Another Day, Another Dungeon

by Greg Costikyan

  "Wait, wait," said Father Thwaite. "You mean the zombies aren't yours?"

  "Mine?" said Wentworth. "What the devil do I want with zombies? Cuthbert knows, finding capable salesmen is difficult enough, but I suspect that animated corpses would rather put off my clientele. . . ."

  "They aren't ours, either," said Sidney slowly. "No?" said Wentworth. "Then whose are they?"

  "Precisely," said Jasper with satisfaction.

  They all stared at him. Or rather, in his general direction. "What do you know about it?" Garni demanded.

  "Less than you," said Jasper. "However, consider. There was a fight here between a group of zombies and . . . an unknown. The statue has disappeared."

  "You don't have it?" said Sidney.

  "Would that I did," said Jasper. "The whole purpose of watching your apartment was not to snatch the statue at an opportune moment—I do have certain respect for the notion of property rights, my dear, and I can raise sufficient capital to purchase it from you should you desire to sell-rather, it was to ensure that the item did not fall into the wrong hands." "Like whose?" said Sidney skeptically.

  "Do you know what your statue is?" asked Jasper. "Do you?" said Garni.

  "Er . . . well, no, not entirely. But . . . I suspect it is important. That is, not merely of value for its metal content, but important on a far higher plane."

  "Hah?" said Sidney.

  "You know about the Sceptre of Stantius?"

  "It's glowing, right? And there's some silly story about a new king . . ."

  "Precisely. And your statue depicts Stantius." "So?"

  "So? Consider! How much magical energy does the statue contain? There must be a connection between it and the sceptre—and, possibly, with the war in Ishkabibble. Suppose the legend of the king's return is true; would not-ah-certain parties take considerable pains to forestall the legend's fulfillment?"

  "If you were just watching the apartment," said Thwaite, "why did you attack us?"

  "We didn't," said Jasper.

  "No?" said Sidney. "You didn't? Muscle boy here didn't come charging into our flat waving his sword?" She pointed at Morglop with her thumb. "Friend Jorgesen didn't try to blow up the building with explosive flasks?"

  Wentworth cleared his throat. "No," he said. "Rather, certain members of our party ascertained that the statue was in imminent danger of capture by the forces of darkness."

  "What?" said Sidney.

  "Therefore, we acted to prevent it from falling into the hands of the lords of evil."

  "I beg your pardon?" said Thwaite.

  "You were under attack when we arrived, as you may recall," Wentworth said. He took a sip of tea.

  "No, we weren't," said Sidney.

  "Yes, we were," Thwaite reminded her. "We were being evicted." "Mrs. Coopersmith?" said Sidney unbelievingly. "You thought Mrs. Coopersmith was a servant of chaos?"

  Morglop swallowed and looked at the ceiling.

  "I said that a member of our party came to this conclusion," Wentworth said scathingly. "I didn't say that this individual was even remotely justified in so deciding."

  Morglop cleared his throat but said nothing. Everyone stared at him. "Why am I beginning to believe this?" complained Sidney.

  Garni grinned.

  "One of the principles of my order," said Father Thwaite, "is: never ascribe to malice what is adequately explained by incompetence."

  "A wise rule," said Jasper.

  "Everyone else attack too," said Morglop defensively. "Human thugs, demons . . ."

  Wentworth snorted. Morglop hurriedly took another crumpet.

  "Let me get this straight," said Sidney. "You didn't attack us to get the statue."

  "Correct," said Jasper. "Actually, I had hoped you still retained possession."

  "No." Sidney sighed.

  "The statue doesn't show up on a magical scan," Wentworth said to Jasper.

  "Damnation," said the green light. "What does that mean?" Wentworth shrugged and took a sip of tea. "It's either out of the city or someone's masking it."

  "Masking it?" said Garni.

  "Hiding its magical emanations," said Wentworth. "Is that possible?" Garni asked.

  "Certainly," Wentworth said. "It's not an easy thing to do. It would take a fairly powerful mage. But it's by no means impossible. It's merely a variant on a simple invisibility spell."

  "Okay," said Sidney. "Look here. Nick and Kraki have, we think, been kidnapped by a necromancer. At least, what delivered their ransom note was a skeleton in a robe. If-and I'm only saying if—those zombies aren't yours, then I buy your story. But why are you so concerned about the statue falling into the wrong hands?"

  "Yeah," said Garni. "Who are you guys?"

  "Jasper de Mobray, Magister Mentis and KGF, at your service, sir," said Jasper. The green light dipped, giving the impression of a bow. "No, I mean you lot," said Garni.

  "Am Morglop," said Morglop. "We're Boars," said Wentworth.

  Garni looked at him as if he were mad. "Of course you are," he said soothingly. "I'm a gazelle myself."

  Morglop chuckled.

  "Members of the Loyal and Fraternal Sodality of the Boar," said Wentworth with irritation. "An ancient order of chivalrous souls devoted to righting wrongs and fighting evil."

  Sidney snorted. "A club where overgrown adolescents go to suck back booze and tell each other lies about adventures they never had."

  "Now Sidney," said Thwaite reproachfully. "The Boars distribute free capons to the poor every Mathewan's Feast, and—"

  "One of our many charitable endeavors," said Jasper.

  There was silence for a moment. "First," said Sidney, "I get hooked up with a aristo firebug with delusions of competence. Then, I get involved with a bunch of overage boy scouts."

  "You can always go home to mum," suggested Thwaite. "It's beginning to look more attractive," muttered Sidney.

  "Well," said Wentworth, "let's see what we can find out about those zombies." He rubbed his hands with anticipation, pushed his chair back, rose, and dumped several ounces of crumb on the carpet. A marmalade cat materialized and began to do its part for household cleanliness.

  They stood in the front room. One hand holding a scented handkerchief to his nose, Wentworth carefully opened an ivory box with the other. Within, there lay a dragon's tooth.

  "This is a rather rare item," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the handkerchief. "Avagrrine!" he shouted.

  Vibrating slightly, the dragon's tooth rose into the air and hung at about chest height. It turned black and swung to point at the door to the cellar. "Black," said Wentworth, "for necromancy. Not that this is any surprise, to be sure. And it is indicating that a source of necromantic magic either came from or exited through the cellar door. Or possibly both."

  Morglop opened the door and peered into the dark cellar. "Need light," he said.

  Wentworth took a lantern from its hook by the cellar door. He put his handkerchief into his pocket and, breathing through his mouth, withdrew a small flask from inside his coat. He opened it and poured a single drop onto the lantern's wick. The wick flamed.

  Wentworth led the way into the cellar, holding the lantern high, the dragon's tooth floating before him. "Aha," he said. "That tunnel was not here before." The tooth pointed directly toward a roughly dug hole in the side of the cellar wall.

  "Not tunnel again," muttered Morglop.

  "Hunh," said Sidney. "Okay. Let's go take a look."

  "Can you give us some weapons?" Garni asked Wentworth. "Of course," the alchemist said.

  Cards were scattered across the wooden box. In the flickering torchlight, Garfok and Drizhnakh looked hangdog in defeat. "And where is her headquarters?" asked Nick.

  Garfok looked at Drizhnakh. Drizhnakh shrugged resignedly. "She gots a place on Collin Hill," said Garfok. Nick skated each orc a shilling, picked up the deck, and began to shuffle.

  "Oi!" said Spug suddenly. "Wait a minute. I gots an idear."

  "Oi, Drizhnakh,"
said Garfok. "Ya hears dat? Spug gots an idear." They both chortled.

  "No, really," insisted Spug as Nick began to slap down cards. "Look. Dis guy's got alla da dough, right?"

  "Days right," said Garfok soothingly.

  "So we is lettin' him ask questions so's we gets a stake, right?" "Right you is, Spug!" said Garfok. "Dat is real good. Ya got it right da first time, even."

  "Okay," said Spug. "Why'nt we just take da dough? We gots swords an stuff, right? Huh, guys?"

  Nick stopped dealing. He looked at the orcs nervously. Drizhnakh's jaw dropped. A dazed look appeared in Garfok's eyes.

  "Oi!" shouted Drizhnakh. He sprung to his feet. "Arrrrgh!" He ran to the chamber's uneven, rocky wall. He banged his head against the stone. "Arrrrgh!" he said. He banged his head again. Soon, he was building up a good rhythm: Thud thud thud thud.

  Spug whimpered. "I's sorry, guys," he said. "Gosh, I's sorry I's so dumb. But how come—"

  "You is right," said Garfok. "Huh?" said Spug.

  "You isn't wrong," said Garfok. "You is right." "I is?"

  "Yup."

  There was a moment of silence, broken only by the thud of Drizhnakh's head against stone. Then, Spug leapt for joy. "Hah!" he shouted. "I is right! I is right!"

  There was a thunk. The wooden box jerked two feet across the floor, cards flying off it and into the air. A quarrel protruded from the box's side. "Freeze," said a voice.

  The orcs froze. Drizhnakh stopped banging his head on the wall and peered dizzily at the speaker.

  Sidney Stollitt stood in the passageway, a crossbow in either hand. One was still loaded.

  "Oi," said Garfok. "If we rush her . . ."

  Two figures appeared flanking her: a dwarf with a great axe and a cyclops with a sword. A point of green light flew past them and into the chamber.

  "I'd advise against any precipitate action," said Jasper. Garfok gnashed his tusks.

  While Sidney covered the orcs, Garni moved forward to disarm them. "Where's Kraki?" the dwarf asked Nick.

  "In there," said Nick, nodding toward the crypt.

  Morglop and Garni heaved the slab aside. Sidney peered down into the crypt. Kraki, bound and bleeding, peered up at her uncertainly. He frowned. "Don't worry," Sidney called. "We'll have you out of there in a jiffy."

  "Ah . . ." Kraki said.

  Nick handed Sidney the ladder. She lowered it into the crypt, then descended. Dagger in hand, she approached Kraki's form.

  "Stop!" bellowed the barbarian. Sidney halted. Suddenly alert, she peered around the crypt, looking for danger. "What is it?" she hissed. "I vill not be rescued by a voman," Kraki said.

  "What?" said Sidney unbelievingly.

  "Vhat you mean, vhat? I can yust hear the bards sing about this vone. `And the damsel rescued the hero in distress, hey tiddly tiddly a-tiddly wink-oh.' No vay."

  "Cut it out," said Sidney with some irritation. She knelt by Kraki. The barbarian rolled away as fast as he could, until he hit the wall of the crypt. "You vant to humiliate me?" he demanded. "Stay avay, or . . ."

  "Or what?" said Sidney nastily.

  "Mother of Tsich," he said. "I'd be laughingstock of Northland. Kraki, son of Kronar, rescued by a girl. Vhat if my father heard about it?"

  "Fine," said Sidney. "Stay here. See if I care." She turned and climbed the ladder again.

  "Hokay by me," said Kraki from the crypt. "If vord get out, I never marry. No Northland voman be my vife. Folkmoot bar me from speaking. Companions shun me. Some hero, me."

  At the top of the ladder, Sidney rolled her eyes. "You do it, okay?" she said to Garni. The dwarf grinned and took her dagger.

  In the front room of Wentworth's shop, the three orcs cleaned up the dismembered zombies under Morglop's monocular glare. The others were with Nick and Kraki in the back. Still weak as kittens, Nick and Kraki sat at the oaken table and fortified themselves with tea and brandy.

  . . . So the orcs agreed," said Nick. "I asked them who our captor was."

  Everyone leaned forward.

  "They said it was the Baroness Veronee." There was a shocked silence.

  "There must be some mistake," said Wentworth. "The baroness is a well-respected courtier, an intimate of the grand duke himself. . . ." His voice trailed away.

  "Hmm," said Jasper. "You're saying she's a necromancer?" "According to our green-skinned friends," said Nick.

  "I say," said Jasper to Wentworth, "who do we have at court?" "Mmm," said the alchemist. "How about Sir Ethelred?"

  "He's a Boar?" said Thwaite with interest. "No," said Wentworth, "but his secretary is." "Who's Ethelred?" asked Garni.

  "The current foreign minister," said Wentworth. "His portfolio includes espionage; and I believe, therefore, the baroness's activities fall under his purview."

  "Fine," said Sidney. "Warn the court. But we'd better do something about her ourselves."

  "I quite agree," said Jasper. "She has the statue, I expect." "How do you figure?" said Garni.

  "I reason as follows," said Jasper. "I don't have it. You don't have it. Someone dug a tunnel to snatch it out. Veronee apparently has access to a network of catacombs and tunnels beneath the city, as evidenced by your capture and the zombies in Wentworth's shop. Ergo, it seems likely she is the one who stole it. Quod erat demonstrandum."

  "Sounds good," said Garni.

  "Damon!" said Jasper. "A message for the Grand Boar!"

  A small green light separated from Jasper. "No dice," said Damon. "What? I need to send a message—"

  "It's after quitting time," said Damon nastily.

  There was a hostile silence for a moment. "You have a dangerous amount of gall, my young friend," said Jasper. "You exist at my sufferance, you know."

  "You gonna snuff me?" said Damon. "Gonna be pretty hard to send a message if you do."

  Jasper was speechless for a moment. "Right," he said in an annoyed tone. "Time and a half."

  Damon considered this briefly. "Okay, Jazz," he said. "You got a deal." Some time later, the Grand Boar surveyed the crowd. "Jasper has called the Sodality to arms. Who will answer?" he shouted through his tusks. "I!" shouted a voice. "And I!" "And I!"

  "Forget it," said a dwarven voice.

  The hunter's horn sounded. They headed for the door.

  The grand duke was engaged in a tricky bit of work. He took the scissors and carefully cut at the base of a Lactarius piperatus. The blue-gilled bolete was precisely the right size for harvesting; but harvesting it presented dangers. In common with other mushrooms of the genus Lactarius, it oozes a milk when cut, like the stem of the common dandelion. Unlike that of other Lactarii, the milk of piperatus is extraordinarily acidic. It is inadvisable to take the fungus with the bare hands. Unless the acid is washed off immediately, it begins to eat into the skin.

  Some scholars have gone so far as to classify piperatus as poisonous. The classification has its merits: if one eats a crown of the mushroom raw, one experiences severe gastrointestinal pain. Some might even find the experience fatal. Yet the same would be true if one were to eat a raw chili pepper.

  This, in fact, was Mortimer's discovery, one of which he was inordinately proud: piperatus, when properly prepared, is delicious. Even with the milk pressed from the crown, the mushroom is extremely hot; but this merely makes it an ideal spice for addition to dishes intended to be fiery. Mortimer's kitchen used piperatus exclusively when strong spices were called for.

  Mortimer's mining lantern shone on his mushrooms as he worked. He lay atop a mound of composted dung mixed with humus, goggles protecting his eyes from any spray of milk. A man-at-arms entered the chamber. "Your Grace?" the soldier said.

  "Yes?" said Mortimer, without looking up. He was involved in his work. "Your Grace, the Baroness Veronee requests an audience."

  It took a moment for this to penetrate Mortimer's concentration. He rolled to his side and stared at the soldier through his goggles. "She does?" he said.

  "Yes, Your Grace." "She's here?" "Aye."

 
Mortimer stood up. He held the scissors in one hand and a blue-gilled fungus in the other. He was clad in dung-smeared overalls and rubber waders. Goggles made him appear rather froglike. Why would the baroness have come on such short notice? Could he dare to hope . . . ?

  "Have the kitchen prepare us a nice big Fistulina hepatica. With fried onions," he told the soldier. He suddenly realized that he was in no shape to receive anyone. "And tell Reginald to draw me a bath."

  As he hurried through the dungeons toward his bath, he wondered what might go well with the Fistulina. Perhaps the Chateau d'Alfar '06. No, too light; an earthier wine was needed, a full-bodied red. Perhaps the St. Tammanie. Or the Sang du Demon. Yes, definitely the Demon. That would do nicely.

  Veronee tapped her foot impatiently. She stared at the tapestry. Some clod in plate mail was standing over a dead griffin, holding the beast's severed head in one hand. He was grinning—the clod, not the griffin. "Heroes," the baroness sneered to herself.

  She'd been waiting a good half hour. She was somewhat peeved. Had her hold on Mortimer begun to fade? There'd been a time when he would have seen her instantly.

  "Please follow me, my lady," said a manservant. The baroness turned away from the tapestry and followed him. He led the way down a corridor and into Mortimer's private chambers.

  Mortimer was waiting for her in his salon. He lounged in an over-stuffed armchair, wearing a silk dressing gown with a gorgeously rendered red dragon on the front. He held a briar rather awkwardly in one hand. His silk-slippered feet were up on a footrest carved in the shape of an heraldic lion. Veronee had to smile; her fears were groundless. Mortimer was obviously trying to look dashing. He was succeeding, unfortunately, in looking like a nearsighted fungus fancier in a bathrobe. Which was only fair, since that's what he was.

  "My dear lady," Mortimer said, rising and waving his unlit pipe. "How pleasant to see you." He motioned the guards to get out, and they, with a grin, complied. "May I offer you a glass of wine? The Sang du Demon '89, quite a good year."

  "Of course, Morty," said the baroness.

  "Oh, Mortimer," said Veronee throatily, placing one hand on his arm. His wineglass shook. "I need your assistance in the most dreadful way." The grand duke swallowed hard. "Gah," he said in surprise. She'd come to him for help? Most unlike her. "Yes, umm, of course, yes. How can I help you, hmm?"