Critical Failures V (Caverns and Creatures Book 5)

by Robert Bevan

  “Sorry!” Tim croaked. “It’s... empty...” Tim dropped the bottle.

  Morty didn’t drop Tim. He opened his mouth wide, showing teeth like a forest of spikes in his black gums, and pulled Tim toward it. His grip on Tim’s neck was firm, but not actually squeezing.

  “Katherine! Help!”

  “Let go of him!” shouted Katherine. Morty’s mouth backed up about six inches as Katherine pulled at Tim’s feet.

  Tanner grabbed Morty’s other arm. “Come on, Morty. We’ve all had a lot to – Yaaaaahhhhh!” Morty threw him across the room.

  Tim’s neck felt like it was being stretched to twice its normal length as Morty pulled him back toward his gaping maw. His breath was hot and boozy like a creepy uncle’s. With his free hand, he pointed to the inside of his mouth.

  “I don’t want to go in your mouth!” said Tim. He was making a considerable effort to neither cry nor piss himself. “Katherine! Do something, please!”

  “I’m doing my best,” said Katherine, still pulling at his feet. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

  “Kick him in the junk!”

  Morty shook his massive head. His eyes looked both mad and pleading. He pointed even more frantically at the inside of his mouth.

  “Fuck that!” said Tim. “I’m not going in there. Katherine, hurry!”

  “Aack! Aaaaaccccckk! Aack!” said Morty frantically.

  Tim’s head lunged into Morty’s mouth as Katherine let go of his feet. He shut his eyes and waited for his head and torso to be bitten off, but that never happened.

  “Hnnnnnngggg,” said Morty. From the inside of Morty’s canyon of a mouth, Tim could feel the inarticulate sound as well as hear it. It was the sound a man’s heart makes when he’s been kicked in the junk.

  Morty’s grip loosened, and Tim felt the welcome pain of crashing onto the floor. When he opened his eyes, Morty lay next to him, a puddle of blood and drool forming near the corner of his mouth, eyes lifeless.

  “Jesus, Katherine,” said Tim. “How hard did you kick him?”

  Katherine frowned down at the dead minotaur. “Not hard enough to kill him.” She looked at Tim. “Are you okay?”

  Tim sat up. As strange as it seemed, he was okay. He was better than okay even. “I feel great.”

  “So glad to hear that,” said Tanner. He was bleeding from a gash in his head, but didn’t look too bad otherwise. “We really should do this more often.”

  Tim looked down to find that the scroll case holding his character sheet was between his legs like a big silver dong. He unscrewed the cap and pulled out the otherworldly paper. He was a fifth level rogue.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Katherine.

  Tim looked up at her. “I think I killed Morty.”

  “That’s ridiculous. How could you have killed him? By starving him to death? I’m the one that kicked him in the nuts.”

  Tanner swirled around the residual stonepiss at the bottom of Morty’s pitcher. “There’s blood in here,” he said. “I think Morty found the third caltrop.”

  Chapter 2

  Frank sulked over his sweaty beer mug, his eyes too heavy to look angry anymore. “Do you think filling the tube with dog shit and pee was going a step too far?”

  “Not far enough, if you ask me,” said Tony the Elf. He didn’t look quite so tired as Frank. But that might have had something to do with elves and their weird sleep thing.

  “I agree,” said Stacy. She had plenty of anger left to burn. “I would have pissed in it myself if I didn’t think that little creep might keep it to sniff and whack off to.”

  “That’s pretty gross, even for one of them.” Frank looked over at Cooper, sleeping face-down on the floor. The back of his loincloth fluttered. “Do you think he’d really –”

  “The fact that you’re asking the question means you know it’s within the realm of possibilities.” She sipped her beer. “I’ve seen it before, and I wasn’t even as hot as I am now.”

  “So you’ve mentioned,” said Rhonda.

  “You know what I’m talking about. Back in college, when you had a guy in your room, how many pairs of panties went missing every time you stepped out to use the bathroom?”

  Rhonda looked down into her drink. “It wasn’t so much of an issue for me.”

  Frank and Tony the Elf glanced awkwardly at each other.

  Stacy sucked back her beer a little faster, trying to think of something to say other than, “Oh.”

  Rhonda set her glass down on the table a littler harder than necessary. “I went to an all-girls school.”

  “Ah,” said Tony the Elf.

  “Of course,” said Frank.

  “That explains it,” said Stacy. “You didn’t miss out on anything. You wouldn’t believe how low some of those creeps would stoop. But to the best of my knowledge, none of them have ever killed a guy over me. Before now.” She looked at Frank. “Is there honestly anything Tim could do that would surprise you?”

  Tony the Elf’s almond eyes went round. “Stacy, you’re brilliant!”

  Stacy smiled. “Why thank you!”

  Rhonda rolled her eyes. “And strong, and hot. We’ve been through this.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” said Tony the Elf, rising from his stool. He carefully stepped over sleeping bodies as he made his way to the cellar door.

  “You might want to rethink going down there,” said one of the elves who passed their sleepless nights playing a meta-game of Caverns & Creatures. “She’s down there.”

  “This can’t wait.”

  “Suit yourself.” The elf turned back to his group and rolled a handful of wooden dice.

  Julian was sitting near the game table, but facing away from it, staring at the wall. He was most likely in his elf trance that passed for sleep. He didn’t seem to enjoy the game too much, but he’d been spending more of his nights over there since all the shit went down with Tim. And he’d been spending more of his days suddenly remembering errands that needed running whenever Stacy came around.

  Tony the Elf knocked gently on the door leading down to the cellar. “Excuse me, Denise? I need to come down there.” He opened the door a crack.

  “Give it to me good, Dwayne!” Denise’s voice echoed up the cellar stairs. “I smell what The Rock is cooking!”

  “Hello?” said Tony the Elf, loud enough to try to get Denise’s attention, but not so loud as to wake anyone up. It was a fine line. “I’m coming down th–”

  “My oven is preheated, honey. Insert that eggplant parmesan!”

  Tony the Elf looked down and shook his head.

  “Set the timer for thirty-five minutes!”

  “Eggplant parmesan?” said Frank. “Is that a racial thing?”

  “That was my first thought,” said Stacy. “But now I’m starting to think she’s just reading a recipe.”

  Tony the Elf stomped down the stairs, clearing his throat continuously as he did so.

  “Then turn me over and – Goddammit! Don’t none of y’all know how to knock? Wait! The fuck are you... I was using that!”

  “I’m sorry, Denise,” said Tony the Elf. “This is important. Please let go.”

  “Who are you to judge me, motherfu–”

  There was a snap of breaking wood, followed by a loud crash of wood, stone, and steel, then some sobbing.

  “Fine,” said Tony the Elf. “You can keep that much. But I’m taking the rest.”

  “This is natural!” cried Denise as Tony the Elf’s footsteps quickly grew louder up the staircase. “I got needs!”

  Tony the Elf emerged with a three-legged wooden chair and slammed the cellar door behind him, silencing Denise’s throaty sobs.

  “Do we want to know?” asked Frank.

  Tony the Elf frowned. “Denise is... using the other leg.”

  “Isn’t there a more appropriate... device down there?” asked Stacy.

  “Would you use it, knowing what you know?”

  “She could wash it.”

  �
�Even then, would you?”

  Stacy frowned. “No, I suppose not.”

  “It’s probably a good idea to give all those weapons a good boil,” said Rhonda. “She spends an awful lot of time down there.”

  “What’s with the chair?” asked Frank.

  Tony the Elf’s eyes lit up. “All that talk about panty-sniffing got me thinking about that little guy we had tied up in the cellar.”

  “That may be the most fucked-up sentence ever uttered in the history of language.”

  Tony the Elf paused to replay the sentence in his mind. “Yes. I can see how that may be misconstrued out of context.”

  “Please waste no more time getting to that context.”

  “We’re all in agreement that our former prisoner was very likely one of Mordred’s avatars in this world, right?”

  Stacy nodded. Rhonda shrugged.

  “Yes,” said Frank, bitterly.

  “Well he spent a lot of time with his ass firmly planted on this seat.” Tony the Elf held up the chair and pointed to the seat. “And no one can sniff out an ass like Dave.”

  Stacy focused through her beer buzz. “The stocky guy with the beard?”

  “No,” said Tony the Elf. “The other Dave. My Animal Companion.”

  Rhonda’s jowls sagged. “It’s a nice thought, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. He could be anywhere by now.”

  “Ass is a powerful scent,” said Frank. “And I think there’s a decent enough chance that he might still be nearby.” He looked up at Tony the Elf. “Good work. We don’t have any time to waste. Separate the four planks of that seat. Wake up three more people who have dogs or wolves as Animal Companions or Familiars. Partner up, fan out through the city, and see if any of you can pick up the scent. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to hone in on that little bastard while Mordred’s in one of his other bodies.”

  Stacy smiled at Frank. “It’s good to see you excited about something. But Rhonda’s right. Maybe hold off on getting too optimistic until we actually find the little guy.”

  “After the past couple of days of crushing disappointment, I’m going to allow myself the luxury of a bit of optimism. We’ll find that little fucker all right. And when we do, we know how to coerce him into rolling these –” Frank’s face turned pale.

  “What is it, Frank?” asked Stacy. He was frozen with his hand over his pants pocket. She thought he might be having a stroke. “Frank, what’s wrong?”

  Frank seemed to snap out of a trance, smiled to himself, then took a long swig from his glass. “Remember when you asked me if there was anything Tim could do that would surprise me?”

  Stacy had a strong feeling that she wasn’t going to like what Frank was about to say. “Yes...”

  “The drow.”

  “Who?”

  “The dark elf who came in here earlier to get Tim and Katherine’s character sheets.”

  “What about him?”

  “He wasn’t here to get the character sheets. He picked my pocket.” Frank climbed up to stand on top of his table and patted his empty pocket. “They’re gone.”

  Rhonda gasped. “You don’t mean...”

  Frank hurled his glass down on the table, where it shattered in an explosion of beer and shards. “They’re gone! They’re fucking gone!”

  Bodies began to groan and rise from the floor.

  “Dude,” said Cooper. “What the fuck? Is it morning already?”

  “I’ll tell you what the fuck,” said Frank. “Your little shithead friend stole my dice.”

  The crowd on the floor became suddenly much more awake. Groans gave way to angry murmurs.

  “Calm down, everyone,” said Julian, apparently out of his trance. “Let’s get a clearer picture of what we’re actually deal–”

  “Shove your Diplomacy up your ass, Julian,” said Frank. He looked like he wanted something else to throw, balling his fists up in frustration. “Tim’s as good as dead, and so is anyone who gets in my way.”

  Julian shut his mouth. Frank’s warning was obviously intended for those closest to Tim.

  “What about the other halfling?” asked Tony the Elf, not bothered in the least by Frank’s sudden authoritarian takeover. “Shall we put that plan on hold for now?”

  Frank shook his head. “I’ll get someone else on it. You go after Tim. Check out the pubs in the Lantern District. Take Cooper with you.”

  Tony the Elf’s face looked like the doctor just told him his father didn’t survive the surgery. “Come on, Frank. Anyone but –”

  “NOW!” Frank stomped on a piece of his broken glass, crushing it into the table.

  Stacy stood up and strapped on her sword. “Julian and I will ask around at some of the seedier inns near Eastgate.”

  Frank regained his composure and scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know. Considering Tim’s feelings for you, we might be able to use you to lure him into a trap.”

  “I’m done being used as bait, Frank. That’s how I wound up here in the first place. I was paying you a courtesy by informing you of my intentions. I wasn’t asking permission.”

  Chapter 3

  “It’s weird,” said Katherine, switching focus between her bleeding hand and various blood smears around the tavern.

  SMASH

  Another bottle of liquor exploded against the wall. Tim had been standing on the bar throwing them since shortly after he’d killed Morty. Katherine sensed he was upset about something.

  “You don’t realize how many things you actually touch until you start bleeding from the hands.” Katherine hiccoughed, re-calibrated her train of thought, and continued. “For example, that chair over there. I don’t even remember going –”

  SMASH

  “Hey! Are you listening to me?”

  “No,” said Tim.

  Katherine grabbed the nearest thing she could throw, a blood-caked shot glass, and hurled it at her brother. She missed pretty wildly, but not so much that he didn’t notice.

  “What the fuck was that for?”

  “For being an asshole. I was just trying to cheer you up.”

  Tim looked at her, then at the bottle in his hand, then at her again. “Can you not see I’m in the middle of something?” He threw the bottle against the hearth, causing an explosion of shimmering glass shards, and leaving a purple stain running down the stone.

  “I’m pretty drunk,” Katherine admitted. “But it looks like you’re just throwing shit against the wall.”

  “I’m prepping this place to burn. We need to cover our tracks.”

  SMASH

  “Well don’t smash all of it.”

  “I’ve packed as much of the best shit as I could into our bags already.”

  “The upstairs rooms are empty,” said Tanner, hurrying down the stairs. He was wearing a thick hide traveling cloak that Katherine was sure he hadn’t come in here with.

  Katherine downed two of the shot glasses least murky with blood, which was ironic considering that she’d been a vampire only a few short days ago. It was also weird that she was able to get so shitfaced on beer so quickly. Going without for a while really did a number on her tolerance. Or maybe it had something to do with all the blood loss. She wanted nachos.

  “Katherine,” said Tim. “Get Butterballs ready to go. We need everyone at the front door when we set this place alight.”

  “Butterbean!” Katherine called out in a random direction.

  Butterbean barked. He’d been right there beside her the whole time. The fur on his face and neck were red and sticky with blood, like he’d been going down on a –

  Ew, no. Stop that train of thought at the next station please. I’m getting off here.

  Still, this wolf was in dire need of a bath.

  “I don’t want to tell you how to go about your business,” said Tanner. “But could you remind me why we’re burning this tavern to the ground?”

  SMASH

  Tim grabbed another of the decreasing supply of liquor bottles from one of
the shelves behind the bar. “This creates confusion. If we just ditched this place with the dead minotaur owner on the floor, there will be questions asked. Not a lot of people saw you or me, but Katherine would be fucked.”

  “And how is adding arson to her list of crimes supposed to help her?”

  “Fires happen. Who’s to say Morty here didn’t have a little too much to drink, knock over a candle when he passed out, and succumb to a painless carbon monoxide-induced death while the tavern burned down around him?”

  Tanner thought for a moment. “What’s carbon monoxide?”

  “It’s the shit that’s in smoke that makes you dead. Any more questions?”

  “The fire could explain the dead minotaur. But what explains the fire? Between all the broken bottles along the base of the walls and the empty till, this looks to me like a clear case of burglary, murder, and arson.”

  Tim bit his lower lip like he’d forgotten something. “I didn’t empty the till.”

  “I did,” said Tanner.

  Katherine took another shot and threw the empty glass against the wall. Why not at this point?

  “We could sweep up the glass,” said Tim. “And Morty could have emptied the till before he started drinking.”

  “I’m just thinking out loud here,” said Tanner. “Couldn’t we just bury the body somewhere like normal people? Maybe he got called away by some sort of family emergency. We clean the place up a bit, and no one would immediately leap to thoughts of foul play. By the time his absence grows suspicious, we’ll all be the hazy recollections of a few drunks.”

  “Where would we bury him? How would we get him there? He’s eight hundred fucking pounds of man-cow.”

  “We could chop him up.”

  Tim grabbed another bottle. “That would take forever. We’d likely be caught in the middle of the process.”

  A thought bubbled up to the surface of Katherine’s boozy mind. “Oh, I know! We could drag him down to the secret room that leads into the sewer and let the dire rats eat him.”

  Tim stopped his arm half-cocked. “What secret room?”

  “The one Morty showed me when you were hogging the bathroom for so long.”