The Dungeoneers: Blackfog Island Read online

  “Don’t think that noise be a pirate, though,” Skulk said. “No pirate is gonna scout us out then yell AWOOOOOOOOOO about it.”

  “Sifts down to this,” Thud said. “This ain’t a roadside camp. We’re on full dungeon protocols from here out. Far as I’m concerned we’re sittin' in the entryway, yeah?”

  “Aye!” came the chorus.

  “Keezix will set up watch rotatin'. Vanguard is short-handed so some of you prob'ly gonna get drafted.”

  There were a few grumbles from likely draftees.

  Keezix’s beard bristled. “Tell me you wouldn’t rather face that howl with a crossbow than a snore. Gryngo and Nibbly! You volunteered loudest.”

  The howl came again, long and low, rising and falling. Thud couldn’t tell if it sounded closer or further than it had the first time. He propped his loaded crossbow against the wall next to his bedroll.

  “Pleasant dreams,” he said.

  ***

  The way ahead was a dark tangle in the blue mists. The bullseyes on the lamps were closed, keeping them dark so as to not reveal their position to anything in the area. Things prone to long warbling howls, for example. They opened the apertures only when necessary, throwing a tight beam on the wreckage as they climbed it. The wood was slimy and coated with razor sharp barnacles. They all had thick leather gloves, which sorted the barnacle issue but made sure-grips on handholds more difficult. By the time they descended the other side the swear jar was owed enough money to have covered expedition expenses.

  Most of the shipwrecks seemed concentrated towards the outer edge, which made a certain sort of sense. The further you got from the edge of the island the fewer ships there were that had made it this far before having their date with gravity. Once they clambered over the first big tangle of wreckage the passage in the sea seemed to open up. From the center of the chasm it was near impossible to see the sea walls through the mist, making it difficult to tell if you were walking straight or in triangles. If they walked close to one wall, however, they couldn’t see the other to tell if it had an opening or had changed course.

  The night had passed quietly, not that there was anything to differentiate it from the day. Thud had divided the morning scouting team into two groups, each group staying in sight of one of the walls as they traveled. Goin, Ping, Gammi and Doc had stayed behind to hold down camp and tend to Clink, who was already complaining about the hospital food. Ween as well, who seemed to view the Squiffy’s broken decks as the ultimate swabbing challenge.

  Gammi, in group one, held one end of a long rope. Rasp was on the other end of it in group two. It served to keep the groups together in the questionable visibility. The light was treacherous, slowly shifting in between blues and greens, clarity and mists. At times you could see far down the chasm, a surreal tunnel capped with darkness. At other times the dwarf next to you was scarcely a smear of motion in the gloom. Thud put Leery on the middle of the rope, there to help lift it over things if necessary as well as to make sure it didn’t mysteriously manage to cut through and become two ropes like it had with the rowboats. They still weren’t sure what had caused that to happen. Too many unanswered questions. Durham was next to her, quill and parchment out, drawing lines. He was there to assist when the rope needed lifting higher than Leery could manage. Thud, Ruby and Skulk followed behind them. They could see both side groups from the middle which made for more efficient order barking, map drawing and event scribing. Catchpenny came as well, completely ignoring the strategic group arrangement and wandering wherever he took a fancy to.

  They moved forward slowly, crossbows at the ready. Ginny and Mungo were also divided between groups. Their usual job during initial scouting was to look for traps, a feature as common to most dungeons as fleas were to orcs. Traps didn’t seem likely here, however, and they’d shifted most of their focus to watching for natural hazards and examining any shipwrecks they had to climb over to make sure the whole wreck wasn’t going to roll onto its side as soon as someone started climbing it.

  The first wreck they came to once beyond the prior day’s scouting cast a somber mood on the expedition. A sizable barque, nose down, bow crushed all the way to the foremast. The ship’s crew had not been as lucky as they had been. Skeletons were scattered where they’d fallen, their bones tumbled and broken.

  Leery popped out from the split in the side where she’d gone in to explore. “You’re going to want to see this.”

  Thud clambered up and poked his head in. The hole led to the ship’s hold. It looked to have been raided at some point. Barrels and crates were pried open. A scatter of nails and a withered apple core gave sign of what was missing.

  “We ain’t the only ones to have ever survived that drop,” Thud said. “Nibbly? Need a date on an apple core.”

  Nibbly stepped in gingerly then squatted next to the apple core. He frowned at it and poked it gingerly with his finger. “Well, it ain’t from this ship, can tell ya that much right off. Them sailors is clean rotted away and that takes a bit longer than what this apple’s been here for. Someone dropped this here about…oh…two weeks ago? Based on how brown and wrinkly them edges are.”

  “Why ain’t it moldy?” Thud asked. “Lotsa water in the air.”

  “Salt,” Nibbly said. “That’s why I salt the inside o' me boots. Mold can’t abide it.”

  “Ah, good tip, I’ll have to try that. Itches fierce once it spreads to me toes.”

  Dadger gave an appreciative whistle from the corner. He’d been poking through a tumble of crates and was now holding up a small statue. A tree, carved from jade. “Wager this’d buy an ale or two, eh? How many shipwrecks you think might be down here? They all have cargoes like this and we may just be walking through one o' the biggest treasure hauls I ever heard of.”

  “Treasure, treasure everywhere and not a pocket to hold it,” Nibbly said.

  “I got pockets,” Cardamon said.

  “I was trying to speak figuratively,” Nibbly said.

  Dadger snorted. “You’re not very good at it. We’ve had this discussion before.”

  “Point is,” Nibbly said, “Finding a treasure’s one thing. Gettin' it out is a whole other thing.”

  “Homing fish!” Mungo said.

  There was a contemplative silence.

  “Items could be packed into crates. Crates float, especially if we stick a few bladders from the bladder-buoys in them. Then we shove them through the wall of water and they float to the top. Harness a homing fish to it and they’ll tow it to…”

  “We’ve not got any homing fish,” Dadger said. “I’ve never heard of a homing fish.”

  “They’d have to be trained, naturally,” the gnome said.

  “Just how long are you anticipating we’ll be down here?”

  “Oh, I don’t mean now,” Mungo said. “I’m thinking ahead, should we run into this situation in the future.”

  “I think dungeons like this one are about as common as homing fish,” Nibbly said.

  “Then for a return trip,” Mungo said. “Once we finish and leave we could make multiple return trips for salvage.”

  “Puttin' the cart afore the oxbear, ain’t ya?” Nibbly said. “Or the crate before the fish, mebbe.” He chortled. Dadger shook his head at him sadly.

  “We ain’t trainin' any fishes,” Thud said. “If we come back it won’t be until after we think up a better plan than that. Like a boat with a block and tackle, maybe. However, I like that you’re thinkin' along them lines. Bladders in the crates is good, though I think we’ll have to find some new bladders. Most o' them others popped in the fall.”

  ***

  A hundred yards in they reached the first split. Another canyon in the water, branching off theirs at an uneven angle. It was narrower and led back in the direction from which they’d come. They followed it briefly, until it split into two smaller branches, then turned back. Opting to follow the largest route was the most likely means of finding something interesting. Rule #89.

  After
a few more long winding turns with scattered shipwrecks Thud called a short halt. Most found a place to sit and eat whatever oddities they’d managed to procure from the Squiffy’s stores. Durham found a flat piece of wood and began making refinements to his map. Ruby perched on a splintered mast. She had her journal out but wasn’t writing in it. Instead she was staring at the wall of water and sucking on the tip of her quill. Thud could always tell how hard Ruby had been thinking by the amount of ink on her lips.

  Staring at the wall of water was something he’d noticed everyone tended to do when they weren’t busy with something else. Any pause and eyes wandered to the water, towering over them. It was the sort of thing that naturally commanded attention.

  “You’ve had a bit o' time to think on it,” Thud said. “What do ya make of it?”

  Ruby was a scribe from the Athenaeum. Thud had never been to the Athenaeum but he’d heard stories. Some from Ruby, some from other dwarves or travelers. The humans regarded it as the largest fortress ever built, mainly because none of them had actually been inside Kheldurn. Regardless, the Athenaeum was massive. And instead of the swords and spears most other fortresses collected the Athenaeum was full of books. Histories, mostly, written by the hundreds of scribes that wandered the world. Hundreds? Thousands? Thud didn’t know. It had become a library centuries ago. It was located at the mouth of the valley of the Godspires which, Thud supposed, gave it some strategic importance in the event that any army was mad enough to try and attack the Godspires. With all of the knowledge contained within, the Athenaeum itself would have been a high-value target if it hadn’t been on the doorstep of the Godspires. Each on their own was more than most invaders wanted to deal with. The one next to the other was enough to persuade them to keep well clear. The Hermits atop the Godspires maintained the Athenaeum and military commanders neither knew nor wanted to find out what the Hermits would do to any army foolish enough to come anywhere near them.

  Conflicts came and went but the Athenaeum and the Godspires were always an eye in the storm of war, armies marching days out of their way to go around. It was like a hornet nest in the middle of a battlefield.

  Thud didn’t think it was possible for anyone to have read all of the histories stored there but he was under the impression that Ruby had made a serious go at it. She claimed to have a scriptographic memory–once she read or wrote something it was forever in her head. He was pretty sure that if she’d ever heard of anything like this she’d have remembered it by now. Hence his disappointment when she answered his question with a shrug.

  “Stories of an island of shadow go back centuries. But there’s no legends I’ve ever heard of a place like this.” She pursed her lips and looked at Thud. There was something in her eyes. Sadness? Worry? “Centuries of ships being lost here. Not a single story of the inside. That tells me that no one has ever made it out of here alive.” She waved her hand at the shipwrecks. “Though many may have tried.”

  “Ruby,” Thud said. “This ain’t yer first time out with us. Near every place we go to is somewheres that most folk never would come out of alive. This place been eatin' sailors for a long time. But I warrant it never swallowed a mouthful o' Dungeoneers before. We’ll do like we always do. Find our way to the heart of it and thump it upside the head.”

  “You’re mixing your metaphors again,” Ruby said.

  “Aye. They’re tastier that way. Like meatscrap. Better mixed into a single sausage than served in piles o' bits.”

  “The first question I’d like an answer to is how often it moves.” She waved her hand at the wreckage-strewn sand. “Seaweed. Water damage. Barnacles. Everything here has been underwater. The stories of the island are all consistent in claiming that it disappears and reappears. What happens to us when it vanishes? When is it going to do that? If you want my theory as to why no one has ever escaped, that’s it. There’s an hourglass trickling sand and we’ve no idea how much sand is left.”

  “Thought o’ that question meself,” Thud said. “We can all either hide in pickle barrels and hope we survive or we can try to find an answer in time to stop it.”

  “That’s a good plan if we have hours or days. Not so great if it’s going to happen five minutes from now.”

  ***

  The darkness was all around the Black Knife. Laughing Larry stood at the ship’s wheel, arms crossed behind his back. The ship wasn’t moving, consequently not requiring much in the way of steering but Larry felt that a captain’s proper place was at the wheel, necessary or not. It was part of the aura of mystique one tried to cultivate as part of the pirate captain persona. At the wheel, hands behind back, one foot dramatically perched on a rum keg. Now if only there were any actual wind to ripple his brocaded sea-captain coat. There was a flash of light and stars in his head and he squealed. He’d had leather earflaps installed on his captain’s hat and the parrot had learned to compensate with strikes to his temple. Maybe he needed a full metal helmet.

  He squinted through watering eyes to see if anyone had noticed. None of the crew had been paying much attention to his attempts at posturing and were now too occupied with the diving bell preparations to pay any attention to the latest parrot attack. The darkness helped.

  The ship creaked slightly against the current as the oars gave another stroke, holding the ship more or less in place. Larry didn’t know why there was a canyon in the ocean and he was positive that he wasn’t happy about trying to hold the ship in place a mere dozen yards from the edge. Squig was on the bow, calling out any slight changes in position, the rowers below holding their oars just above the water, ready to dip and pull or push at the instant the quartermaster gave a command.

  Obiya stood just behind Larry, as always. A chronic judgmental shadow and looking the part in her robe. Her skull face tattoo gleamed in the dim. The diving bell being on board had been at her insistence, leading Larry to believe that she had known a bit more about this place than she’d let on when she’d hired them. He was trying to decide how best to raise the subject. The way her pale eyes stared out of those black sockets left him tongue-tied whenever he considered challenging anything she said. She’d never done anything overtly threatening. Just…those eyes and that whisper of a voice. She made his skin crawl.

  The diving bell was a massive bit of ironwork they’d acquired from a prize they’d scuttled a year or so back. Ten feet tall and heavy enough to require four men to shove it around. It had been sitting in the weedy garden behind the keep and had left a large circle of dead grass behind when they’d moved it for loading. Larry had never used a diving bell and had no intention of changing that particular factoid. The crew knew, as crews tended to, that it was going to be one of them to make the first trip. Not Raggins. He was still in negative demerits and Larry wasn’t going to risk the loss. Someone with a positive merit balance.

  “What’s next?” he asked.

  “A full party is required,” she said. He could hear her perfectly, as if she were whispering into his ear. It sent a shiver down his neck. “Armed,” she said. “There will be resistance.”

  “Competition?” he asked.

  “Perhaps. And perhaps there are other things below.”

  Again Larry got the sense that she knew more than what she was telling.

  “Are you going to finally tell us what we’re looking for?”

  “A book,” she said, after a brief silence.

  “A book?” Larry asked. “All this for a book? A thousand shipwrecks, holds bursting with cargo and we’re here for just a book?”

  “A book is also a treasure chest; one full of words. The right words can shatter armies, topple kingdoms, even, perhaps, break the world. There can be more power in a book of words than…”

  “Powerful book, got it,” Larry said. “If we get the chance we’re going to grab a few other things if it’s all the same to you.”

  “I require only the book. All else is irrelevant.”

  Larry had the distinct impression that she was including him and
his crew in that statement. Perhaps it was time to make a few things clear. He turned to face her and adopted his best captain pose, hands on hips, chest out, parrot crap running down his shoulder.

  “Your presence here is at my-”

  Pain.

  He felt like every drop of blood in his body had just turned molten.

  The parrot squawked as he fell, jumping and flapping to perch on the side of his head as he landed, gasping. His vision swam with shadow, flickers of red darting through his eyes. His mouth gaped for air, each breath a wash of flame into his lungs.

  Then it was over. The relief was so overwhelming that Larry began to cry. Obiya stood over him, watching in silence as he slowly recovered himself. Then she knelt down, pale eyes unblinking.

  “I require the book.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  They had traveled at least a mile. The chasm had twisted and turned the whole way. They had passed more of the branch chasms, all smaller, all leading back the way they’d come from, their lengths twisting away into the darkness. Everywhere there was wreckage and the rotting carcasses of hapless sealife. Nibbly had cast longing glances at some of the wrecks and stopped them at one point long enough to extract a number of teeth from the remains of a gigantic shark. Thud expected that visions of salvage fleets were dancing in his brain. They’d done a do-si-do or two in Thud’s brain as well but he had more pressing concerns. Salvage was not only Nibbly’s job but a bit of an obsession. Precisely why Thud had put him in charge of acquisitions.

  It had gotten tricky in a spot or two, due to large mounds of wreckage and, more than once, a jagged outcropping of rock on the seabed coated with sealife’s imaginative variety of ways to be sharp. Thud’s reasoning was that the chasm had to have another end somewhere. If they followed it long enough they would get to it. There was the possibility they were navigating the layout equivalent of a plate of noodles but he hadn’t quite thought up a plan yet if that turned out to be the case. So you went with the plan you did have and hoped the toss fell your way. Durham’s map indicated they were making overall progress in one direction, towards whatever might lie at the end, be it monster or meatball.