Critical Failures VI (Caverns and Creatures Book 6)

by Robert Bevan

  “Well then you should have started with that. Any clue as to where I might find this thing?”

  Brother Mayfair shrugged. “I can tell you exactly where to find it. It sits atop the Ice Queen's scepter down in the frozen wasteland of Nazere.”

  Katherine nodded. “Consider it done.” She looked down at the jar. “Would it be okay if I left this here? It sounds like we could be in for a bumpy ride, and I'd feel more comfortable if I knew my brother was safe.”

  “What you propose is more dangerous than you know, young lady. You would be lucky to survive long enough to be enslaved.” Brother Mayfair sighed. “But I sense there is little I can do to dissuade you.”

  “You sense correctly.”

  “I've heard tales of Lady Swansong in her youth. She was similarly stubborn and impetuous once she had a goal to focus on, if the stories are to be believed. I think she would forgive me for using temple resources to confirm that your brother's spirit is indeed tethered to this...,” he frowned down at the jar. “...corporeal form before I send you and your companions off to your deaths.”

  “That's kind of you,” said Katherine. She half suspected this might be an attempt to dissuade her because he doubted she'd survive a trip south to swipe a stick from some frosty old bitch. He'd wave his hands over the jar and mumble some bullshit incantation, then tell her that there were no spirits tethered to the lump of shit. He'd tell her that she'd done all she could, but her brother was gone for good and she should move on with her life. And of course, she wouldn't believe a word he said.

  Brother Mayfair nodded, then took his jug of menstrual brew and jar of wings behind the statue of Rasha. When he returned, he no longer had the jug or jar. Instead he carried a small cylindrical steel container about the size of a tealight candle. He nodded solemnly at Randy.

  “May this favor bring our faiths closer together.”

  Randy looked surprised at having been addressed and stammered a response. “Yeah.”

  Brother Mayfair opened the container, which contained some kind of deep purple oily paste. He closed his eyes and rubbed some of the paste on his eyelids. Then he traced the shape of an eye on his forehead, exactly where the hole in the statue was. When he opened his eyes again, they glowed with a faint purple light, as did the iris in the eye painted on his forehead.

  Katherine had to admit, if this was a sham, it was a pretty solid performance.

  “There is indeed a spirit tethered to these remains,” said Brother Mayfair.

  “I knew it!” Katherine's hope was fully restored. She'd been so braced to resist his bullshit denial, and was thankful to him for being straight with her.

  Brother Mayfair's brows drew together in confusion. “I'm sorry, Miss. It would appear you have the wrong remains. The spirit tethered here couldn't possibly be your brother.”

  “Because of the race thing?” Katherine laughed. “That's a story I don't have time to go into right now. Believe me, that's him all right.”

  Brother Mayfair pulled a square of silk from his sleeve and wiped the magic ointment from his forehead and eyelids. “I must admit, I am most intrigued.”

  “I'll tell you what,” said Katherine. “He and I will tell you the story together when these two chucklefucks and I get back from Nazere.”

  Chapter 12

  The dwarf was gone. It was dark outside now, but the nearly full moon and the flying lanterns from the nearby party provided plenty enough light for Julian's Low Light Vision to see that their quarry had escaped.

  This part of the island, while not uninhabited, was clearly not the fashionable district. Seedy taverns, boarded up apartments, and inns advertising rooms by the hour suggested that this was the part of town for folks who wanted to experience the Crescent Shadow lifestyle, but couldn't afford to stay where the real action was.

  “He could have ducked into any of these rat-infested dumps,” said Captain Righteous.

  “That's a possibility,” said Stacy. “Or he could be seeking out Mordred to tell him of our escape. Mathematically, given the factors I have to work with, our odds of finding Mordred before he does are better if we head for the party.”

  “And how good are those odds?” asked Julian.

  “Slim to none. But they're better than if we hung around here looking for some hired hand who may already be halfway to him.”

  They made their way down dark and quiet side streets, which became better lit and noisier as they got closer to the party. Finally, they emerged onto the main strip. Gaudily costumed bards of a multitude of races and colors filled the air with upbeat music on a bizarre variety of wind, string, and percussion instruments. The partygoers, however, were predominantly humans and elves, with just enough dwarves so that Dave wouldn't look terribly out of place. There was a small spattering of half-elves, halflings, and gnomes. The only half-orcs, full orcs, goblins, and other miscellaneous races Julian spotted were either bouncers, servants, musicians, or other entertainers, but even those positions were more represented by the former races than the latter.

  Serving trays glided through the air, weaving through the crowd with an assortment of brightly colored drinks. People grabbed drinks as the trays passed, or placed their empty glasses on them to be carried away.

  Three or four-story buildings lined either side of the wide main avenue. On the balconies of each floor, obese old men fondled scantily clad women or, less commonly, vice-versa. The whole scene reminded Julian of Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras, only it smelled less like urine. He hoped Cooper and Ravenus were doing okay.

  “We might have a shot here,” said Stacy. “There's a lot of eye candy here, and I don't think Mordred's had a lot of luck with the ladies before, if you know what I mean. It's not too much of a stretch to think we might catch him with his pants down.”

  Captain Righteous grimaced at all the chaos and depravity before him. “Not if that dwarf gets to him first.”

  Stacy nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. We should split up.”

  “No no no!” said Dave. “That's never a good idea!”

  “Normally, I would agree with the dwarf,” said Captain Righteous. “But we don't know how much time we have, and we can cover twice as much ground in the same amount of time if we divide into two groups.”

  Stacy put her hand firmly on Julian's shoulder. “We'll take this side of the street. You three cover the other side.”

  Julian wasn't sure he liked being claimed like a prize pig at a county fair, but he considered the alternatives and decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

  “Why do I have to go with them?” asked Dave.

  “Because you'll slow us down. The captain already has Bingam to slow him down. You won't be as much of a burden.”

  Dave frowned. “This sucks.”

  Stacy smiled. “Chin up, Dave. This is a party town. You'll stick out more if you look like you're not having fun.”

  Dave, Captain Righteous, and Bingam stepped into the crowd, attempting to sway to the rhythm of the music. They were the textbook definition of awkward white guys.

  Stacy grabbed a pink drink from a flying tray, sipped it, then nodded and gulped the rest down. She looked up at the sign on the building to their right. “This place looks promising.”

  Julian frowned at the sign. “In what way does LIVE NUDE GNOMES look promising to you?”

  “Who knows what kind of freaky shit Mordred is into? And besides, when are you ever going to get another chance to see live nude gnomes?”

  Julian had tried to take that attitude toward new experiences while he was stuck in this world, but Stacy seemed to be a whole lot better at it. Bracing himself for what he was about to see, he allowed himself to be dragged into the gnome strip club.

  There weren't many people inside, at least compared to the density of people outside. Maybe three dozen in all, including the customers, wait staff, and the two topless gnomish women on the stage, swaying listlessly to soft music from some stringed instrument that Julian couldn't see. The
y looked like human children who'd been snacking on their parents' hormone supplements.

  The vast majority of the customers and staff were also gnomes, the exceptions being a dwarf and a halfling sitting alone at tables in the darkest corners of the establishment, and the two goblin greeters, who hadn't given Julian and Stacy the warmest of greetings when they came in.

  The coldness of the goblin greeting and the scowls from a few of the patrons suggested that, while Julian and Stacy weren't explicitly forbidden to be in there, they weren't exactly welcome either.

  On the bright side, they were at least a foot and a half taller than everyone else in the place, making it easy to see that Mordred wasn't in there. At least, not the halfling version of him.

  “Sorry,” said Stacy. “We were given the wrong address.”

  The next place they went into, Wanderlust, was much more accommodating to a wider variety of clientele, and thus much more crowded. It was also about three times bigger.

  The human and half-elven dancers on the stage performed feats of acrobatics in addition to merely being nude, and were accompanied by a full band of goblins playing a variety of exotic-looking instruments. Other Wanderlust employees, most of whom were also attractive young human and half-elven women identifiable by the uniform red swimsuits they wore, sat at tables with much older men, drinking their drinks and laughing at their jokes. Bartenders worked tirelessly making drinks and loading them onto trays, which would then either fly between the tables or out the front door.

  Stacy grabbed a Windex-blue drink as one of the trays passed by. “I could get used to this place.”

  “I don't get how they stay in business,” said Julian. “How can they afford to just give away drinks to everyone?”

  Stacy scanned the high ceiling and polished marble columns and arches. “I don't know, but their business model appears to be working.”

  A silver tray glided down a nearby red-carpeted staircase, passing between two musclebound half-orcs dressed in shiny plate armor and royal blue capes standing guard at the bottom of the stairs. It was carrying two hollowed-out pineapples with bamboo straws.

  Julian looked up the stairs, but they curved to the left, obscuring whatever was up there. “Looks like some kind of VIP lounge,” he whispered to Stacy. “Might be worth checking out.”

  The silver tray landed gently on the bar. While the mostly goblin bar staff struggled to mix enough drinks to keep up with the insatiable crowd, their human supervisor casually raised an eyebrow as he took a gold coin from the silver serving tray, then slipped it into his pocket.

  “Two more pineapples,” he said to his crew. “And stay steady on the rum. His coin purse is starting to loosen up.”

  Two half-elven women in red swimsuits rushed down the stairs, dripping wet.

  “I've had it,” said the redhead.

  The bartender looked up. “Oh shit.”

  “We don't get paid enough to deal with this, Rollin.”

  “What happened now?”

  “He's a pig!”

  “It's Mr. Baxter,” the blonde elaborated. Her voice was calmer and meeker, but no less determined. “The man wearing that strange black gemstone pendant.”

  “Those hands of his!” said the redhead, more fired up than before. “Even underwater they feel so... slimy!”

  The bartender, Rollin, put down the glass he'd been idly polishing. “Listen ladies. Krysta, Roxie? Is that right?”

  The two women nodded.

  “I get it. You're new to the High Flyers club. The guys up there pay a lot of money to sit in those tubs, and sometimes you'll get one who's also new to the club, and doesn't yet appreciate the boundaries. He'll learn the ropes eventually. But don't you go throwing your careers away over one bad apple.” He raised an eyebrow. “I heard Mr. Foxglove had very nice things to say about you both.”

  The blonde, Roxie, covered her mouth with both hands. “Really?”

  “Mr. Foxglove was a gentleman,” said Krysta.

  “Most of the clients are,” said Rollin. “You'll see. Give it some time.”

  Roxie looked at Krysta, who was folding her arms and biting her lower lip in reluctant consideration.

  “Tell you what. I'll send two of the more seasoned girls in to cover for you. You two go in the back room and discuss it between yourselves over a drink.” Rollin turned back to his goblin drink makers. “Wormrot, two Magic Missiles for the ladies.”

  Roxie licked her lips and smiled at him.

  Krysta gave him a small sneer. “Make it top shelf gin.”

  Rollin gave her a broad professionally friendly smile. “You got it.”

  Stacy leaned close to Julian. “Who do you know that's terrible with women, has severe entitlement issues, and might be wearing a black gemstone?”

  Julian nodded. He'd been thinking the same thing. “Should we talk to the girls?”

  “Not in front of the bartender. He's encouraging them to whore themselves out to keep the High Flyers happy. If he hears us asking questions about his top clients, he'll have us kicked out for sure. Let's follow them when they get their drinks.”

  The hallway the two women walked down wasn't guarded like the staircase leading up to the second floor, but neither was it trafficked by customers. Julian tried to think of an excuse they could use if anyone asked them what business they had going that way, but was having a hard time coming up with anything plausible.

  “Look,” said Stacy, pointing at some tables along the right side wall. “There's Vinny.”

  “Who's V-Oof!”

  Stacy shoved him into the hallway and silently followed close behind him.

  “What are you thinking? That made us look even more suspicious!”

  “Relax,” said Stacy. “He wasn't even looking at us. He was buttering up the two girls he's about to serve up to Mordred. Now see if you can figure out which of these rooms our girls are in.”

  Feeling like a total creep, Julian pressed his ear to each door along the hallway while Stacy kept an eye out behind him.

  The first three rooms were either empty, or whoever was inside was being supernaturally quiet. The doors were thin, and Julian's elf ears would easily be able to pick up the sound of two angry women chatting.

  They sounded like they were shouting through bullhorns when he pressed his ear against the fourth door.

  “We're worth more than this,” said Krysta.

  “But this is the Crescent Shadow. How many girls back home would kill to have this gig? Let's stick it out just a little longer.”

  Julian nodded at Stacy.

  Stacy waved for him to move aside, and positioned herself to kick the door in.

  Rather than move out of the way, Julian pushed the door an inch open with one finger.

  Stacy shrugged, then walked through the door.

  “Hey,” said Krysta. “This is for Wanderlust employees only.”

  Stacy pulled a gold coin out of her pocket. “And this is for shutting the fuck up and listening.” She set the coin down on the table.

  Krysta and Roxie looked at the coin, then gave Stacy their undivided attention.

  Stacy nodded at Julian. “You're the charmer. Take it away.”

  Julian cleared his throat. He'd expected Stacy to do all the talking. “Um... hello.”

  “Hi there,” said Roxie.

  Krysta narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Okay. Well, let's see. We couldn't help but overhear your conversation with the bartender back there. It's these sensitive elven ears of mine. I'm sure you ladies can relate.”

  “Not really,” said Krysta. “We haven't had a true elf in our bloodline since our great great grandmother, who was raped by a human over a century ago. Purebloods of either race want nothing to do with our kind. That is, of course, unless it's of a temporary nature.”

  “Oh,” said Julian. His Diplomacy skill hadn't prepared him for this. “About the man upstairs. I believe he called himself Mr. Baxter?”

  “Yeah, what about him?”<
br />
  “That black gemstone he was wearing. Did it have numbers etched into the sides?”

  Krysta put her drink down. “Yeah, I think it did.”

  “We need to see Mr. Baxter right away.”

  “The guards won't let you upstairs unless you're a High Flyer.” Krysta looked Julian and Stacy up and down. “You don't look like High Flyers to me.”

  Julian shrugged. “We're not.”

  “For another gold piece, I'll run upstairs and tell him you're here.”

  Julian raised his hands defensively. “No no no. That won't do at all. You see, he won't want to meet us.”

  Krysta and Roxie exchanged glances.

  “Interesting,” said Krysta.

  “In that case,” said Roxie, smiling up at Julian. “For another three gold pieces, we won't run upstairs and tell him you're here.”

  Stacy dug into her pocket and glared at Julian. “You really nailed that Diplomacy.” She slapped three more coins down on the table.

  “So what are you thinking?” asked Julian. “One of us runs distraction on the guards while the other runs upstairs and swipes the die from Mordred?”

  “Wow. Like, every single part of that plan is just the worst.”

  “What then?”

  “Use your head, Julian,” said Stacy. “Why would we chase down these lovely ladies just to confirm information we already know? They can easily slip past the guards, get right up close to Mr. Baxter, and –”

  “I think you may be overestimating how much four gold pieces buys you,” said Krysta. She picked up two of the gold pieces and slid the other two to Roxie. “You've already paid us, and all we've agreed to so far was to shut the fuck up and listen.”

  “And you've been doing a fine job of that up til now. Please continue just a little while longer.” Stacy turned back to Julian. “Give me those scrolls you swiped from the basement earlier.”

  Julian dug through his bag until he found the scrolls in question. “How did you –”

  “I'm awesome.”

  Julian handed over the scrolls. “I think I see where you're going with this. But I'm not sure if a Disguise Self spell can make me look like a woman.”