The Good Guys Chronicles Box Set

by Eric Ugland

  “One gold,” she snapped, her wry smile showing just how proud she was of her joke.

  The old me, the biker me, would’ve slurped down the snot and then broken the mug on her mug. And I was tempted to here. But at the same time, I thought about being a duke and whatnot now. Ducal behavior probably didn’t include drinking snot and starting bar brawls.

  I smiled, and flipped a gold coin on the counter.

  “Let’s just pretend I drank your cocktail and it was delightful,” I said. “Part two.”

  She snatched the coin off the counter and sneered at me. Her teeth — well, tooth — was black and a little furry. “Part two,” she asked. “you want to take me behind the counter?”

  Ragnar audibly wretched.

  “No, not in the slightest—” I quickly said.

  “Pity,” the barkeep said.

  “I’m looking for a man named Philomon.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  I debated how to handle this, but it occurred to me that the longer I took, the worse off Nikolai was. So I just pulled out the favor coin and showed it to the barkeep.

  She peered closely at the coin, and her entire demeanor changed.

  “Ah,” she said, all of a sudden clear as a bell. “just a moment, if you please.”

  The barkeep disappeared below the bar. I looked around the tavern again, and saw that all the drunks were now watching me, seemingly sober and alert.

  It took a few moments before she reappeared, coming up behind the bar as if climbing up a staircase.

  “This way,” she said, gesturing for us to walk around the bar, where there was a staircase leading down to a basement.

  I gave one more look at the tavern, and just shrugged. No way out now.

  Chapter 104

  We went down the stairs into what seemed like the exact opposite bar. It was comfortably lit, with plenty of wall sconces and overhead lanterns. There were plenty of tables in the under-tavern, all looking well-kept and of quality. Nearly all of them had at least two patrons, and most of them had three. A bald bartender gave a little wave to the haggard woman leading us down. Off to one side, I spotted seven players engaged in a card game of sorts, happening around a felt-covered table. There were also billiard tables back there, all in use.

  One man sat alone, a gent with a large hat topped with a ludicrous feather. Well, alone except for the massive hunk of muscle and rage that stood behind him. His bodyguard, I guessed. The muscle glared at me as I walked down the stairs, while the gent gave a lazy raise of his hand.

  Our escort pointed to the gent. “Philomon,” she said. Without waiting for a response, she pushed past us and walked back up to where we’d found her.

  “Please,” the gent said, his voice sultry yet unpleasant, “have a seat. I am very curious to hear about you.”

  I gave the man my best smile, hoping all my points in charisma were about to pay off. I sat across from him, and saw that my two comrades had pulled up chairs of their own and sat down.

  The gent raised an eyebrow at the Lutra.

  “You have a problem with them?” I began.

  “Not at all,” he replied. “Rare to find a human willing to be seen as equals with others here.”

  “Maybe I’m not human.”

  He gave a wry smile and shook his head. “You are an amusing sort. Not human,” he chuckled. “You are a large and hirsute human, but most definitely a human.”

  “I don’t do mysterious well,” I said, sliding the favor coin across the table.

  “Ah, but you being here at all is a mystery to me. You see, knowing my name is rare among those who reside in Osterstadt, of whom you are not. But possessing my favor, that is of utmost interest to me, for I have given out but three. I know to whom I have gifted all three of my favors, and you are not one of them. So who are you?”

  “Montana Coggeshall, Duke of Coggeshall.”

  “Oooh, nobility,” Philomon looked back at his bodyguard, but the bodyguard did not smile. “Ignore Giles, he lost his sense of humor when I stopped him killing on the daily. Who are your furry companions?”

  “Skeld Woodingson and Ragnar Helfdane,” I said. “My hirðmen.”

  “A noble with his very own hirð — my, what a delicious turn this evening has taken.”

  “I’m glad we could entertain you.”

  “It is almost all I could hope for. Now, onto the main event: the favor you have come to collect. What is it you seek?”

  “I need to get someone out of prison.”

  “Osterstadt prison?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Philomon shook his head. “That is more than a challenge. Perhaps even more than a favor.”

  “But can it be done?”

  “I have confidence it will be done at some point, but as far as I know, not yet.”

  “So your favor is not good?”

  He gritted his teeth.

  “The favor is good, but you are asking for something I cannot give you. You cannot dangle my favor above me and ask for the heart of a dragon if I cannot get you a heart of a dragon. That is not how favors work. That is how wishes and disappointment work.”

  I leaned back in the chair, listening to it creak, and rapped my fingers across the table.

  “Let’s talk turkey here,” I said. “I need to get a dude out of the prison—”

  “You have a very strange way of talking.”

  “Apologies—”

  “Where are you from?”

  “North of Saumiers,” I lied.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Continue.”

  “I need to get this dude out of Osterstadt Prison. One way or another, I’m getting him. So, what can this,” I tapped the favor on the table, “get me?”

  Philomon sighed. “You are determined.”

  “I am.”

  “Then let us have a quick conversation so you perhaps understand the pointlessness of your resolve. There is but a single entrance to the jail. It is used by the city guards who live in the barracks there, as well as those bringing anything in to the prisoners. All waste is disposed of on site. As far as I know, nothing comes out of there. Not even their shit — the city sewers do not connect.”

  “How about I dress up as a guard to get in?”

  “Boy, getting in is the easy part. Out is the impossible.”

  “Oubliette,” came a gruff but somehow squeaky voice.

  Philomon’s head swiveled around to glare at Giles.

  “Then the Dungeon,” Giles continued.

  “Silence, you mammoth,” Philomon snapped.

  Giles looked down at his feet, somehow looking chagrined and dangerous at the same time.

  “Do not listen to him—” Philomon started, but my curiosity had been piqued.

  “What’s an oubliette?” I asked. “Is that just a fancy name for the prison?”

  Philomon shook his head. “The oubliette is the lowest point of the prison. It is where you are sent when they want you dead but want to pretend your blood is not on their hands. It is nothing more than a hole in which you are thrown to be forgotten. Forever.”

  “And this dungeon — what about it?”

  “It is a foolish legend—”

  “It is not just a legend, Philomon,” Giles said. “It is real.”

  “A foolish legend that claims the treasures of the ancients rests in a grand dungeon under the city,” Philomon snapped. “And the fools who keep yammering about said legend also like to say the only remaining entrance is through the oubliette in the Osterstadt Prison.”

  “Is there an exit to the dungeon?” I asked.

  “Presumably it is wherever the grand treasures of the ancients are, but as there are no grand treasures, no dungeon, and certainly not—”

  “Were there ancients?”

  “Yes, of course. Who do you think cut the pass from the plains of Glaton to the Emerald Sea? But they were wiped out by some cataclysm, or destroyed by their own hubris. Whatever the case and cause of their demise, the
y left nothing but smooth stone and this pass through the mountains behind.”

  “Okay, but theoretically, if these dungeons existed—”

  “Which they don’t—”

  “Right, but if they did, could they be a way out of the prison?”

  “It would only be a way out of the prison should you consider beheading a method out of the prison. Should you view death a viable option, I guarantee there are easier methods than dying in the dungeon.”

  “If it exists.”

  “Which it does not.”

  “Does too,” Giles offered. “Neontes has been there.”

  “Neontes is little more than a lunatic at the best of times,” Philomon said.

  “Yes,” Giles continued, something like a smile on his horrible face, “but he has been in the dungeon.”

  “He says he has been in the dungeon, but he also says he has satisfied a nymph and beheaded a dragon.”

  “Just because he lies, it does not preclude him from telling the truth.”

  Philomon’s jaw dropped open. He stared back at his beastly bodyguard. “Giles, where have you learned to speak that way? It does not become you. Stop sounding intelligent at once.”

  “Sorry, boss.”

  Philomon turned back to face us.

  “Neontes,” I said. “Maybe—”

  “Who did you get this favor from?”

  “Léon Glaton.”

  “Nobles helping their own, eh? Tell me, are the whispers true?”

  “Which whispers might those be?”

  “I think you know.”

  “The Emperor?”

  Philomon touched his finger to his nose.

  I gave the slightest of nods.

  Philomon nodded in return, a shared sort of sadness. “As far as rulers go, I cannot complain overly much. I fear we shall miss him more each passing day.”

  For a moment, I felt the impulse to ask the man about his history, about life before the Empire came to Osterstadt. But curiosity lost to urgency; I needed to move the languid conversation along.

  “I’m on a bit of a time crunch here today,” I said. “Or, you know, tonight. I need to get this guy out of the prison before the Emperor’s brother—”

  “Valamir?”

  “That’s the one. I need to get my friend out before Valamir issues the execution order.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  “Apparently that all depends upon the whims of Valamir.”

  “Ah,” Philomon said with a wave of his hand. “So no time at all.”

  “Seems that way. Means it kind of needs to happen tonight.”

  Philomon sighed, long and languid. “You ask nothing but impossibilities of me.”

  “And here I was led to believe you’re a man who can accomplish the impossible.”

  He waggled a finger and tut-tutted me. “You presume much,” he said, “but I do appreciate a challenge. Before I let you speak to Neontes, before anything else occurs this evening, I need to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “You are going into the prison, whether I assist you or not, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And nothing will dissuade you from this?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then I find myself in a strange position—”

  “You should see where I’m at.”

  A mild smile for my shoddy joke.

  “Sadly, I cannot get you out of the prison. I cannot even tell you of a means to extricate yourself from the prison. I can, if you insist, get you in to the prison.”

  “No offense, but I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to get into prison.”

  “Can you do it with your equipment and your comrades?”

  “Okay, now that is certainly a tempting proposal.”

  “I regret to say that I cannot give you this just for the favor you have from me.”

  “I thought—”

  “If you are going into the prison to get someone out, then it will be just as easy for you to get two someones out.”

  I pushed back from the table, feeling like I was about to get taken for a ride.

  “So you need a favor from me, but you aren’t willing to take the favor I already have from you to help me?”

  “I am offering you an additional favor from me.”

  “For a favor from me, which if I understand you correctly is getting someone out of a prison you claim is inescapable.”

  He seemed to go over what I’d said in his mind, then nodded.

  “Exactly.”

  “What if I don’t want to do that?”

  “Then I am afraid I cannot assist you.”

  “You won’t fulfill your favor?”

  There was a long and pregnant silence as he looked at me. A look that grew increasingly cold as the seconds ticked along.

  “I’m not saying I won’t do it,” I said finally, knowing full well I had just lost the battle of wills, “I’m just trying to figure out how this favor system works, is all.”

  “Oh,” he said, smiling again as if we were the best of buddies, “it is an arcane and bizarre system that no one really understands. But suffice to say there are rules involved, and denying a favor is a very bad idea.”

  I gritted my teeth, choosing not to say anything to the man. He had definitely played me. If I’d held out long enough for him to admit he wasn’t fulfilling the favor, then maybe I would have something. Instead, I ended up doing a favor for the dude instead of receiving one.

  “Are you willing to do my quest, for which I will offer you a favor in return?” he asked.

  You have been offered a quest Philomon:

  Rescue the Maiden

  Rescue the girl, Emeline Rogers, from the Osterstadt Prison and bring her to the Dukedom of Coggeshall. Preferably alive.

  Reward for success: A favor from Philomon, and his assistance getting into the prison.

  Penalty for failure (or refusal): Philomon’s intense dislike and all that that entails.

  Yes/No

  “Fine.”

  “Splendid. Now that we have that out of the way, let me tell you what I need. There is a young woman in the prison. She’s there for — well, is it important what she did? Someone did not like what it was she did, and I would prefer she not remain in that prison. In fact, I would like you to take her with you, once you depart the prison, as I assume you are removing your friend from Osterstadt once he is out, yes?”

  “Right.”

  “Then you will take the young girl with you wherever it is that you go.”

  “Forever?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is a pretty damn big favor, dude.”

  “What I am able to offer you in return is pretty damn big itself.”

  “Which is?”

  “Do you have no idea who I am?”

  “Besides a dude who hangs out in the basement of a nasty bar? No.”

  “I daresay you should do your research, my lord, and you will come to know what a valuable coin you have. That is but one of four favors I have ever given out.”

  “Yeah, and now I have two of them.”

  “That you do. Consider how lucky you are.”

  “Super lucky. Who’s the girl?”

  “Who she is to me is irrelevant to you. Suffice to say, I find her important. Therefore, you will—”

  “I meant, does she have a name?” Clearly I’d struck a nerve, which made me curious.

  “Emeline Rogers.”

  “Do you know where she is in the prison?”

  “Dear boy, I do not even know if she is alive.”

  “Okay, if I can’t get her out—”

  “If she is deceased, which I doubt, but do not know, I will not hold you accountable for anything on your end. I will only request that you pay me for my time getting you in.”

  “Okay. So if she’s dead, and I make it out, I give you the favor coin. If she’s alive, and I make it out with her, you give me another of your favors.”

 
“That sounds agreeable,” he said.

  “Deal,” I said, formally accepting the quest by clicking the Yes button in my head. “I will rescue Emeline Rogers from Osterstadt prison.”

  “Frankly, I do not believe you will, but you taking the quest means I will have done my best to get her out, and my conscience is now,” he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “clear. I feel better, how about you? A drink?”

  “Kind of on the clock.”

  “So be it,” Philomon snapped his hand up, finger held high. “Giles, fetch Neontes and bring him to me.”

  Giles nodded and walked off.

  “Tell me,” Philomon said, sipping a drink that’d magically appeared, “what is it you need to take into the prison with you?”

  “This bag,” I said, pointing to my knapsack.

  “Is that everything?”

  “That and these two,” I said, with a thumb pointing to either otter.

  Philomon nodded, took another sip of his drink, and looked at the ceiling, making a show out of thinking about things.

  And that’s when things got weird.

  Giles came back pushing a large cabinet on squeaking wheels. I noticed that the underground area had become remarkably quiet, making the screeches echo in the silent basement. Everyone watched us now. Giles rotated the cabinet around, presenting it in a manner that made it seem like he’d done this a million times before, a little bit theatrical, a lot a bit rehearsed.

  Then, with an awkward flourish, Giles opened the cabinet.

  Chapter 105

  The thick door swung out to reveal a square glass container filled with an intensely dark purple liquid of some sort, but a brilliant pink swirled through every once in a while. It wasn’t something that I had seen before in this bizarre new world, nor the old, and I couldn’t begin to guess what would happen next.

  A hand smacked against the glass, gnarled, gross, and incomplete. It looked like it had been submerged for a decade — which, to be fair, it might have been. Certainly seemed likely. The hand’s skin looked as it if had been badly burned, or dipped in black ink. Or maybe it was just heavily decayed. It clenched, as if it was trying to pull against the glass.