by Gary Gygax
Gord felt the beautiful girl shudder at the thought of what fate could have been theirs. He helped her move up until her feet were braced against the lowest of the metal rungs. Then he felt his way a few feet farther upward, confirming to himself that the metal bars did indeed progress up the chimney, and that they were strong enough and anchored well enough to hold under his weight. The thoughtfulness of the builder in making them thick was appreciated by Gord, although he was sure that time and decay had weakened them sufficiently to bring breakage from hard or heavy usage. Neither he nor Evaleigh would be so careless as to unduly strain these metal rungs.
Positioned just above the girl, he pulled out the candle stub once again, sparked the tinder, and got the wick alight. Sure enough, more rungs led upward, reaching into the darkness beyond the area illuminated by the tiny candle flame.
“I’ll ascend slowly, one rung at a time,” he told Evaleigh. “You climb just behind me, being careful not to place all of your weight on any one rung, and holding firm so as not to slip or fall. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I can do it easily here. This is just like a ladder!” Evaleigh sounded slightly hysterical, but she climbed calmly enough. She also climbed quickly, so that Gord was forced to stop looking back to watch out for her and instead devote his attention to keeping a good pace ahead of her.
The shaft led them up no more than another thirty feet. Then it opened into a cylindrical cell about twenty feet in diameter, the vertical passage coming out about three feet from the base of the wall. The center of the cell’s domed ceiling was about eight feet above Gord’s head. There was nothing in the place except a tangled heap of old, filthy rags lying a short distance from the shaft opening and an ancient lantern a few feet away to the other side. The latter still held the remains of a thick candle. This Gord set burning with the small taper he held, extinguishing it as the larger one came to life.
“How do we get out of this place?” asked Evaleigh uneasily as she gazed at the unbroken expanse of stone that formed the walls of the cell.
“No place such as this would exist,” Gord told her in reply, “unless the builder had made some means of exit. Its purpose is secret escape, and therefore we must look for a hidden means of egress. Unless the entrance is secret too, the rest would not be, lady,” Gord explained.
“Oh,” said the girl, brushing dirty hand against smudged cheek. “But how do we find a secret means of leaving this tiny place? The air here is bad, I can hardly breathe, and the walls seem to enclose and suffocate me!”
“Help me look for marks on floor or wall, which could mean stone moving on stone,” Gord said as he put down the lantern near the center of the chamber. “Don’t worry-it won’t take long, for I am skilled in this sort of thing, being a thief.” Gord too noticed that the air within the room was stuffy and stale. It was damp and reeking as well, and he suspected that their breathing and the flaming candle helped to make it worse.
So, there was more than one reason for them to hurry. They might still be pursued from below, if there was a way to open the chimney from the other side. And certainly, they had to get out of this chamber before the bad air overcame them. Both of those facts seemed almost immaterial to Gord at the moment, however, for something else was creeping over him. Gord’s spine crawled and an insufferable sense of foreboding seemed to weigh upon his whole being, almost as if the cell were indeed contracting, closing in to crush and entomb them both. What was wrong?
There was a faint stirring behind him. Gord spun, catlike, his hand going instantly to his dagger. There was a little puff of dust just above the pile of rags…. Had some air blown just then? Evaleigh was already busy inspecting their prison, working the area of the chamber farthest from the pile of rags, and she seemed oblivious to any incipient menace. Gord scolded himself silently, shrugged, and set about to join her in the search. His imagination was getting the better of his common sense-and that was no way to get out, he told himself. Still, no harm in keeping his dagger at the ready….
“I will work on the opposite side, over here,” he said. “Take your time, lady. Better to be certain than miss the clue we must find.”
Evaleigh, who was bent over scrupulously examining every inch of the floor and wall in her vicinity, only muttered a distracted agreement. Gord turned and went toward the curving stone across from her. He started to kick the bundle of mildewed cloth near the base of the wall, but somehow he was unable to bring his booted foot into contact with such unwholesome material. The heap actually had a manlike form, Gord noted as he gazed down at it-too long, too thin, but manlike nonetheless.
Then, even as he stared in horrible fascination, the rags silently twitched and twisted themselves into an even closer semblance of humanity, and from the heap an odor of mold and putrescent flesh wafted its way into Gord’s nostrils. Gord took a step back with an involuntary gasp of fear and disgust. The stuff was trying to form itself! Whatever it was, it meant them no good, and they were trapped with it!
Fortunately, Evaleigh was engrossed in her search. She had not looked in Gord’s direction for some time, and apparently the stench that rose from the rags was not potent enough to reach her attention.
“I think I feel something,” she called, keeping her back to Gord as she spoke and running her hand along an area low on the wall she was examining.
“Good work, my lady!” Gord replied with a shudder as the rag-thing flopped wetly in its efforts to raise its upper half. “I’ll join you in just a moment.”
Now the man-shaped clump of rotting fiber was in a position similar to that of a person seated on the ground, armlike appendages propping its headless torso upright, the “legs” drawing toward the body so as to enable it to arise to a fully erect stance! And a thick, wormy thing was slowly arising from within that horrible torso-a thing of sickly gray with yellow, pulsing veins visible through its membranous skin.
If this worm-creature was the “head” of the rag “body,” Gord knew what to do. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and swung the keen dagger in an arc. A moldy twist of rags flew upward, as an arm would to block a blow, but the razor-edged blade cut through the filthy cloth and struck the worm just below the bulbous upper protrusion that must have been its head.
Reeking matter splattered the nearby wall and ran down it in viscous, gray-yellow strands. The severed bulb fell noiselessly onto the rags and left a foul stain on the fabric and stone it touched as it rolled a few feet and disappeared down the shaft. A sigh seemed to issue from the heap of rags, an almost-human sound. Then the whole pile collapsed back into formlessness, making a disgusting, squishy sound as it did so.
“Gord, what are you doing?” Evaleigh, on hands and knees, was looking sidewise in his direction, over her shoulder. “Stop poking around in those dirty old tatters and help me! I think I have our way out!”
Gord shook away his horror and disgust, surreptitiously wiped his blade on a bit of the rags, and slipped the dagger back into its sheath as he advanced across the cell. “What have you found?” he replied, pretending nothing had happened, as he picked up the lantern from the center of the chamber and moved closer.
“Here!” cried the girl. “The exit is right here! You were right, dear Gord, my rescuer! The place was easy to find.”
Gord peered at the spot she was pointing to, holding the lantern close and willing his hand not to shake. The entire episode with the rag-thing had consumed only a few seconds of time, but the memory of it would last much longer.
After a few seconds of careful scrutiny, Gord managed to make out faint scratches on the edge of a block that protruded slightly from the wall. On his own it would have taken him hours to detect these marks, unless he was very lucky and caught the striations just so in a good light. Evaleigh had not had the benefit of such illumination. Gord looked at the girl with new respect. Perhaps the tales he had heard about elven eyesight were true, in which case thank gods for her heritage!
“Move back just a little please, dear lady,
and I shall try to find the means by which it is opened,” he said to her and moved to examine the wall with eye and fingers. “You are keen-eyed and clever indeed, lady!”
“Thank you, sir!” Evaleigh replied with a small curtsey and a note of cheerfulness in her voice for the first time since this escapade had begun.
They were by no means safe, thought Gord, but they were still at large and undiscovered. There was now real hope-so long as the rag-thing did not regain its unnatural life again. A small stone moved inward under his touch, and as it did so a small crack widened, revealing and freeing a wide, low panel of rock. By pressing on one end of it, Gord discovered that the panel pivoted around a center post. He pulled on the slab until it stuck into the chamber, perpendicular to the curved wall. The opening was not huge, but easily big enough to enable them to pass into a narrow stone tunnel beyond it. Gord took time to reclose and lock the panel in its original place, feeling considerable relief as he did so. Neither the guards, nor anything else, would have an easy time following their route. Then the pair started to follow the passage that had been concealed behind the secret door, Evaleigh carrying the lantern and Gord with dagger in hand.
After a short distance the narrow corridor dead-ended at a broader one that led both left and right. Gord opted for the left, saying that they could try the other direction if this one failed to offer something positive soon. Before long they entered a larger place, pillared and arched, that was the nexus of many tunnels. In addition to the one they had entered from, there were four other passages leading off from the place, and a spiral flight of stone stairs leading upward as well. Gord disliked the sight of the steps, and after a moment of deliberation, he set off to the right, his female companion in tow.
“What is this place, Gord?” asked Evaleigh.
“Towns and cities are full of surprises like this,” he began. “In addition to sewers, drains, cisterns, caverns, and catacombs, there is a warren of escape tunnels and secret adits-the highways of many who wish not to be seen.”
“All cities?” Evaleigh asked incredulously.
“I can’t speak for all of them, only a few. I’ve encountered this sort of passage before. It is part of a hidden means of communication and escape, from its look, and one that hasn’t been neglected, either-so let’s press on!”
Evaleigh had allowed her pace to flag, but at Gord’s urging she picked it up again. They were nearing the end of the passage anyway. After another ten or fifteen steps, it ended at a narrow spiral stairway that had been crudely chiseled from the solid rock. There was a heap of old clothing in a nearby hamper-a sure sign that this passage was still used for something-and Gord stopped for a second to root around in it.
After selecting two somewhat dirty and malodorous cloaks, the young man told Evaleigh to take her own off and replace it with one of the others. She demurred, but Gord insisted, stating that although hers was now soiled and tattered, its workmanship and quality were still too easily noted. They compromised by locating a garment that fit over the cloak she wore, thus hiding it and adding a bit of seeming bulk to her slight figure.
Creeping up the steps with caution, Gord was ready for anything. All he came to was a manure pit.
“Whew!” he said involuntarily when he opened the tiny concealed door that led from the spiral staircase to the dung heap. “Now I know why these cloaks stunk so!”
Evaleigh held her nose and grimaced, but stepped ahead as rapidly as her companion did, crossing the heaps of manure and bits of rotting straw and heading for a wooden ladder at the far end of the pit. They moved up again, their ascent ending when Gord pushed open a trap door and emerged into a wooden shed containing wheelbarrows, spades and forks, and a small cart. The walls of the shed were old, weathered, and warped, so here and there holes and cracks could be seen. Gord reached over and shuttered the lantern quickly, keeping only a small slot to cast a little beam of light. By its ray they found the door, which opened at ground level into a stable area of some sort. Gord extinguished the lantern and discarded it, finding the moonlit sky to be sufficient for easy travel, and they left the shed behind. As they exited, Gord heard Evaleigh draw her first deep breath in some time.
After they had left the stable area and walked for a while, the area began to look familiar to Gord. He put off saying anything until he was sure, and then exclaimed happily, “We’re in Ratswharf! I know this area well. Just up ahead is Tannery Street and beyond is the Umber Stream. We’ll go to our right here and be at the docks in no time!”
Trying to sound as enthused as he was, Evaleigh responded, “Yes, I’m free at last! You are my champion, Gord!”
“Thank you, Evaleigh, but neither you nor I are quit of Boss Dhaelhy yet. His writ extends here and a long way around, too. But now we are about to start on the second stage of our escape….”
His voice trailed off as they came to the wharf where hides were unloaded. The odor here was unmistakable too, and actually worse than that of the dung they had recently had to tread across. As the girl made a face and held her nose, Gord pulled her closer to him. At the edge of the wharf, they walked so as to enable him to peer over the side toward the water below. After a bit he stopped, climbed nimbly down the piling of the pier, and used his foot to pull on a rope tied there. A small skiff attached to the other end appeared under him, and he dropped lightly into the boat.
“Quick, now, Evaleigh,” Gord urged. “Sit on the edge of the pier and slide off and into the boat. I’ll catch you so we don’t capsize.”
The girl shrugged and complied without further hesitation. After all she had been through this night, what was one little leap into a bobbing cockleshell? Although the skiff rocked violently when she landed, Gord was true to his word, both catching her neatly and maintaining the stability of the small craft. After helping her find a seat in the bow, he moved to the stern and picked up the sweep that was resting there. A few quick pushes and pulls, and Gord had sculled the boat out of sight of the wharf and into the current. His sculling and the flow of the Artonsamay soon carried them through the wide Ratspool, where various small ships and barges were moored, and on down the river.
Keeping well to the left of midstream, Gord passed the lowering blackness of Stoink’s walls and towers without incident. He used the oar mainly to steer now; the current was swift in this area. After an hour, there was still no sign of pursuit, and the walled town was far to the north, for the river bent sharply south after passing the place.
“Someone might eventually put a missing boat together with your escape, lady, but not for some time, I think. Our only real worry now would be magical assistance in hounding us down-I know little of dweomercraft, and less of how to combat it.”
“For once I come to the rescue, Gord,” Evaleigh said with a musical laugh. “Of magic and enspellment I know a little, for my dear grandmother-great-great-grandmother, really-taught me some of that art, though nothing potent or useful here. That kind woman did bestow upon me something that will serve us now, I think. Wait, I’ll show you.”
Gord watched the girl shed her cloaks. The golden light of the newly risen sun revealed that she wore tunic and hose of dove gray. “You are dressed as a boy, lady, but no such youth ever displayed such a figure in those garments!” he said.
Evaleigh smiled her pleasure at the compliment but kept up her work, tugging here and there at the leather strip girding her narrow waist. From it she drew a flat, milky crystal. “Look at this!” she said proudly, handing it to him.
The evident pride and assurance the small stone gave her made Gord examine it closely. He noted that the crystal was carved so as to resemble a bird with wings folded down as if to shelter something before it. The thing was bound with silver wire, and a silver chain was fastened to it for wearing around the neck. He handed it back to the girl.
“It is a well-crafted bit of jewelry, lady, but looks to be of no great value, I fear. Why, it would fetch no more than a few-”
“This is no trinket!” Evaleigh i
nterrupted with more laughter. “It is an amulet of power, little fonkin-a protection against any seeking me by means of spell or dweomer.”
“I see, lady,” Gord responded respectfully. Then, with a bit of an edge in his voice, he added, “What is this ‘fonkin’ you call me?”
Evaleigh explained with a giggle that it was an elvish term for someone silly or ignorant. “Be not offended, Gord, for I employed it only as an endearment,” she said sweetly.
Now it was Gord’s turn to be flattered by her words, and he smiled at her. She returned the smile, meanwhile fastening the chain so the amulet was secured around her neck. The process interested Gord, for the tunic was thin, and when it was drawn tight by her movements, some most interesting details of her anatomy were revealed. Evaleigh seemed not to mind the scrutiny a whit, but Gord was careful not to overdo it.
“Make a pallet of the cloaks in the bottom of this skiff, Evaleigh, and sleep a bit,” he said. “I’ll steer us carefully so as to avoid contact with any other craft.” The girl started to object, but Gord was firm, and Evaleigh did admit she was very tired indeed. “With you out of sight,” he added, “anyone passing or observing us from the bank will think I am a fisher, alone and of no interest. It is safest this way.”
Evaleigh remained asleep through the morning and well into the afternoon. When he was sure no other craft were in sight, Gord allowed himself to doze now and again, but he always remained in a sitting position so that he would not sleep long. Serenity, not fatigue, was making him drowsy; he was young and long accustomed to remaining awake for many hours at a stretch when he had to. As the afternoon shadows lengthened, his companion began to stir and make little moaning sounds. Whether they arose from discomfort from the hard bed or from a dream, Gord knew she would soon wake and would be thirsty and hungry, as he was.
