by Isaac Hooke
Malem and the two women slid forward to make room for the remaining members of their party. While he waited for the others to enter he studied the narrow tunnel. The corridor proceeded well into the distance, with brown sludge flowing a few inches below the level of the walkway. That was a little close for his liking.
“Did you know some cities divert water from their storm drains into the sewage system?” Xaxia commented. “If Tartan does that, and it rains while we’re down here, the shit will quickly overwhelm the walkway. You saw how the sky was overcast, right?”
“Rain would be bad,” Malem agreed.
“You certainly know a lot about the inner workings of sewer systems,” Ziatrice commented.
“I’m a bandit,” Xaxia said. “I’ve fled through my fair share of them.”
Gwen was the last one to enter; she used her strength to replace the sewage grill above her before descending. “Gah. Heavier than it looks!”
When Gwen landed on the walkway, Malem heard a soft pitter-patter. The party members glanced around, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise.
It seemed to be coming from Gwen.
She glanced up, and blinked. Droplets were falling onto her from the grill above. “It’s starting to rain.”
“Wonderful,” Xaxia said.
The intensity of those droplets increased, and Gwen shoved against Rathamias, moving out of the way so she wouldn’t get too wet.
“Let’s hurry up, Abigail,” Malem said.
The silver half dragon led the way forward, her globe of fire still lighting the way. The tunnel occasionally branched, and sometimes two corridors overlapped in a crossroads. In the latter case, narrow grille bridges provided a means to cross to the other side without touching the effluence.
Abigail led the way without pause. Her confidence seemed unwavering, which was at odds to the earlier uncertainty she exhibited during the trek through the darkened streets. The light sphere probably helped.
“You say you’ve only taken this route twice?” Ziatrice called from behind. “How is it that you remember the twists and turns so well?”
“Most dragons have extremely good memories,” Abigail said. “I, on the other hand, have an exceptional one.”
After a time, Malem noted the sewage level was slowly rising, no doubt thanks to the rain.
“Oh no!” Gwen said. “You see that? Faster!”
“See what?” Weyanna asked.
“The shit!” Gwen said. “It’s going up!”
Abigail picked up the pace.
But it was no use. Soon the rising sewer water overwhelmed the walkway, and the party members were splashing through the effluence. Malem quickly switched to shuffling his feet forward so as not to spray his legs with the disgusting fluid. The others did the same.
In a few moments the sewage reached to their ankles. They continued to slide their feet. So far, his long boots protected him from the worst of it, but that wouldn’t last long. Weyanna and Abigail, wearing sandals, already had the stuff touching their skin.
Sure enough, after taking a few branches, they were forced to wade, knee-deep, through the brown sludge. It overtopped his boots by then, flowing inside, and he felt the fluid squishing between his toes with each step.
The disgust was obvious on the faces of the women around him: their mouths were curled down, their noses wrinkled in repulsion. He doubted his expression was any better.
“You know, if this keeps up, soon we’ll be swimming in this shit,” Xaxia said.
“A pleasant thought,” Weyanna commented.
Ziatrice stumbled, nearly falling off the walkway, but Xaxia caught her.
“To think, I was once a queen,” Ziatrice said. “A queen! And look at me now. How low I’ve fallen. Traipsing across the great stinking underbelly of a city, knee deep in shit. The things I do for you, Breaker!”
“The things we all do!” Gwen said. She paused. “But you know, in all honesty, I expected the smell to be a lot worse down here, but it’s pretty much been consistent with what it was when we first opened up the manhole.”
“Well, sure,” Xaxia said. “You’re right. But that doesn’t make the stench any better.”
“I suppose not,” Gwen said.
He sensed Abigail and Weyanna weaken from the effort of all that wading, so he transferred vitality from the distant monsters and the pair perked up.
Abigail soon led them underneath a portion of tunnel whose ceiling was covered in red and purple lichen. The plants dripped moisture onto the group.
Xaxia rubbed some of if off her shoulder. “More sewage, or rain water?”
“Neither,” Abigail said. “We’re passing underneath the moat.”
The effluent had reached their waists by the time the tunnel opened into a wide drain basin.
“We’re underneath the castle.” Abigail spoke in a hushed voice, as if worried listeners might be nearby.
She waded forward slowly, directly across the concave basin, obviously trying to make as little noise as possible. The others followed her example.
The sewage levels quickly dropped as they ascended the gentle slope so that by the time they stood next to the far wall of stone, the black liquid reached only to their ankles. Beside Abigail there were a series of rungs leading to a small grill in the ceiling.
Malem reached out, searching for any nearby beasts. He sensed a few rats at different locations in the castle above. The closest Eldritch was well away, however. He doubted there were any Eldritch mages, or any humans in the room immediately overhead, considering it was accessible only by secret passage, at least according to Abigail. He supposed he could have Broken one of the nearby rats and sent it toward this location, but as far as he could tell, the rodents were well beyond the confines of the secret passage Abigail had described to him. And since a rat couldn’t open the doorway that led to that passage, trying to explore it at this point was mostly an exercise in futility.
Abigail pointed wordlessly at the grill.
Gwen, do your thing, Malem sent her.
The half gobling came forward, scaled the metal rungs in the wall, and peered through the grill. She looked down, and sent, softly: Seems clear. Though there are a lot of shadows.
Malem nodded. Move the grill.
Gwen shoved the blockage upward and out of the way with some effort. Malem cringed at the sound of stone against steel, still worried that there might be someone nearby he couldn’t detect, someone who might hear.
When the grill was out of the way, Gwen lifted her head into the opening and, while still balancing on the rungs, swiveled to scope out her surroundings. He accessed her vision, and was satisfied no one was present.
Gwen pulled herself up.
The others followed in turn. Abigail’s illumination globe joined them in the chamber. The place was relatively roomy, and as such, Malem guessed it was one of those architectural mistakes that builders often bricked over. Then again, maybe whoever designed the castle purposely built the secret chamber with the king and his entire guard retinue in mind, and set aside enough room to hold them.
“Should I replace the grill?” Gwen asked softly.
Malem shook his head. “Leave it, in case we need to make a hasty retreat back the way we came.”
There was a small hand-operated pump in the far wall, along with an empty bucket.
Abigail went to it and began pumping.
“How sanitary can well water be this close to a sewer?” Weyanna asked.
“I wouldn’t recommend drinking it,” Abigail said. When the bucket was full, she went to the opening next to the grill and poured the water over her sludge-covered legs, washing the sewage down the drain.
The others followed her lead, filling the bucket in turn and cleaning themselves. Additionally, Malem removed his boots and washed the insides, along with his feet. The other members of the party who wore boots did likewise.
When he slid his feet back inside, the inner sole of his boots still felt squishy, and he
imagined every step was probably only squeezing out more effluence that had been absorbed into the fabric, like crushing a wet sponge, coating his feet in the disgusting liquid all over again.
Nothing he could do about that.
“Oh, I’m going to have a few ringworms after this,” Xaxia commented after she had replaced her boots; no doubt she was experiencing the same mushy insoles.
Abigail led them out of the room, into a stone-walled corridor so tight that they had to move in single file. She soon reached a dead end.
Abigail felt along the edges of the rock, until she found small handles, and then shoved. The stone wall gave, allowing her to slide it. She pushed it open a crack, and peered into the gap. Then she slid it further, enough to stick her head through entirely.
Malem observed from her viewpoint: the stone passageway beyond was wider, and carpeted with a thin, checkered rug that ran the length of the corridor. Light glowed from magical brackets placed at regular intervals in the walls. There were no men, women, or Eldritch present.
Abigail turned back toward him, and said, very quietly: “Seems safe.”
I’ll be the judge of that, he sent.
He still didn’t sense anyone nearby, but he knew better than to rely upon his beast sense by now. He released Snowy, and instead bound one of the nearby rats. Now that he had a better idea of where he was, he was able to guide the rat to his location. He shared its vision with the women he’d Broken so they had at least some idea of what was taking place, and then had the rat explore the nearby rooms—those that didn’t have closed doors, at least. It found mostly crates packed away in storage; all of them cracked open, and empty. Broken wine and beer casks lay scattered about, their contents spilled and evaporated. Apparently the Eldritch didn’t care much for human spirits.
When he was satisfied the level was empty, save for other rats, he sent the rodent forward to the unexplored section of the hall, where a staircase led up to the next level. He instructed the rat to climb the flight, and it proceeded to do so.
He was always amazed at the proficiency with which rodents could surmount stairs: the little guy propelled itself upward with a leap, grabbing onto the horizontal outer edge of the next step while at the same time scrabbling at the vertical segment of the previous with the claws of its hind legs until it pulled itself up, swinging its tail for added momentum. And then on to the next step to repeat the process.
In short order the rat reached the next level. This seemed to be the main floor of the castle, as the rat now resided in a grand hall. Smaller rooms opened off from that hall.
Malem sent the rat forward to begin exploring. The rat kept close to the walls of the hall, ducking behind different furniture along the way so that it remained out of sight as much as possible.
The looting seemed to have paused for the night—there were no Eldritch in most of the rooms. That said, there wasn’t much left to loot—the walls were mostly stripped bare, and only the plainest furniture remained. A few occasional pieces of value remained—a painting and a silk tablecloth here, a statue and a silver candelabra there—and those would no doubt be cleaned out when the looters made yet another pass in the morning. Perhaps that would even be the final pass before the army withdrew.
Although there were no looters at this hour, Eldritch soldiers still patrolled the halls. Malem only sensed them about half the time, which told him some of those patrols were peopled entirely by mages. After some further exploration of the halls and rooms with his rat, he had a good sense of the schedules and routes of the patrols.
Eventually he found a throne room, but it was completely empty. He knew that there had been a throne present, probably an elaborate one, because of the four equally-spaced indentations that marred the cherry wood dais at the front of the room—the marks of a heavy chair that had rested in the same place for a very long time.
When the rat finished exploring that level, he sent it up to the next, which proved a slightly smaller version of the previous floor, replete with hall and side rooms, but minus the throne room.
Meanwhile the women and the orak with him had slid down to the floor of the secret passageway, their backs propped up against the narrow walls. Abigail had snuffed out her fiery sphere, since light from the magical brackets beyond gave enough illumination to see by. He sensed mostly patience from their energy bundles, though Ziatrice was thrumming her fingers on the stone beside her, while Xaxia’s leg bobbed up and down restlessly.
He took a seat on the hard floor next to them and continued his remote explorations.
The next level had a large bath, plus several bedchambers. Malem hoped he was getting close. However, as he sent the rat into each bedchamber, they proved just as empty as the rest of the castle—the beds were stripped of sheets, leaving only bare mattresses, and the windows were curtain-less. As each bedchamber proved the same as the last, he began to wonder if perhaps Ziatrice was wrong, and Mauritania had elected to sleep in a tent outside after all.
That was fine… he sensed a particular bundle of energy on the surface above, belonging to what could only be a small ferret. He could Break it and have it explore the different tents of the inner courtyard. If Mauritania wasn’t here, then that was the next most likely location.
But then the rat rounded one last bend it hadn’t yet explored. And a hall led to a final door.
The walls on either side were lined with Eldritch guards that faced one another. None of them gripped the tridents or nets of the common soldier, but rather stood empty-handed.
All mages, then.
“That would be her chambers,” Gwen said.
24
Malem had the rat sneak through the twin line of guards. The tiny creature stayed as close to the leftmost wall as possible, of course, slowly weaseling its way forward along the join where the stones met the floor, dashing from one large boot to the next.
When the rat reached the boot of the final guard, it peered past, glancing upward at the sentry standing across from this one, and, as per Malem’s orders, confirmed that the Eldritch wasn’t looking down at the rat.
He ordered the rat to the door, and the creature began to squeeze underneath the door. The flattening abilities of rodents never ceased to impress him. Then again, perhaps he had Broken a smaller mouse rather than a rat—Malem had trouble differentiating between the two at that scale.
However, the rodent got caught by the base of the door after only squeezing halfway through, and it scrabbled its hind legs on the stone floor in an attempt to propel itself through. Meanwhile, its head was pointed at the ceiling as it pulled frantically with its fore legs.
The clicking sounds made by its tiny claws seemed rather loud to Malem, but that was because he was viewing and listening to the world from the rat’s perspective. Still, he worried the scraping would attract the attention of the guards; either that, or the rat’s presence would trigger some kind of magical motion alarm.
A moment later the rat pushed through and entered the room beyond, unscathed, and seemingly without raising any alarms.
He immediately had the rodent move to the side, away from the door: if the guards decided to enter and investigate, it wouldn’t do for the rat to be standing there in plain sight.
Once the creature was out of the way, he propped it against the wall to survey the room.
The place was full of furnishings: nothing had been looted, as far as he could tell. The ornate dresser embellished with carvings of small dryads, the nightstand hewn out of cherry wood and inlaid with gold nymphs, the closet fashioned into the shape of a big blooming flower, its two stamen forming the handles.
In the center of the room, blue drapes hung from the ceiling. They were festooned with sequins in a pattern that he thought was meant to imitate stars. Those drapes were also translucent, giving him a hint of the lavish bed of red and white silks enveloped beyond.
He had the rat advance toward the bed. Hoping for a better vantage, he instructed it to scale those drapes, and the creatur
e rushed forward to obey, throwing itself onto the hanging fabric. He was a little worried the fabric would rip, waking the occupant, but he figured the rat was expendable anyway, so even if the rodent was discovered, it would be worth it to find out whoever lay there.
The fabric did indeed rip, though only slightly, and the rat was able to grab onto an intact section and proceed without issue. The sleeper remained under, and slowly came into view beyond the translucent curtain as the rat climbed.
She lay on her side, wearing a nightgown of loose green satin. Her legs were bent, and the gown had fallen away from her calves and thighs there, allowing him a fine view of the creamy white skin beneath. She was far taller than the previous occupant of the bed, and had to curl her body to fit, almost assuming the fetal position.
As more of her was revealed, he noticed a scepter lying on the bed beside her, within easy reach. Her waist formed a tight hourglass beside it, and the bodice of her gown was cut low, allowing him take in the luscious curves of her breasts.
The rat continued its arduous climb, until finally her face was visible.
Her beauty made his breath catch in his throat.
“Is that Mauritania?” he asked Ziatrice.
The night elf paused to consider the question. “I’ve never seen her this close, but based on sightings from afar, I would say yes, that is Mauritania. And the fact she is the most human-seeming Eldritch we’ve encountered yet is another giveaway.”
“Yes, you weren’t kidding when you said the females are sexually dimorphic to the males,” he breathed. “She looks completely human. Except for those small, blunt horns on her head. And her slight giantism.”
“Listen to his voice,” Xaxia said. “Someone’s turned on.”
“Typical man,” Gwen commented. “Sees a few breasts and gets all excited.”
“Breasts would do it,” he admitted. “Especially large ones.”
He felt a punch in his side. Thanks, Abigail.
Don’t mention it.
From the rat’s higher vantage, he could also see a gold crown inlaid with precious gems resting on the nightstand. Even without Ziatrice’s confirmation, that crown alone would have been confirmation enough that this was indeed who they sought: the Black Sword, leader of the Eldritch army, a woman who stood high among Vorgon’s generals.
