by Jean Rabe
The first lock was achingly easy, and Fenzig made a mental note to discuss Duke Rehmir’s slack security. I can tell him how to construct much better locks. Why, I could probably fashion them for him. Any thief could get by these. The second was a little more difficult, but only a little and only because it was almost out of reach.
The third lock was above Fenzig’s head, and he had to climb up the iron bands on the door to get to it. This was a more complex lock, it felt newly forged to his sensitive fingers, and it brought a smile to the gnome’s lips. It was going to present him a little bit of a challenge. Finally, a chance to have some sport tonight!
This is much better than listening to that boorish orchestra, he thought. Much, much better. Much better than not dancing, than watching Carmella, than watching the duke and his new lady friend. What great fun!
He chose a different pick, a thinner one that let him get farther inside the lock. Pressing his ear to the mechanism, he felt about with the pick until he met resistance, wriggled it back and forth, and finally heard a soft “click.” It took him several moments more, and twice he had to change picks, before he finally got it open. “So maybe I don’t have to help him with security,” he said. “Well, not much help, anyway.” Fenzig climbed down the door, gleefully rubbed his hands together, and went inside.
He remembered there being a lantern to the right of the door, and so he quickly found and lit it, setting his thieves tools next to it. His vision was keen enough in the darkness, but he wanted light so the jewels would sparkle and so he could appreciate them better.
Within a heartbeat he had the wick high enough so that the gold coins glimmered, and the gems caught the light and practically glowed. “Yes,” he said approvingly. “Everything in its place, just like before, just like I remember. Coffers, statutes, gilded frames, music boxes, butterfly jewels, chests. . . . hmm. Better be sure everything’s still here. Just as a precaution. Just to help the duke.”
Indeed, the gnome convinced himself he was only helping out Duke Rehmir by being here, as he was certain the servants and soldiers didn’t have time to bother about sifting through pearl necklaces and platinum vases to make sure nothing was amiss. And he convinced himself once more that nothing would find its way into his possession. After all, his beltpouch was beneath his silk shirt—so it wasn’t immediately accessible, and his pants were just a smidgen tight after all he’d eaten tonight, so he couldn’t risk the seams by putting something in his pockets.
“What’s this?” The gnome stopped in midstride on his way toward the butterfly pin collection. “Magic?” On the floor, mere inches from his toes, was a pattern, barely discernable because coins had spilled over part of it, and barely glowing. The gnome batted his eyes and stooped to look at it more closely. “Magic, definitely.” It was a glyph, a magical maguffin that when walked upon or across would signal a warning someplace.
“So Duke Rehmir has fine security after all,” Fenzig pronounced. He didn’t remember there being a glyph here before when he was let into the treasure room. Though he supposed the duke could somehow deactivate it when he wanted.
“Who put it there? Carmella?” No, she couldn’t have. She was with me. Except for today when she was getting ready for the party, which means she wouldn’t have had time to come down here and do this for her father. I understand it takes a while to craft one of these. So the duke has access to a wizard somehow.
There was something familiar about the pattern, but the gnome couldn’t quite put a finger to it. “I’ll just have to walk around you,” he told the glyph. “Wonder how many wizards the duke has in his employ. Never asked him if he had any, didn’t strike me as a man who favored spells and such. So it doesn’t mean he isn’t the type. Probably relied on wizards to help him build this palace. Well, never mind. About those butterflies. . . .”
His short arms stretched out to touch the crystal case. Inside golden butterflies bedecked with emeralds, sapphires, jacinths, and garnets, glittered in the light like their wings were gently flapping. “The duke’s daughters should be wearing these. They’re so pretty. Shouldn’t be locked up where no one can see them.”
“They’re locked up so no one will steal them.”
The words were crisp and came from behind the gnome. He whirled, losing his balance and falling on a mound of unyielding gold coins. The air rushed from his lungs. “Ketterhagen!”
The general didn’t know the gnome, though Fenzig had spotted him the first night he broke into Duke Rehmir’s palace. “General Ketterhagen, I’m not stealing anything,” Fenzig sputtered. “I was just looking. The duke let me down here before, so I figured it was all right. And the party was boring. Well, it probably wasn’t boring for humans. But I didn’t have anyone to dance with you see, and the music just wasn’t. . . . And I was upset with all the talk of politics and Burlengren and kingships and armies. I was going into town to a boarding house. But I thought I’d take a last look around. Doing a favor for the duke, actually, though he doesn’t know it yet. I was checking his security–which is quite good by the way, but it could be better and. . . .”
The gnome’s words were tumbling together, blurring so fast in a nervous frenzy that the aging general had to struggle to make them out. The older man finally gave up, obviously not in the mood for the gnome’s explanation anyway. He gestured, and two guards materialized from the hallway behind him, and strode forward, their hard leather heels clinking harshly over the coins. They grabbed Fenzig up by the armpits, shook him to see if anything valuable would fall out, then held him up to Ketterhagen.
“It was a good thing for Duke Rehmir I wasn’t with my troops this night,” the old general said. “I wouldn’t have heard the alarm.”
“Alarm?” Fenzig managed to get the word out, then the guards squeezed him harshly to keep him quiet.
“The magical alarm on the door. A chime rings in my chambers if the door is opened. If I’d been with my troops, I wouldn’t have heard it.” Ketterhagen gestured again, and the guards nodded in unison, carried Fenzig from the chamber. The older man followed, closed the door behind them and didn’t bother to refasten the locks.
“Duke Rehmir,” Fenzig risked. This time the guards didn’t squeeze him. “If you get the duke, he’ll explain that I’ve been here before, that I’m a guest. That it’s okay.”
“You’re a guest, all right, wee-one,” Ketterhagen returned. “A guest of the dungeon.”
“The duke. . . .” the gnome persisted.
“Is having a party tonight and is too busy to be disturbed by the likes of a little thief. He will deal with you in the morning.” With that, Ketterhagen left, his slippered feet making practically no sound in the long, stone hallway.
The guards carried the struggling gnome deeper into the catacombs, through a maze of corridors and down a series of steps he hadn’t traveled before. The air was chill here, and fusty, as if little fresh air reached ever here. The light came from guttering, fat-soaked torches that were placed far apart. Cobwebs covered the ceiling like the ornate fresco covered the ballroom ceiling, and Fenzig’s keen vision picked out all manner of crawling things in the webs—and the husks of little things that had died there. Mold grew on the walls here and there, adding to the unpleasant atmosphere of the place.
Fenzig chattered to the guards, about the duke, about him being a hero because he helped rescue his daughters, about him being Carmella’s best friend, and about how someone should go get Carmella or the duke and tell them how sorry he was for revisiting he treasure chamber. But the guards ignored him, didn’t say a word until they reached a particularly dank corridor. Then one chuckled. Stagnant water lay in puddles along the stone floor, dripping down here from who-knew-where. Fenzig’s eyes noted rat droppings in profusion where the walls met the floor. He thanked the gods that Elayne had talked him into wearing these shoes.
“Carmella wouldn’t like it that you’re taking me here,” he said softly. “She wouldn’t like it at all.”
“Lady Carmell
a doesn’t like thieves,” one of the guards returned.
“Neither does the duke,” added the other, as they rounded a corner. The light barely reached here, and Fenzig imagined that the guards were having a difficult time seeing. However, his own vision was good enough to make out all the dismal details.
The gnome gulped. Cells lined both sides, old iron-barred cells that obviously hadn’t been used in a very, very long time. The bars were rusted, and the hay inside the cells was so old and moldy it was hardly recognizable as hay.
The gnome was entrusted to the taller of the two guards, while the other fumbled about his waist for a key ring. “This one’ll do,” he said to his companion. The guard had selected the closest cell and fitted one key after another in the lock until at last he was rewarded. The door opened with some difficulty, and filled the air with a keening protest of the bottom iron rung being rubbed across the stone floor. The sound jarred Fenzig, and he clamped his teeth shut.
The gnome was tossed inside, discarded like too-old potatoes, and was again greeted with the bone-hurting keening as the door was closed, and then locked.
“We’ll check on you tomorrow, thief, after the duke has arisen and decides what to do with you.”
“Do with me? Why, he’ll order that you let me out immediately. He’ll be angry you put me here!” Fenzig retorted. “You’ll be looking for new work! I’m an honored guest. Why, I’m a hero. And Carmella will. . . .”
But the gnome’s words were lost amid the guard’s retreating footsteps, their muttered words about being replaced soon for the change in shift.
“Gods! I hate it in here,” he moaned, as he selected a wall farthest away from the mound of hay that at one time might have been a prisoner’s bed. He slid down the wall, suspecting that he wiped away part of the dirt with his silk shirt in the process.
There was just so much dust and dirt here. It had been unused for a long time. Fenzig wondered just how long. A thick layer of grime covered everything. Reminiscent of Erlgrane’s dungeon, the film of filth coated the stone floor, the walls, and the mound of moldy old straw. It covered everything.
Fenzig wrinkled his nose in disgust and picked up several new odors—rats, which he had learned to identify in Erlgrane’s dungeon, stagnant water, human waste. The latter piqued his curiosity, as it indicated he had company down here.
“I bet you don’t like this place any better than I,” he said loud enough for the other guests to hear. He was answered with a high-pitched squeak from one of the rats in his cell.
“I hate rats,” he grumbled. Squinting, he spotted a bony trio in the far corner. They looked practically emaciated, and were not near so bold as the rats in the king’s dungeon. “Nothing to eat down here, huh, fellows? Guess I should have brought Grechen’s cupcake with me. See, they won’t be feeding me down here, so you won’t be getting fat off any of my scraps. I’m going to be out of here very soon. Very, very soon, in fact. Soon as Carmella hears what happened. Why don’t you go bother the other prisoners?”
The rats continued to squeak and stare at him, kept their distance and continued to make the gnome fret. “I really hate rats. Wonder if the rats are any healthier in the cells of the duke’s other guests.” Other guests? Guest, Fenzig corrected himself. A very important one. King Erlgrane. Carmella said the king was in her father’s dungeon.
“Hey, your majesty!” Fenzig bellowed. “How’s it feel to be down here? Your dungeon’s no better than this! So how do you like a taste of your own hospitality? Huh?”
The gnome’s answer was a muffled “Mrphrgm!”
“What’s the matter? Craven cat got your tongue?” He chuckled at his little joke, pushed himself to his feet, and padded toward the barred door. “Hey, your majesty! Talk to me!”
The reply was again muffled, making Fenzig squint across the hallway, into a cell on the other side. Poking through the darkness, he spotted the bedraggled form of King Erlgrane. No longer imperious, the monarch was chained to the wall by his legs and arms, and a thick gag was stuffed into his mouth. He looked thin, the clothes sagging on him, reminding the gnome of a rag doll and indicating that he hadn’t been fed well, though the wound on his leg had been tended to. The gnome knew he was at least receiving some sustenance, else he would have been dead by now. But he thought the duke would have taken better care of his important prisoner.
“You’re not going anywhere for quite some time, I’m sure.” The gnome noted that there was faintly glowing symbol on the floor of the king’s cell. Apparently the duke was taking as many precautions as possible so his royal prisoner would not escape.
“Can’t go anywhere, eh, your majesty? Can’t talk either ‘cause of that gag. Too bad. Bet you can listen, though. And I’m going to give you the proverbial earful. See, I’m gonna be getting out of here, soon. Very soon. And you’ll still be here. Maybe forever. You certainly don’t deserve any better.” The gnome continued to berate the king, taunting him mercilessly and practically endlessly, expounding on Duke Rehmir’s plans to march into Burlengren and seize Erlgrane’s holdings. When Fenzig was finally out of breath, he stepped back from the bars and sighed. His little tirade had made him feel better—a little. But it was not so satisfying as having someone nearby who could talk back—give him evidence that his verbal jabs were hurting.
The gnome started to pace, his leather-soled shoes sticking here and there where something—he didn’t want to guess what—had adhered to the stone. He batted his hands in the air when he inadvertently walked into a curtain of spider webs.
“Gods! I hate this place!” he howled. The gnome wanted out, wanted to be away from this place, away from kings and dukes, and far from human orchestras that played simple tunes that clumsy, hawk-nosed women danced to. He wanted to be on his own, anywhere. And he wanted the king to acknowledge his insults.
“Wait a minute.” He stopped, whirled, and returned to the bars, tugged up his now-filthy silk shirt. His short fingers fumbled about in his beltpouch. Fumbled, quested. “There!” he exclaimed, tugging free Carmella’s magical necklace. He was sad he’d forgotten to return it to her after she loaned it to him in Graespeck. But his sadness instantly vanished when he plopped it over his head and returned to taunting the king.
“I might not hear you answer me, you sorry excuse for a peabrained potentate!” Fenzig was especially pleased with that appellation. “But I can listen in on your thoughts with this magical necklace.”
The one that belonged to my wife? came the words inside the gnome’s head. The necklace my Carmella was so fond of wearing?
The gnome’s mouth dropped open and he shook his head furiously, as if to clear his senses. It was Duke Rehmir’s voice. He recognized it as clearly as if the words had come from the portly man’s mouth. There were a few other voices inside his head, other unfortunate people who somehow wronged the duke, but he shoved all of those away and concentrated on Duke Rehmir’s thoughts. Fenzig clung to the bars and stared at King Erlgrane. Had those mental words come from the king? he wondered.
The necklace that allows you to read another’s thoughts? The inaudible voice persisted. Are you reading my thoughts now, gnome?
“I’m reading someone’s thoughts,” the gnome answered as much to himself as to the king. “But I’m not believing what I’m hearing. I don’t like to be tricked, your majesty.” The last two words came out as a sneer. “I don’t like tricks, at all, thank you. And I’ve decided I don’t like kings.”
I’ve never much cared for them, either, the thoughts continued. The words inside Fenzig’s head sounded tired and old. Especially the king who did this to me.
“Another trick!” the gnome spat. “Another trick of yours, Erlgrane, and I’m not going to listen. You and your wizards and homing spells and emeralds. You’re evil!”
But the gnome listened anyway, out of curiosity and because he had nothing else to do at the moment. He listened closely to a very convoluted tale. When it was finished, he tugged free his belt and ruined the clasp, u
sed the prong to worry at the lock on his cell. It was an old lock, and it only presented a challenge because it was so rusted and large, and the gnome’s makeshift lockpick, which became terribly bent in the process, was so small and fragile. He cursed himself for leaving his picks inside the duke’s vault. It would have made things simpler.
Once free, Fenzig eased open the door, cringing when the iron grated angrily against the stone again. He didn’t bother to close the door, not wanting to hear the sound again and not wanting to risk any additional noise that might give any listening guards a reason to come looking. Not that I didn’t give them a reason with all my bellowing at the king, he thought.
He slipped from the hallway, moving silently and clinging to the darkest shadows and ignoring the slime he brushed up against when he accidentally touched the wall. He glared at the few starving rats he spotted, chasing them away with wild gestures, and he began his long journey up from Duke Rehmir’s imposing catacombs.
It wouldn’t have been such a long journey, had the gnome been paying more attention when the guards brought him down here, or had he possessed any sense of direction beneath the earth. But eventually, he guessed it must have been an hour or more, he found his way into familiar territory—the hallway outside the duke’s treasure chamber. From here, he made his way to the stone steps that wound up to the palace above.
There were two guards perched like attentive birds at the bottom of the steps—not the same two who threw him in that cell. Despite their rigid posture, they looked bored, and likely weren’t paying a great deal of attention. But Fenzig wasn’t about to leave anything to chance, and certainly didn’t want to chance getting thrown back in a cell. This time the guards would make sure he couldn’t get out.
The gnome picked a spot a good hundred yards away from the guards, reluctantly removed the leather shoes, and climbed the wall. The stones were old, and the gaps between them where they were mortared together were deep. Perfect for climbing, Fenzig thought. His fingers and toes fit neatly in the cracks, and he skittered up like a spider. Clinging to the wall just below the ceiling—which even here was filled with webs and crawling insects, the gnome inched forward, over the heads of the guards and around the corner, up the stairwell and into the lowest level of the palace.