Mazerynth

by Jeffery Russell

  “Give me some credit, gnome.” Gong pronounced the word ‘gnome’ like it was an unexpected mouthful of papaya. He shook Mungo’s tiny hand off of his arm, aimed and fired. The bolt hit the ceiling a few feet in front of the dueling mirror then dropped to the floor with a thump.

  “You missed!” Mungo said. Gong didn’t answer. He’d turned away and was humming to himself as he drained his mug and began refilling it from the spigot on the bow’s left stock.

  The bolt on the room’s floor made a little puff sound, like a seven year old blowing out the candles on a cake. Louder than the puff necessary for six candles but without the additional volume and spluttering that came along with eight. Smoke billowed into the air around it. Impact smoke-bolts were one of the toys that came along with having a demolitionist on the team, though Gryngo had recently announced that he preferred the term ‘explodolitionist’. He had long ago branched out from making things that were there not there any longer. The cloud of smoke reflected in the mirror behind it as it thickened and spread, and within moments the mirror was obscured from view along with the entire half of the room containing it.

  The red pixie lamp faded like morning haze on the water when the sun comes out, the pixie inside looking annoyed that it hadn’t gotten to finish its cake first. Once more the room was in complete darkness.

  “There you go,” Gong’s voice boomed. “Experiment conducted, light problem solved. Now let’s get out of this maze.”

  “Can I stop holding the blanket up?” Durham asked.

  Chapter Ten

  Ruby found herself falling, largely due to the unexpected absence of the bench she’d been sitting on. Fortunately the floor was covered with silk pillows. The House of Books had disappeared from around her and now she was lying on the floor in the middle of what appeared to be a palace. Thick rugs lay beneath the pillows, rich tapestries and draped veils adorned the walls. Graceful pottery with tasteful flowers and palm fronds were scattered between marble pillars. Intricately carved screens allowed sunlight to dapple the room adding a rich glow to the platters of fruits and delicacies on low tables next to scattered reclining couches. The air smelled of incense and there seemed to be a sitar and tambourine duet somewhere nearby.

  A bare-chested muscular man stood in front of her, bald save for a jet-black top-knot. His baggy blue pants set off his orange skin which was a hue bright enough to almost distract from the four arms. All four of his hands were on his hips and he studied her with four eyes, the pair above blinking out of sync with the pair below. When he spoke his voice sounded like two people speaking together.

  “My apologies, wise one. Your being brought here was a choice neither of us had a say in.”

  “Where is here?” Ruby asked. “And you’ll have to be more convincing about having no choice in kidnapping me. Not kidnapping someone is a choice so easy I’ve made it every day without having to consider it.”

  The orange man bowed his head, two of his hands folded in front of him, the other two in a placating spread. “My name is Zabawa-ji. I am one of the djinn. My actions are another’s to command.”

  “I’m Ruby and I think you have the wrong person. What reason would someone have to use a wish bringing me here?”

  He chuckled and smiled, his lower eyes crinkling, his upper eyes rolling in exasperation. “A misconception, I’m afraid. The djinn do not ordinarily grant wishes but we are bound to follow our master’s commands. It is maybe not so unexpected that these commands are often for us to fulfill our master’s wishes.”

  “I’m not sure I see the difference.”

  “Perhaps my master requires a palace.” The djinn spread his hands apart and a shimmering palace appeared between them. “A wish would conjure the palace from thin air. This would take great power.” The image of the palace winked out with four snaps of his fingers. “Instead of this, my master would command me to build a palace and I would have an army of ifreet construct it for him overnight. The end result is the same, the means different.”

  “What about the three wish limit?”

  “An old story that was told to fool a Master into releasing his djinn. I will remain under my master’s command until ownership of the lamp and my service passes to another.” His voices were sad.

  “Who is this master of yours and why did they command you to bring me here? And you still haven’t told me where I am.”

  “Forgive me. You are in my home. I do not have guests often. My etiquette is a foggy memory. Please, allow me to assist you.” He extended his lower hands to help her up. His skin was hot, as if he’d just pulled his hands out of the sunlight.

  ”This is your palace? Not the one you built overnight for your master?” She rescued her straw hat from the floor and perched it back on her head.

  “The palace I referred to was merely an example,” Zabawa said. “My master resides in a palace already. He has no need for me to build more for him. Would you like something to drink or eat? Anything you desire.”

  “You’re going to genie up anything that I want?” She was finding his pairs of eyes hard to look at. Her own eyes were unsure which pair to interact with and kept flicking up and down between the two.

  “I was commanded to provide for all of your desires during your stay here.”

  “What if I desire to leave?”

  Zabawa looked crestfallen at having to disappoint her. “That is beyond my power. Even I can not leave unless commanded.”

  “What if I ask for a raspberry flavored tea from the Maricoxi in the Iskae jungle?”

  “That would fall under the command that I have been given and I would be able to leave in order to obtain it for you.”

  “So I’m in your palace.”

  “Yes.”

  ”Which is where?”

  “Inside my djinn lamp.”

  Ruby took another look around. She could only see parts of the exterior wall due to the hanging silks and the lacquered screens. The upper walls gleamed with sunlight, however. The light had an orange hue and came from rows of vertical slits high up on the curve of the wall. A single strong beam of light at the other end of the room illuminated a glittering fountain.

  “It’s…roomier than I expected. You have windows? In a lamp?”

  “Think of the lamp more as a doorway between your realm and mine. The palace is shaped as the lamp but is not constrained within it. The windows are the lamp’s heat vents.”

  “Why did your master order you to imprison me in your lamp palace?”

  “Not you, specifically. My command was to bring a scribe. You were the first to appear in the House of Books. My master intends to begin their rise to power over all the lands of Karsin. They wish a scribe present to chronicle their ascent.”

  “You’ve kidnapped me to be a godwar journalist?” Ruby had to admit the idea was intriguing. Her job was to find and record events that were worth becoming history. The Dungeoneers had shown a tendency to wind up in the middle of suitable history material but she wasn’t sure they were ready to handle a godwar. “What if I refuse?”

  Zabawa’s lower eyebrows rose, his upper ones narrowing as if annoyed. “Forgive me if I am mistaken but, as a scribe are you not compelled by your own magics to write of the events you witness?” He bowed his head, all eyes downcast. “There is one thing that I have learned in my life as a djinn and it is this: Everyone has a master.”

  “Fine,” Ruby said. She might be stuck for the moment but she also was in a palace and had a djinn at her disposal. Things could be worse. “I’ll take that tea. Maybe some strong wine to wash it down.”

  Zabawa smiled. “As is commanded.”

  With a flicker of motion he was gone. A flicker that traversed the length of the palace chamber, toward where the sunlight was shining on the water fountain. Had he flown out the window? Ruby made her way between pillows and couches to where she could see past the screens and silks. She found herself tiptoeing, feeling like an intruder in the empty room.

  The beam of sunlight
came from a round opening high up on the graceful curve of the far wall. It led upward through a narrowing tube to a ring of bright blue sky. Ruby realized she was looking up the spout of the djinni lamp. Her stomach flopped as her brain experimented with reassessing the scale of things in order to fit them in a lamp. She felt like an ant in a dollhouse.

  She had only a second to ponder this before a great blast of sand obscured the view. She flinched back, ducking to cover her face with her hat as it blew into the room.

  Once again she found herself flopped awkwardly across a pile of pillows on the floor. Only the expected rain of sand on her hat was missing. She looked up. The sand was whirling in front of her, a spinning mini-tornado, growing by the second, its rush of sound bellowing into thunder. With a final crack the tornado twisted into itself and dissipated into a column of sand that billowed like smoke. The particles all slowed then came to a stop, hanging briefly before rushing together to form into Zabawa-ji the djinn.

  He was holding a tea tray. He quickly set it on a table to the side, pushing aside a platter of fruit to make room. He extended a hand to her.

  “My apologies, Ruby-se,” he said in his buzzy double-voice. “My arrivals are a bit more dramatic than my departures.”

  “Well, I’m sure it gave the Maricoxi something to talk about for a few months.”

  The djinn picked the tea tray back up and presented it to her with his lower hands while his upper hands lifted lids to display jars of cream and honey. The stone teapot was steaming, and matching cups waited on saucers alongside a silver plate of lemon-wedges and a basket of diamond-shaped pastries studded with cloves. The tray was decorated with a brilliant and fresh jungle flower, oranges fading into reds, drops of dew still glittering on its petals. Zabawa set the lids back down and gestured her toward a low table along the fountain’s edge with cushions piled around it. There was a bottle of wine and a wine glass waiting on the table that she’d swear hadn’t been there earlier.

  “The water is hot,” he said, “But the tea has only just begun to steep. Some things should not be rushed, no? The aroma of the steam during the wait builds the anticipation.” Two of his hands made a presenting motion at the flower. “A gift from the tea-mistress.”

  Ruby sat on the pillows, the descent only slightly more controlled than her prior two. The djinn sat across from her. His movements were fluid and graceful. He poured a glass of wine and placed it to her side.

  “None for you?” she asked.

  “Gives me heartsburn,” he said sadly. “Which is something to be avoided when you have two hearts.”

  She looked at the label on the bottle. It was an Elvish Prétentieux Blanc.

  Elvish wines were highly prized by the sort of people who could afford to pay the price of a house for a dinner drink. The exotic and shifting myriad of flavors contained within were legendary. She sniffed it, believing that was the sort of thing one was supposed to do. It bore the aroma of elderly grapes. She took a mouthful, swished it around and swallowed.

  It tasted of morning dew beaded on fat grapes in the gleam of dawn. It tasted of leaves, green with spring, beetles crawling across their faces and chomping on their edges. It tasted of gentle summer rains, of bark and flowers. It tasted of peacocks and parrots, glittering like jewels.

  Ruby spat out a piece of peacock feather fluff. She wanted another swig to get the beetle taste out of her mouth but was wary now. “How’s that tea coming?”

  “Soon, soon.”

  She nodded her head toward the spout of the djinn-lamp. She tried to make her tone casual, as if asking about the weather. “That’s the door to my world?”

  “Oh, yes. Quite a nice world in places. You should be proud.”

  “Aren’t you worried that I might leave when you’re not looking?”

  The djinn shrugged and began pouring the tea. “If you were to pass through without my assistance you would be an inch tall. Then I would be commanded to fetch you back and we’d be here having tea again in no time. Do you take cream or honey?”

  “Just a touch of lemon to bring out the tartness.” She folded her hands in her lap and watched as the djinn served the tea. She took a sip. It was perfect. “I notice that the light from the vents is a different color than the light from the spout.”

  “Yes!” the djinn said. “The vents look out upon my world.” He gestured and the couch they were sitting on lifted slowly into the air and drifted to the vents, the silk hangings moving themselves out of the way as they went. Zabawa’s mouths smiled. “Behold the City of Brass.”

  Outside, a burnt orange sky hung over a gleaming city. It stretched as far as she could see, domes and minarets, spires and towers. The orange light reflected from the brass-clad roofs, adding glow to the shimmering air and making the whole thing look like a mirage.

  “May we visit it?” Ruby asked.

  Zabawa shook his head. “I may not set foot there and you it would turn to ashes,” he said. “The heat is very great.”

  Ruby was surprised. “You can’t go home?”

  “Both slavers and slaves are forbidden in the City of Brass. I can only return once I no longer have a master. I have not been home in many centuries but at least I may look upon it whenever I wish.”

  Their couch descended into a small nook surrounded by leafy green plants. The tea table skittered to join them and the djinn served fresh cups of tea.

  Ruby had too many thoughts in her head, careening around and crashing into each other like junior scribes during an earthquake. But one learned a thing or two traveling with a dungeoneering team and her thoughts kept circling back to something Thud had told her once. It was the first rule in the team handbook. It was the only rule whose number never changed.

  Rule 1: Be the problem

  It was a rule she’d thought about often as she’d traveled with the team and it had taken her a while to come to an understanding of it. Once she did she realized that most of the other rules in the book tied into it. You could either be the person solving a problem or you could be the problem that someone else had to try and solve. The problem-poser is the one that takes the lead. The problem-solver is stuck with reacting. If that wasn’t possible and you were stuck as the solver you went to the next rule:

  Rule 2: Adjust the problem

  When a dungeon hall branched to the left and right they pulled out the pickaxes to see if they could go forward, up or down. She needed to create different options.

  “You’re to provide me anything I require for my work, yes?”

  “Yes, wise one.” The djinn nodded over the brim of his teacup. She’d noticed that he favored drinking with his lower mouth to leave his upper one free to speak.

  “I need the scrolls and books I was reading when you abducted me. They’ll allow me to learn the language and culture of…”

  Zabawa cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I do not need the specifics. It seems a reasonable request.” He set his tea down and was gone with a whisper of wind.

  “Be the problem,” Ruby whispered. She sipped her tea, considering and waiting.

  ***

  They’d passed the hall of scarabs with a jar of flaming lamp oil, navigated the chamber of crushing columns by using the skeletons in the room as support braces and redirected the acid jet traps, much to the surprise of the giant scorpion that found itself on the receiving end of things. The spear pits were easily skirted, with Gong even grabbing a half-dozen souvenir spears to take with them. Now they stood at the entry to the heart of the dungeon. A stone slab of a door barred entry. The images adorning it were traced out in gold and glittered in the pixie-light. There was a large lever set in the wall next to the door.

  “There’s a mummy lord on the other side of that door,” Keezix said.

  Thud’s eyebrows raised. “A mummy lord? Seriously?”

  “Probably not,” Keezix answered. “Otherwise there wouldn’t be any adventurer parties coming out the other side. I’m assuming it’s one of the every day sort of mummies
just dressed up a bit. Let adventurers feel like they’re having an epic battle without making it impossible.”

  “What’s so dangerous about mummy lords?” Durham asked.

  “Bit like a lich with a different stylist,” Thud said. “They keep their organs in jars and you have to find ‘em or the mummy lord just keeps coming back. Regular mummies ain’t exactly a day at the circus but at least they stay destroyed once you put ‘em down. So I’m told at least.”

  “You haven’t fought one before?”

  “Haven’t traveled in these parts before,” Thud said. “Lotta nasty things out there in the world. Haven’t fought ‘em all yet and there’s a first time for everything.”

  “Mummies are slow,” Keezix said. “But very strong. They punch hard enough to knock an oxbear out. If the plan caves in just try to not get punched. Also very flammable. Something about wrapping yourself in oil soaked cloth and then baking in a desert for a thousand years makes them extra sparky. Don’t worry too much. Got a good plan. This is another of those spots where nothing happens until we mess with the sarcophagus so it gives us time to set up in advance.”

  Gong pulled the lever and the stone slab lowered itself into the floor with the usual grinding and what seemed a tedious pace. It settled in level to the floor with a final crash and they stepped into the tomb.

  The tomb chamber was large, edges and ceiling lost in shadow. A pair of great black statues of a dog-headed figure stood on either side, each holding a platter of smoldering coals that offered more smoke and flickering than useful light. The sarcophagus stood on a central plinth, glittering in the dim. It bore the countenance of a scowling man with a braided beard, arms crossed, eyes glaring at anyone that approached.

  Currently it was glaring at Thud.

  He was standing in front of it, puffing on his cigar, waiting for the signal. Durham was with Mungo, the two of them crouched behind the corner of the base of one of the great statues. The crouching made his knees hurt but he didn’t want to kneel or sit in case he needed to leap out of the way of something.