Threadbare Volume 3

by Andrew Seiple

  “Why?” Cecelia said, staring down at the coin and up to the King.

  He smiled then, eyes misty. “Because he, too, believed in peace.” He glanced over to Gudrun. “Get them settled. Bazdra, keep them alive. The rest of you, come with me.”

  *****

  Two hours later, in a simple chamber decorated with hand-woven rugs and tapestries, ranging from children’s first attempts to masterpieces that must have taken years to finish, Graves and the golems and their cats stretched out behind a closed door and huddled together to discuss matters.

  “So we’ve pretty much got free run of the place, so long as Bazdra or the other ministers are with us, right?” Kayin asked.

  “Yes,” Threadbare said. “Though we need to be careful. The Lurker is probably going to try to kill anyone of us he can catch.”

  “He can try,” Zuula said.

  “He can do more than that,” Garon said. “If the Hand are actually the remnants of the Seven, then The Lurker’s probably what remains of Graham.”

  “Oh shit,” Madeline said. “That’s wahse than just assassination.”

  “What’s worse?” Fluffbear squeaked.

  “Graham was a con man, a grifter for the greater good,” Cecelia said. “The first one to unlock the gambler job... well, in Cylvania, anyway. He favored range attacks, bluffs, and cons that usually put the Seven’s foes in a bad tactical position. If the daemon has any of his skills, he’s going to come at us using people, and in a way that we won’t be expecting. He was also a master of disguise.”

  “Can he disguise himself as a doll?” Graves asked. “If there’s size limitations we might be good.”

  “Except for you,” Zuula pointed out.

  “Right.” Graves sighed. “Groups. Nobody does anything alone until this is over.”

  “That’s going to be a bit rough,” Garon said, glancing toward Zuula, then quickly away before she could see him. “I mean, some of you have valuable jobs to montage and armor to build, but some of us won’t have much to do. I... I’d really like to help here, but I don’t know how.”

  “I’ve thought of that, actually. I think there might be a way you could help, you all could if you’re willing,” Cecelia said. “I’m going to be stuck putting together my new armor and montaging.”

  “I’ll be montaging as well.” Threadbare said, then frowned. “Maybe not. I taught you golemist.”

  “You did, though I’ve barely used it. But I see where you’re going with this.” Graves nodded. “I could montage it to other people easily enough.”

  “I’m down for being useful,” Glub said. “Beats staring at the walls.”

  “Good.” Cecelia leaned forward. “Gudrun tells me the two coins will cover the new Steam Knight armor and the reagents to golemize most of our dead, but there’s about forty or so left-uncovered. So we need a lot of money... or we need more sources of reagents. And since we’re free to roam the city, we’ve got every legal reason to enter the dungeon that they’ve got down here.”

  “Wait, whoa, dungeon?” Garon said, leaning forward. “I’ve never heard of one here.”

  “Oh yeah. It’s a well-kept secret outside these halls. I only knew about it because of The Lurker’s intelligence reports. It’s legal to go in, unlike a lot of the Crown-controlled dungeons were. The downside is that it’s way more dangerous than Catamountain was. You know how that one was all about cats? This one’s themed around giants.”

  "Worth a shot," Zuula decided. "Ogre went down pretty easy, all t’ings considered. How hard giants be?"

  "Mind you, that’s also going to be a lure. We’ll raid in and out of the dungeon, and try to tempt The Lurker into ambushing us when he thinks we’re weakest- emerging from a dungeon." Cecelia explained. "But I’ve got an ace to play, there."

  "Yeah?" Kayin said, scooting in closer.

  "I couldn’t say anything before, because there were too many people listening, but we’ve got an old friend, one who’ll probably be happy to help us. If she’s alive, and if she’s here. But I can’t imagine she WOULDN’T be here."

  "Oh?" Garon asked. Then, "Oh."

  "Yeah. Once things are quiet, let’s break out the dollseyed mice, Threadbare, and do some exploring. And if we’re very, very lucky we might be able to track down Beryl Wirebeard..."

  CHAPTER 6: GIVE THE DWARVES THEIR DUE

  “You’ve been awfully quiet,” Cecelia remarked to Threadbare, as they sat waiting in the darkness of Madeline’s pack.

  “Have I?” Threadbare asked.

  “Yes,” Zuula said. “Dis whole time we down here talking wit de dwarves.”

  “Oh. Well...” He turned in Cecelia’s arms, snuggled in a bit as he stared up at her from an inch away. “This was pretty much your idea. I figured you had matters well in hand, and you did. The King was very impressed by you. And I used the time I didn’t have to talk to look at people.”

  “Okay. That’s good.” Cecelia snuggled him closer.

  “Looking at people. Yeah.” Garon said, tossing his hatchet up and down and catching it one-handed. The overall effect, given the proportion of his size to his weapon was of a minotaur juggling a greataxe. Threadbare supposed it was good for his dexterity, if nothing else. “The Lurker’s out there somewhere, probably wearing a friendly face.”

  “Or an unfriendly one,” Threadbare said. “Those ministers are pretty highly placed officials, with lots of things to keep them busy, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah. I caught that too,” Cecelia said. “And here we get FOUR of them. I initially thought it was him showing us good faith, showing that he was taking us seriously, even with the problems in my plan, and the downsides I hadn’t foreseen. But it’s not that at all, is it? He doesn’t trust his ministers. Not completely.”

  “Oh. Oh shit, I think I see it. Wow, that’s clever,” Garon said, catching his hatchet and sliding it back into its harness. “He’s doing three things at once. He is showing us good faith. At the same time he’s putting four of the most likely ones to be false in a place where they’ve got three others and us watching them at the same time. And to top it off, he’s tempting The Lurker to take a whack at us, rather than one of his people.”

  Zuula whistled. “Okay, dat’s almost orky. Zuula approve.”

  Cecelia sighed. “I’m liking the idea all save for the last part. The notion that it’s a minister makes a lot of sense. The reports I saw were from about this level of official. Any of them could be compromised, or worse, replaced. A legendary grifter and master of disguise could easily be a dwarf for a few months or more.”

  “It could also be a test of us,” Threadbare mused. “To see how we handle the situation.”

  “Well, how would dwarves handle the situation?” Cecelia asked.

  “They’d shut up, get on with their business, and try to survive the Luker’s sudden-but-inevitable betrayal,” Garon said. “Dwarves are Sturdy, and if you want to impress them, you have to take hits and not complain.”

  “Hand,” Zuula said.

  “Yes, we know The Lurker’s with the Hand,” Cecelia said.

  “No. Hand.” Zuula said, pointing.

  And indeed, a gloved hand had entered the pack. None of the toys recognized it. It dropped a single piece of parchment and withdrew.

  Threadbare hopped out of Cecelia’s embrace and went and read it. “It’s Beryl. She says not to resist or try anything funny, or we’ll get our... heads blown off. There’s more words than that but most of them are not very nice.”

  “Yep, that’s Beryl,” Garon grinned. “I’ll go first.”

  The hand returned. Garon plopped himself into it and vanished.

  A minute crawled by. Then two. Then three more.

  Zuula was practically vibrating with impatience and frustration by the time the hand reappeared and beckoned. They went along peacefully, one at a time-

  -and reappeared in a room full of junk.

  A purple-haired dwarven girl who had to be Beryl was there, talking with Madelin
e off to the side...

  ...and there, with Garon riding on his shoulder, was a tall, green-skinned man with solid yellow eyes. He was clad in leather from head to toe, most of it a greatcoat broken up by bandoliers, with metal contraptions hanging off of it. He had a short, floppy hat that looked a lot like Mordecai’s old hat to Threadbare’s eyes, and he was looking down at the three of them with amazement at friends and family he’d thought long gone.

  “Hullo Mom,” Jarrik said, swallowing hard. “Long time no see.”

  “Jarrik!” Zuula leaped into the air, grabbed his shirt and buried her face in it.

  “Give us a few, okay?” Garon stage-whispered to Threadbare and Cecelia.

  “Of course.” Cecelia smiled, and headed over to Madeline’s side.

  “Motherfucking shitcrackers,” Beryl shook her head as Cecelia strolled up. “I guess this is an occupational hazard for animators, huh?”

  She hadn’t changed much. Her hair was in four purple-and-black braids, not two, and she wore a simple black haltertop and pants with wide pockets. The boots were about the same, thick enough to walk across beds of nails without her noticing or caring, but the goggles were new. Propped up on her forehead, they were smeared with ash and grime, as was most of her face below it, save for the white patches around her eyes where her goggles had covered.

  “Hazard?” Cecelia asked.

  “Being turned into a toy. Though daaaaaamn, you’re a quality one. Someone put a lot of work into your face.”

  “That would be him.” Cecelia jerked a thumb back at Threadbare, who doffed his hat and bowed.

  “Holy shit! The little fucker himself! Man, it’s all reunion up in here.” She slid her hand out from behind her back and put an ugly twist of metal and wood up on a nearby shelf.

  “Is that a pistol?” asked Cecelia, craning her neck to look at it. “I’ve never seen one before.”

  “Yeah. Don’t have to be a gunslinger to use one.”

  “But if ya are then they’re pretty badass,” Jarrik threw in, then turned back to whispering with Zuula and Garon.

  “Shaddap, braggy,” Beryl scooped up a wrench out of a nearby junkpile, hucked it at his head. Without looking at her he caught it, put it down, then kept on talking with his family.

  “That’s some serious dextahrity,” Madeline remarked.

  “And it ain’t limited to his hands,” Beryl leered, as she waggled her tongue between two spread fingers.

  “Is that supposed to mean something?” Threadbare asked.

  “Holy shit you talk now?”

  Your Adorable skill is now level 32!

  “I made my own voice after I got frustrated with being silent.”

  “After that one time in Catamountain I can’t say I’m surprised.” Beryl’s face lightened. “Man, that was a good run. Even if things did turn to shit just after.”

  “So... what happened, exactly?” Cecelia said, hopping up on a nearby overturned crate. “After we dropped you off in Taylor’s Delve, I mean?”

  “I wanna hear this too,” Garon announced. Jarrik strolled over, balancing his mother and his brother in his arms, kicked a pile of gears out of a chair, and sat down.

  “Not much to tell,” Beryl shrugged. Then she grimaced. “Not much good anyway. I got back told Da, and he gathered the family. We stopped long enough to let our neighbors know what was going down, then it was down the escape tunnel we’d dug years ago, with the ones who believed us.”

  “People didn’t believe you?” Threadbare asked.

  “Taylor’s Delve was full o’ folks who went there to get away from civilized places, an’ resistance fighters,” Jarrik said. “The first kind of folks didn’t believe ’er, and forted up. The second wanted ta fight.” Once a little high-pitched and reedy, his voice had deepened as he’d matured. There were muscles under that coat too, his former gawky slimness growing into the full weight of his mixed heritage. “Can’t blame Beryl for th’ ones what stayed. The ones what died.”

  “Like me,” Zuula said, and Jarrik winced.

  “I’m sorry, Ma. By the time me an’ Bakky got there, it was all done, and you were... Well.”

  “Is okay. Work out for best.”

  “He and Bakky got to us just as we were about to collapse the tunnel,” Beryl said. “We let ’em come with.”

  “Bak’shaz!” Zuula and Garon said, simultaneously. “He alive too?” Zuula grabbed Jarrik’s collar and shook it, while Garon tried to pry her fingers loose from his brother’s clothes.

  “Yeah. He was. Probably still is,” Beryl said. “He left a few years back, got tired of living in cramped tunnels. Went looking for the Rangers.”

  “A few years? We— the Crown had the observation posts set up early in the conflict. How did he get past those?” Cecelia frowned.

  Jarrik shrugged. “I’d montaged him through Scout by then, done my best to train ’im like Da would, and shadowed ’im through. By that time Porkins was dead so it was just ’im ta worry about, and ’e got through easy.”

  “I think losing Porkins was what got him to move on, honestly,” Beryl sighed. “The little guy was never the same after that.”

  “Wait,” Cecelia said. “How did you get to Taylor’s Delve in the first place? The last time I saw you the woods were on fire, there were enemy soldiers and scouts all around, and you were going to save your father.”

  Jarrik fell silent. Beryl sighed, moved over, and reached up to rub his shoulders. He slipped a hand back over hers, covering it completely, and squeezing in thanks. “Long story short, we failed. Saw ’im get taken down by one a’ his best students. Feller named Jericho.”

  Madeline inhaled, sharply. “Wait...”

  “Yeah. That Jericho. At tha time he was still loyal. He tracked us to Oblivion Point, told us he was sorry, and that he’d try to make sure that da survived. Told us to escape, keep our heads down, and tell no one of what happened that night. He also said that the wilds were crawling with scouts and soldiers clearing the place, and we’d never make it through if we went reg’lar ways.”

  “Yeah, that’s about right,” Madeline said. “Why do you think I was on the outskirts of the Delve ta begin with, Gar? Buncha gahds stahted hunting around my graveyahd.”

  “Then how did you escape?” Threadbare asked.

  “We walked tha Oblivion.”

  The toys stared, stunned.

  “You can do that?” Cecelia asked. “I thought nothing could cross it.”

  “Oh y’can’t cross it,” Jarrik said, tugging at one of his gloves. “But if ya go a little ways in, and walk ALONG wiff it, and don’t go too far towards or away from it, ya can run ’long it like a bearing in a track. An’ if ya walk in tha right place, it cuts right through solid fings... mountains, trees, whatnot, an’ crosses right over gorges an’ drops and suchlike.”

  “I had no idea,” Cecelia whispered. “That’s... incredible.”

  “It’s fucking unsafe, is what it is,” Beryl snorted. “Show ’em, Jarry.”

  “I am, I am, hold yer knickers...” He tugged the glove up, and held off his hand. His pinky finger was a stump, gone to the first knuckle. “It’s dangerous ’cause you got ter stay in exactly tha right middle part. Get too far out, an’ you don’t come back. But walk too close to tha inside edge, an’ ya walk over air an’ fall, or worse, walk out inta something solid.” He flexed his finger. “Like I almost did. Most of me pinky’s part of a mountain or summat now.”

  “You no do somet’ing dat stupid again,” Zuula said. “Howling darkness out dere. Green numbers eat you alive.”

  “We might ’ave to,” Jarrik said, sighing. “If the war goes bad, it’s a last-ditch plan for th’ hold. Our backs are lit’rally up against it. Me an’ tha other scouts been training, as careful as we can. Still lost a few. And if yer add tha rest o’ the hold’s folks inta it? No way we won’t be countin’ our dead if we do it, which is why it’s a bad idear.”

  “Which is why winning the war seems to be the best outcome,�
� Threadbare said, staring up at a friend he’d never expected to see here. “We want to help you do that.”

  “Yeah, why are you here? What’s all this about ghost golems? We filled you in, let’s hear your story.” Beryl said, scooting around to a chair, flipping it around, and straddling it while she leaned her head on her hands.

  Threadbare told her about the mess at the house, and how he’d come to start his epic quest to save Cecelia, with Zuula and Garon joining in on their part of things. Cecelia took it after that, explaining how she’d been fighting for the wrong side, and how she’d died.

  “Ouch. Shit. Ah...” Beryl ran a hand through her hair, tugging on her braids. “No offense, but you uh, solved a problem for us when you did that. Remember how we’d named you friend to our clan?”

  “Yes. But that debt’s gone now, with my old life.” Cecelia sighed.

  “Hey. Look. It means we can start over, yeah? And this time you’re not secretly the daughter of our worst enemy.” Beryl smiled and reached down a grubby hand. “Pleased to fucking meet you.”

  Cecelia took it and her shoulders dropped as she relaxed. “Thanks! To be honest I was a little worried.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you’re a cleric of Aeterna. Bazdra said—”

  “Bazdra? Bazdra Coaler?” Beryl snorted. “She’s not the boss o’ me. She guards the shrine and advises the King, but she’s not my clan. Which is good, because she’s been a right asshole the last few months.”

  “The last few months? Really?” Cecelia asked, glancing towards Threadbare.

  “Yeah. Ah... let me show you.” She kicked through the scrap on the floor, forging a path to the nearest door, and opened it up.

  Instantly, glowstones lit up, revealing a long, high-ceilinged hall, with a pair of iron double-doors on the end large enough to admit three ogres abreast.

  Inside the hall were five wire-and-cloth-and-wood contraptions, with wooden blades sticking out in front, and metal boxes on the rear. Each had two seats, set into the curving wooden bodies.

  “Those look a little like that tinker diagram we gave you,” Threadbare said.