Slowly, I rotated the dagger. Five degrees, ten…. fifteen… SNAP!
[Trapsmithing check: Failed. -4 penalty due to improvised tools]
The piece of valve I had been using as a fulcrum had flaked away. There would be no turning it off.
“One pressure-cooked halfling, coming up.” I muttered, sheathing my dagger.
I steadied myself, noted the patterns, and dived in. It was harder this way, working backwards and away from my light source, but I had my previous experience under my belt and leapt nimbly off the walls and between gusts of superheated steam.
[Evasion check: Success]
“Ha!” I shook droplets of water from my hair and felt around for my backpack, which lay on the floor, undisturbed by the bloodthirsty rodents. I grabbed the straps and then swung it up and onto my back, and then staggered under the weight. I gave the steam jets a dubious look.
I thought about this. If I tried dancing through the passageway like this, me AND my backpack were going to get cooked…
…No, just me. I realized. Steam doesn’t care about gold any more than the rats do. Grinning, I dropped the backpack back on the floor and took out the remaining length of rope. I hope this is long enough. I tied it to the pack, held one end in my hand, and danced through the deathtrap once again.
I did too. On the other side, I hauled on the rope, dragging the well worn backpack though the jetting geysers, undamaged; if anything, the grubby old cloth was cleaner. Inside, the treasure was intact, but no new torches had miraculously appeared. All I had was the stub of my old one.
Glumly, I contemplated the dark tunnel ahead. I was loath to leave my friendly little mushroom.
I turned back to the Lucerna Nanorum, delicately disengaged it from the wall, and shook the faint spores out onto the place where it had grown. Thrive and prosper, little mushrooms! I thought at them. The body I tied into the end of my old torch stub. It wasn’t as bright as fire would have been, but it was steadier. I hoisted the backpack onto my shoulders.
Right. Let’s go.
Chapter Twelve
It was a long, slow slog out of the sewers. By the time I found my exit, I was pretty well covered in mud, sweat, and mushroom spores. The rat bites hurt, but I wasn’t fevered yet. I poked my head up to street level, looked around for an angry Keenfang, and heaved my backpack out once the coast was clear. I followed, redonned my pack, damn this thing is heavy, and staggered my way to La Baliene.
In a very refined sort of revenge for his house arrest, Ishàmae was baking croissants. The smell of fresh bread and hot butter and smoky cheese wafted out into the street and past the drooling guards who were trying very hard to be stoic.
“Mmmm!” Ramsey was sitting on the front porch, one such flaky pastry in his hands. “Ham and cheddar, my favorite!” he announced loudly, and took a huge bite. “Oh look,” he told the guards, “the cheese is all gooey inside. Don’t you love it when it does that?”
Judging by the younger guard’s expression, he did indeed love that. He was giving the pastry a look usually reserved for scantily clad members of the attractive sex.
“Yum, yum!” Ramsey continued, pulling at the melting cheese and picking it off his fingers. “You guys sure you don’t want any?”
The younger guard opened his mouth to maybe agree, but was shushed by his older companion, a hard eyed dwarf. “None of that now, you know the regs. It could be poisoned.”
The younger guard gave the croissant one last wistful glance.
“Suit yourself.” Ramsey shrugged and took another bite, and then almost spat it out when he saw me. “Sam! You’re back!”
I stumbled up to the steps, still half bent under the weight of the loot. “I got it.” I gasped at him. “How’s Marrisa?“
“Her fever’s up, but she’s still, you know, all there.” Ramsey thrust the other half of his croissant at me, which effectively shut me up while I crammed it into my mouth, and ushered me inside. Behind me I could hear a faint grumble of “…told you it wasn’t poisoned…”
In the main dining room Marrisa was laid out on the settee in front of the fire. Sarah knelt next to it, trying to convince her to drink some water. I handed off my backpack to Ramsey and rolled my shoulders in relief.
“How is she?” I asked. Sarah looked up at me, and I thought that maybe she hadn’t slept last night any more than I had.
Marrisa stirred and focused on me. “Sami.” She smiled. “You take of yourself, girl.” she sighed and seemed to drift off again.
Behind me there was a low, appreciative whistle from Ramsey as he opened my backpack.
I gulped the last of the croissant and reached for another.
[Food bestowed: 4 Hit Points]
[Hit Points: 10/20]
“I’ve found some stuff Ramsey can fence, but we’ve got to get to the temple right away. We can buy her a Cure Disease there.”
“Do we have enough?”
“I’ll say!” Ramsey upended the pack, spilling gold and coins and gems and silver onto the hearth. I had to admit that the steam cleaning had done wonders for the sparkle factor; even the highly functional axe managed to glitter in the firelight.
Sarah looked at the treasure, her mouth open in astonishment, and then turned to me and grabbed me and my grubby clothes and the mud all up in a huge hug, heedless of her own dress. “I can’t believe you did it!” she whispered in my ear. “I can’t believe it, Sam, however did you pull this off?”
At that moment Isha entered, summed up the scene, and just smiled bit. Sarah hastily put me back down, embarrassed, and began packing up. “Here mother, you’ll need your shoes…”
“I’ll tell you all about it.” I promised. “But first, let’s get to the temple. Marrisa isn’t the only one that needs a Cure Disease.”
“I’ll meet you there.” Ramsey handed me a pouch with the coins inside. The rest of the treasure he’d sorted and repacked. “Three hundred and twenty gold you said, Sam?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded and shouldered the pack. “Oof, this thing is heavy!”
Isha couldn’t leave, but saw us out with a small bag of pastries and a canteen of tea. Outside, the guards gave us a suspicions look, eventually decided that none of us was a seven foot tall elf in disguise, and let us go. Sarah tried to hail a palanquin, but the first two that stopped wouldn’t take Marrisa after seeing what kind of state she was in. The third palanquin was crewed by a team of four liveried halflings, who seemed immune to the growing fears of the city.
“You’re not worried?” I asked the leader, as Sarah helped Marrisa into the curtained interior.
She shrugged. “If I was, I wouldn’t be out working, would I?” She tapped her food to a carved piece of moonstone set into the frame, and the palanquin began to rise into the air. “Besides, the job needs doing, and if I was too scared to do it, I suppose I’d just leave the city. I never understood why people stay put and then panic about it.”
She took us up to about ten feet, high enough to skim over the crowd if we had to, and she and her team pushed it forward with long poles, just like a boat. Once moving, they kept up the up the poling, and without any friction from the ground we accelerated quickly, skimming along the streets, changing direction with the occasional well placed pole off the side of a building. It took us no time at all to get to the end of the long line coming out of the temple. I tipped our driver, Marrisa and Sarah unloaded, and we began the forward shuffle of the great snake of the queue.
“Do you think Ramsey will come back with the money?”
“I’m sure of it.” I replied. “Ramsey’s really a very honest guy.”
&nb
sp; “Oh, I know! I mean, it’s not him. I just hope it’ll be enough. I’m just… nevermind.” she said firmly, getting a grip on herself. And then, quietly, “I’m just worried.”
“This will work.” I fingered the coins we had left. I wasn’t sure about pulling them out and counting them, here in this crowd. I changed the subject, instead. “Sarah, what do you know of leylines?” I handed her the canteen of tea.
Sarah took a swig and then offered some to Marrisa, leaning tiredly on her shoulder. She refused. “Well, we’ve got three major leylines that intersect in Triport. Right here on Temple Hill, actually.”
“Can they move?”
The queue had grown behind us. Several more palanquins sped by or dropped off passengers.
“They shift over time. Some more than others, like the famous Wandering Jo. Most shifts are very minor though. Why?”
“There’s something going on, underneath….” I lowered my voice. “…in the sewers. I think the goblins built something,” I didn’t want to say giant rabid rat bomb that’s going to flood Triport out loud, “and they’re using a Temple leyline to power it. Without a thaumatic regulator.”
Sarah eyes went wide. “No one would do that.”
“I—” Something disengaged from the bottom of one of the speeding palanquins, hit the ground with a heavy clink, and rolled to his feet. “Ramsey!”
Ramsey sauntered up, brushing dust off his clothes. “I’ve got it!” My backpack had been changed for a single strapped leather satchel, worn close to the body. Ramsey lifted a corner of the flap, and inside were thick stacks of gold and platinum. “Whoo-ee. This is a long line. You still have those ham and cheese thingies?”
I traded him the croissants for the coins. Marrisa was still standing, but she had closed her eyes again and was leaning more on Sarah, who planted her feet and did not yield.
“This is going to take too long.” I adjusted the satchel “Cummon, I know a better way in.”
I led everyone to the main entrance that Keen and I had used earlier. Was that only yesterday? There were guards out front this time that stopped us and asked our business. I rolled up my sleeve and showed them the tattoo. Sarah’s eyes widened, and Ramsey gave me a What the hell have you been up to? look, and the guards let us through. This time I did not outrun the scurrying cleric, showed him my arm as well, and we were quickly ushered into a receiving room.
“What have you got?” asked the harried divine at the desk.
“Uhm, I’m hurt…”
“Yes, yes, I see that, you need anything besides a Minor Healing?”
“A Cure Disease. I’ve got, uh… there was some… rabies.”
The harried divine made a couple of marks in his ledger and led us to yet another door, into a large, domed chancel with lights on the walls and an altar in the middle. Several people went in and out through open doors around the sides.
“Have we got any fever breakers left?” he asked a teenage girl in robes sweeping up around the altar.
“Mica just left, but I think Garret is fresh.” she replied.
“He’ll do.” The divine turned back to us. “You wait here.” he instructed, and left.
A minute later the girl returned, with another divine in tow, and in slightly fancier robes. The robes looked good on him. Probably anything would have looked good on him; whatever his religious philosophy was, it clearly involved lots of exercise and working out.
“Hi.” he said to us, shaking everybody’s hands and adding ‘nice guy’ to his list of features. “I’m Garret. What can I do for you?”
“Um. We’re sick.” I told him. “I mean, we need a couple of Cure Diseases.”
“And some Healing.” he said, looking me over and managing to look impressed. “What did you do, dress up like a cheese and walk into a rat maze?”
“…kinda.”
He checked my tattoo over and then released my arm. “Alright, get up onto the altar here. I’ll see what I can do.”
The altar was inlaid with a mosaic of polished gems; quartz and amethyst and jade predominated, creating a beautiful organic pattern that reminded me of leaves. Here and there were sigils in chalcedony: agate and carnelian and jasper.
I sat down on the altar, unsure of where to put my feet. Garret gently pushed me back, and I made myself lay down. I put my sweating palms flat on the inlay, then clenched them into fists, worried that I might blemish the gleam, then fidgeted some more and crossed my arms over my chest.
Yes, but what’s he going to DO?
Garret very gently laid his hands on my head, palms facing my temples, and began softly chanting to himself. I felt the same swelling of warmth as before, as if I were immersing myself into a warm bath, and it swelled up and up, up to the top, over the brim… and it was done. I uncrossed my arms and breathed as deep as I could.
[Minor Healing bestowed: 10 Hit Points]
[Hit Points: 20/20]
I hadn’t even noticed how much it hurt until it was suddenly gone. I sat up, looking at the fresh, unmarked skin of arms and legs.
“Wow!”
Garret smiled. “Now, for the more complicated Cure Disease. This one is going to take a little longer. You—” he indicated to Sarah and Ramsey and Marrisa. “Don’t interrupt, whatever happens. We must complete the ritual, and burn the disease out completely, or else it will get much, much worse.”
Sarah nodded solemnly, and even Ramsey gave a respectful distance.
Garret took an embroidered bag from inside his robes, and began pouring salt, laying out a magic circle on the floor around the altar. When he was done, he came back to the altar, and I dutifully lay back down again. The ceiling was decorated in the same plethora of divine Light spells that the main hall was. They look like stars.
He put his hands on my temples again, and began chanting. Different words this time, though I couldn’t have told you what the last ones were. The warmth rose in me again, hotter this time. I did not allow myself to squirm. This time, the pleasant bath was a hot springs, no, a geyser, no a boiling geyser, not around me but in me, my arteries were full of steam, it was going to come out, jets of steam, but my blood vessels stayed stubbornly closed, and the pressure rose… I opened my mouth, to yell or to scream or to let out the steam, I don’t know. I have no idea how much time passed. When it was over, I sat up, confused, like you do when you nod off for a nap you didn’t mean to take, and when you wake up the shadows are all different.
The shadows were all different. No, it was just me. I blinked at my companions.
“How do you feel?”
I looked at my hands again, trying to get my eyes recalibrated. “It worked.” I wasn’t sure exactly how I was so sure, except now I knew why they called them ‘fever breakers’.
Garret swiped his foot across the salt circle, making a neat little opening. I was impressed with how perfect the erasure was. He saw my look, smiled at me, and lifted the hems of his robes a few inches to stick out his foot. I could see, affixed to his boot with twine, a small hand broom, the bristles lining up with the edge of his soles. “So much easier than carrying a big one around.” he confessed.
I grinned up at him.
“Ok.” I said. “Now Marrisa.”
He motioned her forward and took her hand, while she made faint little embarrassed noises and blushed.
Garret frowned at her forearm. “She doesn’t have a policy.”
“I know. That’s why we brought cash.” I swung the satchel around and offered it to him.
He sighed. “It causes all kinds of trouble if people start thinking they can skip the queue. Priority access is for policy holders only.”
“But… she can’t go stand in that long line out there! And you’re already here. And so are we!” And if everything went as badly in the next few hours as I was afraid it might, there might not be any Cure Diseases left at all.
Garret looked over at Marri
sa. No one breathed.
“Please?” I asked.
He sighed again. “I’m not supposed to…. oh, what the hell. Don’t tell my boss, ok?” He motioned the girl over and handed her the pouches of gold. “Here, go pay the treasurer for one Cure Disease, and get this lady a receipt.”
The girl skipped off through the door next to us and Garret helped Marrisa through the salt circle, just as politely as a gentleman might help his lady into a carriage. He re-poured the salt over the opening, laid his hands softly on her temples, and began the chant.
I began bouncing on the balls of my feet. This is going to work!
Next to us, the door opened again and the girl reemerged, walking stiffly backwards, her hands in the air. Following her was Keenfang, one pale index finger pushing her along, right in the middle of her forehead.
Keen looked down, spotted me, and gave me a victorious snarl. “There you are, you little imp.”
I backed away, but it was too late. He let go of the girl and grabbed the front of my wraps. Long black tendrils snaked from his fisted fingers, winding around my chest, making it hard to breathe. Keen pulled me up so that I was face to face with him, too close, and I tried to lean back out of his personal space. His pale skin stretched over fine bones, and I unexpectedly noticed that he had once been a very good looking man. I wondered what had happened to turn him so mean.
“I,” he said softly, “am going to enjoy this so much.” I had the sudden and unwelcome realization that this was the only thing I had ever heard him say that wasn’t tinged with his habitual irony.
“No, wait! Keen, look, this is a really bad time—”
“You owe me a death!” His voiced flashed with rage. “And I am collecting. Now.”
Still carrying me, he strode over towards the wall. I twisted and turned against his binding, trying to wiggle out of it, out of my clothes, out of my skin if need be.
[Escape Artist check: Failed]
A Fist Full of Sand: A Book of Cerulea (Sam's Song 1) Page 26