“We’re here to see The Widow,” Thud said.
Brother Crow barely swallowed his laugh, turning it into an odd gargle.
“I will present you to the tower,” he said. “But you should know that Hermit Lucretia receives few visitors. None in the five years I’ve been here, as a matter of fact. I fear you will be disappointed.” He had enunciated the name very precisely, making it clear what he thought of the ‘Widow’ moniker.
“Five years?” Ruby asked. “Why is that?”
“I can not presume to speak for Hermit Lucretia.”
“You’ve seen her though?”
The monk shook his head. “Custom does dictate that the Hermits reside in the Godspire towers,” he said. “But, as far as I know, Hermit Lucretia hasn’t been seen here in years.”
“That’s fine, then,” Thud said. “Don’t suppose she left a forwarding address?”
The monk shook his head again.
Thud put one of the saddlebags over his shoulder then handed the donkey’s lead to Brother Oak. He turned back to Brother Crow. “Well, lead the way. Let’s find out if this was a wasted trip.”
The top of the spire was uneven ground and the monastery had been built in bits on various elevations then connected via stairs and walkways. The grounds were a mixture of courtyard, cobbled-path and vegetable gardens. The buildings scattered through the middle looked to be the sleeping and eating areas. At the top was the temple, simple and unadorned. A tower stood just behind it. They followed Brother Crow across the courtyard then up a narrow flight of stairs that wove back and forth as it connected with various landings. The stairs were smooth stone, the buildings a pale gray wood.
The sun was settling in for afternoon and the shadow of the tower lay across them as they climbed. It was tall and thin, giving it an air of elegance. A few monks were about, weeding by the looks of it. A short flight of steps led to the doorway of the tower, made of a reddish wood, vivid in contrast with the rest of the monastery. Glass-paned windows scattered the tower walls, seeming haphazard in their placement. Durham was starting to feel nauseated as it sank in that they were here to meet one of the Hermits. What was a demigod like in person? Did she glow? Float around the room?
There was another bell hanging next to the tower door. Brother Crow gave it a ring. The other monks didn’t even look up from their weeds.
“Petitioners for the Hermit Lucretia,” he called up towards the windows. He turned and arched an eyebrow at Thud. “Your names?”
“Thud,” Thud said. Rather than directing his answer at the monk, he too was calling up toward the window. “Leader of The Dungeoneers, Professional Relic Recovery Service. With me is the Scribe Ruby and King Durham of Tanahael.”
Durham stood up straight, trying to look kingly.
“We got a relic we think belongs to you,” Thud went on, still shouting up at the window. “Was thinking you might be interested in havin’ it back. Crown made out of bone. That sound like something you might want?”
The other monks had stopped their weeding. Everyone was watching now.
The door opened.
Brother Crow’s mouth opened and hung in much the same way.
They left him there, went up the stairs and through the door.
The room inside was one of simple comfort. Supernaturally so, Durham realized as he took it in, to the point that there was nothing simple about it.
Every leaf on every potted plant in the alcoves on the walls was crisp and green. Every flower was in bloom. The pot of tea on the gleaming wooden table was steaming and the plate of cookies next to it were perfectly round and smelled fresh from the oven. Behind the teapot two porcelain inlaid chests flanked a silver frog statue. A ray of light shone through one of the windows above, casting the woman in the room in a warm haze of gold. She stood on the other side of the table, hands clasped in front of her. She had long black hair streaked with cardinal red and wore a robe with embroidery that must have taken months. Like the monks outside she wore a sword across her back, the hilt gleaming black wood with silver trim.
“Welcome to Grayrest,” she said. “I’m Lucretia.”
Ruby and Durham both bowed. Thud as well, but with a grandiose flourish of his top hat.
“Nice tower,” the dwarf said, straightening. “Though I’m thinking I see dwarven work. Thought all this was built by monks hauling things up the cliffs.”
The corner of Hermit Lucretia’s mouth twitched with a smile. “You have caught us out,” she said. “It was only the monastery that was built by the monks. The temples and towers on each spire are far older. In fact, they were the first things that the dwarves ever made. A new race, fashioned by the gods from the rock that was removed to form the Godspires. This entire valley was once a mountain.” She gestured towards the couch that sat alongside the table. “Please.”
“Aye, heard that story once or twice before,” Thud said, circling around to sit on the couch. He procured a cookie in the process. “Dwarves got a different accountin’ of how things came about but I like your story too. Seein’ the work with me own eyes gives some credence to it.”
Ruby perched on the edge of the couch to Thud’s left and busied herself with the teapot and her journal. Durham sat down on the right and followed Thud’s lead with the cookies. They’d been haunting his thoughts ever since the first whiff. They were warm and amazing and his favorite kind. First meeting with one of the most powerful beings in the world and he was sitting and eating a cookie.
“So about this crown,” Thud said. “Recovered it on our last job and our employer turned out to not be in a position to receive it. Ruby here says she thinks it might be of interest to you.”
Ruby nodded but remained silent.
“May I see it?” Lucretia asked.
Thud nodded. He tugged the top of his pack open and began fishing around inside.
“Recovered it from a tomb in Tanahael,” he said. He was pulling miscellaneous items out of his pack as he searched. A small pile was growing on the table in front of him. Chalk, iron spikes, mirrors, a rock that looked pretty only when it was wet. “A lich had gotten hold of it. Gave him aspirations. Had a whole to-do list based on killing things and bringing their bones back. Ah, here it is.” He pulled a black bag from the depths of his pack, brushed a bit of dead grass off of it then opened it and pulled out the crown.
Durham had almost forgotten how ugly the thing was. It was made entirely of bones, brown and cracked with age; a ring of vertebrae, interspersed with fingers that pointed upward like spikes. Thud set it on the table between the coil of rope and the beard-wax.
“Yes, I’ll take it off your hands,” she said. She gestured at one of the chests on the table. “You’ll find a reward in there that I trust will be suitable. You also have my gratitude for recovering it. I am hoping to determine soon how it was mislaid to begin with.”
Thud was eying the chest she’d indicated. “You knew we were coming?”
“Does that surprise you?” Her voice was melodic and completely without accent.
“No, guess not. It’s just that the monks out there don’t even think you’re here anymore.”
“There are still monks living out there?”
Durham was pretty sure she was making what passed for a Hermit joke. He hoped.
“And the other chest?” Thud asked.
“An offer. I wish to hire you for a job.”
Durham saw shock flicker across Thud’s features.
“You lost another relic?” Thud asked.
“No,” she said. “But I believe one has been found. A thing that I very much wish had remained lost.”
Thud nodded slowly. “That does sound like our sort of venture. Why us, though? Don’t you have minions or somethin’ that you can send around?”
“You’re here, available and experienced. I am confident that you will be up to the task.”
“What’s the artifact?”
“I don’t actually know its specifics. But I know that there
is a man out there searching for someone to help recover it. I hear it in his prayers.”
“That’s pretty vague.”
“Go to Stilton. You will be offered a job. Take it.”
“The job you’re hiring us for is take another job?”
He was talking to an empty room.
The beam of sunlight had faded away and the woman had faded with it. The plants along the walls were withered and dry now, most little more than a few black twigs. The wooden table before them was thick with dust, as was the empty plate and teapot. Durham could still taste the cinnamon in his mouth, even as the cookie in his hand vanished with everything else.
All that remained were the two chests. The crown was gone.
“Guess that’s all the information we’re getting,” Thud said. He cracked the lid open on one, glanced in and whistled. He did the same with the second.
“Where’s Stilton?” Durham asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“About two and a half weeks south,” Thud said. “It ain’t an official kinda place. Pirate haven, really. Smugglers, fences and thieves. Should be a grand time. You coming with?”
“Me?”
“I already know Ruby’s planning on coming and there’s no one else in here to ask. You held your own on that last job and I’m sure I can find a use for ya. ‘Course, if you’d prefer to go do some kinging in Tanahael or head back to your guard job, well, that’s your choice to make.”
“Are they all like the last one? The dungeons?”
“Naw,” Thud said. “Most jobs is pretty easy. Take this one, for example. She’d have sent her own people if she thought there was going to be any problems.”
“Would she?” Ruby asked. “Or would she send someone expendable?”
“The whole point of hiring us is that we’re expendable,” Thud said. “That’s why we specializes in not getting expended.”
“You’re taking the job?”
“Reckon if we leave here with that second chest then, yeah, we’re signed up.” Thud lifted the lid and glanced in. He whistled. “The donkey is going to be furious.”
Chapter One
The Frog Tavern had once had a longer name, up until someone had split the wooden sign in half with their head. Thud squinted at the faded painted frog on the splintered wood and tried to remember. He felt he should know, as he’d been the one that had applied the head to the sign. It had been at least ten years and the sign still hung as he remembered, gray in the early evening light, split and crooked on the bent wrought-iron rod it was hanging from, the green lantern above it dim with salt and gull guano. Hopefully the barkeep wouldn’t remember him. Thud had the notion that it had been the barkeep’s forehead that had split the sign. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath of low-tide flavored air and strode to the door, his boots thumping hollowly on the pier. The door was little more than a row of uneven planks nailed to a couple of cross-boards and the air in the inn had the same dead fish and rotten seaweed stench as the rest of Stilton, with the addition of a haze of a variety of pungent smokes and stale ales.
The Frog was one of those places where everyone turned to look at you when you stepped in. In this case determining if you were a captain, a quartermaster or irrelevant. Most of the clientele was either looking for work or avoiding it. Thud was happy to fall into the irrelevant category, something he’d always liked about The Frog. No extra attention for being a dwarf. Stilton was a port that swirled with crews of all races from all across the seas and one of the few places outside of the Hammerfells where dwarves were just more faces in the crowd. He could see gnomes, goblins, humans, and elves. There were even a couple of orcs skulking in the back, playing some game that seemed to involve stabbing their fingers with knives and howling. There were dwarves, too, though most of them were ones he’d sent here himself, over the space of the last hour and a half. Discretely placed back-up.
He could see Keezix up on the balcony, her long mustaches damp with beer foam. Gong commanded a pair of barstools at the far end of the room, making up for taking up two stools by having ordered two drinks. They were both part of the Vanguard team—precisely the sort of dwarves you wanted backing you up. Mungo was in here too, somewhere, disguised as a gnome. Being as he was a gnome to begin with the role came easily for him.
He heard someone whistle over the din. It came from Ruby, sitting against the wall near the black iron wood-stove. She had her cone-shaped hat on, hiding her gray hair, and a long unlit wooden pipe poking out of her wrinkly face. Innocuous enough, but also the signal that the meeting seemed to be on the level. If the pipe had been lit it would have signaled a problem as Ruby didn’t smoke.
Thud started in that direction, lighting a cigar to better blend in. Also because he rather liked cigars. Their prospective client was sitting across the table from Ruby. A man on the cusp of middle-age, scarecrow thin with skin the color of licorice. He also had a pipe, lit, as well as a knit cap and a scuffed leather eye-patch, his grin revealing that he had more eyes than teeth. His coat was well-made and the hat on the table next to him was that of a ship captain. Thud nodded a greeting at him as he reached the table. He sat on the stool next to Ruby, a glass of rum already waiting for him. Ruby was clever like that. She had tea in front of her, which Thud hadn’t even known that The Frog served.
The man reached across the table and Thud shook his hand. His skin was dry and papery, his voice, when he spoke, thick with an Iskadean accent.
“Master Thud, I’m thinking.”
“Aye,” Thud nodded. The man’s accent had made his name come out ‘Dud’ which he wasn’t sure he was happy about.
“Samona be de name. Captain of de Cackle Squiffy.”
Thud blinked. “You named yer ship the Cackle Squiffy? That mean somethin'?”
“Got it from a chart in a book. You took de letter of your first name and looked it up on one page, and your last on another and it gave you your ship name. ”
“S'pose that explains a lot about ship names. Didn’t know ‘bout that book.”
Samona nodded sagely. “Lots of sea traditions. Too many to keep track of if you not be spending your days riding de decks.”
“Samona has a proposition for you,” Ruby said. Thud noted how she said ‘you’ instead of ‘us’. In spite of having been on nearly a dozen ventures with them she still regarded herself as a scribe that accompanied them rather than as a member of the team. “It’s a somewhat unusual one,” she went on.
“Well, let’s hear ya out then,” Thud said. He took a swallow of his rum. It was sweet with just a hint that it had once been in the vicinity of a lime.
“Straight to de business,” Samona said, gesturing at him with his little pipe. “I likes that.”
Thud shrugged. “No sense getting too familiar until I know if we’ll be workin' with ya, eh?”
“Of course, of course,” Samona said. “I’ve got a story needs telling. Signal your crew to have another round–I’m sure you’ve got a few scattered yon, just as I do.”
Thud grinned at the acknowledgment but didn’t signal anything. Having another round was their default operations stance. He wasn’t sure they even had a signal to not have another round. The thought had never occurred to any of them.
“Going to tell you a legend of de Cloud Sea. Be ye familiar with it?”
“Heard it mentioned a time or two,” Thud said. “Don’t do much sailing off the major routes. Thought most ships avoided the Cloud Sea.”
“Aye, de honest ones at least,” Samona said. “Some of us be a little more familiar with dem waters. It lies in de heart of de Mosaic Islands. Pirates and smugglers swarm like flies in dem islands. Pirates find haven and smugglers find cargo and secret ways. Navies avoid all but de main routes–too uncharted, too many reefs and rocks, too many place for foes to hide and flank. ‘Tis a fine place to run and de ships in dem waters are of a sort that have cause to be running.”
“And you’re one of those sorts?” Thud asked. “Pirates ain’t the
sort we generally likes to work with.”
Samona spread his hands. “Just an honest smuggler, sah. I won’t be lying and saying I weren’t on a crew or two in me younger days but I prefer avoiding fights rather than starting ‘em.”
“What do ya smuggle?”
“Luxuries only, sah. I smuggles clean and fair. Nothing alive, luxuries only.”
“I’m sure you’re a right beacon o' morality. Go on. I’ll hears ya out.”
Samona took a draw on his pipe. His lack of teeth made it look like the lower half of his head was deflating.
“There be near two thousand islands in de Mosaic. Some of dem be no bigger den a turtle, some tall as castles, some with haven towns, some wid caves that you can sail a ship right in. And there be just as many legends and duppy man stories as there be islands.”
“Ghosts,” Ruby said, just as Thud opened his mouth to ask what a duppy man was.
“Aye, ghosties,” Samona said. “Many ships lie at de bottom of de straits and not all dem sailors sleep easy. But de story I’m telling you be about one of de islands. Blackfog, it’s called. Blackfog Island.” He drew the name out, giving it a sinister feel.
“Mist lays across de Mosaic most nights. Bigger islands stick up like teeth but de smaller ones hide in the mists and if you don’t know the waters they’ll rip your hull wide open. De islands is dark shadows at night, big black shapes. De Cloud Sea lies at the center of de Mosaic like an eye, a great empty sea near a week’s sail across, thick with fog. Some say that’s where de mist actually comes from. It’s the fastest way across the Mosaic, making it a sore temptation for ships both honest and nefarious. But dem’s strange waters in de Cloud Sea.”
“Strange waters?” Ruby asked. “That’s a curious term.”
“A place in de ocean where de magic still lies thick. And when magic and sea and fog get together, well, dey get up to all manner of foolishness. De Cloud Sea and de islands that ring it are wild and whether it’s a trick of de fog or a trick of some thing in de fog can be hard to tell.” Samona leaned forward and pitched his voice low. “Somewhere in de Cloud Sea is Blackfog Island,” he said, making slow sweeping gestures with his hands as he spoke. “It looks like de other islands; a dark shape at night in de mist and fog. But it lies alone in de Cloud Sea and there ain’t no island there. An' ships that sail to Blackfog Island ain’t ne'er seen again.” He paused dramatically.
The Dungeoneers: Blackfog Island Page 2