Blood River Down

by Lionel Fenn

  Ivy shyly allowed as how she had been working for several years on a double-sided needlepoint tapestry for the Handicraft and Nuptial Fair, and this year was to have been its debut. When she was asked what the point was, she told them it was at the end of her dagger, and if they didn't get moving in one direction or another, she would prove it.

  Halfway down the slope, Tag asked a question: "How do we know which of those rooms to look in?"

  They stopped as one, considered Umbrel laid out before them, and returned to camp, where a hasty map was drawn in the dust and suggestions were made as to which sectors should be their starting and ending points. No one paid attention to Ivy, whose comments were somewhat bloody in the extreme.

  Finally, when it appeared as if they were stumped and would have to fly it blind, Whale admitted to having been at Umbrel once before, many years ago, and admitted further that he had a vague idea just where they might begin looking, assuming they managed to get that far. When Gideon asked him to clarify the term "vague," Whale made a vague gesture somewhere between I think it's over there and close your eyes and pick a number.

  "Sounds chancy," Lain said.

  "Do we have a choice?" Gideon told him.

  "Do you want an answer?" Ivy said.

  Halfway down the slope Tag snapped his fingers and started to ask a question, but Red, who was rather tired of all the climbing back and forth and getting hungry enough to eat a dissident, growled to shut him up.

  The road, when they reached it, was deserted and, from the layer of omnipresent grey dust, had not been traveled for many days. Nevertheless, they managed a good impression of reluctant slaves as they approached the rusted, half-hinged gates and had no quarrels at all when Whale told them he would do all the talking.

  The nearest garks, and there were too many of them for Gideon's peace of mind, swung their heads around slowly. One had a parrot's beak stocked with a dozen more fangs than were necessary, another flicked a serpent's tongue at them, and a third rose from its squatting position to stretch its wings and show them a muscled chest and corded thighs no barbarian should be without. All of them appeared to walk on hind legs, with a pair of forelegs as long as a man's arm ending in three clawed digits. When the standing gark's wings flapped lazily in the tepid air, they sounded like attic doors closing raspingly on a heroine who should have known better.

  Gideon, hands tied ahead of him, kept an eye on the guards as they neared the gates. Beyond, he could see the central hallway and the rooms off it, and he wondered how in hell Whale was going to get them to Glorian, not to mention back out again. He also wondered how they were going to get through the gate without tripping an alarm. And wondered thirdly, when they were through the gate and nothing happened, why the garks had only stared at them and had not even mounted a token challenge. He was, however, in no position to ask questions. Whale was busily urging the lorra to a faster gait, and they were genuinely stumbling now as they found themselves trotting between room walls, peering fearfully into open doors that revealed nothing but darkness. They could hear no sound save their own passage, and once the hall began the twisting he had seen from above, he had no idea where in the open palace he was.

  Suddenly, Red stopped.

  Gideon managed to halt before he collided with Vorden but too quickly to prevent Ivy from charging into his back. There were grumbles, a few curses, and a poke in the middle of his back before he was able to walk to the lorra's side and look at what lay ahead.

  Nothing.

  They were at a dead end.

  Whale shrugged, turned them around, and they tried another direction.

  And found another dead end.

  "There's a trick to it," Whale muttered as they wandered helplessly along.

  "Should've used the doorbell," Gideon said.

  "Oh, he knows we're here," Whale said brightly. "The garks told him as soon as we were spotted."

  "He? Who he? Wamchu?"

  "Oh, I doubt that. Wamchu has other things to do aside from the Ceremony. No, Houte Illklor—his majordomo, as it were. I suspect Wamchu will only show up if there's trouble."

  "But there will be."

  "Then I guess we'll see him later."

  Later, as far as Gideon could tell, would be in about four years at the rate they were going. And just as he was ready to suggest a halt for a little rest, Whale grinned and pointed to a doorway whose lintel was topped with a row of tiny skulls.

  "Footh," he said triumphantly. "Well, friends, I guess it's time to go in."

  —|—

  Since Red insisted on following them, the room was rather crowded by the time they were all inside. None of them noticed it, however, because they were busily gawking at the ceiling, which was covered with hundreds of tiny electric light bulbs merrily glowing a delicate shade of red. They had been activated when the first one crossed the threshold, and so fascinated were they that it wasn't until Tag exclaimed aloud that they noticed the door in the far wall. A large door surrounded by gold-leaf design and topped by a semicircle around whose perimeter ran a series of quaint Art Deco numerals.

  Gideon ignored Whale's hissed warning that they might be under surveillance and approached the door cautiously. A poke, a rap of his knuckles, and a look to one side, and he wondered what had happened to his resolution not to be surprised by anything else in this place.

  "It's an elevator," he announced.

  "Of course it is," Whale said, dropping his end of the vine and joining him. "You see, you push this button here and you wait a few moments, and pretty soon, if all goes well and of course I can't guarantee that, a little room shows up on the other side of this door. Then you get in—"

  "I know how an elevator works," Gideon snapped. "But what the hell is it doing here?"

  "To get down," he was told.

  Gideon took gentle hold of the man's scrawny shoulders and smiled. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but what you're saying is that Umbrel is not what we have seen on the surface, but is rather something which lies even now below our feet."

  Whale nodded.

  "And we have to use this elevator to get down there."

  Whale nodded again.

  "And when the door opens once we're down there, there's a good chance there'll be some sort of reception committee waiting. A small army would be a good guess."

  He stopped Whale from nodding a third time by walking back to the corridor and looking up at the sky. There was no help. It was bright and grey and perfectly miserable; divine intervention even of the symbolic sort was not forthcoming. Then he heard a shout and raced back into the room, pushed Tag and Vorden aside, and edged around Red to look at Ivy and Whale.

  Who were looking at the open elevator door, and the wide stone stairs revealed behind.

  "I don't know," Whale said when Gideon mouthed the question, and none of the others were willing to speculate. All they knew was, the elevator was gone, the stairs were broad and low, and they seemed to stretch farther down below the surface than any of them were willing to travel at the moment. On the walls were lights in the shape of flickering torches, exposing close-set stone streaked with discolorations that ran haphazardly toward the floor. There were no spiderwebs, no scurrying rats, no unspeakable creatures hovering in the shadows above their heads.

  Only the stairs, and a distinctly damp feeling of unshakable dread.

  On the other hand, Gideon decided, we're almost done with this thing one way or another. And once done, I can go home.

  The thought cheered him so much that he began to whistle silently to himself as he stepped onto the top stair and looked behind him—Ivy was nervous, Tag was thumbing his nose like a punch-drunk boxer, Whale was fumbling in his pouch, and Red's eyes were slowly turning black; Vorden Lain was at the back, somewhat morose at his upcoming reunion. And they were all of them silent, watching him so intently that he began to wonder what part of him was showing that shouldn't have been, or if he had something small and ugly crawling through his hair. He smiled at them, cocked hi
s head, and took the first step.

  They followed, the distance between them determined by courage, seniority, and the length of the vine still tied to their waists. Thirty-nine steps and several tight turns later, the stairwell straightened and he could see the bottom landing. There was no door, only an arched entry way that led, as far as he could tell, into a corridor apparently rather wide.

  Ivy came up beside him, and together they took the rest of the steps with exaggerated care, each pressed tightly against a wall, weapons out and ready to use in case they were surprised by anyone except Glorian. At the bottom they halted, exchanged glances neither could read, and poked their heads cautiously into the hallway.

  It was, in fact, nearly twenty feet wide and extended in both directions for several dozen yards before veering out of sight. There were no doors that he could see readily, no light except for the occasional false torch, and no sound at all to indicate anyone was nearby.

  The entire underground city could easily have been judged deserted were it not for a faint throbbing he could feel through his boots. Machinery or people, he could not tell. But it meant life in some form, if they only knew where and how to find it.

  He gestured for the others to join them quickly, then used a series of referee hand signals to suggest they begin their search to the right.

  Ivy signaled that they might do better heading to the left.

  Gideon shook his head. He had a feeling, no more than that, which told him that going in her direction would mean disaster for the entire expedition.

  Ivy disagreed silently.

  Tag tried to intervene with a series of complicated hand waggles that directed them all to charging in both directions at once in order to take the enemy by surprise, but Vorden, whose eyes were glazing, grabbed the boy's arms and pinned them behind his back. Whale, meanwhile, was flipping a coin and whispering a compass spell whose words he almost remembered, and by the time Gideon stopped counting, he was up to twenty-six out of fifty.

  Right, he commanded at last, fed up with the discussion that was starting to hurt his wrist.

  Left, Ivy countermanded, one hand on her hip.

  He sneered at her and stepped into the hall.

  She followed and grabbed his shoulder.

  He grabbed her wrist to pry the hand away.

  She pinned his left hand in a sinister fashion and tried to drag him toward her.

  He resisted.

  Whale dropped his coin.

  Red, with a disgusted shake of his head, bulled through them all and started down the hall to the right, his nostrils flaring at the clear scent of food, the vine dragging behind him and, eventually, dragging the others as well.

  And around the first bend they came to the first room.

  And in the first room Vorden Lain found his son.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  "This is really very embarrassing," said Bela Lain as the others crowded into the room behind Gideon. "You weren't supposed to be here for ages."

  Gideon ignored him for the moment when he suddenly realized where he was. "This is a kitchen!" he said. "It's a goddamned kitchen."

  Red already knew that, and he was busily sniffing around the various tall cabinets, low cupboards, the two dozen large tables scattered about the even larger room, the storage bins that completely lined one wall, and the ovens that completely lined another. The air was heavy with the scent of cooking, aging, curing, and waiting meals. From the ceiling a full twelve feet above them dangled hundreds of utensils, pots, pans, skillets, jugs, and two slaves.

  The kitchen was, unquestionably, as spacious as any baronial hall.

  Bela, who had managed to put a table between himself and the intruders, fussed with a green-hide apron, then snatched off his cocked chef's hat and slammed it down. "Very embarrassing!"

  "Embarrassing?" Vorden said in a cracked voice. "Embarrassing, you say?"

  When he approached the table it was clear that despite their sartorial and philosophical differences, they were father and son, from the extension of their waists to the cut of their features. It was also clear that Vorden was mightily disappointed.

  "Now, Father—"

  "Don't you 'Father' me, you hash-slinging traitor! Going out to see the world, you said. Going to find my fortune, you said." He sagged a little, his palms pressed to the tabletop. "All those letters you wrote. All those letters. Moving up in the world, Father, you said. The Organization has a real place for me, you said." He gestured to the room. "This is a place? You're a lousy cook?"

  "Well... not exactly lousy."

  Vorden swung around to Gideon. "A son's gratitude, eh? Big man in the Organization, and he's a cook!"

  Gideon made no attempt to understand the paternal attitude but understood perfectly that a place this size was not the basic kitchen nook of a summer home. It fed hundreds daily from the look of it, and they had evidently been lucky enough to stumble in between shifts. The more he scanned the room, however, the more he realized that Bela Lain was not preparing just any simple sit-down for a few lucky thousand; he was setting up for the Ceremony. From the looks of it, there wasn't much time left.

  And when Red started for the far side and began dragging them with him, Tag quickly set about sawing them free of the vines while Vorden raged on the inequities of fatherhood, parenthood, and the obligations a son has about telling the truth to his only living relative.

  "A cook?"

  Bela drew himself up and put on his hat. "A chef, Father. Please don't call me a cook. And this," he said huffily, "is my establishment."

  "Gideon," Whale said.

  Ivy had been checking the two pair of doors at the room's back, flinging each one open and stabbing forward blindly in hopes that someone foolish was hiding there. By the last one she was wearying, but she had found nothing save another corridor, this one twice as wide as the first.

  "Gideon," she called.

  Tag was rummaging around the tables, sampling bits of bread, meats, fruits, cookies, salads, and things to which he could put no name but looked and tasted fine after his mouth had had little but dust over the past few days. Then he stopped, looked away, looked back, and swallowed, hard.

  "Gideon," he called.

  Vorden vaulted nimbly onto the table, strode down to Bela, and belted him across the head with his tricorn. "And take off that stupid hat when you're talking to me! I am still your father, and I demand a little respect!"

  Gideon stood beside Whale, who was thoughtfully examining a large map tacked to the wall. It was of Umbrel and appeared to show that the city was five levels deep, with uncountable rooms on each level and a number of ways to achieve descent and ascent. They had apparently stumbled in through the back door. Whale pointed to what seemed to be the middle level, where the rooms were considerably smaller than any others he could locate—and there was, apparently, only one way in and out.

  "The dungeons, I think."

  "Glorian," Gideon said.

  "Unless she's being kept in Lu's private quarters, I can't think of anyplace else she might be."

  "She'd have to stay there until the Ceremony."

  Whale nodded.

  "Your mother would die!" Vorden yelled, belting his son again.

  "I didn't even know her!"

  "You never stayed around long enough for me to introduce you!"

  Gideon stood beside Ivy and peered into the corridor. It was more like a boulevard, and along each high and wide wall were doors to shops whose signs and banners hung over their entrances. A fair number of people were evident, carrying baskets, goods, weapons, and in one case each other from what was obviously a bar. There were also creatures that looked like one-eyed horses pulling a curious variety of carriages and carts. There was also a definite air of festivity about the place—the colors were not exactly bright, but they were colorful, and the citizens bustled gaily about as though working against a tight schedule.

  "It's a city!" he exclaimed quietly. "What about those other doors?"

 
; "Dining rooms. The kid's running a restaurant, not a private kitchen. This stupid Ceremony is probably the best thing that ever happened to him."

  Gideon took a deep breath and shook his head, then told her what Whale had discovered.

  Ivy looked pained, but she touched his arm gently. "We haven't much time, you know. The Blood was already near the top of its banks. And those people out there aren't exactly getting ready for somebody's birthday."

  Bela picked up a meat cleaver.

  Vorden whipped out his foil.

  Gideon stood beside Tag and looked down at the elaborately decorated platter the lad had uncovered, one all too clearly meant to be a showcase presentation. On it was a delicate arrangement of greens, fruits, and nuts. In the center it was blank, but there was a handwritten note to mark what it was to be used for.

  "I don't think Glorian will like this," Tag said glumly.

  "I doubt she even knows."

  "But who would want to eat a duck?"

  "Where I come from, lots of folks."

  "What do you do with the feathers?"

  Grabbing Vorden by the belt, he dragged the woodsman off the table to Ivy's door. Whale and Red followed, each munching in his own way on apples the size of softballs. "Bela will take us down," he said with a glare to Lain.

  "Down?" Bela said loudly. "I haven't got time to breathe! Do you realize what it takes to feed those animals out there? Do you realize the reservations I have? My god, even Illklor is coming to dinner." He repositioned his cap and plunged his hands into a large bowl of flour. "I'm sorry. I haven't time for this silliness."

  "Bela!" Vorden snapped.

  "Sorry, Father."

  Vorden shook Gideon's hand from his arm and stalked across the kitchen to his son, who took up an instant defensive posture with a double handful of overcooked scones. Vorden said something to him none of the others could hear. Bela blanched. Vorden snarled. Bela looked helplessly around his domain and sighed.

  Gideon checked the outside again. "There doesn't seem to be any alarm raised, so I doubt we're in immediate danger. I don't know who the garks told, but it seems that's the least of our worries, for the moment."