Critical Failures II (Caverns and Creatures Book 2)

by Bevan, Robert

  Dave scrambled around, looking for someone else to help, when he spotted Stuart once more. This time he was inching backward out of the doorway. He had Tim’s limp body tucked under one arm, and he was dragging what Dave was certain was Cooper’s foot with his other hand. Dave hurried toward him.

  Stuart dropped Tim on the ground and grabbed Cooper’s other foot. They were all well out of the door by the time Dave reached them, and the smoke was beginning to thin out.

  “Where’s Julian?” asked Dave.

  Stuart coughed hard until he finally spat out a gob of dark brown phlegm. “He’s still in there. He’s putting out the last of the small fires.”

  Dave moved as fast as he could toward the doorway, only to be tackled by Julian as he burst through the smoke. He fell backward with a splat. He didn’t even have to look. He knew he had just fallen into Cooper’s vomit puddle.

  Julian rolled off of Dave, took a few deep breaths, and stood up. “That’s it,” he said. “The fires are all out, and there’s nobody else in there.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Frank.

  “Yeah,” said Julian, his eyes red and watery. “You can see through the smoke now, and I used a Light spell to scan the whole place. It’s clear.”

  “He’s right,” said Tony the Elf. “I just finished counting. Everyone is accounted for.”

  “How bad is it?” asked Frank.

  Tony the Elf frowned. “It’s not good,” he murmured. “Thirteen injured. Eighteen unconscious but stable.” He hung his head. “Two dead.”

  Frank sighed. “I saw Rhonda. Who’s the other one?”

  “Gorgonzola.”

  “Goddammit!” shouted Frank. He threw down the scrap of wood he’d been using for a crutch. His left leg must have been burnt pretty bad under his tattered pants, as he lost his balance and had to be supported by Tony the Elf.

  The clatter of wood against the cobblestoned road woke Tim. “Huh?” he said. “What happened?”

  “Those fucking horsemen happened,” said Frank. “All four of them burst in this time, demanding to know what happened to Mordred. Said they didn’t buy the story about him being in Pensacola. When we denied knowing anything about it, the wizard – ‘War’, he calls himself now – fucking Fireballed us. We were so surprised, our group didn’t get so much as a Magic Missile off before they sealed the door shut from the outside.” He gestured at the ground.

  A heavy chain was wrapped around a support beam of a different building at one end, and locked to the door’s iron window bars, which had since been ripped out of the door and were lying in the street.

  “That chain was just long enough to be taut,” said Frank. “You know what that tells me?”

  Tim wiped away wet soot from under his eye. “They measured it beforehand.”

  “Too fucking right they did,” said Frank. “This was pre-fucking-meditated.”

  “We should have just told them about these new guys,” said Tony the Elf. “They killed Mordred, and this idiot,” he kicked Cooper’s prone body in the gut. “He went and antagonized them.”

  Cooper farted.

  “Knock it off!” said Frank, still holding onto Tony the Elf for support. “If you want to blame somebody, you can blame the bastards who set the place on fire!” He yanked hard on Tony the Elf’s tunic until the elf looked down at him. “That half-dead half-orc on the ground there, he pulled out at least three people out of this place. Now I saw that with my own two eyes.”

  “I don’t think –”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you think,” said Frank. “Don’t even tell me you didn’t know it was going to come to this sooner or later. As soon as those fuckers leveled up to the point where they thought they could take out all of us, that’s exactly what they were going to do.” He pointed a finger at Cooper. “If this guy hadn’t shown a little backbone when he did, they might have waited a couple more weeks, but then they surely would have killed us all.”

  “You don’t know that,” said Tony the Elf. “And even if it’s true, what’s to keep them from doing that anyway? They’re no weaker for the effort, but we sure as hell are.”

  Frank frowned. The elf had a point. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe we can be more prepared next time… or something.”

  “How are we going to be more prepared?” said Tony the Elf. “Two of our number are dead. Half of the rest are a paper-cut away from death, and we don’t even have a place to stay anymore.”

  “I said I don’t fucking know, all right?” Frank let go of Tony the Elf and sat on the ground.

  “Hey, um… Frank?” said Tim. “I might be able to help with Rhonda and Gorgonzola.”

  Anger flashed through Frank’s eyes, but he didn’t have the energy to sustain it. The anger withered to a look of exhaustion. “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

  “Could I speak to you inside?”

  Frank furrowed his bushy eyebrows. “You want to go back in there?” He looked past Tim into the smoky remains of the Whore’s Head Inn.

  “We can talk in the arms cellar,” said Tim. “It should be less smoky in there. This isn’t something I’d like to discuss out here on the street.”

  Frank sighed. “Fine.”

  “Dave,” said Tim. “Help him up, would you?”

  “Sure,” said Dave. He reached down, and Frank accepted his help.

  “Tony,” Frank said wearily. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. Do you mind keeping an eye on things up here for a minute.”

  “Sure thing,” said Tony the Elf.

  “Julian,” said Tim. “You keep an eye on Cooper. His gaze flickered toward Tony the Elf and back. Julian nodded.

  The cellar was indeed less smoky than the ground floor, but it was still far from pleasant. Dave’s eyes stung as he helped the crippled gnome down the creaky wooden stairs.

  “So what’s this help you speak of?” asked Frank, not sounding at all hopeful.

  “It’s just like you said before,” said Tim. “We can get them resurrected.”

  Frank let go of Dave and hopped to a wooden crate. He sat down. “About that.” He looked down at the dirt floor. “I was kind of just blowing smoke up your ass. I felt bad for you, losing your sister and all, and I just didn’t know what else to say. Truth is, I shouldn’t have filled you with false hope.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Tim. “What’s the problem?”

  “Wherever you go,” said Frank. “Whoever you are. Money. That’s the problem. That’s always the problem. Sure, you can go down to the Temple of Rapha and get your buddy brought back from the dead… for a price. Even the weakest spell, Raise Dead, is gonna set you back a good six grand a pop. Even if we sold the goddamn building, we wouldn’t get half that much. Especially considering the state it’s in.”

  “What if I told you I could get the money?”

  “Where the fuck are you going to come up with twelve thousand gold pieces?”

  Tim reached inside the Bag of Holding. “Twelve thousand gold pieces,” he said. Gold coins spilled out over his hand like a slot-machine jackpot. It seemed to continue forever, piling up in a mound of gold on the floor, until it finally did stop.

  “Holy fucking hell,” said Frank. “What the fuck have you boys been up to?”

  “Just what we set out to do,” said Tim, flashing a white toothy grin across his soot-stained face. “We killed a vampire.”

  Frank shook his head. “You crazy sons of bitches. Your scrotum must be made of two Bags of Holding.”

  Tim laughed, which was something Dave couldn’t recall seeing in a long time.

  “Listen,” said Tim. “If you take those two down to the Temple of Rapha, it’s probably not a good idea to mention any association with us.”

  “Should I ask?”

  “Probably not.”

  “And you’re sister? She’s…”

  Tim looked down at the bag. “She’s been in better states.”

  “I’m really sorry, man.”

  “I’ll be all right,�
� said Tim. “It’s just not something I want to talk about right now.”

  “Of course not.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” said Frank. “I guess we’re going to clear out the smoke, fortify the entrance, and lick our wounds. Getting Rhonda and Gorgonzola back will boost morale. That’s for sure. What about you?”

  “We should have a bit of gold left in this bag,” said Tim. “I’m going to shop around tomorrow and see if it’s enough to buy our way back home.”

  “I spoke at length with Tony the Elf about your Teleport idea,” said Frank. “He thinks it’s a little far-fetched.”

  “Yeah?”

  “And I’m sorry, man. I know he’s not really a basket of sunshine and optimism, but I’ve got to agree with him.”

  “If it works, it works,” said Tim. “All we can do is try.”

  “I just don’t want you to go and get your hopes up again,” said Frank. “Especially after… well, you know.”

  “Yeah,” said Tim. “I know. And you know how important morale is. We’ve got to hang on to whatever hope we’ve got, no matter how slim the odds.”

  “Well spoken, friend.” Frank pushed himself off the crate, his weight on his good foot. He turned to Dave. “Now, if you don’t mind helping me up the stairs, I’ve got to go and give my people some much needed good news.”

  “Um,” said Tim. Frank turned around. “Is it still okay if we crash here tonight?”

  “You boys are welcome here as long as you like.”

  Chapter 23

  Tim, Julian, Dave, Cooper, and Chaz stood outside a cute little two-story cottage with cobblestone walls and a thatched roof. It was the sort of place that an irresponsible parent might send their daughter through a wolf-infested forest to deliver goodies to. This was no forest though, and this cottage was one of the many places of business lining the street which seemed designed to invoke some sort of old-world fairy tale nostalgia. That’s the gist Tim got anyway. For all he knew, this was just the way shops were supposed to look in this world. It was a far cry from the area the Whore’s Head was located in, where you might only recognize a storefront due to a sign painted in blood on the back of a broken shield. The sign above the door they were currently looking at had been professionally crafted, and was painted with large friendly pastel green letters on a purple background.

  “Professor Goosewaddle’s Potions and Scrolls Emporium,” said Tim, reading the sign. It was the eighth magic shop they had been to, having been laughed out of the previous seven for such a preposterous request, and the list of options was dwindling down to nothing. Tim steeled his nerves against what would most likely be another rejection as he led his friends through the beaded doorway.

  “Welcome,” said a soothing female voice, the source of which was nowhere to be seen in the dark and dusty shop, “to Professor Goosewaddle’s Potions and Scrolls Emporium.”

  “Who’s there?” said Tim. He squinted his eyes as they adjusted from the bright light outside. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with glass bottles, clay jars, and steel scroll tubes. A quaint spiral staircase led up to the second floor of the shop. Conspicuously absent, however, was a shop attendant to whom Tim could attribute the voice.

  “Sleeping potions are on sale this week,” the voice continued as if Tim hadn’t spoken. “Get the rest you deserve. Completely safe and non habit-forming. Now available in lemon flavor.”

  “Show yourself,” said Tim. He put his hand on the pommel of his sword, just to reassure himself that it was there.

  “Or perhaps we could interest you in a scroll of Whispering Wind. When you’re far from home, you can still tell that special someone you care.”

  “I don’t want a scroll of Whispering Wind, dammit!”

  “Feeling unattractive?”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Why not try a potion of –”

  The voice was cut short by two sharp claps. The source of this sound was also invisible, but at least it was coming from a discernible direction.

  Tim moved cautiously toward the counter. The clapping had come from the open doorway behind the counter, but the doorway was empty.

  “Hello?” said Tim.

  A white-bearded face popped up over the counter. “Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Professor Goosewaddle. What can I brew for you today?”

  Tim cleared his throat. “We… um…”

  “We need a spell cast on us,” said Julian, who was at a better height to look him in the eye.

  “Well, sirs,” said the professor chirpily. “You’ve come to the right place.” He climbed all the way up onto the counter, revealing a stature no bigger than Tim’s. He was a gnome. He sat with his feet dangling over the edge of the counter. “What’ll it be? Constitution? Night out with the whores? Want to keep your stamina up? That it?”

  “What?” said Julian. “No, we –”

  “Don’t worry,” the professor went on. “I get you young fellers in here all the time, always too shy to just come right out and say what they want. There’s no shame in it, boys. You think I haven’t shacked up with a whore or two in my day? My transaction records are completely confidential. What happens at Professor Goosewaddle’s Magic Emporium stays at Pro—”

  “We need a Teleport,” said Tim.

  Professor Goosewaddle frowned down at Tim. “I’m sorry, my lad. That’s just not the way Teleport works. Teleport is a spell which the caster casts on himself. Not on another.”

  “I know how the spell works,” said Tim. “It’s been explained to us seven times already today.”

  “So what made you think my explanation would be any different?”

  “I don’t know,” said Tim. “I guess I was hoping you’d be smarter, or more imaginative, or just plain greedier.”

  The professor stroked his beard. Tim had his attention.

  “Come into some money, have you boys?”

  Tim’s eyes shifted involuntarily toward the Bag of Holding in Cooper’s hand. He quickly looked back at the gnome on the counter. “We’ve got some stashed away.”

  The lie fell flat. Professor Goosewaddle stared at the Bag of Holding.

  Shit.

  The professor looked at Tim and smiled. “No need to fear, lads,” he said. “I run an honest shop. I’ve got no desire to tangle with a bunch of young fellers at my age.” He sighed and adjusted his glasses. “Let’s say I could cast the spell on you lads instead of myself. A few alterations of the incantation should sort that out well enough. But there’s a bigger problem, you see.”

  Tim dared to get his hopes up just a bit. This was much further than he’d gotten with any of the other wizards and sorcerers he’d talked to today. “What’s the problem?”

  Professor Goosewaddle pulled a comically long pipe out of his sleeve and lit the bowl with a snap of his fingers. He took a few puffs to get it started. “The spell requires that one be intimately familiar with the desired destination. Are you planning to go somewhere I might have been before?”

  Tim frowned. “No,” he said weakly. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then I’m sorry, my boy. I just don’t see how I can help you.”

  “What about telepathy?” asked Julian.

  Everyone looked at him.

  “Go on,” said the professor.

  “If you could read our minds while you cast the spell, could you be familiar enough with the destination?”

  “Hmmm…” said the gnome. He took a long drag on his pipe. “Clever lad. That’s thinking outside the box. I’ll admit you have provided me with an interesting challenge. I never could resist a puzzle.”

  “Then you’ll do it?” asked Tim, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

  “I’ll consider it. It will be complicated for certain, if not impossible. So no promises. You understand?”

  “Of course!” said Tim.

  “Give me the night to think it over.”

  “Anything you want,” said Tim, already shoving Cooper toward
the doorway.

  “And I expect to be paid for my effort,” the professor called out after them as they scrambled out the door. “Don’t spend all your money on whores!”

  Tim exited the shop in high spirits, but that faded when he saw a tall, lanky figure lurking near an alley about two blocks away, pretending to not be looking at them. He’d seen this person outside of at least two of the magic shops they’d been to earlier in the day. Twice could be dismissed as mere coincidence. Maybe the guy was just browsing the magic shops, looking for an enchanted ring. But not a third time. Anyway, this guy wasn’t shopping. He was spying.

  When it came to people who would want to spy on his group, Tim had a very short list of suspects. He could rule out Pestilence. That half-orc could pick his tusks with this skinny bastard. Frank had said the wizard who had blown the place up called himself War. The guy lurking in an alley was no wizard. Tim knew a rogue when he saw one. If Tim remembered Revelations correctly, that left only Famine and Death. He had a pretty good idea which one this was.

  “Famine!” Tim shouted.

  The figure jumped like he’d just licked a wall socket.

  “That’s one of them!” cried Tim.

  “One of who?” asked Cooper.

  “The fucking Horsemen, you dolt!”

  “Oh,” said Cooper. He put his hand on his axe.

  Tim put his hand on Cooper’s arm, but kept his eyes on Famine. Strangely enough, the lanky rogue neither advanced nor fled. Tim guessed he was waiting for them to make the first move, knowing he could easily outrun them if it came to that.

  “Listen,” said Tim, just loud enough for his friends to hear him. He tried not to move his lips when he spoke. “Don’t look now. There’s an inn about a block behind us and across the street. Dave and Julian. You are going to get a room there. Understood?”

  “Okay,” said Julian.

  “Cooper,” Tim continued. “You are going to chase that skinny bastard until you lose him.”

  “Suppose I catch him,” said Cooper.