Peacekeeper's Plan

by Wayne Meyers

  “How could it not be there?” pleaded the seamstress. “Maybe it got stuck in the chute?”

  Looking back down at Babette, I gasped. She was no longer there. Then, her head peeked back through the bottom of the bookcase. “Hurry!” The others quickly wriggled through the opening after her, Brentor and Marcus having the most trouble as they were the largest.

  The oddly familiar voice echoed closer to us. “I put the damned book down the chute this morning. I’m sure no one else has been down here. Besides, they’ve no reason to inspect the laundry cart, of all things.”

  “Maybe a rat ran off with it.”

  There was a pause. “Are you daft, woman? A rat?”

  A different voice spoke up, one that raised the hairs on the back of my neck because it was also familiar, although distorted just beyond my grasp of recognition. “A rat for sure, but not the kind she means.”

  “Hofe!” Marcos hissed from behind the wall.

  I wanted to see who those voices belonged to, but with the others hissing at me, I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled through instead. First wooden splinters stabbed at my legs, then an outline of rough-chipped stone. The floor dropped out once I cleared the opening, but reaching out with my hands I found it about a foot below the shallow tunnel I had crawled through. As soon as I cleared the opening, Spaldeer wedged the broken off seat of a chair into place, hiding the breach from the other side. Once he did so, total darkness enveloped us.

  “What is this place?” Brentor whispered.

  Spaldeer’s voice quavered. “Impossible to determine without illumination.”

  “So, what do we do?” Babette asked. “Wait here until they leave?”

  “We need a torch,” Marcus said.

  There echoed a horrendous, squealing noise, and a vertical rectangle of flickering light widened from where we had entered the tunnel.

  “Check the tunnel for rats, just in case,” the familiar voice barked.

  Marcos and Brentor stepped in front of us. “Run,” Marcos said, taking a fighting stance.

  “Wait,” Spaldeer said. He dodged around our older brothers as a red-robed arm extended a torch into the widening rectangle.

  Squinting against the glare, I made out a section of the stone wall fitted with hinges, creating a doorway into this tunnel. The opening at the bottom behind the bookcase must have been a starter hole, after which the creators pulled out enough dirt to work behind the stone foundation of the building. They somehow chipped out the outline of a stone slab to serve as a door, and ingeniously fastened hinges between the door and the surrounding stone wall. The old bookcase remained in place on the other side to hide the freshly crafted outline of the door and starter hole we had slipped through to enter the tunnel without opening the door.

  The hinges were on our side, the surrounding area chipped away through rock and dirt to allow the segment of stone to swing inward. Spaldeer had scooped up a large rock from the ground and swung it up into the pin of the lowest hinge, raising it slightly above the hinge leaves.

  “Help me,” he said. “If we can remove the door off the hinges, it will drop down and cover that opening.”

  His plan made sense. Since the starter hole began at ground level to the chamber we had just abandoned, the bottom of the door began about a foot above the floor of the tunnel. If we freed the hinges the slab should drop into the space where the starter hole had been, reverting the door back into a wall with a corresponding gap at the top. Hopefully that space would be too difficult for our pursuers to climb through, assuming the door didn’t just fall inward and crush the lot of us beneath it instead.

  Brentor rushed the opening doorway, grabbing at the extended arm that bore a black-pitched torch and snatching it from his hand. With a muffled curse, the unseen figure recoiled back into the room.

  “The rats took my torch! Run for it.”

  “Wait! If they had any skills, they wouldn’t be hiding. Give me the spear,” the first familiar voice said.

  Marcos grabbed up another stone and went to work on the top hinge as Spaldeer banged the lowest pin free and began working on the next one above it. With all the commotion, I thought it unlikely our unseen foes would catch on to what we were doing, even if they were able to hear the banging from within the tunnel.

  “I’ll hold the torch.” Babette snatched it from Brentor’s hands, and I stepped up to stand next to him, blocking the partially open doorway together. Marcos and Spaldeer pounded at the hinge pins to our right. Babette hovered close behind, directing the torch toward the hinges.

  Through the dancing shadows behind us the tunnel was narrow, barely wider than the doorway, and rough-hewn. The hard-packed dirt floor was riddled with protruding stones. Sweat trickled down my face and beneath my arms.

  The muffled voice returned, just outside the doorway. “Keep on opening it. I’ll deal with the vermin within.”

  A spear probed through the doorway. Brentor grabbed hold of it, but the figure yanked it from his grasp with a furious shout. I caught a glimpse of his face, but it was swathed in strips of black cloth wound about his head with openings for the eyes and nose. His robes, however, were red.

  The door resumed opening toward us. If it slid any further there would be enough room for the figure to enter. Brentor realized the same and turned his back to the stone, pushing as hard as he could to keep it closed. I tried to help him, but the spear poked through, nearly tearing out my throat as I shifted to one side to avoid it.

  “Hurry up, you fools. What’s taking so long?”

  “Something’s pushing back,” the second voice grunted.

  “Damn you, do I have to do everything?” The spear retreated, and the stone began to slide open again.

  “Stand back,” Marcos warned, leaping backward while tugging at the collar of Spaldeer’s robe to pull him along.

  Freed from its hinges, the slab of stone first tottered, then tipped over the threshold, dropping down a foot into the tunnel with a horrendous crash that hurt my ears as it echoed back and forth for an eternity. Clouds of dust and clods of dirt splattered through the air, making us cough and turn away. The torch flickered and almost went out from the whoosh of air, but Babette must have turned her body just in time, for it remained lit. We all stared at each other in mutual confusion as the dust settled.

  A string of cursing came from the other side through the newly created narrow opening at the top. The small opening at the bottom of the bookcase “door” we had crawled through was now completely covered by the fallen wedge of stone.

  “They must have heard that all the way in Corallius,” the second voice yelled. “We’d better get out of here.”

  “We can’t let them escape.” The first voice sounded furious, yet uncertain.

  “Then you go after them, if you can fit through that narrow opening before the masters show up, or before the rats burn your face off while you’re wriggling through.”

  More cursing, and then the other side of the door grew quiet.

  “What do we do?” Spaldeer asked. “Back the way we came, or forward?”

  Babette eyed the space between the top of the slab and the ceiling of the tunnel. “There’s not much room there.”

  “But we don’t know where the other end of this tunnel goes,” Marcos said. “They could be heading there now to cut us off.”

  “If there is another end,” Spaldeer pointed out.

  Brentor chuckled, wiping sweat from his forehead with the dirty sleeve of his robe. “Well, it must go somewhere, right?”

  Marcos sighed and peered up at the narrow opening. “Quite right. And I don’t think we can make it out this way.”

  Brentor turned to Babette. “Lead the way, then.”

  Keeping close together in the narrowing space, we followed her down the narrow tunnel, trying to avoid the worst of the rocks that lay on or protruded from the floor. At one point we had to go single file, sharp stones tearing at our robes from both sides until the tunnel turned right. At
other points timber beams were jammed into place to keep the ceiling from collapsing, forcing us to squeeze around them.

  After what seemed an eternity the corridor finally ended at a solid stone wall into which a half dozen iron rungs had been hammered. Babette held the torch up, illuminating a large wooden square just above our heads at the top of the makeshift ladder.

  “Let me try,” Spaldeer said. Without waiting for a reply, he scurried up the rungs and pushed at the square, which lifted with some effort. A whoosh of cold air cooled the sweat from our faces. He looked through the opening, then hoisted the door open all the way until it thumped over on its other side.

  “Here.” Babette passed the torch up to him.

  Spaldeer lifted the torch into the darkness beyond the trap door and peered about. After completing a full circle, he pulled himself all the way up.

  Marcos climbed halfway up. “What do you see?” he asked in a whisper.

  Spaldeer’s face appeared at the opening. “A room full of boxes and papers. There’s no one here.”

  “Right.” Marcos scrambled up into the room, and the rest of us followed.

  We found ourselves at one corner of a chamber containing stacks of beige boxes and dusty wooden tables covered in scrolls and papers. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases that completely hid the walls behind them, all constructed from the same oaken material and size. There was a door on the far side of the room with more of the same shelving mounted above it. There were no windows; without the torchlight, we’d have found ourselves in utter darkness.

  “Where are we?” Babette asked, running her fingers over a pile of open books that rested on the nearest table. Some were big enough to consume half of the table, while others were smaller and rested on top of the pages of their larger cousins.

  “I suspect we’re in a storage room in the basement of the library, which is good. If the thieves wanted to intercept us, they’d never make it down here unseen.” Spaldeer swung the trap door shut and leaned close with the torch. “Wow, look at this craftmanship. You can’t even tell there’s a door here once its shut.”

  “Never mind that, we need to get out. Find a master.” Marcus bent down to take the torch from Spaldeer.

  “Wait one second,” Brentor interjected. “How does it open, then?”

  “Hm.” Spaldeer ran his fingertips over the trap door, pushing and probing until a narrow strip of wood popped up, providing a space for his fingers. He pressed it back into place with a click.

  “Ingenious,” Marcus said. “This is master craftsman quality.”

  “Or high-journeyman, at least.” Brentor snatched the torch from Spaldeer’s hand and hurried across the room to the door. He tried turning the knob, but it did not move. “Marcus?”

  Marcus tried his key and we all gasped when the lock clicked open and the knob turned.

  With a great cheer we rushed from the chamber into a brightly lit corridor.

  Babette placed the torch in an empty wall bracket and laughed. “Thank goodness. The dust was sticking to my hair.”

  Bending my neck, I ran a hand down my head and showered the floor with grit. “I see what you mean.”

  “We have to find a master at once,” Marcus said.

  A door halfway down the corridor burst open, revealing the upper half of Master Orcus. His mouth dropped open when he saw us.

  “Perfect timing,” Spaldeer said.

  To my astonishment, Master Orcus puffed his cheeks and blew into a silver whistle, emitting a piercing shriek. Before we could recover from this oddness, a half-dozen journeymen joined us in the hallway from as many directions. They looked to Master Orcus.

  “Seize them!”

  We exchanged incredulous glances.

  Powerful hands grabbed me as Master Orcus approached, glaring.

  “Master—” Spaldeer tried to speak, but the journeyman holding his shoulders gave them a vicious shake.

  “I’ve no ear for you now, boy. Such a disappointment.” Master Orcus’ eyes lowered to where Spaldeer clutched the book beneath his robes. “What have you got there?”

  Spaldeer pulled the book out and presented it triumphantly. “See? We saved the book from—”

  Master Orcus snatched the book from Spaldeer’s hands and stared at the black cover while his face whitened. “Saved the book? From the locked room I keep it in?”

  “But that’s not what—” The journeyman holding Spaldeer shook him again into silence.

  Master Orcus clucked his tongue and shook his head. “A sad day indeed, sad day. I never expected you’d be traitors. To the High-Master. I fear it will be the Circle for the lot of you. The Circle.”

  Chapter Seven—Exonerated

  We were half-carried, half-dragged from the library to High-Master Chendor’s office trying to explain to Master Orcus what had happened, but he refused to take heed.

  When the dozen of us burst into the High-Master’s office past the protesting Journeyman Themptus who sat outside his office, he only raised an eyebrow. Each of us was still trying to declare our innocence louder than the other, the journeymen were apologizing for interrupting him, and Master Orcus kept lamenting our corruption.

  High-Master Chendor raised his voice for the first time since I had known him. “Silence.”

  The room immediately stilled other than our heavy breathing and Spaldeer’s sniffling. I was close to bawling myself at the unfairness of the situation, when we had such important news to share.

  The High-Master rose from his chair and walked around his desk. “Leave us, now,” he said to the journeymen. They bowed and hurried from the room. He stared into each of our eyes without changing expression, then turned to Master Orcus. “They have not betrayed us.”

  Master Orcus puffed his cheeks. “They were in one of the library storerooms. It’s always locked. They emerged with this book.” He presented the volume to High-Master Chendor.

  High-Master Chendor folded his arms across his chest. “And what is their explanation for this situation?”

  “Explanation?” Master Orcus raised an eyebrow. “What explanation do I need? They burst out of the room cheering at their success, not realizing I was working only a few doors away. I heard the door unlock and open. I heard it slam shut. Open and shut.”

  High-Master Chendor held out his hand. “And who has the key?”

  Marcus turned the key over without raising his eyes from the floor. “I’m sorry, High-Master. I found it outside the dorm a long time ago. I used it to spy on journeyman classes from the rooftops.”

  The High-Master gasped as he turned the key over in his hands. “This is a master key that opens all the locks in my guild, save my office. Only the masters have copies of this.”

  “Thieves!” Master Orcus glared at us.

  High-Master Chendor gave Master Orcus a hard stare. “Do you really think an apprentice stole a key from a master? Go summon Banton and Voralius. Make sure they bring their key rings.”

  As Master Orcus scurried from the room, the High-Master perched on the edge of his desk and surveyed us. “Who wants to explain this to me?”

  With a gulp, I tried to cut to the heart of the matter. “There is a secret tunnel between my dorm’s basement and the library. They were trying to steal the book through the laundry chute.”

  He looked curious despite himself. “Who?”

  “We don’t know. But at least one of them is a journeyman and another the seamstress.”

  Marcus raised his head. “I know I was wrong to keep the key. But when I found out I could watch the journeyman classes from the rooftops….”

  High-Master Chendor stroked one end of his moustache. “We shall speak further of that transgression later. Start from the beginning, now. What is happening in my guild?”

  We told him everything that had occurred since we found the book in the laundry cart, starting with the loss of Babette’s bracelet which had brought us down there in the first place. As we finished, the other three masters e
ntered.

  “Our master keys are all on our rings,” Master Banton said.

  The High-Master pulled his own keyring from his pocket, showing his master key. “As is mine. So then, how can there by a fifth?”

  Master Voralius asked for the extra key and inspected it closely. “This key is much newer. As you can see, ours are dull and tarnished, while this one shines.”

  “It was not an unknown fifth original copy then.” High-Master Chendor sighed. “Somehow, another copy was made within the past few years.”

  “Or several.” Master Voralius clenched his fist over the key. “And they lost one.”

  Master Banton looked at us. “You are certain you found the key as Master Orcus relays? You didn’t receive it from someone?”

  “No,” Marcus insisted. “I really did find it. I—I didn’t know what it was.”

  Master Orcus bit his lip. “Why did you take the book from my storeroom? Do you realize how dangerous this book would be if it left the guild? Were you going to study it yourselves in secret?”

  High-Master Chendor held up a hand. “Orcus, we must learn to ask questions first, and make judgments after. Go with Spaldeer back to the library, who shall reveal to you a secret tunnel that leads into your storeroom. Have it filled and sealed at once, then detach and bring me the trapdoor. I wish to examine the handiwork.”

  “A tunnel? How is that possible?”

  “We’ll speculate on how later.” High-Master Chendor quickly summarized our story to the masters. “Voralius, collect some journeymen and search their basement, though I’m certain the offenders are long gone by now. Hofen will accompany you and show you the start of this tunnel.”

  “I shall summon the master locksmith about the key,” Master Banton declared. “We must determine how copies were made.”

  The High-Master nodded his approval. “Also seek out the seamstress, though I’d be shocked if you found her now. Let the seamstress high-master know she is wanted for questioning, but not why. We must keep this very quiet.”

  “I’ll meet up with Banton with the key copy once I’ve finished, then,” said Master Voralius. “I wish to see this new key work for myself.”