Another Day, Another Dungeon

by Greg Costikyan

  "Shoo!" said Jeremy, waving his hand at the pigeon. "Shoo!" "Cut it out, mac," said the pigeon.

  Jeremy's eyes bugged out.

  "Leave him alone," said Vic, waving a liver-spotted hand. "Get ush three bottlesh of Chateau d'Alfar."

  "Very good, sir. The ought-nine?"

  Vic stared at him. A confused look came into the oldster's eyes. He started counting his fingers and mumbling.

  "The ought-nine is fine," said Timaeus.

  "What year ish it, anyway?" the geezer hissed in a loud stage whisper. "Never mind," Father Thwaite said gently. "Ought-nine was a good year for the northern elvish appellation."

  "Would you like to hear about the specials?" said Jeremy. "Can I have some bar nuts?" asked the pigeon.

  Jeremy blinked. "I'll see what I can do," he said faintly.

  "I vant roast boar," said Kraki.

  "A portion of roast boar," said Jeremy, jotting the order on his pad. "No," said Kraki. "Vone roast boar."

  "That's what I said, sir," said Jeremy. "One roast boar." "He wants the whole boar," said Nick.

  "Sir?" said Jeremy.

  "Is right," said Kraki. "Vone roast boar." "Yes, sir," said Jeremy. He gulped.

  "I'd like to hear about the specials," said Sidney.

  Jeremy cleared his throat. "Very good, madam," he said. "Our specials tonight include filet of dragonelle pan-fried in beurre noir with asparagus; roc egg omelet with shrimp, fresh tomatoes, and coriander; and a greep bouillabaisse."

  "Isn't bouillabaisse a fish dish?" asked Garni. "Yes, sir," said Jeremy.

  "I thought greeps were nuts."

  "Sir? By no means, sir. They are indeed fruits de mer . . . "

  GREEP BOUILLABAISSE

  "They are indeed fruits de mer, flown fresh at great expense by dragon riders from the southern seas.

  "I can claim a certain expertise in this matter, for I was born in southern climes.

  "Ah, how I yearn for the clean breeze of the south! For the salt spray, the azure skies, the crystal sands!

  "I was raised on a remote coral isle. Few other humans lived nearby, so I made my friends among the merfolk. Oh, happy were they! And happy was I, to watch them frolic among the waves. Though I was clumsy in the sea, lacking webbed fingers, gills, and flukes, I learned from them to swim as best a human may. Together, we explored the reefs and grottoes of the shore.

  "And I fell in love.

  "Oh, do not be shocked, good sirs, good ladies! Though I was a man and she but a fish, our love was strong and true!

  "Thalassa was her name. We hid our love from everyone, for both of us knew the penalty for miscegenation. We knew, too, that any issue we might have would be an unhappy hybrid, clumsy in both water and air, unable himself to breed. Yet we persisted.

  "We'd meet on the rocks by the eastern shore, and I would strip and join her in the sea. She'd tell me of the beauty of the reef and of the strange unity of life beneath the waves; I'd tell her of the people and the creatures of the land. Once, I brought her a bouquet of flowers; their beauty, strange to her, entranced her. She took them with her when she left. The next day, she was crying when we met. `They cannot survive in salt water,' she said dolorously. `Nor can you.'

  "I knew it was true. I knew how hopeless was our love. But there was nothing to be done, so I thought.

  "I thought wrong. For she knew . . .

  "One day, she appeared, eyes shining. She kissed me and told me she'd found a mermage who'd taught her a spell. She could, she told me, turn me mer.

  "How we rejoiced! How happy I was! At last, we could be together. "She recited her spell. Gills appeared along my neck. My legs merged into a single fluke. And webbing appeared between my fingers. I plunged into the sea, and together, webbed hand in webbed hand, we swam into her world.

  "Thalassa was of simple birth, as was I; she introduced me to her parents. I joined a gang of fishermers to make my living; and, respectably employed, gained the favor of her folks. Soon, we were engaged.

  "We lived in beauty. You who have never seen below the waves, I cannot tell you of its glories. The fish that populate the reefs are like flowers in their prime. Strange life waves gently in the currents. There are no storms, no drastic cold or heat, no need for shelter. We drifted across the ocean, hearts and hands entwined.

  "I loved my work. The merfolk raised seaweed, as we raise grain. But mostly, they eat fish. Each morning, we ventured forth, with nets and spears, in search of prey. We sent out scouts to locate schools of fish for our nets.

  "Swordfish, we hunted with spears. Fluke, lobster, conch, and crab, we harvested; but above all else, we sought the greep. For the merfolk prize the greep's flesh above all others.

  "Have you ever seen the greep run? In the spring when they school, they turn the sea silver with their bodies. They leap into the air and plunge back in again. There are so many, sometimes, that the splashes of their leaps sound a constant roar, like that of a waterfall.

  "Each spring, the merfolk gather and hunt the greep while they can. For once the greep have bred, they scatter across the ocean and can be caught only by ones and twos. But while they run, they can be captured in their thousands. For the merfolk, the greep run marks the springtime.

  "Well I remember their small silver bodies, thrashing against the net. Well do I remember my fellow fishers, laughing bubbles in the water as we gathered up our catch. Well do I remember dolphins, gamboling through the school, eating their own fill of the ocean's bounty. Ah, the greep run was a time for rejoicing.

  "Greeps are not large fish; no more than six inches long. But the merfolk have a legend of a monstrous greep, a greep cubits in length. The Old Greep of the Sea, he is called. And it is said that whosoever captures him is granted a single wish.

  "I heard the legend, but thought nothing of it.

  "Not all the fishers in our group were male. The merfolk think nothing of sending merwomen to the hunt. Our gang had several; but the one I knew best was Mare.

  "She was a lithe little creature, a faster swimmer than any of us. She was positioned to my left on the net, so we saw much of each other. We became friends and used to joke as we swam toward our prey.

  "One day, during the greep run, we labored home with a monstrous catch. Everyone was exhilarated and exhausted. We'd do well off the catch; and the next day promised a catch just as fine.

  "We went to celebrate at a grotto where merfolk purchase essences. They do not drink as humans do; instead, they uncork small bottles, release the liquid contents into the sea, and inhale this through the gills. The effect is both like and unlike bibulation.

  "I overindulged. And Mare swam alongside me. She kissed me, and we left the grotto for a private niche among the reefs.

  "Once the deed was done, I began to choke. Mare looked at me with horror and revulsion. My fluke, which she had thought handsome, had separated in twain. My gills were scabbing over. She fled from me in fright.

  "I barely surfaced before I could breathe the waters no more. I was miles from the island, but I'd been a good swimmer virtually from birth. I made it to land with the last of my strength.

  "I stumbled to my parents' house. They had given me up for dead. `Where have you been?' my father asked.

  "I gasped out my tale. Horror passed across their faces. " `You slept with . . . a fish?' my mother asked.

  "'Get out of my house,' my father said.

  "I slept on the beach. The next day, I went to the special place where Thalassa and I used to meet. She never came.

  "But her father did. `You have ruined my daughter,' he screamed, and threw a trident at me. It missed. He could not pursue me on land. `Animal!' he yelled, thrashing about the bay.

  "'What happened?' I asked. He told me the tale.

  "Driven by her love for me, Thalassa had sought out and captured the Old Greep of the Sea. She had asked that I be made mer, and he had agreed. `But,' the Old Greep said, `the enchantment is powered by the love between you. Should you ever be unfaithful to him,
or he to you, he will revert to human form.'

  "Laughing, Thalassa told him that would never happen. We were too much in love.

  "Too much in love. "And I betrayed her.

  "'She will find no suitor now,' said her father, cursing me. `No one will marry a lover of animals.'

  "My love was lost. My parents disowned me. And so I fled my land, fled for the cold north, away from Thalassa, away from the merfolk, away from the greeps, away from everything I knew."

  . . . sobbed Jeremy. He ran toward the kitchen, crying.

  "Well," said Jasper after a pause. "I can't say I think much of the service here."

  Vic was sprawled in his chair, his head hanging back, his mouth open, revealing toothless gums. He snored.

  "Vhat about my boar?" asked Kraki.

  "Waiter!" Wentworth yelled. Reluctantly, a white-coated young man approached. "Sir?" he said.

  "We want to order," said Wentworth. "This isn't my table . . ."

  "Right," said Wentworth. "It's the table of your weepy young friend Jeremy. After you take our order, you may go console him in the kitchen." The waiter blinked. "All right, sir," he said, mystified. "Can I tell you about our specials?"

  "Absolutely not. We want one whole roast boar." "Sir?"

  "A whole roast boar. Are you having any difficulty understanding me?" "No, sir. Will you have salad with that?"

  "Pah!" Kraki spat. "Is for rabbits."

  "No, I think not," said Wentworth. "The boar is for him. And I'll have fish."

  "What sort of fish, sir?"

  "Any sort at all, except greep."

  "And you, madam?" the waiter addressed Sidney. "I'd like a chop," she said.

  "What kind?"

  "Any kind, other than greep."

  Father Thwaite ordered a salad, of any type, as long as it contained no greep. Nick ordered a stew, failing to specify type, other than a complete absence of greep. Jasper ordered mineral water (without greeps), and the filet of dragonelle, subject to the waiter's firm assurance that the sauce contained not the slightest smidgen of greep. Morglop ordered the roc egg omelet. "No greep," he muttered. Timaeus, going with the tide, ordered steak tartare.

  "Without greeps, sir?" asked the waiter. "Correct," said Timaeus.

  Garni had a pastrami on rye. Without greeps.

  "Sidney," said Wentworth, "wake Vincianus and find out what he wants, will you?"

  Vic wanted greeps. Everyone stared at him. "Are you sure?" Jasper said.

  "What'sh the matter with you guysh?" said the old man querulously. "Never had greepsh?"

  Everyone shuddered, except for Timaeus, who was rather partial to a greep now and again.

  "Now, Vic," said Sidney. "Why don't you tell us how you stole the statue?"

  "Shteal?" said the old man. "Never shtole anything in my life." He sounded highly offended.

  "Appropriated," Timaeus suggested soothingly. "Absconded with. Borrowed."

  Vic stared at him as if he were mad. "Where'sh the wine I ordered?" he said.

  "Wine!" said Wentworth, slapping his forehead. "Damnation. I knew I'd forgotten something."

  "We'll order some when he gets back," said Sidney. "Tell us about the damn statue!"

  Vic looked at her with a wounded, puzzled expression.

  "The statue," she said slowly. "The statue in Roderick Square."

  Vic began to mumble. He took a piece of bread from the basket, and began to gum the crust.

  "Father," Sidney said, "he's drifting. What can we do?"

  Thwaite looked up. "Nothing," he said. "Vies like that. He'll clear up in a little while. To a degree."

  "You know the gentleman?" Jasper asked. "For many years."

  "But you didn't know he was a polymage?"

  "Certainly not. He never displayed any magical powers in my presence."

  "What do you know about him?"

  "He's lived on the streets of Five Corners Parish for longer than anyone can remember. He's kind to children. His mind wanders. He tells long, pointless stories."

  "I can vouch for that," said Timaeus.

  "You mean," said Wentworth, "that he's senile?" "That's about the size of it, yes."

  They stared at the old man.

  "Copper for an old man?" Vic said to a passing waiter. The waiter stared at him strangely.

  "This," announced Wentworth, "is insane. He's got more magical power than the entire local chapter of the Sodality combined, but he can't remember what year it is. We're never going to get a coherent story out of him."

  "Well," said Father Thwaite, after a silence, "I've found that if you begin to tell Vic what you remember of one of his stories, he sometimes picks up the thread—"

  "But we don't know what the story is!" said Wentworth with exasperation.

  Nick took a sip of his water. "Well, the orcs told me a little bit about it," he said.

  Everyone looked at him. "Go on," said Sidney.

  "They said that it came from the Orclands. The orcish colony in the Caverns of Cytorax was established by a group of refugees, fleeing some civil war. They brought the statue with them."

  "Civil war? Among the orcs?" said Wentworth frowning. "I've never heard of such a thing. Usually, Arst-Kara-Morn keeps a pretty tight leash on things. . . ."

  "Ah," said Timaeus, "but there was such a civil war. In the late 3700s, I believe. Shortly after Stantius III was captured in the battle of Durfalus-and then taken to the Orclands!"

  "Yes?" said Wentworth, leaning over the table and peering at Timaeus through his cracked monocle. "And then?"

  Timaeus shrugged. "Nobody knows," he said. "I talked to a professor of history at the university. He says that there are rumors that some great ritual magic was to be performed on the plain of Arst-Kara-Morn, but no one knows why or what it involved."

  Everyone looked at Vic. "Do you know anything about that?" said Father Thwaite in a calm voice.

  "'Bout what, Geoffrey?" asked Vic. A bit of saliva-soaked bread adhered to his chin.

  "Ritual magic in Arst-Kara-Morn?" "Sho what elshe is new?" Vic shrugged. Thwaite sighed. "I guess not," he said.

  "Hmm," Jasper mused. "Suppose you had an enemy king. What would you do with him?"

  "Hold him for ransom?" suggested Nick.

  "I was always told that the health of the king is the health of the mountains," said Garni. "At least, that's the way it is among dwarves. Could you torture the king to weaken your enemies or something like that?"

  "Of course!" said Timaeus. "Nothing quite so crude, but . . . the fundamental principle of magic is the Law of Similarity. There is no distinction, magically, between, say, a woman and a lock of the woman's hair; the objects are similar, so that the lock of hair can be manipulated magically to affect the woman. A king is the health of the land, in a literal sense. A king is his species. By capturing the king, you may capture his people!"

  Jasper bounced up and down over his chair. "By Cuthbert!" he said. "Do you mean to say that the ritual magic in Arst-Kara-Morn was the Dark Lords attempting to bind humanity to their will through Stantius?"

  "Why not?" said Timaeus. "That would certainly tip the balance of power in their favor, don't you think?"

  "This is a great deal of speculation built upon a rather flimsy basis of fact," said Wentworth. "Why didn't it work, if this is true? Why do we not have a king who leads us in the services of darkness?"

  At this moment, the waiter arrived with food. He unfolded a stand by Vic's seat, set his platter on the stand, and began to remove dishes from it, placing them before the diners. Sidney was the first served.

  "Something went wrong," Sidney suggested. She was tempted to begin on her chop, but decided to wait until the others were served. "The ritual got screwed up. Maybe Stantius was killed, but instead of binding the new king to his service, the Dark Lord stopped any king from being chosen."

  "There is a spirit in the statue!" said Jasper excitedly. "Stantius's spirit!" "Do you know that it's Stantius's spirit?" said Wentworth.

 
"Er, well, no. But if it were Stantius's spirit, that would explain why there has been no king for two millennia. Stantius's spirit has not departed this plane of existence; therefore he is, in some sense, living; so the gods have not chosen a new king."

  "Perhaps," said Wentworth. "But all you have is the word of a couple of orcs (we know how reliable that is) and a great deal of supposition."

  "I'm sorry," said the waiter. "Who's having the greeps?" "Him," said Kraki, pointing to Vic.

  "Vic," said Father Thwaite, "does the statue contain Stantius's spirit?" Vic looked at Thwaite. "Shorry, Geoffrey?"

  "I said, does the statue contain Stantius's spirit?"

  "Doesh the shtatue contain Shtantiush'sh shpirit?" He appeared to mull this over for a minute. The waiter leaned beside him to set the plate of greeps on the table.

  "Yesh!" shouted Vic, springing to his feet. The plate went flying. The waiter hurtled into the stand. The rest of dishes spilled to the ground. "The shtatue!" shouted Vic, wild-eyed, rising from his chair and quivering in excitement. "For a thousand yearsh have I shought the shtatue, the shtatue that containsh the shpirit of Shantiush Human King. It musht be freed!"

  "I am most dreadfully sorry, sir," said the waiter, trying to mop the greeps off Vic's filthy shirt with a napkin. "Extremely clumsy of me. I do beg your pardon."

  "Freed, Vic?" said Father Thwaite. "What do you mean?"

  "Get away from me, boy," shouted Vic, pushing at the waiter petulantly. "I musht find the shtatue and take it to Arsht-Kara-Morn to unwork the Dark Lord'sh shpell and releashe the shpirit of Shtantiush, that humanity may once again have a king!"

  All eyes in the restaurant were on the shouting, gesticulating old man. "I musht gather companionsh to join me on my quesht," he bellowed. Suddenly, he stopped. He looked around the Cloud Club querulously, then frowned. "Where'sh my wine?" he said.

  The waiter was on hands and knees, trying to scrape up the greeps. "Wine, sir?" he said, looking up.

  "Chateau d'Alfar," Vic said automatically, sitting back down. The waiter stood up and headed for the kitchen.

  "What quest?" said Father Thwaite.

  "Quesht? Quesht?" said Vic. "I shaid wine, not quesht."

  "The quest to take Stantius's statue to Arst-Kara-Morn," said Father Thwaite.