by Gary Gygax
"Later," he growled. "First ya takes me to see the place wi' the animal-headed statues."
"Ya bin there already?" The man assured her that he'd only heard about the funny-looking idols, so the tart led on. "It's below the dive called the Duke's Cellar," she explained. "We'll go inta the back way, they'll pass us through, an' then it's down the stairs inta the Ratshold."
"Whazzat?!" the Phonecian demanded.
"The Ratshold?" She made it sound like "Ratz-awld." "Come on, lovie, ya knows! The subcellars an' tunnels an' drains an' all that lot belows the 'ole city 'ere. Alls ya killeys knows 'bout that. Where'll else ya 'ide out?"
With a pat on her skinny bottom for reassurance, the scar-faced man said, "It's news to me, cutie. I ain't familiar with yer Ratshold 'cause this ere's the first time I bin ta Camelough."
"Nawrr . . . !" The little whore shook her head in wonderment at his lack of sophistication. As she steered him through a narrow gangway leading to the back of the Duke's Cellar, she wondered if this was a mark to be rolled. Too tough, she decided, but because of his inexperience, she figured he might be good for more coin—maybe even another gold drachma. She was smiling at him as they went into an alcove-like back entry, then along an even narrower and darker corridor. The Phonecian listened as the girl identified herself, told the guard that she'd brought a wealthy stranger along to pay his respect to the "liberator," and they were passed through a heavy drapery of old cloth. They stood before a worn staircase of stone. The brown illumination from a pair of old candle lanthorns flickered along the steps, which wound down about twenty feet, perhaps more, where the second light pulsed dimly below at the stairway's curve.
Muted voices were discernable from down the steps. They were accompanied by reed pipes, some form of brass strings, and a gong. There was another thick hanging to pass through, then the couple stepped into a vaulted basement, a subcellar of ancient construction whose stones and crude bricks might have been mortared in place centuries, even a millennium ago. Sputtering oil lamps of the sort used in Phonecian cities, or Egypt for that matter, barely illuminated the huge, echoing space. The eerie light was made stranger still by the room's adornment. Just as instructed, the whore had brought him to the temple of animal-headed idols. The enormous statue of an ass-headed man with a muscular body clearly represented the chief deity of this secret underground temple. It had glass eyes of ruby-red hue and held strange objects in its plaster hands—a loop-handled dagger in the right, a long rod with spiked top in the left.
" 'At's the so-called god they say's the big 'un," the girl whispered confidentially to the broad-shouldered foreigner. " 'Is name's Set."
"Know the names 'o them others?" the Phone-cian inquired sotto voce.
She shook her head. "The killeys 'ere claimin' ta be priests an' all are always tellin' us about this un and that, but how's a girl to remember all them stoopid foreign names?"
They moved to the center of the back area now, well away from the entry but not quite to the rows of benches. The tart had hissed that those seats were reserved for those who were believers—chumps who actually forked over coin and paid homage to these weird gods from far off. "Them's Egyptian idols," the man told her. She didn't respond, except to shrug. He listened intently to the voices murmuring in the background, quickly identifying a chanted prayer to Set. It came from the ranks of idols flanking the central one. Some low-level magick was in use, whether to convey the sound from actual devotees elsewhere or to create it through enchantment. The same was true of the accompanying instruments. Despite the dim illumination and the heavy smoke from incense smouldering in pots near the altar, the scar-faced man was able to identify the other statues. To Set's right were Anubis the jackal-headed, the hippo-goddess Tuart, and four strange, chimerical figures. Crocodile-headed Sebek was near Set's left, along with five other unknown depictions of entities. Each bore a perverted ankh-dagger and some form of seep-ter or rod. The form of each idol was typical of those of modern Egyptian make.
A trio of women in cowled robes suddenly appeared in the front of the underground temple, filing out from behind the ass-headed statue of Set. Two shook sistrums as one came forth and swung a thurible before the idol. The fumes washed around the statue of the evil deity, rising slowly in the heavy air of the subceller. Then a priest-like figure robed in red and wearing a mask in the shape of a jackal's head stepped forth.
"Set is Master!" the masked cleric boomed.
"The Red One is Mighty," came the intoned response from the cluster of worshippers seated on the benches. The cleric began anointing the statue with some unguent as another dozen of the faithful—more dregs of Scathach—entered and took seats.
"All will serve Set, even as these great ones of AEgypt do," the mock-priest called from within his metal mask. Again the assembly responded. A litany of praises and claims followed, until the man finally stepped forward, raising his voice even louder.
"You are lowly now, but when Set rules this land called Lyonnesse you will be as nobles!" He paused as the congregation made noises of agreement. "Through his son and servant, Anubis, the great Set will grant this to you and me. As a jackal, Anubis steals through the night; as a wolf, the son of Set slays all those who oppress you, who deny us all our right to the luxuries and wealth they horde for themselves!"
The roar of the crowd echoed through the vaulted basement. There were now at least fifty gathered, and more were streaming down into the temple.
'I 'adn't 'erd 'ere was so many buyin' this rubbish!" The girl said in disbelief.
"Shut yer dirty yapper," threatened a big fellow standing near them in the rear. "Yer the rubbish, doxy, 'lessen yer listens and takes 'eed!"
"All over this city, throughout the kingdom, yes, even into the realms around, is the might of Set and Anubis spreading. Soon the power of the red one will triumph over all false lords and oppressive ones. There will come men who will lead us—you, me, all of the outlaws and poor and common folk. We will dethrone kings and place new leaders upon those thrones. Then Set will rule our land and we will be free."
Another wave of cries rang through the crowded temple.
"The time is near. I know it for truth. You must know it and tell all trusted folk of it. Once we asked for your alms, for great Set was weak in this land. Now his might waxes. We do not ask coins from you any longer, no! We give you them!"
There came choruses of shouts for such largess, calls to Set and Anubis to strike down the nobles and king, and a near-riot of enthusiasm.
"When you take coins from the son of Set, you acknowledge his power, the greatness of Set and An-ubis. Yet you must also believe, tell others, and make ready for the time of slaying. We know it is soon. A great priest from the land of AEgypt now walks in Camelough itself!"
There were mutters of disbelief, quickly hushed.
"Yes, there is such a one, and he has come to demand the oppressors cease their rule. I know this, and now you do. Pity our brother whose name is Setne Inhetep. It is written that his words will not be heeded. They will kill our brother, and then will we rise up and avenge the martyred one. And our leaders will be at our head, as Set and his son, An-ubis, are leaders of all lords."
The sound of the gong rocked the chamber, hanging and reverberating for a long moment. The assembled faithful shifted and murmured expectantly. The three priestesses disappeared.
In their place appeared two burly men in pseudo-Egyptian garb of red-and-black striped cloth. They huffed and strained as they carried a metal-banded coffer out and placed it before the masked priest, who waited until the pair were in position a few feet behind him before speaking again. "It is time to accept Set's blessing! Let none with false hearts remain here. If you are faithless, the great one will know, and fierce jackals will come forth and tear those unbelievers to shreds! I will pray to our masters now. All not worthy must depart as I do so, for Set will read each one's heart. Then will come his blessing."
The jackal mask inclined, pointed towards the ass-headed id
ol, and an indistinguishable chanting issued from inside it. There was an uneasy shuffling in the crowd, and a handful of people exited. "Shouldn't we be leavin' too?" the tart urged. The scar-faced man shook his head but gave her a little push in the direction of the curtained doorway to the stairs. "Be on yer way, lass, if ya 'ave a mind ta do so. Ya've erned yer pay as far as I'm concerned. As fer me, I be one who believes—in a manner a speakin', that is, so's it'll be me 'ere an' ya out." The exchange took only a few seconds. The young whore seemed uncertain, but the threat of being torn to shreds was too much for her, despite curiosity and the hint of largess about to be distributed. She went.
The masked cleric tugged upon the handle of the coffer's lid. It opened slowly, and even in the poorly lit basement, its golden contents were discernable from far back in the temple. There was a collective gasp. "First, our lord Set gave us only bronze coin," the priest boomed. "Few were here to receive that blessing. More were on hand to gain the coppers which next came. But last week, there were fine silver pieces for you who serve Set and Anubis. The hour of the tyrants' doom is almost here: Now the red one grants us rich gold1." The crowd began to cheer, but the leader cried, "Wait I"
The noise subsided until the sound of breathing could be heard. The priest dipped his hands into the chest, raised them, and a score of glittering disks cascaded down. "Set withholds his blessing!" There might have been something similar to a mutiny then had the cleric in the jackal mask allowed the shouting and rage to grow. He raised both arms and thundered, "SILENCE!" At that same moment, a pair of monstrous black jackals, animals larger than the biggest wolf, stood where the two assistants had been, and flashes of red electricity, crackling bolts of miniature lightning, flashed through the air overhead between the pillars and arches of the subterranean vault. The crowd was awed, all eyes on the mock-priest.
"We have in our midst an opposer. Here before Set and the mighty Anubis stands one who would see them thrown down and dishonored!" There were hisses and growls. Men and women, tough and dangerous, peered around as if hoping to recognize the foe by sight and tear him or her to bits before the gigantic jackals came among them. Besides, that act would speed the distribution of the gold "blessing" from Set which winked at them nearby.
"You can not detect him," boomed the masked cleric. "It requires the mighty eyesight of Set, the unerring nose of Anubis, to suss the enemy out."
There was an uneasy stirring at those words, and each person there tried to put a little distance between himself and any stranger nearby. Someone in the assembly shouted, "Set yer wolves on 'em!" It was an unintentional pun which made one or two in the big chamber chuckle softly. The Phonecian was one. There were glares at the offenders from all sides. The scar-faced man seemed oblivious to such threat and looked only at the angry priest on his dais there in the front portion of the temple.
From the entrance area there came a thud and the sound of metal on metal. "That was what I awaited, faithful servants, brothers and sisters. This place is now sealed tight and barred fast. The enemy cannot escape! Now I will point him out to you, and each may assist the jackals of Anubis in execution of the common foe!" The crowd growled assent, eyes fixed upon their masked benefactor, the priest whose hand would serve out the coins. With great drama, the man held forth his right hand toward the statue of Set, and the idol's ruby eyes shot forth bloody-hued light. As if it were palpable, the priest filled his hand with the light, withdrew it, and held it out for all to see. He appeared to be holding a transparent, glowing sphere of ruby. "Watch where the mark of mighty Set goes. The one it strikes is the one who must be slain!"
Shouting thus, the mock-priest hurled the ball of red brightness out into the chamber. At the same
instant, the hundreds of gold coins in the coffer shot up into the air as if they were the waters of a geyser and began to rain down throughout the underground temple. Pandemonium broke loose.
HUNTER AND HUNTED
"I haven't the foggiest idea what might have happened, Inhetep," Sir Aldriss said. "Are you quite certain she hasn't gone off to see the sights of Camelough?"
"Absurd! As much as Rachelle enjoys visiting plazas and shops, she would not depart before dawn without informing me or leaving a message."
They were together with the druid, Tallesian, and the man known as the Behon, in the royal citadel of Lyonnesse. Setne Inhetep had insisted on speaking with the three of them just a little after sunrise.
Tallesian noted that the wizard-priest looked drawn and tired. Small wonder, he mused, given the girl's absence. "The ostler knew nothing, you say?
Setne didn't look at the druid as he responded. "That I did say. Aldriss, tell me again what you two did last night!"
The bard looked mildly annoyed but complied, sighing. "We left your inn about the first hour of the night and came here until the festivities ended some four hours later. I then escorted Lady Rachelle back to her chambers. That was perhaps the second hour of the late night. The night porter let us into the lodging and actually into your suite as well—seems she had lost her key. Anyway, I bid her a good night there at the door, and the porter and I returned downstairs. Then the coach conveyed me here."
"I saw you in the game room at the end of the second hour—Tallesian, too," the Behon chimed in to remind Aldriss—perhaps to prove to Inhetep that the story was true.
"Yes, of course you did," the bard said affably. "We had a tot together, and then I retired."
"The porter agrees, Behon," Setne informed him rather acidly. "I am not questioning Sir Aldriss' veracity. I am quite sure of that matter. I am merely trying to pin down the time when Rachelle . . . disappeared."
"Disappeared?"
"Just so, magus. She has vanished, whether of her own volition or due to foul play remains to be discovered, but discover it I shall."
The chief judiciary of Lyonnesse stood up. "Come, you two," he called to Aldriss and Tallesian. "We brought Magister Inhetep here, and now he fears he has lost his trusted lieutenant. We must assist however we can in tracking down Lady Rachelle, or we are poor hosts indeed."
Accompanied by the three men, Inhetep returned to the Prince House Inn. Questions were asked of all the staff, but to no avail. Then the wizard-priest had the hall outside their suite cleared, and all four collaborated to discover through magickal inquiry what had become of the girl. They began first in her bed chamber, but no impressions could be raised, and there were no useful aural readings, either. The same was true in her dressing room and the big lounge between Setne's apartment and Rachelle's. To be sure, they cast dweomered nets over the Egyptian's rooms, but the magick was as empty of information as that done in the amazon's quarters.
"Incredible . . ." the druid muttered.
"Not at all," Setne responded. "I gave her protections, and she utilized them. At least we know that she wasn't under duress in this place. She left of her own volition."
"How so?" the Behon asked.
"She would have broken the amulet of cloaking easily, and there would be strong readings here," Inhetep said. Aldriss suggested that she might have been taken by surprise and overpowered before she could manage that. "You don't know Rachelle," was the sardonic reply.
It was a different tale in the hall, however. There were a myriad of readings in the common corridor, but they managed to find what they were seeking. The Behon lay a casting evocative of things past, a magick which brought phantom images into being. It was not particularly responsive to time, so the four men had to stand and watch for almost an hour before the invocation yielded what they desired. But at last, after innumerable passing of sundry other guests of the establishment, the four observers were rewarded. A heavily cloaked and muffled figure came again, as it were, to the door of Rachelle's apartment. It was certainly a man, and a tallish one, because Aldriss was actually near the portal and the phantom was taller by several inches. It knocked silently, and a transparent image of the girl opened the door. She smiled. The figure entered the room beyond, shutting the door b
ehind itself.
"Damn my precious precautions," Inhetep exclaimed. "There's no way of telling what happened after this!"
"Who do you suppose the man was?" the bard drawled, looking at Inhetep. "The fellow might have been you from his height and the way Lady Rachelle welcomed him."
"Rubbish," the Egyptian snapped at Sir Aldriss. "There was no means of actually telling the height or build of that visitor."
Both Tallesian and the Behon looked from bard to priest-mage. The Behon cleared his throat loudly. "Would you mind telling me when you discovered Lady Rachelle was missing?"
"Of course not. I returned here at the first hour of the morning—a quarter past four hours of the clock, to be precise." Inhetep ticked off the facts in a staccato fashion. "After changing and laving and a brief devotion, I crossed the lounge and rapped on Rachelle's door. That was no later than one half hour after my arrival. When there was no response, I entered her dressing room and also searched the bed chamber. The remainder is known."
"Ahh. Would you mind telling me—us—where you were until after the fourth hour and what you were doing?" asked the Behon.
Inhetep straightened and looked down at the Kelltic magus, who was probably the most powerful man in the kingdom after the king and the crown prince. His face was disdainful, his voice cold. "I was investigating the case which you and your associates induced me to undertake, Behon. I spoke with people, observed, and otherwise did those things which must be done in such matters as extortion and death threats and murders. Is that sufficient?"
"See here, Magister!" admonished Tallesian.
"No, druid, it is you who must see. I dislike the inference in the question of my activities. Let us place the accountability directly where it belongs, sirs. This is your land and your city— your problem, until I decided to assist. If Lady Rachelle is missing, has met with foul play— anything—the responsibility for the occurrence is yours, and it is a matter for your police to handle. She must be found and returned unharmed. Otherwise . . ." Setne allowed the implied threat to trail off.