on him. He nodded to her.

  "Well, now we come to the nitty-gritty, my friend, but think of the advantages! You'll be at no expense for a funeral when you're already underground."

  "Quite a bargain, really,” said the middle man, in a doleful tone.

  "Oh yes,” said the small man, brightly. “Dead cheap.” He winced as his foot was stepped upon.

  Polijn took a step away from the leader. “We felt we should go through a bit of a ritual to get Tewayn in a good mood. And a human sacrifice seemed the likeliest bet."

  "I was all for a ritual snowball fight,” sighed the middle man.

  Polijn studied the pointed knife with affable interest. “Have you tried everything else first?” she inquired, her voice one of purely detached curiosity. “After all, in any circle of standing stones, the treasure is buried under the third one left from due north."

  "Is it?” demanded the small man.

  "Oh, always.” She nodded at them. “There's the story of the treasure of Sporus and how Birulph turned it up on the eve of battle. And you'll remember Arrinshah's adventures and how he spent the treasure he found on the barmaids of Stilth.” She continued to nod until the men nodded back their familiarity with these ancient legends she had just made up.

  "Knows a lot about it, she does,” the small man told the leader.

  "We could try it,” agreed the middle man. “And come back to this later."

  The tall man looked from them to the knife, his expression changing from one of indecision to one of acute apathy as he considered the killing.

  "It's possible this is true,” he said. His voice rose in volume. “Still, after all, the man who buried the treasure will have more expert knowledge. We can try the sacrifice first and then dig under the third stone."

  "Are you sure he wants a sacr
ifice?” Polijn inquired. “If you offend him, his vengeance could be terrible. There's the song of the tomb raider of..."

  The tall man shook his head. “Come! We must get down to business. Tomb and toad wait for no moon. If we don't hurry we may be in jeopardy. I see your side of it, friend, but we have a lot of money at stake. We won't forget you. We'll be able to afford to bring you flowers every year."

  "Up on top, of course,” said the middle man, stamping his feet against the chill. “I see no reason to keep coming down here."

  Polijn wondered whether, if she ran at them, they would really try to stop her. The leader sighed. “I probably should have killed you back there on the stairs, and you never would have had to worry about it. But I hesitated."

  "Yes,” said the middle man. “Human sacrifice isn't something you want to rush into."

  "Actually, it's just the sort of thing you should rush into,” said the leader, whetting the knife a bit on his belt. “But I wondered whether you should be dead when Tewayn appears, or whether he wouldn't enjoy watching."

  "Why don't we wait until he appears and ask him?” Polijn inquired, taking one more step away.

  "But he might not appear without the sacrifice!” The knife flashed again as the tall man threw his hands into the air. “How long would we wait to find out if he's coming?"

  "Spring?” inquired the short man.

  "Spring works for me,” said his companion, with a nod.

  "If we wait too long and the moon shifts before he appears, we'll have wasted the whole enterprise!"

  "We could do it next Midwinter then,” said the short man, kicking his boots against the nearest stone. “Or never."

  "Never works for me too,” noted the middle man.

  The tall man took three steps forward, actually passing Polijn, who set her back to the frigid stone wall. “Think of the money! You'd never have to work again!"

  "He doesn't work now,” the middle man said.

  The big man's eyes rolled. “You'd never have to borrow again!"

  "Wealth certainly takes the sport out of life,” growled the short man.

  "Let's get hold of ourselves!” The tall man whirled and actually got hold of Polijn's shoulder. Polijn froze; this would be the wrong time to make a hasty move. The knife could swing down at any point in the procedure.

  "All we need to do now is decide where to do it.” Taking her with him as if he intended to consult her to the end, he marched back to the bracket and torch, from where Polijn could gaze into the eyes of all the dead men on the benches. “We can't afford to make mistakes here. Everything must be planned to the last..."

  His foot caught against that of one of the corpses. Polijn had to leap back from the knifepoint.

  "That nearly solved the problem,” noted the small man, as the leader righted himself.

  "One of them, anyway,” said the middle man.

  "What'll you say when he does appear?” Polijn inquired. “Especially if he's angry that you've profaned his tomb?"

  "Oh, I have a speech all prepared,” he assured her.

  "Oh, that's marvelous. One of your lectures will put him in a fine generous mood,” said the small man.

  "Tewayn might give us the money just to get him to go away."

  "Give you money?"

  There were suddenly five in the room. The newcomer was a pale creature with hair almost red and eyes almost hazel. His cheeks were high and hollow, and his faintly pink lips wore the possibility of a smile without the smile itself.

  "Ai!” said the small man.

  "Oh!” the middle man cried, his eyes as big as his partner's feet.

  "Ab ab ab,” said the leader, being more articulate. The curved knife came up.

  The only way to keep from being sacrificed prematurely was to take charge. “Sir!” Polijn exclaimed, stepping toward the visitant. “We were praying that you might tell us some of your adventures hiding your treasure!"

  "Prayer's changed since I was up there,” noted the ghost, eyeing the chest and the curved knife.

  "Everyone knows of your daring at robbery.” Polijn bowed to the spirit. “But the job of hiding the loot must have been fraught with dangers as well, to be overcome by sheer ingenuity."

  The ghost's eyes were so bright now they seemed to spring from his face, and the smile was real. “Just so, young friend, just so. If you're not thinking every minute, a barrel of emeralds can be no end of trouble."

  Tewayn's voice seemed quite high for someone who had been underground so long. Polijn's companions were more impressed by the words, though.

  "A barrel of emeralds!"

  "I'd take a cask of hot rum instead right now,” Tewayn said.

  The tall man decided to assert his leadership. “We've, er, brought a person to sacrifice in your honor.” He took two steps toward Polijn.

  The ghost rubbed a spectral chin. “Oh, that would be nice. They did a sacrifice to me up here once."

  Polijn ducked as the tall man's hand came for her shoulder again. They both froze as the ghost said, “However..."

  Tewayn was pointing to the stairs. “That bench at the back is handier, really, if you need elbow room."

  The tall man snatched at Polijn's sleeve and missed. She slid down one of the rows of corpses, avoiding feet in an effort to get a wall of bodies between herself and any pursuers.

  Tewayn paid no attention. “That's where we repackaged the pearls, you know. Twelve casks of pearls and one broke. If I told them once, I told them—Is that a pearl there? No, that's a toe bone, isn't it?"

  It was. “You must have eaten some oysters in your time!” the small man said. “Where did you get twelve casks of pearls?"

  "Better yet,” said Polijn, pulling away as the tall man came around a bench, “where did you put eleven casks of pearls?” If she could get one hint out of him, it would show they didn't need a sacrifice.

  "Why don't we take care of...” The tall man had realized where his advantage lay and reached over a couple of frozen men to repossess her shoulder.

  "Sir, how did they carry the casks for you? One under each arm?” Polijn ducked her head, but toward the man, so she could keep track of that knife.

  "What? Oh, no, no, no. The casks were far too large. They had to take one apiece."

  The tall man kept his grip on Polijn's shoulder but turned to gaze at the ghost, his own eyes lighting up. “And no one has found them? In all this time?"

  "Seen anybody buying a kingdom lately?” Tewayn demanded with scorn. “Making a collection of mountains? Then no one's found it."

  The tall man was breathing heavier. Polijn, watching the knife, felt breathless herself. By no means taking her eyes off him, she reached around to her pack. “I must write all this down for a song."

  The ghost nodded to the others. “I like your friend.” He waved a semitransparent hand around the room. These other fellows had no interest at all in historical matters. It was all about the money."

  "And they bollixed that up as well,” noted the small man.

  Tewayn frowned. “How so?"

  The man pointed at a skeleton. “No pockets."

  The ghost laughed a rather high, screeching “hee hee hee.” Polijn found it hard to square him with the legends of “He Who Eats Gold.” One song said of him that he had cut off a thousand fingers and two hundred ears for the rings they bore and then a thousand toes just to have something to pack into the boxes so the rings wouldn't rattle. She glanced again at the knife, which was down at the tall man's belt just now.

  "Are the pearls still there?” the leader demanded. “Where you put them?"

  "Oh yes.” The ghost moved under the torch, which made him seem more solid somehow. “I'd know, else. And anyway, you can't get the staff these days. Where would you find men with the stamina to carry off all sixteen solid gold rabbit hutches?"

  "Yes, where?” the small man demanded.

  The tall man shoved the knife back into the hidden scabbard in his coat. “Oh, a few pounds of treasure
won't be any trouble."

  "He's talking about mountains of treasure,” the small man pointed out.

  The leader clapped Polijn on the shoulder. “There, you see? No security problems. No one could run off with so much."

  "And what will you be carrying, oh mighty leader?” said the small man, nose wrinkling.

  The tall man turned again to Tewayn. “And you're sure it's still where you left all the treasure?"

  "I am a master of deceit and concealment, sir,” the ghost informed him, with a raised nose.

  "Like the tax collector,” said the middle man, clapping his hands to restore circulation.

  "Thank you, thank you!” The ghost nodded. “When people show respect, it can make all the difference. Remember King Bershett and the wedding at Ewes? He never noticed when we took all the presents, all the plates, and eleven of the bride's sisters."

  "Eleven?” Polijn inquired.

  "The twelfth had a limp and couldn't keep up.” The ghost moved away from the torch, becoming translucent again. “Then we went up to where the king's favorite dancer was getting ready to perform. All she wore was the Ruby of Osaurr, and at that, it wasn't the reddest or most valuable thing we saw."

  The smallest man pushed a skeleton aside to sit and listen. “Tell us more. Did she ... ow!” He rose a bit from the seat.

  "Cold?” inquired Tewayn.

  The leader stalked over to lift the man by the collar. “No, he's just alarmed at sitting down in the presence of such a mighty thief. And the treasure is all still where you put it?"

  "I'd know, I tell you. I have senses like a soaring falcon, alert to every movement.” He shook both hands at them. “You have to be on top of every detail when you're hiding treasure like that. Oh, the men thought we'd just tuck it into one of the graves at the burial ground near the lake, but I told them. Oh, I told them. The spring floods would have washed off the topsoil, and then where's your treasure?"