The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag

by Brian S. Pratt

  “Who is he?” Potbelly asked.

  “He and his men extort the locals, those that can pay anyway. They leave me alone for the most part though there have been times his men got it into their heads that making an old man’s lot all the worse would be good sport.”

  Pausing, he eyed them both in turn before adding, “Heard there was some trouble down by the docks. Two strangers killed three of his men long with several others; murdered them as I hear it.”

  “That isn’t how I remember it,” Potbelly replied.

  Scar shot him a look that silently said he should be keeping his mouth shut about such things.

  “So I thought,” the old man said. “His men are all over the city looking for you two. I hear the odds of you getting out are not good.”

  “How bad are they?” Potbelly asked.

  “Fifty to one.”

  “Any chance of laying some action down on that?”

  The old man chuckled as he turned to Scar. “Not with me and any who would, would turn you over to Garrock.”

  “Just a thought.”

  “What’s your interest in all this?” Potbelly asked.

  “I could get you out of the city,” the old man said.

  Scar immediately grew suspicious. “Turn us over most likely.”

  The old man shook his head. “If such was my plan, you would already be in their hands.” He sighed. “No, if I can cause Garrock some irritation, it would ease this old man’s heart.”

  Scar cast a questioning glance to Potbelly.

  “He’s got a point,” Potbelly said.

  “Very well,” Scar said to the old man. “Lead the way.” As the old man turned to go, he added, “But if you betray us, you will be the first to die.”

  The old man chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  “What should we call you?” Potbelly asked.

  “Old Man will do just fine.”

  “As you wish, Old Man.”

  Again the beggar cackled with amusement. He waved for them to follow. “This way, we must hurry. Already spent far too long talking out in the open.”

  Old Man led them down the street a ways then turned into a side alley. Midway down, he came to a stop before a pile of refuse. Reaching down, he gripped a frayed, rope loop and pulled. A trapdoor buried beneath the refuse came up spilling some of is covering.

  “In here.”

  Though the odor emanating from the opening made it clear what was below, Scar still asked, “Sewer?”

  Old man nodded.

  “Won’t they be looking down there as well?” Potbelly asked.

  “Yes, but not in the numbers that are on the streets. We’ll have a greater chance of getting through.”

  Old Man gave the loop to Scar who pulled it all the way up. He then climbed down onto the series of metal rungs leading down into the dark. “Come.”

  Once Old Man was shrouded in the darker dark below, Potbelly followed. Scar brought up the rear and closed the trap door behind them.

  Light sprang to life as Old Man used flint and steel to strike sparks onto the head of a torch, igniting it.

  “Won’t that give away our position?” questioned Scar.

  “Most likely,” Old Man replied.

  “Then why risk it?”

  “We have little choice if we hope to reach the edge of the city,” he explained. “It’s a labyrinth down here and one misstep and we might never find our way.”

  “Very well.”

  Old Man pondered their position for just a moment before heading off to the right. The main body of the sewer passage lay several feet below the edge upon which they walked. Two narrow walkways barely a foot and a half in width each ran the length of the sewer. At regular intervals, whenever another main sewer conduit joined with it, rickety wooden bridges crossed the five foot distance between the two sides.

  At the third such bridge, Old Man turned onto it and crossed.

  Scar looked at the water full of nastiness flowing beneath. The wooden planks of the bridge creaked and groaned beneath their weight, but they held and they reached the other side with no problems, for which he was most grateful.

  They turned down a cross junction and continued on.

  Potbelly laid a hand on Scar’s arm and they fell back a bit.

  “How do we know we can trust him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We only have his word about this Garrock and his men.” He eyed Scar in the flickering light of the torch, “For all we know, there is no such person.”

  “Yeah,” Scar said, nodding. “I thought about that too. But at least down here we will avoid the Watch which assuredly must be searching for us anyway.”

  Potbelly eyed their guide. “I don’t trust him. This is way too convenient.”

  “We’ll keep on our guard,” advised Scar.

  Old Man had paused and was looking back at them. “Do keep up,” he said as they rejoined him. “We don’t want to get separated now, do we?”

  “No,” replied Potbelly.

  “Okay then.”

  For the next quarter hour they made steady progress down what looked to be the main sewer conduit for the city. Every hundred feet or so would be an iron rung ladder leading up to the surface. After the third set of such rungs, Scar noticed symbols carved into the stones near the third rung from the bottom.

  One had a horse, another had three circles stacked above a line.

  “Letting people know what’s up there?” Scar mused.

  “Exactly,” replied Old Man. “Most accesses to cellars have them while those leading to the streets rarely do.”

  “Interesting,” Scar said.

  “Thieves?” Potbelly asked.

  “Most likely,” Old Man replied, “though I wouldn’t know about such things.”

  A dim light up ahead brought them to a halt.

  “Garrock’s men?”

  Old Man glanced to Potbelly and shrugged. “Maybe.” Taking a cloth from out of his shirt, he quickly wrapped it around the head of the torch to extinguish it. They were plunged into darkness.

  “Quietly now.”

  Scar followed with a hand resting on a sword hilt.

  They hugged the side of the passageway as they continued ahead. The light remained stationary and they soon saw that it was a torch set into a sconce in the wall at a junction where another passage nearly as large as theirs, led off to the right. It didn’t look as if anyone was around.

  “Someone must have been here,” Scar said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Old Man said.

  Moving into the light, he crept to the side passage, peered down it, then waved them forward. They crossed into the lit area, across the mouth of the other passage, then hurried into the shadows beyond. Not until they were deep in the darkness and the light was but a small glimmer in the distance did he relight the torch.

  Patches of a green, slimy growth covered the walls in this area. Scar slipped on a section that had grown upon the shelf where they walked and stumbled slightly. His hand reached for the wall to keep himself from falling but Old Man grabbed his wrist before he could. A grip firmer than his age would warrant helped Scar to regain his balance.

  “Do not touch the walls,” he warned.

  “Why?” Potbelly asked.

  His gaze flicked to the slime patches, then back to the pair of pit fighters. “Just don’t,” he again said. “It would be bad.”

  “Poison?” mouthed Potbelly to Scar.

  Scar shrugged, then nodded. “Likely.”

  After passing two more medium sized inflows, they reached where their tunnel split three ways; straight, angled to the left, or angled to the right. All three were half the size of the one in which they had been traveling. The centermost was the larger, but Old Man indicated the right hand tunnel which was the smallest. Its ceiling was so low that they would have to walk hunched over to pass through.

  “This way will lead to what some call the Smuggler’s Way,” he explained. “It’s runs
straight through the length of the town. We won’t meet anyone there.” Turning into it, he led them on.

  After following for a few minutes, Scar asked, “How do you know we won’t meet anyone?”

  Old Man continued walking in silence.

  Scar glanced to Potbelly, then quickened his pace and laid a hand on Old Man’s shoulder to stop him. “How do you know?”

  The old man said over his shoulder, “It’s been abandoned.” Making to continue, he couldn’t for Scar held on tight.

  “Who would abandon a sewer?” Potbelly asked.

  “Yes,” Scar continued, “what does that mean, ‘it’s been abandoned?’”

  “Smuggler’s Way is an old name,” he explained. “Those who prefer the shadows have found better means to transfer their wares than through there.”

  When his two companions didn’t look convinced, he added, “The smell of the sewer often gave them away.”

  Scar searched his eyes but could find no hint of deception.

  Potbelly nodded. “That would make sense.”

  “Castin has grown and they are able to get lost in the crowds and alleys now.”

  Scar let go.

  Old Man bobbed his head. “It won’t be much farther once we reach Smuggler’s Way.” He then proceeded to lead them down the short, narrow tunnel.

  A little trickle of water flowed along the depression worn in the center; it was easy to avoid by walking to one side or the other. When the tunnel ended at a larger one running left and right, Old Man announced, “Smuggler’s Way.”

  -3-

  Smuggler’s Way proved to be a much larger channel than any of the previous. Wide ledges ran along a central trough containing water of a most unpleasant nature. It moved slowly if it moved at all and the odor in the tunnel was nearly unbearable.

  “I can see why they abandoned it,” Potbelly said. His eyes had started watering.

  “Gah,” gasped Scar. “This is worse than your what’s-left-in-the-cupboard stew.”

  Potbelly swatted at him but Scar dodged the blow.

  “Yes,” Old Man agreed, “most unpleasant. But fortuitous for us as it will afford you quick access to the outskirts of town.”

  Scar couldn’t wait to be out of there. “How quick?”

  “Another ten minutes or so I’d wager.”

  “Then lead on.”

  Old Man headed down Smuggler’s Way, torch held high.

  “Back in my day, this channel used to be frequented by all sorts embarking upon nefarious deeds.”

  “Including yourself?” asked Potbelly.

  Old Man chuckled. “I’m afraid so,” he replied. “Oh, nothing of any consequences I assure you. Never hurt anyone, just smuggled in some wine a time or two; when a few extra coins were needed to help with the wee ones.”

  They continued for another half dozen paces when he began, “In fact…” then trailed off when the mouth of a narrow passageway appeared out of the darkness ahead.

  He paused at the opening and held the torch within. “You know, this might be the very place where we stored it.” Glancing back at Scar and Potbelly, he said, “Wonder if anything was left behind?”

  “We don’t really have time…”

  Before Scar could finish, Old Man said, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  Light vanished as he and the torch darted into the narrow passageway. Just a little luminescence spilled from the opening.

  “Look,” Scar said as he moved to the opening and watched the old man move further away, “we need to get going.”

  A moment later, the light from the torch vanished altogether.

  “What the…”

  Potbelly’s exclamation was interrupted by a clanging sound and then the piercing cry of a whistle.

  “Hey!” Scar yelled. His voice echoed in the darkness.

  Again the whistle sounded; long and loud.

  Sparks from flint on steel broke the darkness in momentary flashes. Potbelly knelt on the floor and worked to get a small pile of tinder lit. Next to the tinder sat the stub of a candle.

  “Old Man!” Scar yelled, drawing his sword. “You come back here right now or we’ll kill you!”

  “Sorry about this, boys,” came the old man’s voice from the darkness.

  A spark smoldered upon the tinder. Potbelly gently blew, encouraging it to catch. Two breaths and a flame appeared. He took the candle and moved the wick into the flame.

  “You’re a dead man!” vowed Scar.

  “I needed your help,” he explained. “I didn’t think you would assist me if I had asked.”

  “The only help you will receive is into your grave.”

  Scar took the candle and led the way into the narrow passage. They hadn’t gone very far before coming to a door barring the way. Made of rusty iron bars, it was locked in place with a heavy chain and padlock. Just beyond the reach of the candle’s light stood Old Man.

  “I truly am sorry for this.” He held a whistle to his lips and blew.

  “Sorry for what?” asked Potbelly.

  From the sewer tunnel behind them came a scraping sound along with another sound reminiscent of a booted foot being pulled from the mud.

  “Kill it and I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “What is it?” Potbelly asked.

  Straining to see what it may be, they stared back down the narrow passage toward the sewer tunnel.

  “It is the reason Smuggler’s Way has been abandoned.”

  Scar turned back to Old Man. “Damn you.” Then to Potbelly, “We got to get out of here.”

  “There was a set of rungs not far back,” Potbelly said.

  Nodding, Scar broke into a sprint. As they reached the end of the narrow tunnel and turned into the sewer, Old Man hollered. “Good luck!”

  “Good luck,” mumbled Scar, “I’ll kill that old man.”

  Behind them, they heard the scrapping and sucking sound. Something moved; it was coming and it was close.

  The scant light from Potbelly’s candle did little to throw back the shadows. Shielding it from the breeze caused by his swift movement, he ran after Scar.

  “We need more light.”

  Potbelly couldn’t agree more.

  Whatever it was that dwelt along Smuggler’s Way gained upon them. The scraping sound came in faster intervals and the sucking sounded more intensely.

  Scar flew past the set of rungs leading up to the street. The light from the candle revealed them as Potbelly approached. “Scar!” he hollered, coming to a stop.

  Etched in the stone next to them was depicted a horse.

  “The rungs!” he yelled as he gripped them and climbed.

  He was already several feet up when Scar returned.

  “Climb, man,” Scar hollered.

  Potbelly flew up the rungs and had reached the metal hatch leading to the surface when from below he heard Scar yell, “By the gods!” Looking down he froze in amazement as a massive set of chitinous scales went by just feet below where he stood on the rungs.

  The creature was enormous; two-thirds the height of the sewer passage and almost that wide, it took a full three heartbeats before its body had completely passed by underneath. It tapered at the tail like a worm. Scar was gone.

  “Scar!” he yelled.

  From farther down the tunnel, his friend replied, “Get out of here!”

  Potbelly looked at his pitiful candle and for a moment thought about helping Scar. But then reconsidered and instead threw the latch on the hatch and used his shoulder to throw it open.

  Boxes tumbled from where they had been stacked upon it and scattered about the alleyway. A beggar lying beneath a ratty blanket turned mead-soaked eyes upon him as Potbelly climbed free.

  The whinny of a horse drew his attention to the end of the alley. There it opened onto a stable situated just within the walls. The building was dark and the horses a little restless, most likely due to his sudden appearance.

  Potbelly wasted no time. He raced to the stable’s
main office and kicked in the door. On a hook by the door he found a lantern which he quickly lit with his candle. About to return to the sewer, he saw a trio of small casks against the wall. He grabbed them and with the lantern, raced back to the hatch.

  The casks he threw down first; the sound of them shattering below rose from the shadows. Then with lantern in hand, he shinnied down the rungs. From far down the sewer passage came the sound of Scar cursing.

  Potbelly went beyond the area where the casks lay broken, then turned around and threw the lantern back amongst them. When it shattered and the flame hit the three casks worth of lamp oil, it erupted in a mighty conflagration.

  “Here!” he shouted.

  Fifty feet down the most monstrous sight he had ever seen twisted to face his direction. A massive wormlike creature with a row of eyes above a gaping, tooth-filled maw paused a moment to take in this new invader to its territory.

  “Scar!” he hollered. “Are you okay?”

  “Its scales are impervious to our blades,” came the reply.

  The creature shot forward toward Potbelly.

  “The beast is faster than it looks, too,” Scar warned.

  Potbelly drew his dagger and sword as he navigated around the burning conflagration.

  No legs, it pushed itself along with ridge-like areas than ran the length of its underbelly. Five of six eyes were fixated upon Potbelly; the sixth oozed a brownish liquid from a recent injury. The creature curved around the fire quite nimbly for its size and with mouth gaping wide, lunged for Potbelly.

  Potbelly barely avoided being impaled by the beast’s teeth by leaping the stagnant channel of filth.

  Having missed its target, the beast whipped its lower half forward, rolled its body in a complete revolution across the central channel, and ended right side up facing Potbelly on the other side.

  “Damn, this thing’s fast!”

  “Blind it!” Scar yelled. “Only way we’re going to beat this thing.”

  Its maw closed and then upon opening produced the sucking noise they had heard before.

  Potbelly darted forward, thrusting with his sword.

  The beast made a sickening sound as the tip of his sword penetrated one of its central eyes. It then recoiled several feet and twisted violently.