Mazerynth

by Jeffery Russell

  The leather-clad man he was following wasn’t in a hurry. He seemed to be following a route, checking in with various members of the ship’s staff as if he were someone in a position of authority. Was he an assassin moonlighting as a floor-manager or was it the other way around? Apart from one odd moment involving a flying fig the man had proved to be extremely dull to tail. Thud was beginning to wonder if he’d been right earlier and the assassin had loaned his coat to someone.

  Espionage was not Thud’s style. He wasn’t the sort to play cat and mouse. He was the sort to set up mouse traps and then drop kick the mouse into the middle of them. He debated walking up to the man and asking if he’d happened to lose his knife in a gnome on the wharves yesterday. Thud could push him over the railing if he said yes. He’d chosen a career in dungeoneering for a number of reasons, none of which included following people around at parties to see if they did anything shifty.

  They’d reached the front of the ship now. And lo and behold there was actually a guy with a rabbit-head sitting on a big glittery chair. He was less imposing in person than the statue in the harbor had been but was still a guy with a rabbit-head which made him the most interesting person on the foredeck. Thud spent a moment speculating on what sort of god powers someone with a rabbit-head might have. Really good hearing, probably. Maybe the ability to run fast? Dig holes quickly? Ruby had said he was the god of opulence and wealth. Maybe he had no rabbit skills at all. Thud made a mental note to scratch the god between the ears only if requested. The man he’d been following stepped up next to the throne from the back of the dais and whispered something to the rabbit, a pretty clear indicator that he and the Knearaoh were on close terms. One might even say he was the Knearaoh’s right-hand man. Thud gave the sigh of a dwarf with a bad joke and no one to tell it to. He’d still tell Keezix later, she’d think it was funny.

  His grin froze and tilted sideways a degree or two when the right-hand man straightened, turned and looked directly at him. He gestured him onto the dais. With the hook, as if flaunting it.

  Thud moved forward to the bottom of the stairs and the assassin moved aside, leaving the spot next to the throne empty. Two steps up and Thud would be standing next to Knearaoh Rabbit-Head. He felt that maybe he hadn’t managed the espionage part of things very well. On the plus side, he felt on much firmer footing now. He stepped up onto the dais, next to the throne, and turned to look out over the crowd and the river beyond. God-King to one side, sand-monster assassin to the other. He wasn’t sure which direction to face. Etiquette demanded one way, common sense the other. He took two steps back the way he’d come then turned to face them both.

  The assassin’s eyes looked suspicious. The Knearoah’s eyes looked like cranberries. Thud made what he hoped was an appropriately polite bow.

  “Are you so cavalier with your dwarven gods as well?” the Knearaoh asked. The rabbit-god had a voice exactly like any of a hundred haughty nobles Thud had encountered in his life.

  “Dwarves figure we wouldn’t want to worship anyone we couldn’t sit and have a mug with, eh? I mean no offense with me decorum.”

  “None taken,” Khomen said with a dismissive wave. “Groveling grows tiresome on occasion.”

  A servant appeared, knelt and offered up a tray with a pair of freshly poured mugs of ale. Khomen took one and nodded Thud toward the other.

  “That’s some fearsome quick service,” Thud said. He took a sip and puffed the foam off of his mustache. The beer was dark and thick as porridge.

  “You are an adventurer here for the Mazerynth?” the Knearaoh asked.

  “I prefer the term ‘Dungeoneer’, with all due respect,” Thud said. “But aye, I’m here for the Mazerynth. Planning on a visit tomorrow morning, in fact.”

  “Excellent,” Khomen said. “I recommend getting there early. I believe we expect a lengthy line.”

  The assassin turned and stepped back down into the flow of people behind the dais, leaving Thud pinned in conversation with a god. Effective as far as ways of losing a tail went. Thud wondered if he’d been spotted earlier and if the move was deliberate.

  “You’re involved with it, eh?” Thud asked.

  “It was built at my behest, naturally. It will be one of the greatest wonders of Karsin.”

  Well, that was easy, Thud thought. The money behind the Mazerynth turned out be the god with all of the money.

  “I imagine so,” Thud said. “I’m looking forward to having a peek inside.”

  “This title you use. Is there a difference between a ‘dungeoneer’ and an ‘adventurer’?”

  “I like to think of myself as a professional,” Thud said. “Not in it for adventure, riches and glory. I’ll take reliability and competence on my team over someone looking to have an adventure.”

  “I would not be so dismissive,” Knearaoh Khomen said. “I remember a day when adventurers of legend strode the sands of Karsin. They would throw out waves of fire and storms of lightning and slay their foes by the hundreds. A single blow from an adventurer’s weapon could send a dozen men soaring through the air.”

  “Them days are gone, though. Not enough magic left for that sort of thing.”

  “Perhaps,” the god said. “Or perhaps we could bring some of that back. A bit of training, a bit of magic from a god. An appropriate concentration of magic could be distributed among a few. Imagine what one of the ancient heroes could do against an army of today. Now imagine five of them, trained to work together as a squad. Or many such squads, working together. They could bring down kingdoms.”

  Thud shook his head. “Like trying to herd roaches. Amazed they can even get small groups to function.”

  “This too have I seen. Groups acting together in dance-like precision to bring down titans. It was a golden age.” Khomen leaned forward on his throne, eyes glittering garnets. “I built the Mazerynth to help bring the age of heroes back.” He raised his hand to point forward toward the bow of the ship. “And there it is. A sight to behold!”

  Thud turned to look. The ship was slowly moving around a bend in the river and the Mazerynth was coming into view from behind a copse of trees as perfectly as if it had received a stage cue. Someone somewhere HAD received a cue. Light blossomed along the pyramid’s edges as a series of ascending braziers burst into flame with balls of orange fire rising into the darkness. There was applause and cheering from the deck crowd.

  “It sure is somethin’,” Thud said. “But sounds a bit more carnival than dungeon to me. Meaning no offense.”

  The rabbit’s eyes went back to cold cranberries. “Perhaps you will change your mind in time,” he said. “I hope you enjoy your experience in the dungeon tomorrow.”

  Thud caught the cue for dismissal in the sentence and gave another polite bow but couldn’t resist a parting comment.

  “’Enjoy’ ain’t a word you usually hear with dungeons,” he said. “Carnivals, circuses, mummer shows, aye. Not dungeons.”

  ***

  Following the gnome had paid off quickly, much to Mungo’s surprise. Too quickly, actually, and the surprise had been unpleasant. She’d led him straight to the assassin from the day before and Mungo would have been spotted had it not been for a fortuitous flying fig. He’d ducked down behind the lip of the pool which, for him, did not require a lot of ducking. It was easy enough to skirt around the far side, peeking up now and again to track where the gnome and assassin had gotten to. The presence of the assassin was unexpected but not surprising and Mungo was tempted to switch who he was following until he saw Thud’s bobbing feathers on the assassin’s trail. That was for the better. The gnome was an unknown and possibly important participant and Mungo was more interested in following her.

  He also spotted Durham talking to an ogre. Mungo made a mental note to discuss priorities with him later. Ogres weren’t worth questioning about anything that had happened more than a few minutes prior and Durham was wasting time while two actual targets criss-crossed in front of him. Now was not the time though. The gn
ome was exiting through the rear of the plaza into a chamber beyond. She turned back to look frequently, as if worried she would be followed. Mungo did his best to stay just out of sight behind someone’s legs each time he saw her turn. He reached the rear chamber fifteen seconds after she did and took up position behind a potted plant to give the room a once-over.

  It was the casino room. Dice and cards and coins were changing hands everywhere he looked. It was as crowded as anywhere else in the party and it took him some time to spot the gnome again. She was sitting at one of the dicing tables in the back corner. She was also staring directly at him, the opposite outcome of what one wanted when tailing someone. She nodded toward the empty stool next to her. She hadn’t been worried she’d been followed; she’d been checking to make sure he was keeping up. The table she sat at was one of a dozen in an area raised higher than the rest of the room and the attendees around her had extra glitter. The tables for the elite.

  In that case it was time to be one of the elite. He straightened his robe and squared his shoulders. He WAS a merchant-prince, after all. He strode forward with his best approximation of the swagger and confidence he imagined a merchant-prince would have. The effect was largely lost as soon as he entered the crowd and became impossible to see. It was a few minutes of dodging and weaving before he cleared the gamblers and smoothly dropped back into a merchant strut. After only two struts he reached the stairs and had to stop again. Stairs were beyond his strutting capabilities. The music in his head paused while he struggled up them, then resumed as he managed to squeeze in one more strut between the top step and the table.

  There were two others with her, the table-host and a jowly older man with eyebrows thick like sideburns. Mungo wondered why they weren’t called earbrows. He’d have to ask Ruby later. That was the sort of thing she tended to know. The table-host was a wispy looking fellow with a lot of hair oil.

  Mungo slid onto the stool next to the gnome. She smelled like cantaloupe. This was not how female gnomes usually smelled in Mungo’s limited experience so he deduced that there was a perfume involved.

  “Madame,” he said with a nod. “Gentlemen,” with another.

  Jowls gave a grunt of acknowledgment but didn’t look up from the dice. He smelled like onions which may or may not have been a cologne.

  “What’s the game?” Mungo asked the gnome.

  “It’s all a game, is it not?” Her voice was smoky, like a recently dropped cigar-butt. “But are you the player or the pawn?”

  “I’m the dealer,” Mungo said. He wasn’t sure what meaning that was supposed to carry but it seemed a suave response.

  “No,” said the man with the oiled-hair. “I’m the dealer. Are you in or not?”

  “I still don’t know what the game is.” This didn’t sound nearly as suave.

  “Past Ten,” the woman said. “The red fox likes singing oysters.”

  “Ermmm, does he?” Mungo knew the game ‘Past Ten’ but wasn’t quite sure about the rest of it. Some local rule variant? The gnome rolled her eyes at him and turned to her drink.

  “The name is Malcolm Hampickles,” Mungo said. “I am a merchant prince of Tanahael. If you’ll tell me your name then I’ll know who I’m buying a drink for.”

  “I already have a drink, the drinks here are free, and my name is Givup Notachance.”

  “That’s…erm, that’s quite a name.”

  “Is it? It’s not my real name, just one I’ve adopted for the near future.”

  There was a clink as Jowls dropped a coin pouch on the table for the next round. The wispy table-host arched an eyebrow at the gnomes. His eyebrows were oiled too. “Are you playing or not?” he asked.

  Givup placed a small purse on the table. Mungo dropped his own coin-pouch next to it, hoping the man rolled well. He hadn’t expected to be gambling and had only brought two pouches.

  “What was that about a fox?” he asked. Givup shook her head.

  Jowls put the dice in a cup and rattled them around before releasing them to bounce and clatter across the table. Two threes and a one. Mungo watched sadly as the table-host made all of the money pouches disappear.

  Jowls growled. “I’m out,” he said then stood and left.

  The table-host turned and looked at the gnomes expectantly. Mungo plunked down his other coin pouch.

  “Two players or no play,” the host said.

  Givup shrugged a shoulder at him. “Not many pockets for coins in my dress.”

  The host nodded and held up a green placard to show the table was open.

  “And the oyster bit?” Mungo asked, still trying to figure out if there was a rule variant in play that he didn’t know about.

  She gave an exasperated sigh. “I said ‘The red fox likes singing oysters.” Her tone was hushed but the words slow and deliberate.

  “Are there singing oysters?” Mungo asked.

  Any answer she was going to give was interrupted by the clink of a coin-pouch hitting the table. A new player had arrived. Mungo looked up just as Cornelius Frothnozzle slid onto the stool across from him. His bald head was papery and speckled, his face scrunched with its little pucker-mouth like he he’d just kissed a lemon. He had a pair of red-lensed spectacles wedged atop his crooked nose.

  “An excellent question,” Frothnozzle said. His voice was like a razor wrapped in silk. “What was that about singing oysters, my dear?”

  Givup looked down at the table. “Just something I heard about.”

  “Interesting,” Frothnozzle said, then directed his attention back to Mungo. “Mordecai Gintaters. It has been a few years, hasn’t it?”

  “Frothnozzle,” Mungo said. “It’s only been that long because one of us was hiding.”

  “You know each other?” Givup asked with a note of alarm.

  “Why, yes,” Frothnozzle said. “Mordecai here used to work in the mailroom at my former employer. He seems to have come up in the world since then.” He nodded at the dice then looked at Mungo. “Are you going to roll those?”

  “The mailroom?” came a voice from behind Mungo. He turned on his stool to see Durham.

  “Not now,” Mungo whispered.

  “Oh,” Frothnozzle said. “Is this a friend of yours? I hope you haven’t been telling him stories, Mordecai. Stories about being a merchant-prince, perhaps, or some sort of exotic superspy.” He smiled beatifically at Durham. “Mordecai always had a very active imagination.”

  Mungo glared at him and rolled the dice. A nine. He watched as his last coin-pouch was whisked away. Frothnozzle dropped another pouch on the table. Mungo turned for a quick aside with Durham.

  “Borrowing this,” he said, making a quick sleight-of-hand pickpocketing move to grab Durham’s coin-pouch. “I’ll pay you back.” He turned back to the table and dropped the pouch. It landed with a moist thump as a few meatballs rolled out.

  There was a round of silence.

  “I’m out,” Mungo said. “It was nice seeing you again.” He spun on his stool and dropped to the floor, grabbing Durham’s robe to pull him along. “Meatballs?” he hissed.

  “Ermm…”

  “I suspect it is time for us to leave, and quickly. Our cover is blown and Frothnozzle is dangerous. Let’s find Thud. I saw him headed toward the bow earlier.”

  The door they were making for was abruptly filled by three-quarters of an ogre, the doorway not quite big enough for the other quarter.

  “Not that way,” Durham said. They pivoted and headed toward the opposing door. The leather-clad assassin stood there, arms crossed, smirking.

  “And not that way,” said Mungo.

  “Down,” Durham said and gave Mungo’s arm a tug toward the servant stairs.

  “What about Thud?”

  “We’ll try and find a way to warn him but he’s pretty good at taking care of himself.”

  Durham ran down the stairs, Mungo hopping to keep up. At the bottom a servant with a tray of stuffed olives glared at them as they dodged around her.

  �
��Through the kitchens,” Mungo said. “There’s bound to be stairs back up at the other end.”

  “And then?” Durham asked, hurrying after. They were moving between two long counters lined with people chopping things. Pots bubbled over trays of hot coals and the air was thick with clouds of steam.

  “Find Thud.”

  “That’s not an escape plan.”

  “We’re on a boat. We can jump off and swim.”

  Durham didn’t respond to that but Mungo knew him well enough to suspect that he was now thinking about crocodiles and hippopotamuses, both things that the river was known for possessing in large numbers. They reached the other end of the kitchen and Mungo was relieved to find his stair hypothesis proven true. What he didn’t expect was to see Thud descending them.

  “Ah, there ya are,” Thud said. “The ship’s about to dock so I was just coming down to make my servant exit.” He pulled the feathers out of his hat.

  “We must get off the ship!” Mungo said. “The assassin is after us!”

  Thud growled low in his throat. “Why’d I even bring you two? Who’s she?” he added, looking over Mungo’s shoulder.

  Mungo turned around. Givup Notachance stood in the kitchen doorway.

  “In there!” She pointed toward a storage cabinet. “He’s right behind me.”

  “Why are…?” Mungo began but then thought better of it and ran to the cabinet. He ducked in, Durham and Thud squeezing in around him. Mungo ended up against the back wall, Durham standing over him with one leg on either side. Thud was in front, holding the door closed.

  “Here’s me,” Thud muttered, “just walking onto the ship, asking the guy in charge for the information we wanted and just walking back off. But then you two come along and now I’m in a closet…” he cut off as the sound of a pair of boots became audible.

  “Any sign of them?” a man’s voice said.