Hederick the Theocrat v-4

by Ellen Dodge Severson

  In an instant, the creature's protective coating of ooze was swept away. The tough hide quivered with shock beneath the force of the pure water.

  Then the monster exploded.

  Chapter 20

  Tarscenian felt for the footholds he'd seen fastened to the wall behind the cascades of water, and climbed. Cautiously, he extinguished the magical light on the lance tip and raised the trapdoor.

  The door opened up into a dark hallway. Tarscenian climbed out and flattened himself against a wall. Too late the adventurer realized he was leaving a telltale stream of water. Why not just paint an arrow on the floor with a sign saying "Fugitive This Way"? he thought disgustedly.

  His nose twitched. The smell of food and soap came to him. This, then, must be the kitchen and laundry area. And where there was a laundry, there would be dry clothes.

  Tarscenian edged along the wall. The rooms he passed had no doors, just curtains to mask their contents from the prying eyes of passers-by. He poked his head into the first room. A small lantern burned. He saw brooms, mops, wooden buckets and shelves holding a lifetime supply of chamber pots, but no clothes.

  Nothing but an apron. He snatched up the apron and slipped back into the corridor to wipe up the traces of his arrival.

  Just then, a burst of raucous laughter greeted him. Tarscenian froze. It wasn't until a loud female voice sounded, prompting more laughter, that Tarscenian realized he hadn't been spotted.

  Footsteps came his way, though. He dived across the hall, behind another curtain.

  Steamy air engulfed him. The dim light showed nothing but a row of what looked like two dozen coffin handles. Tarscenian grabbed one of the handles and yanked-perhaps a secret passage?

  A drawerlike contraption rolled smoothly toward him on tiny wheels. Inside were wooden dowels that held rolls of white fabric. Hot air rose from some heat source under the floor.

  "A clothes-drying room," Tarscenian muttered, intrigued despite himself. "Ingenious."

  "Hello, dearie!"

  Tarscenian leaped around to see a smiling nymphet of a woman. Her red hair was wild, her grin suggestive, her clothes barely decent. Her feet were bare-no doubt the reason why he had not heard her approach. She laughed coarsely. "Are you one of the new girls, dearie? My, my, Hederick has taken to hiring some ugly women!"

  "What is it, Helda?" Another woman shoved aside the curtain. "Are you talking to yourself… Oh, looky here!"

  Tarscenian, for the second time in as many days, found himself speechless before a woman. He clutched his lance and waited.

  "Well, man?" asked a black-haired woman. "Are you one of Hederick's prisoners?"

  "Mmmm, not yet," Tarscenian muttered. "Any moment now, though, I suspect."

  The women laughed as though he'd said something terribly witty. It occurred to him that they were just this side of drunk. More of them appeared behind the first two. "Do you work here, ladies?" Tarscenian asked.

  Another chorus of giggles resounded in the humid room. "Ladies! He called us ladies." "Well, ain't he a sweet one?" "I ain't been, called a lady some twenty years or more." "Are you married, sweet man?"

  At Tarscenian's hesitant nod, they sulked for a bit, then resumed their chatter. The redhead who'd discovered Tarscenian waved an imaginary fan and curtsied deeply to the black-haired woman. The rest of them went into gales of mirth, and soon everyone was curtsying and fanning someone else.

  Perhaps the Seekers were operating a home for lunatics or dipsomaniacs, Tarscenian decided. Perhaps he had stumbled into the main dormitory. He had no idea how far he'd traveled in the discharge tunnels, after all.

  He put a hand on the nearest woman's arm. "This is Erolydon, isn't it, my dear?" he whispered. "The temple?"

  Clearly he'd scaled new levels of hilarity with that remark. The women giggled until one of them, practicing a curtsy in the crowded drying-room, slipped on the damp floor and landed with a yowl.

  Then the little redhead was back by his side. "Here, dearie," she said. "My name is Helda. You ain't going to get far running around the temple in those clothes." She shooed all but one of the women into the corridor. "He's mine. I saw him first. So back to work, ladies," she said, causing even more hilarity. Tarscenian could see he'd provided them with entertainment for days to come.

  With the help of the black-haired woman, Helda hauled on the handle of another drying rack. This one held brown robes.

  "You'll make a nice-looking priest, even if you are taller than most of them," Helda said, rummaging through the garments. "So what are you, an escaped prisoner? An assassin? Ah, I do hope you're an assassin. I'd stick a paring knife in old Hederick's gut myself, except he pays regular. Not much, but regular. Can't say as I'd mourn long if someone else did him in, though." She didn't wait for Tarscenian's answer. "How about this one?" she asked, holding up a brown robe.

  "It's gonna be too tight across the shoulders," the black-haired woman said.

  "If s the biggest one in here. It'll have to do."

  "I'm sure it will be fine," Tarscenian said quickly. He grabbed the robe. "Don't the temple guards patrol down here?"

  "Sometimes," Helda said. "When we're baking pastries, they sometimes come to visit. It don't pay to get 'em mad. We always make enough extra. But they only come down here during baking time, not cleanup. Which is now."

  "Isn't that just like a man?" the black-haired woman said with a sigh. "Show up for the goodies, but…"

  Tarscenian interrupted. "I'd like to try this on."

  "So go ahead." Both women stared at him as though he'd suddenly sprouted wings.

  "Could you two ladies, ah, that is… well, give me some privacy?"

  Helda and her friend poked each other, giggling. "That's a sure sign of quality, Helda," the black-haired woman said as they left him alone. "Modesty in spades. Me, I've never had a problem with modesty. Did I ever tell you about the time I…"

  Eventually the voice faded. The black-haired woman must have returned to the kitchen. Tarscenian pulled the robe down over him. It was tight but dry, and it did have a hood. Tarscenian poked his head around the curtain.

  Helda stood outside, leaning against the wall. She held out a dagger, hilt first. "It's mine," she said softly. "You never know when the temple guards'll overstep themselves, and I do maintain some standards." She shook off his thanks. "You'll need it. That lance don't exactly go with a robe, you know. And I gather you're trying to be sneaky." She accepted Tarscenian1s lance in exchange for the dagger, slipping it behind a pile of sheets in a nearby closet. "You're sure you're married, now?"

  "Absolutely," Tarscenian said, smiling.

  "A shame," she rejoined.

  "I have no way to pay you for the dagger."

  "Do me a favor, then." Helda leaned forward and scooped aside the thin strap that held her blouse in place. She showed Tarscenian her back, which was crisscrossed with welts, some barely healed before they had been retraced. Then her blouse was back in place, and Tarscenian was gazing into fierce blue eyes. "Make him suffer," she hissed. "Make him pay."

  He hesitated, then nodded. Helda whirled back toward the kitchen without another word.

  Chapter 21

  Mynx!

  For a short time after Kifflewit deposited her and the Diamond Dragon in his pocket, Mynx continued to fume and drum her fists against her knees.

  Eventually, though, she realized the startling fact that someone was calling her name.

  Mynx!

  She sat up. She could see nothing but the inside of Kif-flewit's pocket, lit by the dragon's purple glow.

  Mynx!

  Outside, then. Someone outside the pocket was speaking to her. Rejuvenated, the woman jumped up and rocked the artifact from side to side until Kifflewit Burrthistle's hand returned to retrieve it.

  "My, this thing is lively tonight," she heard the kender say. He held up the Diamond Dragon and peered at it. Mynx glared back. Couldn't he see her? Couldn't he remember that the Diamond Dragon had enveloped her?

&n
bsp; Perhaps the magical artifact ensorceled him.

  Mynx looked around. The kender was seated upon the centaur. Night had fallen. The vallenwoods had thinned out until there were vast distances between them. One of the huge trees towered over them.

  Mynx did a double take. This tree glowed at the bottom. The voice that called came from that glow, she realized, although she could not have said how she knew. Either the tree was alive, or someone inside the tree was calling to her. Perhaps the Diamond Dragon made it possible for her to hear. Mynx shook her head. She was beyond understanding things by now.

  "Thou had best put that thing away, little one, lest thou drop it," Phytos warned. "We shall enter my home glade soon. I do not want to be delayed pawing about in the brush."

  "Oh, I'd never drop it, Phytos. I'm really careful with important things…"

  Mynx! Come here!

  That voice again, from the tree. Suddenly Mynx knew that she had to stop them, by whatever means possible, from leaving the vallenwoods. She flung herself from side to side, ignoring the bumps and bruises as she tossed and fell.

  The artifact quivered in Kifflewit's hand as he chattered on. "Phytos, I'm really trustworthy when it comes to things like…"

  As Mynx rocked the artifact again, Phytos cried out in alarm.

  Then Mynx and the Diamond Dragon were falling.

  It was a long way down from the centaur's back. Mynx made herself go limp, hoping that the landing would not break any of her bones.

  Mynxl

  The Diamond Dragon crashed into the earth and skittered to one side. Mynx heard the kender call out in dismay, then she blacked out briefly. She awakened as she barreled, end over end, limbs flying, inside the rolling artifact.

  Then she caught her balance as the Diamond Dragon came to rest against a stone-an arm's length from the glowing tree. Couldn't the centaur and kender see the glow in the vallenwood? She hurled herself against one side of her prison and then the other, until her head rang with the effort. She had just worked the Diamond Dragon free of the rock when Kifflewit picked up the artifact again.

  "No!" Mynx bellowed. Frantically, she resumed her gyrations. She was bruised from shoulders to knees now, but she was determined to succeed.

  The kender dropped the artifact again.

  Mynx's prison bounced and rolled. It came to rest against the vallenwood's rough bark. "Help!" she shouted, drumming on the side nearest the tree. "Help me!"

  She spied Kifflewit bounding toward her again, mouth open and hand outstretched. Phytos leaped behind him, annoyance apparent in his face.

  As soon as the Diamond Dragon touched the tree, the humming that had annoyed Mynx for so long grew louder and louder, until she dropped to her knees. She covered her ears and closed her eyes.

  Miravel firtas, overli ghacom.

  Whatever was inside the tree was chanting. The noise increased. "Stop it!" she screamed. The buzzing drowned out all other sound-Phytos's shouts, the kender's excited squeals, her own entreaties. She smelled smoke and dared to open her eyes a slit. The air around her was ominously cloudy.

  Miravelfirtas, overli ghacom. Ytanderal limkir od y'd requis-tandilus.

  Then Mynx burst free of the thing. She felt her body soaring through the air, expanding and growing until she thought she must be the size of a vallenwood. She turned over and over, like a stone rolling down a hill.

  And landed, soft as a feather. Her hands clutched, not the sides of her head, but pine needles and other litter on the forest floor. She opened her eyes. The tree, Kifflewit, and Phytos swam around her.

  She closed them again, then tried once more.

  Mynx was back to normal size. The artifact lay at her side on some leaves.

  Phytos skidded to a halt, his violet eyes almost starting from their sockets. Kifflewit Burrthistle scooped up the Diamond Dragon and bounced up and down like a cork in a stream.

  "There she is, Phytos!" the kender chattered. "I knew she'd find us! See, centaur! I told you all about Mynx. She was here all along, waiting for us. Aren't you proud of me, Phytos?"

  Mynx resisted the urge to clobber the kender.

  "How…" The centaur's voice failed, and he coughed. "How didst thou get here?"

  She pointed weakly to the Diamond Dragon. "I was in there." Doubt creased the centaur's face, followed by sympathy.

  "Poor thing," he murmured. "She hast gone daft. She must have been wandering in the forest for days. Who dost thou suppose she is, Kifflewit?"

  The kender was still hopping up and down. "It's Mynx, I told you, Phytos! She's my friend. She wanted the Diamond Dragon, but I wouldn't give it to her. She probably followed us, huh?"

  "That thing swallowed me, Kifflewit!" Mynx shouted at the kender. "I've been bouncing around in there like dice

  in a tavern, while you two have been breathing fresh air, drinking wine, and eating bread and cheese!"

  Soon she and the kender were nose to nose. "It's mine," the kender shrieked. "Your tricks can't fool me!"

  "Didn't you remember I was in there, you addlepated, dunderheaded kender?"

  "Well, maybe so, but if you hadn't tried to steal it from me in the first place…"

  "We need this thing to help Tarscenian, you little idiot!"

  "You could have asked. Not even a 'please'!"

  "Tarscenian needs it!"

  "Thief!"

  Finally Phytos cleared his throat. "I fear there are explanations I am not privy to. But perhaps thou couldst tell me, Mynx."

  When the thief appealed to the centaur, words poured out of her. Phytos's expression grew increasingly grave.

  "… So you see," she finished, "Tarscenian is heading into danger, and the Diamond Dragon isn't even where he thinks it is, to help him. Gaveley sold him out, Phytos! They'll kill him. We have to go back and help him." She tugged at his arm. "Hurry. Can you carry us both?"

  Phytos grasped her frantic hand and held it. "Calm thyself, woman. I will do what I can. Get thee on my back." He directed his violet gaze at the kender. "Perhaps we should leave Kifflewit Burrthistle here," the centaur intoned, "inasmuch as he has made this task that much more difficult."

  "Me?" the kender squeaked. "What did I do?"

  Mynx climbed up on Phytos's back. Kifflewit, protesting all the way, bounded up to join her just as the centaur launched into his trot. "Wait!" Mynx cried. "Phytos, you're going the wrong way."

  "No," the centaur rejoined. "Hand me the horn from my pack. If, that is, the kender did not dent it beyond use when he hid in there."

  Mynx rummaged in the pack, passing the horn up to the centaur's waiting hands. "We should be near enough," the man-horse said to himself. The creature raised the horn to his lips and blew a long blast, then two short ones, then another long. He handed the instrument back to Mynx.

  In a short time, they were surrounded by several dozen centaurs carrying bows, arrows, and clubs. Phytos rapidly apprised them of recent events in Solace, of the deaths of Feelding and Salomar and their two compatriots, and of the dire predicament of the lone man who might be able to act against Hederick without bringing about a full-scale war.

  "Wilt thou go back with me?" Phytos shouted. "Wilt thou join thy strength with him and this woman?"

  The centaurs raised a hurrah.

  Within moments, Mynx sat upon a well-rested centaur, with Kifflewit perched happily on another. Phytos, riderless, moved into the fore.

  They turned their heads toward Solace and moved at a gallop.

  Chapter 22

  A short time later, Tarscenian had up the kitchen steps and darted into another corridor. It was long past midnight. Hederick was old. He would be in his rooms at this hour, resting, if not asleep.

  If only Tarscenian could find the High Theocrat's quarters. He cursed silently. Helda had scooted back to the kitchen before he could think to ask for directions, and he'd lose even more time if he went back now to ask… assuming the scullery maids would even know.

  Footsteps sounded-furtive ones. Tarscenian step
ped back into a doorway, reassuring himself that his dagger was still concealed in the sleeve of his robe.

  A yellow-robed novitiate came around the corner, up the stairs from the direction of the kitchen, a chunk of sausage in one hand and half a loaf of brown bread in the other. He was busily chewing. Clearly, the novitiate expected to meet no one at this hour. Tarscenian tried to remember what he could of Seeker etiquette.

  He stepped out from the doorway and hailed the novitiate. "Little brother, stop a moment!"

  The young man stopped, horror dawning on his face. At first he tried to secret the food behind him, then gave up the attempt. "Oh, sir, I was hungry. The fast has been so long. I am sorry. I know thievery is a sin. Please don't tell the high priest…"

  "Yes, yes." Tarscenian waved away the young man's apologies. "Never mind that. Don't worry. I need your assistance. I was taking an important message to Hederick and lost my balance and fell on this hard corridor. I hit my head, and now, for the life of me, I cannot remember where Hederick's quarters are. Could you direct me?"

  The youth, still staring, pointed off to his right. "Cross the main entryway and take the corridor immediately in front of you. The High Theocrat's door will be the third one on your left." The young man resumed chewing. "You're not going to punish me?" he asked hopefully.

  Tarscenian was already heading toward the doors to the stairwell. "Why would I punish you, lad?" he said over his shoulder. "You look famished. No one can study well on an empty stomach. Eat up. But hurry, get back to your room, and tell no one." Tarscenian raised a hand to the young man, who dazedly waved back with the hand that held the sausage.

  The temple was deserted, except for a few guards posted outside the main doors. In a moment, Tarscenian was at Hederick's portal. The heavy door was locked, of course. Tarscenian knocked quietly. "Your Worship?" he whispered.