Thud grinned.
“'Xactly.” He bent and touched his cigar to the end of the cord. “HOT SPOT!”
The cord caught fire and the spark raced hissing up its length, snaking across the ground, the same way that the cord on the signal flare had burned. It reached the casks that Gryngo had arranged. Durham noticed that all of the dwarves had plugged their fingers in their ears. He followed suit, remembering the noise that the flare had made.
Something punched hard, deep in his chest followed a mere moment later by a mind-splitting crack of sound. The ground beneath his feet jerked in surprise. A great cloud of dust and dirt burst from the cliff face, tiny pebbles showering down around them. The dust slowly began to thin, revealing a gaping black hole in the cliff where the door had been. Durham realized his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut.
“What the...”
“Dwarven doorknocker,” Thud proclaimed, yelling over the ringing in their ears. “And now anything close comes to see what in the hells that noise were...”
He turned to the dwarves manning the ballista.
“On my mark, lads. Hold...”
They watched the swirling dust around the entrance.
“Hold...”
In the darkness something moved. A glint of metal, a clatter.
“OPEN NEGOTIATIONS!”
There was a loud chonk noise as The Diplomat fired its four bolts, the chains connecting them stretching to create a metal net spread between them. The shot disappeared into the darkness, followed by a great deal of clattering and clanking.
“SQUAD FORWARD!” Gong commanded.
The six dwarves in armor began a slow steady advance on the doorway, just enough gap between their shields for the readied crossbows. They reached the hole and stopped, hunkering down behind their shields, peering through the narrow view slots.
“No movement!” one called.
“BRACE!” Gong yelled.
The squad began fiddling with the shields. They unfolded clamps at the top and bottom, attaching the shields to each other and then unfolded metal braces that supported them all. Within seconds the six tower shields had been turned into a free-standing wall of metal.
“Light 'er up!”
One of the vanguard unslung a pack and pulled out one of the round pixie lanterns. It was about the size of a honeydew melon. He opened it up and poked at it with some fairy cake. After a moment light began streaming from it. The dwarf closed the ball back up, stepped back and flung it over the shield wall into the tomb. The ball bounced into the darkness, clanging as it went, a pool of light traveling with it as it rolled. Somehow the lantern inside remained upright and lit even as the ball rolled.
“Gyroscopic lantern,” Thud said. “Keeps the pixie inside upright and happy while the outside rolls. Mungo's design,” he added. “Little varmint comes in handy.”
“Clear!” came the call from the squad.
“Reload and hold position!” Thud said. “Wanna let the rest of that dust settle. Should be plenty of time to see if we stirred anything else up in there.”
Thud went to the weapon wagon and fished around a bit until finally producing a mace.
“Knew we had to have another one o' these in here,” he said. “Swords ain’t going to be of any use” he said, handing it to Durham. “Used one before, have ya?”
“Yes, a bit,” Durham lied. The mace was like his guard cudgel but a lot heavier. He figured that the principles of using it were pretty similar. “Why no swords?”
“Most o' what we're gonna find in there that needs killin' is gonna be skellingtons. Blades ain't much use there. Slips between they ribs or just slide off the bones. Got to get a serious hit in to break a bone with a sword without just simply knockin' the damned skelly away from ya. A mace, on the other hand, will smash right through 'em. Like fightin' a pile o' sticks.
He gave Durham a long, contemplative look.
“So here's the deal,” he said. “I needs to get you in and out o' here alive. Looks bad if'n the observer gets killed. S'pect that's in yer best interests as well, eh?”
Durham nodded.
“I want you to be my shadow. When I stop walking I want you so close you bump into me.” He stopped, making a mental comparison between his height and Durham’s anatomy. “Well, mebbe not quite as close as that. In any case, if things get hairy I wants you to hit the dirt as fast as ya can and stays there until I says, got it?”
Durham frowned and opened his mouth to protest.
“This ain't about yer pride, lad,” Thud said. “This is about everyone comin' outta there safe and sound. Until ye've crawled through one o' these places a time or two it's hard to realize just what the word 'deathtrap' means. Are we clear?”
Durham frowned and nodded reluctantly. His visions of coming back a hero were growing wispy.
“I'll have Ruby write ya in somethin' noble,” Thud said. “History's more wot gets writ rather than wot happened, eh?” He clapped Durham on the shoulder. “Buck up, lad. Ye'll have a story the envy of that lot back at your guard post and they'll be buying yer ales for weeks.”
“Do you want the mace back?”
“Nope. Always the chance that this'll go arse-up and you'll be glad for it. If'n I'm still standing though just be sure you're swinging it higher than me head.”
“Right.”
“And take this pack.” He tugged a bulky backpack from the wagon and handed it to Durham. It was the same sort of pack that most of the other dwarves were wearing and seemed to weigh about as much as a dwarf. “Full of exactly the sorts of things you might need in there, contents refined, improved, removed and consolidated by plenty o' experience. Lantern, chalk, rope, string, hammer, spikes and whatnot. Hopefully ya never has to even open it but ye'll wear it jest the same.”
Durham managed to struggle it on with a fair bit of adjusting of strap lengths.
“Now,” Thud grinned. “Let's go see wot wos'name has in store for us, eh?”
Durham followed Thud to the shield wall. Ruby was there already, waiting silently, along with a handful of dwarves.
“Report!” Thud barked.
“All quiet, sir,” came the response.
“Fall in!”
The shields were unhooked, the vanguard reforming into a column two abreast with Gong at its head. Mungo scampered up and climbed onto Gong’s shoulders. Thud stepped in just behind them, Ginny at his side.
They started for the tomb entrance, the armored dwarves accompanying, crossbows readied.
“I'm looking at my shadow and I ain't seein' no one in it!” Thud yelled from ahead. Durham jogged to catch up and they stepped into the darkness.
-9-
The smell arrived first. It was the smell of things that have spent many years alternating between periods of drying and rotting, the smell of things that grew in darkness and things that scraped on rocks. The air was thick and still, chilled. Water dripped somewhere, irregularly. Was the sun positioned perfectly to send ruddy rays of light through the swirling dust within, throwing their shadows long and stark across the floor? Of course it was.
They sent more pixie lamps in, their light spinning the shadows wildly as they rolled. Ginny followed after, crouching in the tomb entrance with what looked like a jeweler's loupe affixed to her eye. She moved forward slowly, one crouching step at a time. One of the pixie lamps was held high in her right hand, a bullseye lens throwing a cone of red light. She had a long pole in the other hand with which she poked and prodded at the floor before her. The vanguard moved in just behind her in a tight wedge, crossbows at shoulder, spreading out once they were through the breached door. Gong was the point of the wedge and Mungo rode Gong’s shoulders. He had a leather cap on his head with goggles pulled over his eyes, cat-fur beard tucked into the collar of his gown-length coat. He had a long pole with a lamp on the end and was poking it into the shadowy recesses above, muttering, then poking it somewhere else and muttering again. Thud was tight on Gong’s heels and an impatient shove
from Ruby insured that Durham was right behind him.
The room was long and narrow, ceiling arched into darkness overhead, its beams curving down along the walls to give the room a tunnel of ringed shadow. The floor was abstract mosaic, each tile outlined with a fingernail of grime. It was littered with fragments of bone and stone and with pieces of rusted armor. There were dark recesses along the walls, between the arcs of stone and a dark archway at the far end, thirty yards away. Scattered pools of light from the pixie lamps broke up the gloom. Durham could see the chained ballista bolts tangled up on the floor against the back wall.
Ginny moved slowly into the room, tapping at the floor and walls with her stick, scrutinizing things through her eyepiece.
“Magazar Korra,” she said. “Those corner joists are a dead giveaway.”
“Is that a Dwarven name?” Durham asked.
“Most of these sorts of places are dwarven made,” Ginny said. “Lot of money in dungeon construction. Same with fortresses. Dwarves is the architectural foundation of the entire adventuring industry.”
“Magazar, eh?” Thud said. “Wasn't that bit over South of Song one o' his?”
Ginny nodded.
“Couple nasty traps, as I recall. That one with the molten lead coming out of the ankle level wall grate.”
“Yes, but his trap seams tend to sink over time,” she said, pointing at a bit of floor utterly indistinguishable to Durham’s eyes from the rest of the floor. “He cuts costs with the supports.” She turned to the dwarves outside. “Barrel!”
There was a stirring and two dwarves jogged forward rolling a barrel between them, wood creaking with weight. Behind them two others spun an empty barrel into place and began shoveling dirt into it. Ginny pointed.
“Right down the middle.”
They gave it a mighty shove and it rolled into the room, the fragmented bones cracking and crunching beneath it. It traveled all of ten yards before abruptly disappearing through the floor with a splintering crack and a cloud of dust, leaving a gaping hole in what had appeared to Durham to be completely solid footing. An enormous crash echoed up from below.
“They never get tired of pit traps, do they?” Thud asked.
“Least expensive traps up front,” Mungo said. “Weed out the unobservant quickly and save the expensive traps for the clever ones.”
“Bit of an effort would be nice though,” Ginny said. “The next two pits are in a straight line with this one. Who does that?”
“Do humans weave when they walk?” Mungo asked.
“The ones that sing do.”
“Rack it!” Thud snapped. “Is the room secure or ain’t it?”
Mungo switched smoothly. “Three apertures left, three right. Symmetrical layout. Ceiling clear to at least the first pit”
“Middle one is an alcove,” Ginny said. “Pretty sure. Floor seems clear apart from the three pits.”
The vanguard dwarves swiveled to cover the sides, squinting suspiciously down the length of their crossbows.
Cardamon rolled the second barrel in, waiting as Ginny crept as far as the edge of the pit, Mungo scrutinizing the floors and walls in front of her through his lensed calipers. She waved them forward.
“Clear to here.”
Gong pointed at the dark passages that flanked the pit. “Clink and Grott, take left. Rasp and Keezix take right.”
Ginny pointed Mungo with Rasp then fell in with Clink.
The pit was about fifteen feet deep, upright spears planted in the bottom of it. The barrel had shattered at the bottom but seemed to have taken a good number of the spears with it. The broken hafts remaining looked just as dangerous as the spearheads.
Thud stepped back from the edge and gave a nod to Cardamon.
“Need a size B!” Cardamon yelled toward the entrance. Durham heard several voices outside repeating the call. A few seconds later two dwarves ran in, arms loaded. They unfolded hinged supports and placed them on either side of the pit then ran a beam across them. The middle of the beam had a block and tackle assembly. Nibbly favored Durham with a quick grin as he came in and then squinted contemplatively at the room. Two more dwarves followed in his wake, carrying empty sacks. They began kicking through the bones on the floor, collecting the skulls in the bags. Dadger Ben came in, wearing a harness, and clipped himself to the tackle rope. He dropped into the pit, swinging back and forth over the spears below. Nibbly took up position at one end of the frame and began cranking a wheel, lowering Dadger down into the pit.
“Spears is clean,” he called up. “Looks like that’s the first time this trap been triggered; ain’t nothin’ else down here.”
Thud nodded. “That fits with the sealed tomb door. Ain’t no adventurers been in here yet.”
“Spearheads ain’t nothing special but they’s in good shape.” Dadger said.
“Bag ‘em up,” Nibbly said. He locked the pulley into place. A sawing noise began emanating from the pit
“What do we got on them openings?” Thud asked, waving his finger in a circle at the recesses in the walls.
“Report!” Durham was fascinated by how Gong expanded and contracted in his entirety each time he yelled.
“Quit yer hollerin’.” Ginny’s head poked out from the hallway. “Small crypts back here. Some burial stuff in 'em. Guessin' they were conkybines, mebbe. Room is clear of traps.”
“Same report,” Mungo called from the other side. “Word for word save a correct pronunciation of concubine.”
“What’s your take, Nibbly?” Thud asked.
“Looks like there were about twenty of 'em,” Nibbly said. He kicked at one of the pieces of armor, flipped another over with his toe. “Rusted crap. Rib-cages in them chest pieces, though, and skulls in them helmets. Reckon the ballista's what did for most of 'em.” He studied the hall a minute longer, sucking on his teeth. “Reckon them armored ones was in them middle alcoves on the sides there. Skellies came from them halls in the corners.”
“The wives and their defenders,” Thud said. “Fits right in with the traditionalist theme.” He glanced at Ginny. “Secure that other door and let’s get this area sorted.”
Nibbly whistled and more dwarves came with sacks. He directed them into the corner rooms. The dwarves with the bags of collected skulls had taken them to one side and were removing them from the bags, methodically smashing each one with a hammer before returning it to the bag. Gong’s team set their shield wall up in a half circle around the arch and rolled the ballista into the room, reloaded it and positioned it pointing at the archway.
ᴥᴥᴥ
The room behind them had been stripped bare by Nibbly’s team, wooden covers sealing the pit traps in the floor and enough lanterns for a banquet. Durham waited with Thud and Ruby as Ginny and Mungo examined the archway. It contained a tall black door shaped to fit the arch. The door’s surface was textured and glossy like leather. Ginny was examining the door latch with her loupe while Mungo went around the door edges with a wire. They finished by sinking an eye hook into the door and retreating behind the shield dwarves before tugging on a rope to pull the door open.
A breeze gusted thick with rot, as if the dungeon beyond the door was exhaling.
Mungo rolled a lantern through the doorway. It descended rapidly, revealing a sloping passage with high walls with a stone door at the bottom.
“Seriously?” Thud asked after a moment of contemplation.
Ginny stepped to the edge of the arch, leaned in carefully and looked up. She aimed her lantern up at the ceiling behind the arch.
“Sure 'nuff,” she called back. “Looks like it'll block the end of the hall if we drop it. We'll have to stabilize it.”
“Find the trigger for me,” Thud called back. “Mungo, Cardamon! In there with ropes, nets and spikes. Truss it up tight.” He turned to Durham and Ruby. “Rolling boulder trap, if you can believe it. This guy believed in the classics. Not quite turning out to be the sort I 'spected.”
“How do you mean?” Durham asked.
“Well, there's a type o' dungeon we call 'Mixers'. There was a bit of a Dungeon boom few centuries back. Fashionable among the nobility for a bit. Dungeon's a pricey kinda thing, though, well, at least the fashionable sort are. So if you was a lesser sorta nobility without them sorta resources, what to do? How ta keep up with the trend without emptyin' yer vault? Dwarves spotted a bizness opportunity. In comes 'Mixer' dungeons. Design a few score o' mix 'n' match rooms and hallways, the noble assembles what they want and kin afford, contract the work out, decorate and ya got a quick dungeon for a fraction the cost.
“This place seemin' like it might be one o' them types. Pit traps and a rolling boulder trap?” Thud rolled his eyes. “I jest 'spected more from a lich necromancer warlord, I s'pose.”
Ginny reappeared in the archway.
“Trigger removed, boulder secured,” she announced. “Rest o' the hall looks clear from up here but I'd recommend a barrel down it all t' same. Most interesting though is the trigger. Here, take a look.”
She held it up and they all squinted at it in the lamplight. She was holding up a skull with a broken forehead. A skeletal arm descended from the neck in place of a spine, bony fingers dangling at the end.
“Animated?” Thud asked.
Ginny nodded. “The skull was sitting along the wall like it was just left lyin’ on the floor, arm extendin’ behind it through the wall. Walk into its view and the arm gives a yank on the pulley to start the boulder rollin’.”
“An undead trap mechanism.”
“Aye. Doesn’t rust or jam. Easy maintenance.” She frowned at the skull. “Prob’ly not what this bloke had in mind fer his afterlife but we sent him on his way.”
Thud was silent for a minute, stroking his beard, puffing on his cigar.
“I’m ‘spectin’ that’s relative in a way we ain’t cognizant of yet.”
He shrugged then nodded at Cardamon and another barrel of dirt was rolled forward then sent rumbling down the slope. It thumped loudly against the stone door at the bottom. Ginny followed after it, picking her steps with care. She had her trap pole in hand and poked and prodded the floor and walls as she went.
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