The Dungeoneers: Blackfog Island

by Jeffery Russell

  “Err…no, sir.” Which of the questions he was answering was irrelevant as they had the same answer.

  “You may go, Raggins. Quickly.”

  Laughing Larry was familiar with the ‘execute the incompetent minion as an example to others’ school of management. He’d even given it a try early in his career only to find that it caused the competent minions to find work elsewhere. He’d subsequently devised his own merit system to replace it. Losing five hundred talons was five hundred demerits. Wounding a dwarf was plus five merits. Against Raggins' existing balance of eight. He made the notes with his quill in the ledger on his desk then crossed out the names of the five that had been lost. Ideally, he only lost men that had a positive balance. This lot was a bit scattered but had a net balance just on the positive side so that worked out well enough. Raggins, however, had a lot of merit earning in his future.

  The figure in the black robe stepped forward and lowered the hood. It always set Larry on edge when she did that. He’d thought her face painted like a skull when he’d first seen it but had come to realize later that it was tattooed on. He couldn’t begin to comprehend how much that must have hurt. Her eyes glittered from within black circles, the edges patterned like lace. Black lines crossed her lips like stitches and her nose was black save the ridge. More intricate designs covered her cheeks and forehead. All else was white, even her lips. The worst was when she spoke. Her teeth were as white as her skin but the rest of the inside of her mouth, tongue and all, was jet black. Had she had the inside of her mouth tattooed? It made the faded blue anchor on Larry’s arm itch. He kept it hidden out of embarrassment when she was around.

  She regarded him silently, waiting.

  “An inconsequential setback,” he said. “I admit I was hoping that a few sudden losses might be enough to push them right out of the race. Just trying the easy way first. It served its purpose as a distraction.”

  “And now they are on guard,” she said. Her voice was a razor on silk. “Making all further efforts against them more difficult. I was expecting more competence for the amount of coin I gave you.”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “They’re irrelevant. The direct attack may not have gone so well but this is my town. There are any number of ways to stop a ship from leaving harbor. We’ll not see them again.”

  “Speaking of leaving harbor?”

  “Aye, we’re loading now. We’ll be set to sail with the tide.”

  She nodded and went to the alcove in the wall. It had once contained Larry’s ‘wagon-in-a-bottle’ collection but she’d repurposed it. A long, dark curtain hung there now. She pulled it aside.

  Samona sat there on the floor, knees to chest, hands and feet bound together. He stared at her warily with one reddened eye.

  “Hello again,” she said.

  ***

  The inn had a large trapdoor in the stockroom with a ladder leading to ‘the underneath’, as the innkeep called it. To Thud’s mind that was far better than squirming down the privy. The innkeep was a burly man with gray muttonchops and eyes like capers. He stood in the corner, frowning, rubbing his hands together with a soft scritchy noise. Tables had been upended against the small grease-papered windows, another pair of tables on their sides blocking the doorway. Dwarves with crossbows crouched in cover to the sides. Gong was nowhere to be seen. Thud assumed they’d bundled him off somewhere. Doc and Ginny were missing also.

  “Vanguard!” Thud called. “Gear up! We’re goin' commando style! Mungo, you’re sole trap detail as I ain’t expecting much down there in that regard. Leery, you’re runner. We mean to be a small group movin' fast. Ideally we ain’t gonna see a soul down there but we’re gonna maintain protocol.”

  “Who’s that?” Leery asked, pointing at the elf. There was just a hint of frost in her voice.

  “Goes by Catchpenny,” Thud said. “He’s gonna be our observer on our next run. One of ‘em at least.”

  “We have a run?”

  “Aye, provided we gets to our client afore he gets killed. Meanin' bein' to save yer questions for a bit.”

  The Vanguard dwarves were already lining up. They wore boiled leather instead of their usual armor which saved a good twenty minutes of putting armor on. The Vanguard line looked a lot smaller without Gong anchoring the center of it. Gammi was the back-up but was half Gong’s size. He was wriggling around in his armor, trying to get it to sit comfortably which made Thud think that Gammi was going soft behind his cookpot and was due some active field time. It didn’t help that he still had his cooking coat, belt and apron on, each lined with pockets and pouches stuffed full of whatever Gammi liked to have at hand when cooking. Whether on a boat or deep in a cave Gammi could be counted on to be able to whip up at least a soup or a nice curry.

  Clink and Rasp pulled the trapdoor open and Max lowered Keezix by the feet to take a look before descending.

  “No movement,” she said when they pulled her back up. Her face was red and flushed. “Eight foot down to a pier. Boat down there though. Fair sized one.”

  “For bringing casks in from port,” the inkeeper said in a tone suggesting that he’d prefer they left the boat well enough alone.

  “We’ll patch it up if we break it,” Thud said. “Where’s the tide at?”

  Keezix shrugged. “Two feet o' barnycles showin' on the posts. Don’t know how deep down they goes though.”

  The inkeeper cleared his throat. “Tide’ll go down another two feet in the next hour or so. Then it’ll come back up a foot when the Wolf sets but start dropping back down again when the Eye starts rising.” He shrugged. “Don’t know after that. The tidemaster don’t come in until dawn for his morning beer.”

  “We’ll check depth when we get down there,” Grottimus said. He was Gong’s second on the Vanguard and was now in charge. Thud gave him a nod and stepped back to hand over command. Descending the ladder was a pure Vanguard operation and Thud had built the teams precisely so he could defer to their expertise. Max and Keezix tandem roped down, crossbows at the ready, stepping quickly into the darkness, out of the column of light below the trapdoor, covering the rest of the vanguard as they descended. The shields were lowered down next, followed by the rest of the team. Thud went down last.

  The air was almost visible, thick with the stench of the waste of the sea. The boat was long and narrow and the dwarves were short and wide. They sat five rows, two abreast with Thud and Leery in the middle row. Clink and Rasp on the front bench and Grott and Max behind. They held their shields sideways along the edge of the boat, creating an armored wall, crossbows in their other hands. Keezix sat in the stern, shield held behind to cover the rear. Gammi was just in front of her, crossbow at the ready. Only the bow was open. Mungo perched there on his knees, leaning out over the water, Catchpenny just behind him. Mungo had his night-vision goggles on: a goggled helmet with an extension from the top that held a green-glass pixie lantern ten feet in front. Its dark green light flickered on the black water that whispered and splashed against the pitch and barnacle coated pilings. It swung crazily every time Mungo moved his head and his neck seemed wobbly with the weight.

  This left Leery and Thud to paddle.

  “Easy now,” he said. “We wants to slip along without too much noise. Gentle strokes.”

  Leery nodded. They pulled and the boat slid out into the water. Their load of dwarves was a match for the weight of the casks the boat usually carried. It rode low in the water but not low enough to be a risk unless someone started rocking things. The passage through the pilings felt like a low-ceilinged tunnel, their heads only a few feet below the planks of the piers above them. Many of the pilings to either side had rotted boards nailed between them, ropes or chains, as if someone had tried to close areas off or block a route to somewhere. Staked out territory, perhaps. The barricades created a maze-like quality. Straying from a known path had risks.

  “Ah,” Thud said, his voice pitched low. “Dark, tight quarters, danger all around, just another day on the job
, eh?”

  The route from the inn toward the harbor was clear. They glided forward, crossbows pointing at the dark gaps between pilings to the side. The pilings threw ragged-edged shadows across the water that spun slowly like wheels as Mungo’s lantern passed by. The water lapped against the pilings. In the darkness it sounded like a hundred licking tongues. Their passage was making more noise than Thud wanted. A boat loaded with dwarves had a minimum propulsion requirement and it took some determined paddling to meet it.

  There was a violent but quick splashing from nearby and they all tensed, paddles paused, breaths caught in throats, listening as they slid past. Then a furtive movement ahead, just out of the light, something moving quickly to the side, slipping beneath the waters.

  “Smugglers maybe?” Keezix whispered. She held her shield just far enough forward to leave a gap for Thud to use his paddle and keep a look-out to the side.

  “Don’t think them are smugglers,” Thud said.

  “There, look!” Catchpenny was pointing at a pillared clump of pilings ahead and to the left. Eyes glimmering white beneath a soggy clot of hair, its mouth a tooth-spiked rim. It was mottled and gray, nearly invisible against the barnacles and weed on the pilings. It was gone with a flicker of motion and a swirl of black water.

  “Some sorta sea-ghoul?” Mungo asked. He’d had a closer view from the bow than he’d probably wanted.

  “Possible, yeah,” Thud said. “Bodies seem to end up down here from time to time.”

  “How proactive are they?” The gnome turned to look back and the pole attached to his helmet swung and bashed against the pilings. Sudden impacts tended to annoy pixies. The light promptly went out. They were in darkness, water slurping greasily against the hull of the boat.

  Something nearby cried out, as if making an announcement. There was a contemplative moment of silence.

  “You gonna be able to get that relit, Mungo?” Thud asked.

  “Given a minute or so, I just have to…”

  “Get to it.”

  “Want me to go back and get Dadger Ben?” Leery asked. “I swum through plenty sewers before, this won’t be but a pebble.”

  “No, I don’t want to give you no excuses to put that swimsuit on. Not intending to negotiate with ‘em. Hoping they just let us pass through.”

  “Ghouls negotiate?” Max asked

  “Sure. They got brains. They was people once. Just made some inappropriate nutrition choices.”

  “Now, now,” a raspy voice said from the darkness. “A matter of perspective, isn’t it?”

  There was a slightly longer contemplative moment of silence.

  “Could really use that lamp about now, Mungo,” Thud said.

  “Got it!”

  The pixie flared, leaving Thud to wonder just how much fairy cake Mungo had shoved into it. The green light sent shimmering lines across the water’s surface.

  The ghoul was perched on a rope strung between two pilings. It was crouched and sideways to them, pale face turned to watch them, eyes glowing in the light.

  “I kinda liked it better when they didn’t negotiate,” Max said.

  Thud became aware that there were others out there, just at the edge of the vision, watching. Now and then their eyes would catch the light and gleam. A dozen maybe? More, further from the light?

  “What are we negotiating?” the ghoul asked. It seemed calm enough. The lurkers as well. There was no hint of attack or threat in its voice.

  “Safe passage,” Thud said. Negotiating was Dadger Ben’s field of expertise. Thud tended to get directly to the point.

  “Already have that,” the ghoul said. “Did ye think we’d attack you like some kind of savages?”

  “No,” Thud said. He grinned reassuringly. “Of course not.”

  “The humans here are savage enough we’ve no need to hunt. The meat arrives already drained of blood and ready for brining in the sea.” Its long black tongue licked around its lips. “Most convenient.”

  “Sea brining?” Gammi asked. “You roast them?”

  “No, fires are difficult beneath the piers. We slice them raw and wrap them in rice and seaweed like the fishermen do with their bait for their lunches. You lot could throw some garlic and onions in the water once in a while.” Its voice was thick and slurred as if clogged with drool at the thought.

  “Where do ye get the rice?”

  The ghoul hissed through its grin. “Our little secret.”

  “We’re trying to get to our ship,” Thud said, thinking that getting the conversation back on track was overdue. There were limits to the quantity of information he wanted to learn about ghoul cooking techniques. “But there’s some folk blocking our way. Can we negotiate for you all to do something about that?”

  “You wish us to attack the living?” the ghoul asked with a gasp. “To become some sort of monsters in need of extermination?”

  “Well, maybe just a distraction?”

  “We’ve no interest in your upworld games,” another voice hissed from the darkness.

  “That’s fine then,” Thud said. “We’ll just be on our way.”

  The ghoul laughed, a horrid, bubbly sound. It was echoed back from the darkness surrounding them, from many mouths with many teeth.

  “I said you have safe passage. I did not say it was free.”

  “Ah,” Thud said. “So this is a shakedown after all.”

  “Think of it as a toll,” the ghoul said. “We provide a valuable service for the town.”

  “What do ya want?”

  “We require rice. Cooked rice, naturally. Fetch us some and we will reward you with free access, two silver talons, four copper thumbs and a magic pair of pants.”

  “Magic pants?”

  “Yes. They increase their wearer’s mental prowess.”

  “Do they now? How do you know they’re magic? You just put them on and you feel smarter?”

  “More or less.”

  “Why ain’t you wearin' ‘em?”

  “I am. Right now.” The ghoul dropped and hung from the rope, legs dangling down. It twisted back and forth to model the pants. They looked like they’d been worn by a ghoul living in a sewer. “Fetch some rice and I will remove my pants and give them to you in reward.”

  “You want us to leave off our rescue to go get you some rice? How ‘bout this? Bugger the rice. You keeps your coins and your pants. We’ll give you a pouch o’ silver if you give us passage. You in or no?”

  “What’s a ghoul need money for?” Clink whispered from behind Thud.

  “Anything that owns a pair of pockets and can speak can find a use for coins,” Thud said. “Laundry for his pants, maybe. Rice quest rewards.”

  “Got coins,” the ghoul said. It stroked its muzzle. “Got some socks that make your sword sharper…”

  “Don’t want yer socks neither,” said Thud. “How is it we’re negotiating what you’ll give us when you’re the one that wants something? What would you buy with coin?”

  “Books,” the ghoul said. “I’d use coins to buy books. The selection at the local bookstore is rather dreadful, I’m afraid. Do you have any books?”

  “Well,” Thud said. “Not as such-”

  “I’ve got this one,” Catchpenny said. He held up a journal bound in red leather.

  “Is that one of Ruby’s journals?” Leery asked.

  “She loaned it to me.”

  “Don’t think she meant for you to be handin' it off,” Thud said. “Ruby’s right particular ‘bout them journals.”

  “Do you want the ghoul’s help or not? Besides, I’ve read it. It’s not very good. The lich’s plan was ridiculous.”

  “Ruby will kill you dead,” Leery said.

  “Salt and pepper,” Gammi said. He was wedged down in the stern under Keezix’s feet.

  “Sorry?” Thud asked.

  “He wants rice.” Gammi squirmed around until he could stand and see the ghoul. It had pulled itself up and was now perched on the rope. “Anything what eats ric
e got a use for salt and pepper. That and a bit o’ butter is the best way ta eat it. I got some in me belt pouches. Also good for any…erm…meats going along with. Said he wanted garlic and onion. Got both o' those. Have some cilantro too.”

  The ghoul had a long string of drool hanging from its mouth.

  “Where did you get cilantro?” Thud asked in a low voice.

  “That monk market in Nave,” Gammi whispered. “Ain’t used it for cookin’ much. Tastes like soap so I been doin’ the dishes with it.”

  “Seems to me,” Gammi called to the ghoul, “that if you really wanted to you could make a fire down here now and again. Maybe on a little raft or sumthin'. Could do a nice braise on your meat, bit o' fish sauce, maybe…”

  “Braise?” Thud whispered.

  “Posh word for a burn ‘n’ boil,” Gammi said.

  “You have a deal,” the ghoul called.

  “Great!” Thud said.

  “Spices and the book.”

  Thud’s shoulders slumped.

  Leery moaned. “Ruby is gonna kill all of us dead.”

  Raggins could see the Black Knife at the end of the long central pier. It was bustling with activity and the lanterns lining its decks glowed with light. Sailors wheeled carts along the pier, orders were shouted, barrels swung on ropes as they were hoisted into the hold.

  Raggins wasn’t part of that, however. He stood in the dark and cold on the deck of the Squiffy, rain dripping from his hair. Mackels was assigned to watch from this spot but he’d stepped away under an eave somewhere for a smoke. Raggins moved on, resuming his patrol. ‘Keep that boat from leaving’. An easy order. He had six good men stationed around the deck, carefully hidden, watching and waiting. His concern wasn’t the dwarves. They’d gotten lucky last time. If they tried anything the sailors from the Black Knife would be on their way as back-up as soon as the alarm was raised. He reached Rummy’s position but didn’t see him. Rummy was good at hiding, mainly so he could have somewhere to drink his rum unhindered. No, instead of the dwarves Raggin’s concern was that if he were here keeping the Squiffy in port it was unlikely that he was also going to be aboard the Black Knife when it left port. He wasn’t sure how many demerits keeping the Squiffy here was going to earn him back but it wasn’t likely to be enough. He needed to be on the Black Knife or he’d never manage to be on a crew again. By the time it returned to port he’d have been written off. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the six men he’d been assigned weren’t of the sort that Larry liked to choose for his crew. Wiggy, for instance, assigned to be here at the gangplank. Nowhere in sight. Probably havin' a wee.