Ratastrophe Catastrophe (17 page)

As the group scurried from the conference room, Modeset turned and crossed over to the window, scanning the closest rooftops for assassins. Evidently, the Yowlers were becoming as restless as the general populace. It wouldn’t be long before they tried again. The clock was ticking.

“W
HO’S THIS I’M ON?
” said Groan, lifting his lower regions to enable the prisoner a gasp of air.

“That’s Stump,” said Jimmy, nervously. Gordo helped Tambor to his feet, and patted some dust from the sorcerer’s shoulders as he did so.

Jimmy rubbed his shoulder. “Stump, this is my granddad,” he said. “And these are, er, his friends.”

“I don’t got no friends,” said Groan, scowling.

“I’m Gordo, this is Groan,” said the dwarf, leaning against the tunnel wall.

“Never mind the introductions,” snapped Tambor. “What the devil are you doing here, lad?”

“Er, looking for you,” Jimmy lied. “And the children.”

“What children?” said Gordo.

“The children of Dullitch,” Jimmy continued, breathlessly. “The foreigner took them when he wasn’t paid for killing the rats.”

Gordo frowned. “Took them?” he said. “Took them where?”

“He didn’t get paid?” said Groan, who had a different set of values.

“Everyone shut up!” shouted Tambor. “Let the boy speak.”

Four pairs of eyes fixed on the thief, who suddenly became quite timid.

“Er,” he said, “well, when he took the children, Duke Modeset told me to come and find you and offer you a reward to get them back—”

“How much?” said Groan.

“Shhh!” said Gordo.

“I’m only askin.”

“Well don’t!” the dwarf snapped. “This is serious. Being conned out of a reward is one thing, but you don’t involve kiddies. That’s just sick, and besides, that foreigner’s not right in the head. Don’t you remember when we first met him in the Ferret? His eyes were like embers and he was about ready to take on the whole bar!”

“I fort he was just daft.”

Gordo shook his head. “That’s not daft, that’s suicidal. It’s like he was possessed or something.” He beckoned Groan over to one side. “We’ve got to help.”

“No way,” Groan said, defiantly. “We won’t get paid.”

“We might! Anyway, it’s a matter of pride. The dwarf lords would send out an entire army if something like this happened back home. I’ve got no love for the duke—I think he’s a twisted sod—but, well, my brother’s got two little ones.”

“I’m not goin’ ’til I see some money.”

Gordo’s face creased into a frown. “Fine,” he said. “All these years we’ve known each other and it comes to this, does it? I’ll go on by myself, then.”

Despite the dwarf’s dismissal, Groan followed him back to the group.

It was at this point that Jimmy decided, rather unwisely, to come clean about the money. “Um,” he began. “The duke gave me a couple hundred crowns to give you as a down payment. The only problem is, I sort of packed them in the horse’s saddlebag and it kind of, well, ran off. Your spell book was in there too, Granddad. Sorry.”

Tambor rolled his eyes and was about to make a comment, when Gordo waved him into silence.

“Hang on,” said the dwarf. “Let’s keep focused on what’s important.”

“Yeah,” snapped Groan. “Which way did the ’orse go?

“What makes you think the foreigner’s up here?”
Gordo shouted, suddenly annoyed at his partner’s single-mindedness.

“Well,
we
told him, didn’t we?”

All eyes turned on Stump, who’d been waiting for an opening. “Mick and I, we saw him leadin’ those kids down into the depths.”

“There’s got to be a path from this tunnel somewhere,” said Jimmy, ignoring the fact that both Gordo and Tambor were obviously trying to look for Mick in the darkened tunnel. “All the others are just dead ends.”

“Yeah,” said Stump. “Besides, you don’t put up a secret wall panel to hide nothin’.”

Gordo shivered. “I’ve heard talk of this mountain,” he said. “They reckon the Black Horde used to meet down here somewhere. In a great big cavern, they said.”

“What Black Horde?” said Groan, who wasn’t great on history.

“
The
Black Horde,” said Gordo. “You know, in the old days. Those orcs that slaughtered a boatload of sorcerers from Aastenglia.”

“Psst,” shouted Stump, who’d ventured a little farther down the tunnel. “I think you should see this.”

The group wandered after him, and promptly arrived at a large gate in the center of the tunnel. Beyond it lay a two-way passage, but that wasn’t what the prisoner had noticed.

The dusty floor of the tunnel was covered in footprints, hundreds of footprints. There was also a tiny sandal just off to one side.

“Ha!” said Stump. “I told you.”

T
HE FAIR WASN’T PROVING
a total success. In fact, it had started badly and was getting worse by the minute. Currently, the duke was in the throne room, casting a cursory glance over the next phase of the entertainment.

“And here they are,” said the coordinator, stepping aside and indicating the dancers with a wave of his hand. “And I’ll say this: show me a better dance troupe in all the land, and you can have your money back.”

Duke Modeset cast a glance over the most pathetic assortment of miscreants he had ever set eyes on. He winced as a few of the group rushed to the aid of a member who had bent over to tie a ribbon on his leg and was having trouble standing upright again.

The duke cleared his throat. “They’re all a bit, well…old, aren’t they?” he ventured.

The coordinator shrugged. “In this case I felt only the most experienced dancers were required.”

“That one at the back with no hair, milord,” said Pegrand. “He’s on crutches, isn’t he?”

“I do believe you’re right—”

“That’s Mr. Gribbins,” interrupted the coordinator, subjecting the duke’s manservant to a malicious glare. “One of the finest clappers in the district.”

Modeset gave this careful consideration. “And he’s an active member of the team, is he?”

“Oh yes, certainly, without a doubt. Unless it’s Folk Week, in which case he does a wonderful turn as a maypole.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I think it would be fair to suggest,” said Modeset evenly, “that there isn’t a man in this room under seventy. Am I correct?”

The coordinator looked around, his head bobbing and weaving to achieve an all-encompassing view. “No, sir,” he said eventually. “I myself am forty-seven.”

Modeset pinched the bridge of his nose. “Pegrand?”

“Yes, milord?”

“Hang this man from the yardarm, will you?”

“Yes, milord. It’d be a pleasure.”

Modeset dismissed the dance troupe, padded across the flagstones, and collapsed into his throne. He was suffering from a terrible headache and an impending sense of doom, but at least he still had time. Oh, sure, there were rumors of heavy vandalism downtown, but that kind of thing happened all the time—nothing to worry about. The fireworks would last for another hour, and after that, well, either the children would return or he’d be murdered by an army of marauding parents. In the event of the former, there was a slim chance that his life would be spared. A lengthy period of exile was likely, but nothing more. Modeset grimaced; his would certainly be a reign to remember. He gazed up at the portraits of his ancestors and imagined that he saw a line of mocking smiles.

He was awoken from his vision by the sound of breaking glass. Pegrand careered into the room and fell to his knees. His head was bleeding.

“We’re under attack, milord,” he screamed. “The palace is under attack!”

T
HE PARTY IN THE
cavern was watching Groan rip out an iron gate. It didn’t take long; the barbarian tossed the gate aside like a child’s toy. Then he marched out into the intersection, peering cautiously in both directions.

“Anything?” Gordo inquired, battle-axe at the ready.

Groan sniffed, shook his head. “Lot o’ dust, nuffin much else.”

Jimmy ran through the arch and knelt to study the tunnel floor. “These footsteps came from the left, so they lead down there.”

The group turned to face the right-hand passage, which was blocked by a door of gargantuan proportions. Exotic-looking runes were emblazoned across its surface. They shone like gold.

“Ere, ’old this.” Groan handed Gordo his sword, then, with a running start, charged the portal. It wouldn’t budge.

“What does the writin’ say?” Stump asked, having second thoughts about his decision to stay in the mountain.

“It’s the same language that was written on the wall,” Tambor answered, a grimace forming. “It says that we’re nearing a place of ancient magic, a place where terrible necromancers from the First Age went to die.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” said Gordo.

“It’s not,” said Tambor. “I can’t imagine that the dead rest easy in a place like this, and I have a feeling our foreigner is possessed by something raw, ancient, and extremely terrible.”

“Sorcerers ’re all talk,” said Groan. “How ’bout the door?”

Tambor shook his head. “We’ll never get through it.”

“We have to!” Jimmy exclaimed. “Otherwise, the gods only know what he’ll do to those children. They might be lost forever!”

“Look, I can only remember a handful of spells without a spell book!” said Tambor. “Groan can’t get the door open and, with all due respect, I’m damn sure Gordo can’t. What else
can
we do but—”

There was a click, and the door creaked open. Stump was standing in front of it. For a moment, the group just boggled at him. Finally, Gordo approached the scruffy prisoner. “How did you do that?” he asked, matter-of-factly.

“Er, well, I sort of turned the handle,” Stump admitted. “You see, where I come from we put handles on the doors to stop people just walkin’ in. Then, if you
turn
the handle like this,”—he performed a small pantomime—“the door opens. It’s a proper miracle.”

Gordo tried to judge whether the prisoner was being sarcastic, before deciding that, on the contrary, he was serious.

“There’s a flight of stairs,” Tambor said, venturing a few feet into the passage beyond. “Judging by the breeze, I’d say it probably opens into a cavern of some kind.”

Jimmy snapped his fingers. “That’s it,” he said. “That’s got to be it!”

A
CROWD OF ANGRY FATHERS
stalked the streets. They’d split neatly into two groups; the vandalizers and the justice seekers.

The vandalizers consisted of those fathers who worked in the building and manual trades. In a single afternoon, they’d managed to wreck City Hall, the Treasury, and a whole host of other important civic structures.

The justice seekers, those fathers in the merchant trades who liked an ale or two, were gunning for blood.

At sunrise, they’d wanted to hurt the duke. So they demonstrated for a while, then most of them went for a small drink at the Ferret.

Lunchtime arrived, and they’d wanted to maim the duke. So they demonstrated some more, then most of them went for a small drink at the Ferret.

After lunch, they would settle for nothing less than death, but by this time they’d had rather a lot to drink; most of them knew they wanted to kill somebody, but they couldn’t remember who it was.

Instead, they staggered through the streets in various stages of drunkenness, throwing stones at each other and screaming abuse. Eventually, they’d tagged along with their city-wrecking counterparts.

“Great gods,” said Quaris Sands, watching from one of the only palace windows to escape the stoning. “The language! Is
scuddikuvoff
actually a word?”

Burnie shrugged, spilling something lumpy from one shoulder. “I wouldn’t argue with them,” he said, rolling a blobby yellow eyeball. “This is getting out of hand, though. If those children aren’t found soon, there’ll be nothing for them to come home to!”

“Agreed, agreed,” said Quaris.

“So what are we going to do?” asked Burnie.

“I don’t know! The duke’s all out of ideas and I’m damn sure I am.”

Quaris picked at his bushy eyebrow for a time, then appeared to reach a conclusion. “I think,” he said, pausing between words for dramatic effect, “that we should climb to the top of the highest tower in the palace and jump out the window.”

Burnie sighed. “Very funny. We could just hide until it all blows over.”

“Hide?
Hide?
We’re supposed to be in charge of the City Council!” shouted Quaris.

“Ha! Correction, beardy,” said Burnie, shaking his head. “
You
are in charge of the City Council,
I
have a seat on it. Big difference. Besides, sooner or later the worst of those idiots out there are going to sober up and then they’ll
really
mean business.”

“But our hands are tied! We can’t do anything until we’ve heard from the hunting party! If there even
is
a hunting party! Oh gods! Oh despair!”

Quaris grabbed two handfuls of his own hair and dropped to his knees, emitting a low, desperate moan.

Burnie watched him with a bemused smile, and said, “Any chance we think about this a bit more before you book in at the asylum?”

“It’s no use. We’re doomed; the children are gone, the duke is going to be murdered, the city is bankrupt, and we’re all doomed!”

“Yes, fantastic; after you with the suicide pills. However, in the meantime, we need to keep these lunatics out of the palace, so just let me think, okay?” said Burnie, pacing back and forth.

“What is there to think about? We’re descending into hell,” cried Quaris.

“Yes, yes. Now, pull yourself together!”

Quaris stopped moaning almost immediately, and struggled to his feet. After a few sniffles, he managed to regain some composure.

“Right,” Burnie continued. “Grab some furniture and we’ll try to barricade ourselves in.”

“Okay, okay, but that means moving out of the shadows,” said Quaris, anxiously.

The troglodyte twitched. “After you.”

T
HE PARTY EMERGED OUT
onto a rocky promontory overlooking a vast darkness. Jimmy was the first to get a clear view of his surroundings.