Sticker regarded her for a moment before subtly motioning his companions away. “All right, doll. I’ll let you in on a secret. I have a present for Tol. A very special present.”
“Super. Give it to me and I’ll look him up and hand it over to him when I get back, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Sticker laughed: an oily, grating series of exhalations. “It doesn’t work that way, doll. This present is not one you could carry; Tol will have to come and get it for himself.”
Selpla rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m sure if you contact the EE headquarters in Goblinopolis they can route your message to this Tol. Excuse me, but I have a job to do.” At that she turned on her heel and walked away. These creeps made her uncomfortable in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. It took all of her self-control not to run away at full tilt. She decided that this story wasn’t worth the effort and headed back to her pram.
Sticker grinned as he watched her walking. “She knows Tol, I would say. Quite well, even. I think she may be useful.”
“You gonna stop her, boss?” asked Slag.
The half-ogre held up a small metal cylinder with two protruding wires.
“I already have.”
The drive mechanism in her pram would not engage. Selpla cursed her bad luck and sat there for a moment, collecting her wits. She used her comm unit to call the number for the pram rental firm posted on the dashboard, but all she heard was a recorded message. She banged her head against the steering wheel a couple of times, sighed, and got out to seek help.
Sticker and his goons walked up. “Having trouble, doll?”
Selpla glared at the half-ogre momentarily before switching her pitch-up. She sidled up to him seductively and twisted her finger in his plaid lapel. “Nothing a big strong fella like you can’t handle, I’m sure.”
Sticker was momentarily taken aback by her new tactics, but it’s hard to con a con artist and while Selpla was pretty convincing, she was dealing with a pro here. He decided to play along.
“I might be able to rescue you, doll. Depends on what you’re willing to give up in return.”
“What did you have in mind?” Selpla asked in reply, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“We can discuss that later. First, let’s see if we can fix your pram.”
They all moved over to the stricken vehicle. Selpla sat in the driver’s seat with the window down. He pretended to be working on the engine, his hands hidden by the engine compartment access hatch lid. “Try it now.”
Selpla flipped the starter switch; nothing happened. Dross came over to stand next to her.
“Boss says to try pumping the throttle back and forth.”
She pushed in on the throttle pedal several times. “Like that?” As she turned her head back to look at the kobold, he slapped a pad soaked in some strong-smelling chemical across her face, covering her nose and mouth snugly. She struggled briefly against it before her world faded to black.
Sticker reinserted the missing part, slammed shut the access hatch, and pushed the unconscious Selpla over so that he could sit in the driver’s seat. Dross and Slag got into the back and they all drove away.
Chapter the Twenty-First
in which a dastardly crime is horribly botched
Tol sat at his desk reading the latest EE dispatches in some irritation. He had hurried back from Lumbos and abbreviated his post-mission debrief with Aspet only to discover that Selpla was in Hellehoell again. He knew she had a job to do, of course, but they hadn’t been together much since before his accidental voyage to Port Jool and he was feeling the urge something fierce. He flipped over to the Ferroc Norda section of the dispatch log, a section he usually didn’t bother to read, solely because that’s where Selpla was.
The first item listed caught his eye. An armored dray loaded with currency had been brazenly stolen from in front of a money- changer’s office. Witnesses saw at least one unfamiliar kobold and hobgoblin in the area, but no one actually came forward to report observing the crime in progress. Tol shrugged and wished local EE well. Not his problem.
As the day wore on he expected to hear from Selpla. He tried calling her once, but got no answer. That wasn’t particularly worrisome: if she was somewhere in the depths of Hellehoell the only way she’d be reachable was via arcane mode. She may or may not have that enabled on her comm unit at the moment. He went back to writing reports and tried not to think of her. It was a hopeless task. When quitting time rolled around and he still had not heard from Selpla, Tol contacted the South Fenurian EE desk sergeant.
“Hey Grelko, this is Tol in Goblinopolis. Yeah, it’s been a long time. Look, I’m trying to track down an errant reporter who rented a pram there and drove out to that titan city. Her name is Selpla and she should be either on the carriage or waiting for it by now, but I can’t contact her. Can you find out if any of your guys has seen her? Of course it’s official EE business. Call me back at this number. Thanks.”
He slapped the comm unit down on the desk and sat there staring out an ornate window at the bustling courtyard of the Justice Center below. He shouldn’t feel this way but he did, and the only person who could make him stop feeling this way was Selpla. He got up and paced the imported Nerrian rug covering the parqueted hardwood floors of his office suite. He’d never quite made adjustment to the splendor of his current work environment; one wall was covered with some of the worn and faded artifacts of his years in Sebacea. Smack dab in the middle of that wall was Selpla’s nicely-framed photo.
Finally the comm unit buzzed.
“Tol here. Hey, Grelko. Whatta ya mean, you can’t find her? She didn’t turn in her rented pram? Did you check with the rail line? She was supposed to be on the evening carriage to Goblinopolis. She never boarded? Thanks. That isn’t good. I’m on the way.”
Tol was in no mood to be pleasant or negotiate. He walked into the carriage station and cut into the front of a lengthy queue, ignoring the glares and complaints of the patrons.
“Private carriage to Fenurian,” he said to the clerk, showing his Crimson Knight creds, “Priority one.”
The clerk started to say something about no available carriages, but Tol’s expression dissuaded him. “Um, I’ll find you something as soon as I can.” Tol just stared at him, to the point where the clerk could not concentrate on anything else. He picked up a comm and dispatched one of the reserve engines with a single carriage. “Track four-A,” he said to Tol.
Tol nodded his nominal satisfaction and walked briskly away. The clerk became aware of his own profuse perspiration and wiped it before turning back to the next customer in line. Some of the patrons glared angrily at Tol, but a few recognized him and their expressions were more akin to awe and respect than irritation. Tol didn’t give a wrat’s backside at that moment what anyone felt. He just wanted to get to Selpla.
He pushed the carriage engineer to take the machine to its limits. They rode down the rails as fast the carriage would realistically take them in the quickest voyage ever undertaken from Goblinopolis to Fenurian. Tol leapt from the carriage before they had even come to a complete halt and hit the platform running. He jumped in an EE vehicle that he’d called ahead to have waiting for him and sped off toward Selpla’s last confirmed location in Hellehoell.
Hellehoell was actually east-northeast of Fenurian, but the only navigable approach required heading south from the city before turning east and then north. A few kilometers north of the left turn Tol passed a large assemblage of tents. It occurred to him that someone there might have seen Selpla’s rental pram. He pulled over and started talking to people.
Most of the laborers were unwilling to speak at first, but Tol had many years of experience in loosening reluctant tongues. After half an hour he’d established beyond reasonable doubt that the pram had entered the tent city but had not come out. Ipso facto, it and most probably Selpla were still here somewhere. He would find her if he had to dismantle the camp tent by tent.
Such draconian measures were not necessary,
as it turned out. Barely ten minutes into the search Tol spotted a pram matching the description of the one Selpla had rented. It was unoccupied, but Tol saw one of the jeweled scarves Selpla was fond of wearing on the dashboard. He was torn between anger and worry. As he peered through the window of the pram, a half- ogre approached.
“Sir Tol-u-ol, I presume,” said the stranger, extending a hand. Tol did not reciprocate.
“You presume quite a lot. Who, exactly, are you?”
“You can call me Sticker.”
“Sticker? What the smek kind of name is that?”
“It is only a nickname given me by some former associates, but I’ve been going by it for so long that it has, in essence, become my real name.”
“All right, ‘Sticker,’ I’m looking for a female goblin who goes by the name of Selpla. Have you seen her? She was driving this pram.”
Sticker stroked his chin as though in thought. “Yes, I believe I did see a lady goblin around here an hour or two ago.”
“Can you show me where you last saw her?”
“Yes. Yes, I can. It was over there.” He pointed toward a dense cluster of larger tents and headed off in that direction. Tol followed. As they rounded a corner, Tol was surprised to see an armored dray parked between two of the tents. He immediately recalled the dispatch about a stolen dray in Fenurian and put two and two together. He turned on Sticker.
“What’s going down here? I’m guessing you aren’t a good citizen who just happened to discover this stolen dray sitting here and wanted to turn it in to the cops.”
Sticker laughed. “My good Sir Tol, you have, it seems, misjudged me. I am precisely that. This vehicle simply appeared here and is quite out of place. I was on my way to report it to the local constabulary when you quite accommodatingly showed up.”
Tol stared at him, looking for sincerity. What he saw was unconvincing, but his real reason for being there suddenly pushed its way back to the forefront.
“I don’t care about the dray. That’s local EE’s problem. What I do care about is that reporter. You said you saw her here.”
“It is most extraordinary that a special investigator—a Knight of the Crimson, no less—should be so concerned about a journalist that he travels 350 kilometers simply to find her. I would be most interested in knowing the reasons for this.”
“The reasons are EE business,” Tol snapped at him, “And none of yours. Now, where is she?”
“The fate of your lady friend and this dray are inextricably intertwined, Sir Knight,” replied Sticker. “All will be revealed inside.” “Whatta ya mean, ‘inside?’” Tol asked with growing irritation.
“Inside the dray. She is inside the dray. If you want to rescue the damsel, you must also enter.”
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but I’m just about ready to start bustin’ heads and I’m inclined to start with yours.”
“That would be most unwise, Special Investigator, for my associates have strict orders to terminate said reporter if anything happens to me.”
Tol grabbed the half-ogre by the jack and hauled his face right up to Tol’s own.
“If anything at all happens to her,” he said, biting the words out, “I will dismantle your ugly hide one body part at a time.”
“There’s no need to threaten violence, Sir Knight. Let us remain civilized and conduct this as a business transaction, the first step of which is for you to see what I have created inside the dray itself.”
Tol rolled his eyes. “Fine. Let’s see what is so smekking important about the inside of the smekking dray.”
Sticker yanked opened the heavily reinforced door leading into the dray’s cargo area and held it open for him. Tol stuck his head in and saw Selpla gagged and bound to a chair. He leapt in after her and Sticker slammed the door shut, bolting it securely from the outside. Tol pulled off Selpla’s gag and began to untie her.
“I’m so happy to see you, Tol. Why did they do this to me?”
“Some kinda cockamamie kidnap for ransom scheme, I expect.”
“But you walked right into their trap, then!”
“Your safety is my primary concern. I’ve dealt with wrats like this before. They’re dumb as a box of rocks. Everything will be fine.”
“How can you say that? We’re hopelessly imprisoned inside a heavily armored dray.”
In answer, Tol spoke into his overjack pocket. “Petey, scan this dray and tell me about the safety interlock system, please.”
“The shielding effect is too strong for normal mode; I’ll need to switch over to arcane. Hang on a moment,” the pen said in muffled reply.
Selpla was now free and rubbing her sore wrists. She looked at Tol inquisitively.
“Every armored dray in Tragacanth has a mandated escape route so that drivers can’t be locked inside accidentally and suffocate or something before they’re missed,” he explained,“Only the driver, the driver’s dispatcher, and EE have access to that mechanism, however, and the codes change periodically or when a driver leaves. That’s one of the reasons there is such intense scrutiny of prospective armored dray drivers.”
“Data accessed,” Petey announced. “This dray requires a transponder signal followed by a specific mechanical sequence to open. The egress portal is set into the floor, to the right, relative to the normal longitudinal orientation of the vehicle, of the driveshaft housing and just proximal to the rear axle.”
Selpla looked confused. “What did it say?”
Tol chuckled and pointed to a spot on the floor. “Petey said the escape hatch is right about there.” He got down on his knees and inspected the metal floor plates closely. “Here’s the outline of it. Very close tolerances on these things.”
“Yes,” agreed Petey, “Standards specifications dictate no greater than one ten-thousandth of a meter.”
“Why so precise?” Selpla asked.
“These things routinely transport hundreds of thousands or even millions of billmes, or the equivalent in precious alloys. People are very creative when it comes to robbery. Over the years the standards have grown more stringent in response to some of the more spectacular and ingenious thefts.”
Selpla was quiet for a few moments. “It said a transponder signal was required. How are you going to handle that part?”
“I have a dandy transmitter on me that can probably generate the proper signal. Right, Petey?”
“Correct. I will need you to place me as near to the receiver’s antenna as possible, however, as my output at that frequency is synthetic and rather limited in power. The antenna is that thin wire high on the wall at the front, across from the door.”
“Super. And the mechanical part?”
“Standard three-point pressure sequence, centered directly on the escape portal. Hatch disengage will trigger when you move off after activation.”
“Got it. Selpla, please hold Petey up right next to that little wire over there,” Tol said, handing the sentient writing instrument to her. She complied while Tol walked over to the correct spot. He placed his right foot on the almost-invisible circle on the floor and his hands on two similarly inconspicuous spots on the wall. “Ready,” he said.
“Signal transmission commencing,” announced Petey. “Engage pressure sequence.”
The muscles in Tol’s arms and leg suddenly tensed, followed by a solid click. He stepped away and a circular section of flooring popped up far enough for Tol to get his fingers under it. He motioned for Selpla to stay quiet and in place as he removed the hatch cover silently, setting it aside.
Tol lowered himself through the opening. “Hang tight for a little while. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out.”
He crouched down under the dray and after ensuring that the coast was clear slipped unnoticed into the cover of a nearby tent.
“Your Majesty, there is a high-priority call for you from the RPC Officer of the Day. She said to tell you it was Code Violet-Vee.”
Aspet looked up from hi
s papers sharply. “Thank you, Sergeant. Please patch it through to my encrypted desk comm channel at once.”
“As you command, Majesty.” The adjutant saluted and turned smartly on his heel. After a few seconds a light on the comm panel built into the king’s elaborately carved desk blinked urgently. Aspet typed in the Royal Key that allowed the incoming message to be decrypted.
“Your Majesty,” the OD’s voice said, “We are in receipt of a communiqué through the Citizen’s Anonymous Reporting Service that claims Sir Tol-u-ol and a local reporter named Selpla are being held prisoner. The caller demands ten million billmes and has left detailed instructions on how the money is to be delivered.”
“What?” Aspet stood up in agitation. “Did you trace the comm path?”
“All we can tell by the circuit is that it originated in Ferroc Norda. The switching on this circuit is intentionally obfuscated so that people feel freer to report fraudulent activity.”
“What’s the time frame?”
“The caller has given us forty-four hours to get the money and deposit it on a buoy off the northern end of Yohkla Inlet.”
“That’s not much time. How certain are we that they were really kidnapped?”
“Selpla’s employer reports that she has not been heard from since yesterday. Likewise, Sir Tol-u-ol is not answering his comm unit. It appears to be turned off. He was last reported at his desk in the Justice Hall.”
“The most logical sequence of events would be that she was snatched first and he went to save her. Where was Selpla’s last assignment?”
“Hellehoell, according to the managing editor. We’ve already notified Fenurian EE and dispatched a Crimson Knight mobility team.”
“I know my brother. He will be giving these guys a serious headache. Get the money together, but don’t take any further action for now. Watch and wait.”
“As you command, Majesty.”
Aspet sat down and put his head between his hands. Kidnapped. Tol? What kind of idiot would try to kidnap Tol? How would they even go about it? It boggled his mind. He knew he should be worried about the safety of his brother and his girlfriend, but really he was more concerned for the perpetrators. Tol was historically not very tolerant towards edict-breakers, even less so when those close to him were threatened by said activity.
Gathering of the Titans: The Tol Chronicles Book 2 Page 23