The Dungeoneers: Blackfog Island Page 23

  The open stretch between them and the tower was laced with long twisting threads of faint light, like the spiderwebs of ghosts.

  “Look at the sky,” Leery said.

  They looked. The notable fact was that they could actually see it. A hole in the darkness at the center of Blackfog, an eye in a storm of night.

  “You mapped this bit yet?” Thud asked. He didn’t seem concerned in the slightest about their lack of hiding places or the weirdness of the blobs, the ribbons of light, the flowing mists. In fact he had lit a cigar and was rocking back and forth on his heels, spewing streams of smoke and frowning at the tower.

  “Erm, not yet,” Durham said. “Here? Now?”

  “Seems like doin' it with your eyes on it would be a mite easier than trying to do it from memory.”

  “I’m going to have to do a lot of guessing as to distances,” Durham said. “I’m not going out there and measuring it.” He pulled the plank out of his pack, sat on the sand, unrolled his parchment and retrieved his quill and inkpot from the little box Ruby had loaned him after viewing him juggling everything on a prior mapping attempt. Thud came and stood behind him, watching over his shoulder. Sitting on the ground put Durham’s shoulders at an extremely convenient height for Thud when it came to managerial viewing.

  Durham began inking in lines on the map, each made after careful contemplation of the central area. He was just noting with no small amount of surprised pride that many of the new lines actually met up nicely with old lines when Thud interrupted, pointing with a jab of his cigar.

  “Right there, see that bit?” he asked. Durham nodded, concerned that any clarification from Thud would burn a hole in the parchment. “How confident are ye about that section?”

  “It should be reasonably accurate,” Durham said. The spot Thud was pointing hadn’t been one that Durham had needed to redraw more than three times. It was one of the negative spaces between chasms, a space occupied by ocean. One of the larger ones, created between two thick arms that divided, leaving a swathe of water that extended clear to the edge of the map, the inner tip looking like it was as close as a quarter mile from the center before being crossed by another chasm, cutting it short.

  Thud turned back and looked at the tower for a little while longer. When he turned around he was grinning.

  “We may have a plan.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Aldine’s gone,” Ruby said.

  The scouting party had just returned. Ruby had been waiting for them, standing in the middle of the common area. Thud had a long mental list of things that needed sorting to determine if his half-cooked plan was even possible and then another list to get it to actually work. A missing scribe was an unwanted complication and not only because at least three of the things on his mental lists were things he’d wanted her opinion on. He waited for Ruby to elaborate.

  “Her journals and notes as well,” Ruby went on. “It was either a suspiciously knowledgeable kidnapper or she left of her own accord.”

  “Why would she leave? Where would she go?”

  Ruby started to speak then paused, her lips pressing shut into a thin line.

  Mungo gasped from behind Thud. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “It was her!”

  Thud turned “What was her? Who was her?”

  “The traitor on the Jigger! Samona said there was a weather wizard aboard. What if it was Aldine? She’d have been standing right by the captain, no?”

  “Where she could have stabbed him and steered the boat straight into Blackfog Island.”

  Ruby was shaking her head. Thud wasn’t sure if it was denial or disbelief.

  “She’s a scribe,” Ruby said. “Not a weather wizard. Though she did dabble in magic.”

  “Elementary to determine,” Mungo said. He squinted in the dim light then pointed across the cabin at the young sailor with the broken arm. After the shipwreck battle his other arm was in a sling as well, making him look like he was wearing a muff of misery.

  “Johnni!” Mungo said, striding over to him. Attempting to stride, at least. Thud thought it looked more like he was miming an ice-skater. “The crew members from your ship. Was Aldine among them?”

  “Who?”

  “The Hag,” Ruby called over, expanding the conversation to the entire room. “Was the hag aboard your ship?”

  “Aye, made the sails full, she did. ‘Tweren’t enough though. Their wizard was better.”

  “Thank you,” Ruby said. Mungo had gotten Johnni an ale but was now stuck there helping him to drink it.

  “Their wizard was Obiya,” Ruby said in a quiet voice, dropping them back out of the room-scale conversation. She looked crestfallen. “It was Aldine that Obiya was chasing.”

  Thud shook his head. “Aldine working with the merfrogs just because she was also on the boat? That’s a bit of a reach, ain’t it?”

  “She said she was in Mygra,” Ruby said. “By the ocean.”

  “Not a surprise,” Thud said. “The Katie’s Jigger set sail from thereabouts. It was carrying cargo from Iskae, no? Mygra’s in Iskae, on the western coast. Still circumstantial.”

  “She’d been studying mer. She’d translated part of the tablet already.”

  “So? You know mer also. Studied it in scribe-school din’t ya?”

  “Yes,” Ruby said. “I was vice-president of the Ancient Languages club. Aldine was in Cantrip Club.”

  “Then she learned it later in life.”

  Ruby snorted. “Aldine hates ancient languages. No one learns Mer for fun.”

  Enough coincidences piled together became a heap of suspicion. Thud could still have reserved judgment, possibly, if it weren’t for the fact that she was also missing. Along with all of her things. And with no sign of a struggle and no one noticing anything untoward.

  “You’re seemin’ pretty fond of this idea,” he said. “Thought you two were friends.”

  “We were,” Ruby said. “A long time ago. But no one stays the same over so many years. I’d even be a stranger to my own self over that much time. It was the way Obiya reacted to her that made me suspicious.”

  “Dadger said she scared her off with some sort o’ magic trick.”

  “Yes, that was the story. But Obiya’s an archon. A cantrip on a staff isn’t going to fool her. Fear is not what I saw on Obiya’s face. What I saw was recognition. Obiya backed off because she saw Aldine, not her staff. She saw her as a threat.”

  Thud let out a bark of laughter. “You telling me Aldine’s an archon too?”

  “No but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t become someone that an archon could be wary of, especially if they’ve crossed paths before. Aldine’s been calling herself ‘The Hag’ and sitting in a hut doing swamp magic for at least a few decades. I think she’s been involved with this from the start.

  “Speculating that she’s the traitor, then, where does that leave us?”

  “I don’t think she was working with the merfrogs,” Ruby said. “They wouldn’t have needed to attack. She’d have just gone to them in the first place.”

  “And Obiya ain’t working with either of ‘em. It’s a three-way power struggle,” Thud said. “Whomever has the book has the means to power up that glowing ball thing we saw and they all mean to be the ones to do it. I bet the frogs got some toad king tucked under a log somewhere reading the book right now. Must be a prize o’ some sort for bein’ the one that brings it through. Commemorative plate, maybe.”

  “Glowing ball thing?”

  “From our scouting run. Tall spire at the center with a big glowing ball on top.”

  “That must be it,” Ruby said. “The Focus for the planar shift.”

  “Right,” Thud said. “Glowing ball.”

  “Aldine had the book and the merfrogs had the location,” Ruby said. “Now the merfrogs have both the key and the lock and Aldine and Obiya have each gone missing.”

  “You copied that book down too and did just as much translating. Do we know what we need to do to stop this t
hing from showing up?”

  “Not yet. If Aldine figured it out she kept it to herself. I don’t know that it would matter in either case. Locking or unlocking would both need to take place at the Focus. I can’t imagine we’d be able to just climb up there and start breaking things without there being a great deal of resistance.”

  “Would that work? Breaking things? Seeing as we don’t got the other option. The ball-thing had lights connected to some pillars on the tower, like chains holding it in place. What happens if we break the pillars?”

  “That wasn’t the method detailed in the book but it would at least disrupt the energy being fed into it. If it destroys the Focus in the process then that would suffice. Same problem, however, in that you’re going to need to be at the top of the tower to do it.”

  Thud considered this. He swapped a few pieces of plan around in his brain, added a few other pieces and came up with…something. It was slim chances and long odds all the way across.

  But maybe they would pull it off. Slim chances could be pried open and long odds chopped down to size. After all, they were professionals. On the other hand…

  “Maybe they’ll all blast each other to pieces and we can just wander in and sweep up,” he said.

  “Your plan is to just sit and wait?”

  “Oh no, no no,” Thud said. He grinned. “Let me tell you about my plan.”

  ***

  Laughing Larry was in full form as far as ironic monikers went. He’d been sitting at his desk the entire morning, glaring at the door, eyes glowing with murder. Even the parrot had decided to leave well enough alone. For the most part. It occasionally let out a low feral moan that trailed off into a sinister chuckle, unable to contain the joy of basking in Larry’s wrath and rage. It didn’t seem to mind the various puncture wounds it had received from its battle with the pixie. The pain fueled its hate.

  Larry had spent most of the morning undisturbed. After having received reports from Raggins on the breakfast menu, who’d eaten what, estimated rat numbers and then round by round results of a dice game, Larry had waived all of Raggin’s demerits on the condition that if he made any further reports that were not of immediate importance that he’d be hung from the yardarm by his entrails.

  Consequently it came as both surprise and relief when there came a knocking upon his cabin door. Surprise that there was a meaningful report and relief that he’d either have the distraction of something to do or the satisfaction of disemboweling Raggins.

  “Come,” he said, in his best approximation of a voice taut with tightly controlled icy fury. He’d read about it in books but this was his first opportunity to actually try it out himself. A little heavier on the ‘icy’ perhaps.

  The door opened and Raggins poked his head in, his throat-apple visibly quivering.

  “Messenger from below, Cap'n. There be dwarves to see you. An' a scribe. They’re down in the camp.” His face screwed into a wince, awaiting judgment on whether his report was of adequate importance.

  Larry left him in suspense while he mulled the new development. Obiya having dropped them like a hot rock at the first moment it was convenient had left Larry in a bit of a spot. His ship was parked in the most dangerous location in the sea, a twenty-four hour rotating crew of rowers needed simply to prevent a quick death. This plus the losses in the battle had left his crew tired and their numbers thin. The camp that they’d made below was largely empty now, the difficulty and time of moving individual crewmen up and down in the diving bell necessitated that most of the crew remain on the ship in order to provide relief shifts for the rowers. With Obiya gone, his entire reason for being there in the first place was gone. She’d provided a small “good faith” sum of gold up front, with promises of more, but Larry was no longer counting on the ‘more’ part. Which was going to make a rather large red number appear in his books. He could stay, and try for this book everyone was so interested in, but that would require pitting what was left of his crew against Obiya, the frog people, the dwarves and the other shipwreckees. The efforts they’d gone to indicated that the book was definitely a valuable thing to have. However, the odds of getting it seemed another rather large red number. The other option was to try to choke down the cost of this entire venture, navigate his way back out and take his chances against whatever waited in the nearby seas.

  “How many dwarves?” he asked.

  “Three, sir. They yelled up something about parsley, I think.”

  Larry stood and strode to the door, pausing briefly to extend his arm to the parrot. It delivered the expected sharp peck between his thumb and index finger then walked up his arm to perch on his shoulder, making sure every taloned step was delivered at full force of parrot.

  The deck was largely empty. Most of the crew used any time off they had to lay in the hammocks and recover from their time on. The handful that were there were leaning on the railing by the diving bell, looking below. Fruitlessly, though somehow that didn’t seem to stop them from trying. The distance they maintained from the edge made it impossible to see anything on the sands below within thirty yards of the wall of water.

  Wait, there was something. A barrel bobbing on the surface. There was a splash as another barrel bobbed to the surface, then a third. Two of his crew were in a dinghy, hooking ropes to the first barrel. The pirates on deck began hoisting it up. They were prying it open by the time Larry arrived. The first thing that emerged was a top hat, followed by a face, grinning through a bushy black beard.

  ***

  The pirates that still remained in the camp had enjoyed watching the dwarves attempt their barrel ascension, going so far as to place wagers on the outcome.

  After sealing Clink into the final barrel and rolling it into the water, Rasp turned to face the pirates gathered around him in a loose semi-circle, rum in their bellies and thoughtful looks on their faces.

  Rasp rested his hand casually on the hilt of his hammer and grinned slowly, revealing his scrimshaw carved teeth and sharpened gold incisors. He lowered his hood and pulled the mask from his face, revealing line after line of holy text tattooed across his skin. The pirates looked even more thoughtful and decided not to press their apparent numerical superiority.

  According to dwarven law it was illegal for any non-dwarf to come within a meter of Rasp. At least this was Rasp’s interpretation of it. Technically it was the other way around - Rasp wasn’t allowed within a meter of any non-dwarf. Rasp figured a proactive approach was better, however, reasoning that if he could get non-dwarves to actively avoid him then he didn’t need to worry much about getting too close to one.

  The reason for all of this sifted down to the dwarven language laws. The dwarven government was functionally xenophobic. They got along just fine with many of the other races but were also well aware that the other races had a lot of desire for things that the dwarves had stored up quite a lot of–gold and gems being of chief interest. The dwarves operated on the assumption that if any other race gained enough of an opportunity to do so that they wouldn’t hesitate to invade the dwarven realm. Strictly holding onto any defensive advantage they had seemed prudent. Dwarven foreign policy came to be referred to as “the iron wall”. At the heart of it were two key laws: no non-dwarves were allowed into Kheldurn and no non-dwarves were allowed to learn the dwarven language.

  Rasp had spent his early life as a monk and had the entire text of The Writ of Thorvo tattooed across his body. In dwarven, naturally, as translating it would be heresy and Rasp would have been obliged to set himself on fire. Allowing any non-dwarf close enough to make out the script broke a centuries old law. There had been a lengthy legal battle between the dwarven government and the dwarven temple of Thorvo, as the temple’s order of the writ required the full body tattooing. The government maintained that this was fine, as long as the monks never left Kheldurn. The temple countered that this was religious oppression as it prevented their monks from delivering the writ of Thorvo to the heathen non-dwarves. The state pointed out that Thorvo�
�s Writ wasn’t actually much concerned with non-dwarves and that they were welcome to spread the words, as long as they were translated first. Rasp’s venture out of Kheldurn was an experimental compromise. When among the Dungeoneers, Rasp did pretty much what he wanted, only occasionally having to glare at Durham or Ruby if they got too close. Ruby seemed particularly prone to wandering the fringes of his literary quarantine. Mungo was a special case. His insane notion that he was a dwarf included having no concerns about wandering within Rasp’s vicinity and Thud had forbidden anyone from calling the gnome out on his dwarvishness out of fear that it would snap what remained of the poor thing’s sanity and send Mungo permanently into the deep shaft. Rasp deliberately steered clear of Mungo as much as he could but, when it wasn’t possible, Mungo had never shown any interest in reading Rasp’s body so Rasp had filed it into a gray area of concern.

  When not among the dwarves, Rasp wore a hood and a mask across his upper face. His beard covered the lower half and clothing everywhere else. The Order of the Writ, though perhaps not suggested by the name, was an order of battle monks. Rasp was the only one out roaming the land but a reputation grew in his wake. When a Monk of Thorvo lowered his hood, it meant that if you got close enough to attack him and, therefore, read his skin text, then he was obligated to hit you in the head hard enough to either knock all recent memories out of your head or to kill you outright. As far as being a religious ambassador went, it wasn’t a very successful approach, and thus the legal cases continued.

  The pirates were staying well clear now.

  Rasp toyed with the leather strap on his hammer and considered giving them a sermon anyway.

  ***

  Rather than engage in any sort of dialogue, Thud chose to nod politely at the pirates then turn to help open the second barrel. He wanted all of his complement present, at least in part because it was Dadger that he had do most of the talking in these sorts of situations. Dadger was quite good at talking and Thud was happy to leave it to him. Thud’s history was as a showman and in negotiations Dadger was the show. Dadger popped out of the barrel with a flourish of his hat as if he’d been spring-loaded.