Mazerynth

by Jeffery Russell

  “These are my associates, Nibbly and Dadger Ben.”

  “A pleasure,” Dadger said as he stepped forward to take over the introduction. “And might I just say that this is a lovely and charming town you have, here, sir. Truly a pleasure. We’ve met some of the good folk that live here and helped them as we were able. Truly, a kind-hearted and generous people. We so admired your town that we felt compelled to lend aid by fulfilling a few of the town notices posted on the board outside the tavern. Sir, we would like to collect for our services now, if we may.”

  “Ah,” the Maestrum said. “Er…good! Good! Most excellent. Some rat tails to turn in, have you?”

  Now it was Nibbly’s turn. His voice was as neat and clipped as his beard. “We have 78 rat tails at a copper thumb each. We also have a dozen goblin ears from the tribe that’s been raiding the farms for another twelve talons. We’ve got two heads from the ghouls responsible for your graveyard haunting at a gold eagle each. Cleared out the giant-hornet hive beneath Farmer Yaggan’s barn at a flat bounty of five more eagles. Collected the ingredients for Widow Roper’s were-cabbage soup for another five talons and a copy of her recipe for our cook.” He inserted a dramatic pause. “We also eliminated one Count Vimple from the manor on the mountain for the posted bounty of 150 eagles.”

  There was a faint wheezing sound from the Maestrum and his mustache looked like it was considering making a break for his sideburns. “Count Vimple?” he said. “You actually removed him?”

  “Took a bit of preparation, that one,” Thud said. “But aye, he’s no more than the memory of a cookfire now.”

  “The usual procedure when posting rewards,” Nibbly said, “is to hold the reward in an interest-bearing trust until such time as the bounty is claimed so as to ensure that all funds are present and available at a moment’s notice. Less scrupulous town councils have been known, unfortunately, to skim off the top from time to time so as to augment their beer fund. I’m sure that a town as reputable as your own would tolerate no such foolery.”

  “Of course,” the Maestrum said, looking a bit strained and glancing over his shoulder. It was unclear whether he was looking for a trust account or an escape route. “And you brought proof of this? Of Count Vimple’s demise?” There was a spark of panic in his eyes.

  They were back in Dadger’s field of expertise now. “I’m sure you mean no offense,” Dadger said, “with your brazen questioning of our integrity.”

  “Ah, of course not,” the man said, brightening as if grasping at a rope of hope. “It’s only, you know, for the official records.”

  “We vaporized him into a cloud of ashes,” Dadger said. “We could present you with a bag of ashes but that hardly seems the thing a reasonable gentleman such as yourself would accept as definitive proof.”

  “Quite.”

  “But to show our understanding of your official procedures, we invite you to go up tomorrow and take a tour of the manor yourself to ensure that it is no longer occupied. We’ll happily accept the rest of the reward money now and will defer the Vimple reward until tomorrow evening after you’ve verified our claim.”

  Nibbly stepped up and plopped a large canvas sack on the counter. The bottom of it was dark and wet looking.

  “Is that…?”

  “Heads, tails and ears,” Nibbly said. “You know. For your official records.”

  The Maestrum poked gingerly at the top of the bag. The bag squirmed and he leapt back with a shriek.

  “That’s just them ghoul heads,” Thud said. “They can take a few days before they give up and stop moving. Probably tryin’ to eat the rat tails and they just keep slidin’ out the other end of their necks.”

  The Maestrum’s red face acquired a few green tinges. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll count out your reward, apart from the Count Vimple bounty. It should come to…”

  “Eight eagles, two talons, eight thumbs,” Nibbly said.

  The Maestrum licked his lips and began poking at the contents of a small chest he’d pulled from behind the counter-top. “The Dungeoneers, eh?” he asked. “Seems a grandiose name for rat-catchers.”

  “Don’t forget the vampire-slayer part also,” countered Thud.

  “Yes, of course.” His gaze flicked over Thud’s shoulder for a moment then back to the chest. “Is that gnome with you? What is he doing to my fountain?”

  “Either trying to fix it or weaponize it,” Thud said. He shrugged. “Even odds as to which.”

  “Why does he have cat hair stuck all over his chin?”

  “Daft in the head. Thinks he’s a dwarf. That’s his beard. We go along with it.”

  The Maestrum snickered.

  “Right handy to have about, though,” Thud said. “He’s the one that eliminated your Count Vimple. The rest of us was all outside with silver bolts, ballistas with casks of holy garlic water, bladders of oil, stakes, torches, the whole lot. Mungo there took him out with a mirror before any of us even got to lay eyes on him.”

  The clinking of coins paused. “Did you say Mungo?” the Maestrum asked.

  “Aye?”

  “We received a message today addressed to a Mungo. Via the gnomatic tube. Have to assume it’s for him.”

  “Well, ain’t that somethin’. Oi, Mungo!”

  “Of course,” the Maestrum said, “there’s the tube fee, storage fee and delivery fee to be…”

  “Maybe we’ll just insist on that vampire money now, then. Sounds like otherwise we ain’t gonna have enough left to buy dinner.”

  “Ah, quite,” the maestrum said as Mungo arrived. “I’m sure we can waive the fees under the circumstances.” He handed a brass cylinder to the gnome. Or, rather, extended it down as far as his arm could reach to allow Mungo to jump up and grab it.

  “Who knows you’re here that ain’t one of the team?” Thud asked. The gnome shrugged. “Came by the tube,” Thud said. “Usually means a gnome sent it.”

  “Maybe it’s cookies from my grandmother,” Mungo answered. “Er, my grandmother’s gnomish friend, naturally, as my grandmother would obviously be a dwarf.” He stroked his cat-beard then grabbed the tube and retreated to the vicinity of the fountain to open it.

  “Mighty protective of his cookies,” the Maestrum said.

  “You keep countin’,” Thud said. “Maybe you’ll get a cookie later.” He gestured with his head for Nibbly to take over in watching the counting out of the coins, not that Nibbly had taken his eyes off of it.

  Thud made his way toward where Mungo sat on the rim of the waterless fountain. The gnome had opened the cylinder and was holding the scroll he’d unrolled from inside. His expression was neutral, which was abnormal. Three-quarters of his face was mouth and eyes.

  “News from home?” Thud asked. “Anything I need to worry about?”

  Mungo was staring off at nothing which usually meant he was thinking. Thud’s impression was that Mungo could process more thoughts through his head in a ten-second glaze than Thud could manage during an entire day. He waited until the gnome’s eyes snapped back into focus and looked at him. The lenses on his goggles switched about a few times as if he were trying to discern some secret information about his view of Thud. Something on that piece of paper had rattled him hard.

  Thud lit a cigar, crossed his arms and waited.

  Mungo’s lens switching settled on the dark lenses, hiding his eyes. His mouth twisted and contorted several times as he kept beginning to speak then thinking better of it. He looked to be running through a lot of options and scenarios in his head.

  Thud blew out a cloud of smoke and tapped his ash into the fountain. Mungo’s goggles switched back to clear lenses, his magnified eyes giving Thud a flat and serious look. The gnome took a deep breath. He stood up on the rim of the fountain, snapping his arms to his sides as if at military attention.

  Then he reached up and peeled off his cat-fur beard.

  “Agent Mungo of the Gnome Intelligence Agency,” he said. “I wish to hire The Dungeoneers.”


  Chapter Two

  The tavern south of the town plaza was doing a booming business. People were out, perhaps celebrating the absence of rats and ghouls. Thud took several seconds to give the room a look-over, stalling for time. It was his tactic whenever he had a lot of things jumbling around in his head. Stall a minute. Give his brain a chance to sort it out into questions and line them up in a row.

  The table in the corner was occupied by three brooding men in cloaks, each looking like they wanted to be a mysterious loner but refusing to be the one to give up the table. The alpha brooder was the one at the rear of the triangle. Back and both shoulders to the wall.

  “Buy you and yer mates a few rounds of ales if you clear out and give us the table,” Thud said. He flipped a gold eagle through the air, spinning it to make the edges glitter and flash. It landed in the center of the table with a musical ring. All three men reached for it, their hands meeting at the center of the table then each snatching back as if burned. The coin was gone. They cast darting glances at each other as they stood and moved away from the table.

  “I don’t know which of you got that coin,” one said as they walked away. “But you’d by gods better be payin’ for my next round.”

  “Don’t look at me like that. I’m thinking you’re the one that grabbed first!”

  The third man gave an angry grunt. “You’re going to make me search the both of you, aren’t you?”

  Thud slid in behind the table as the men’s voices faded. He looked meaningfully at Mungo and pointed at the chair opposite. Durham had followed in behind Mungo and helped himself to the other chair as if invited. Which, Thud reasoned, meant that he likely had been, just not by Thud.

  Thud motioned for a round then arched an eyebrow and waited. In his experience this often prompted an outpouring of information that would answer at least one or two of his list of questions while adding twice as many more. It was just how conversations with Mungo tended to go.

  Mungo took a deep breath, cast a quick glance at Durham then began to speak.

  “I’m not a dwarf.” He paused as if waiting for an exclamation of surprise. Thud blew a smoke ring in his direction and waited in silence. “I’m a gnome. I was just disguised as a dwarf all along. I’m an agent of the Gnomish Intelligence Agency and I’ve been operating undercover.”

  Thud looked at Durham. The human looked alarmed but not at what the gnome was saying. He looked worried about Thud’s reaction. He’d already known about this.

  “Why did you bring Durham?” Thud asked.

  “He can vouch for me.”

  “I can?” Durham asked.

  “Durham has known of my connections to the intelligence community for some time. Undoubtedly he has been observing my every move since for any sign of cross-purpose treachery or deception.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Thud said. He looked to Durham.

  “Ummm…right,” Durham said. Thud had a secret suspicion that Durham rarely knew what was going on and had a stock collection of answers from which he pulled whenever anyone asked him anything. “He told me at that farm outside Tanahael,” Durham added.

  A boy arrived with a bottle and glasses then scurried away.

  “I have been in pursuit,” Mungo said, “of one of the most dangerous criminal masterminds ever to escape Gnomish justice.”

  “Pursuit implies you’re actually following this criminal,” Thud said as he poured the rum. “Someone on the team?”

  “Oh, no, no,” Mungo said. “Perhaps ‘searching’ would be a more accurate term. He’s a gnome by the name of Cornelius Frothnozzle.” His face fell. “And he was the founder of the G.I.A. before he turned rogue. He was the one that oversaw my training.”

  “How did this lead to you bein’ on my dungeoneerin’ team? You thought we was part of this?”

  “No. I believed that the transitory nature of your movement would facilitate searching a wide area. Eventually some trace of Frothnozzle was bound to turn up. I was hardly the only one searching. There are others undercover in circuses, traveling with bards or merchants. I was the one clever enough to adopt a dwarf persona in order to join and blend in with your team.”

  “And the message you got?” Thud emptied his glass and refilled it.

  Mungo waved the scroll in his hand. “A lead! Two pieces of information. First is that there’s been an incident in Karsin. A djinn lamp stolen. Survivors claim that it was another djinn that made the attack.”

  Thud whistled. “That’s a major act of war in Karsin, isn’t it?”

  “It is but no one knows who was commanding the djinn that made the attack. The whole region is a patchwork of warlords and they’re always trying to gain an advantage over each other. The lamp belonged to Akhom, one of the most powerful in the realm and he’s been lobbing accusations all around. The other warlords are claiming to have had nothing to do with it. Akhom has another djinn lamp so he’s not in immediate danger of being attacked but tensions are at the level of a springtrap.”

  “I’m guessing the actual lead is the second piece of information?”

  Mungo nodded. “Frothnozzle has turned up in Khomen-Te, the city of one of Karsin’s coastal warlords. I suspect that the other warlords are telling the truth and that it’s Frothnozzle behind this, somehow.”

  “Not warlord Khomen? The city is named for the warlord, right?”

  Mungo nodded. “They are regarded as gods by their citizens.”

  “Wouldn’t Khomen be more likely to have a djinn lamp than your gnome feller?”

  “Khomen and Akhom share a border. Khomen was the less powerful of the two for the simple fact that he had only one lamp. Stealing one from Akhom would be a major power play. It would lead to a war unless it were done in secret. Precisely the sort of task one might hire a master conspirator to accomplish. If Cornelius is there I’m certain he’s involved.”

  Thud drummed his fingers on the table. He didn’t like the idea that members of his team had been keeping secrets from him. Granted, it was a pretty stupid secret. He understood why Durham might not have thought it worth mentioning. The Gnomish Intelligence Agency?

  “So you’re a spy and now you want to hire us to what, go after another spy? Fight a djinn? Recover the stolen lamp? Not really in our charter.”

  Mungo handed him the scroll. Thud unrolled it and had a look.

  It was an advertisement. The sort of poster you’d see stuck on a wall or a fence advertising a circus that was in town or a famous bard passing through.

  “Calling All Adventurers!

  Summer Solstice

  Grand Opening!

  THE MAZERYNTH

  Treasure! Traps! Monsters!

  Try your luck in the most dangerous and devious dungeon devised!

  Fortune and Glory Await YOU!

  Kohmen-Te, Karsin”

  There was a drawing of a pyramid with a camel and a few palm trees next to it. In small print at the bottom it said: “A C. Frothnozzle Production.” The sender of the message had drawn a red circle around the name ‘Frothnozzle’ and put several exclamation points next to it. Beside that they’d written ‘esor wolley tah der.’ Thud tapped the notation with his finger and gave Mungo a questioning look.

  “It’s a Gnome Intelligence Agency code,” Mungo said. “It tells me how to identify our gnome in Karsin for an on-site briefing.”

  “Red hat, yellow rose?”

  “How did you…?”

  “Guess I got a knack for espionage. Karsin, eh?” Thud ran his fingers through his beard. “It would takes us a couple weeks in a ship to get there but we’d be in time for the solstice. We’d have to charter the whole ship so we can put the wagons in the hold and there has to be enough room for them. Those kinda costs add up quick.”

  Mungo nodded. “I’ve been saving my treasure shares and I have an allotment of discretionary funding for operational purposes. You’ve been saying you were ready for another big job. It would take a lot of rat tails to equal what I’m offering.”

  �
�What did this Frothnozzle fella do?”

  “Actively worked to undermine the legitimacy of the Gnomish Parliament.”

  “Ah,” Thud said, as if what Mungo said had meant anything. The gnomes had a parliament? He’d thought their government was structured more like a university faculty but gnome politics was hardly his area of expertise, or even his area of vague interest. “How exactly is he dangerous?”

  Mungo’s eyes widened. Thud assumed there was a practical limit to how big a gnome’s eyes could get but every time he thought they’d reached it Mungo proved him wrong.

  “He was the head of Gnomish Intelligence!” Mungo said. “He is a master of machinations, quadruple crosses, pentuple agents, deviousness and treachery. Wherever he turns up he is at the head of a convoluted plot.”

  Thud’s rum had somehow emptied itself so he poured another. “The Mazerynth, eh? I try to keep up on the big names in dungeons and I ain’t heard of this one. What do you know about this place?”

  “Almost nothing!” said Mungo as if that were the greatest thing ever. “Only what’s on that poster.”

  “Nothing about opposition, hazards, salvage value…?”

  “No, but we can assume both warlord Khomen and spymaster Frothnozzle are involved. If they’re behind the stolen lamp then this has something to do with it.”

  “His name is on the poster. Not exactly low profile. Don’t he know you’re looking for him?”

  “Arrogance is his weakness,” Mungo said.

  “Or,” Durham said, “it’s a trap designed to draw in anyone looking for him.”

  “Perhaps,” Mungo said. “But he won’t be expecting me to have an entire dungeoneering team with me. Plus I’ll be in disguise. He’ll never see us coming.”

  Thud coughed on his swallow of rum. “I’m gonna yell at you later for keepin’ secrets from me,” he said once he’d recovered. “Just ain’t decided how loud yet.”

  “Fair enough,” said Mungo.