The Dungeoneers (26 page)

“Maybe you could try talking to it,” Lena grunted. “It's just another one of nature's beautiful creatures, after all.”

The druid shook her head emphatically. “Oh, I don't think so,” she said.

“You talk to
spiders
!”

“Size matters! That thing is terrifying!”

“Just pretend it's a kitten!” Lena shouted, then turned just in time to dodge a strike from the scorpion's tail, slashing at it and nearly taking off its tip. She advanced toward the beast, swinging at it with each grunted word. “An evil . . . ugly . . . oversized . . . armor-plated . . . bug-eyed . . . lobster-clawed . . . poison-dripping kitten!”

The last blow clanged off the monster's thick plating. The scorpion scampered sideways and caught Lena in one pincer, squeezing her tight.

“Lena!” Colm rolled sideways as the other claw swept over his head, and he made an ineffectual jab with Scratch. He could see chinks in the monster's armor, soft fleshy parts that would invite a more effective blow. He dodged another swipe and then lunged—the way Finn had taught him—aiming for the spot where the claw attached to the body. He felt Scratch sink in, saw the scorpion arch backward, then felt a blow to his side.

Colm spun and hit the stone floor, turning to see the creature's mandibles working angrily above his face, dripping with scorpion drool, which, for all Colm knew, was probably designed to dissolve his skin and melt his bones. He tried to swing Scratch, but one of the monster's pincers had him pinned to the floor. Colm turned his head—he couldn't bear to look at those dripping jaws opening and closing, reaching down for him. Then he felt a flash of heat, everything exploding in a burst of orange and red. The weight lifted, the scorpion retreating a step, its grip on Lena loosening just enough for her to wriggle free as well.

He looked up to see Quinn standing over him, torch in hand.

“You make do,” he said. Then the mageling shrieked and fell backward as the scorpion jabbed again with its stinger, just missing but causing Quinn to drop his torch. Colm shouted to get the monster's attention, giving Quinn a chance to escape.

The scorpion turned and advanced, causing Colm to scrabble backward on feet and elbows. The creature was right on top of him again. For a split second, Colm thought about home. He could almost see Celia waiting for him at the door. He thought of Finn's promise.

There was a flash of silver as Lena leaped over Colm, sword in hand. Colm watched the scorpion's tail strike, jabbing her in the shoulder, in the chink of her own armor, as she lunged. He heard a horrible sound as her blade found its mark between
the creature's eyes. It reeled in pain, tail thrashing, legs wavering, then turned and scurried back through the archway and into the shadows.

Lena stood there for a moment, sword in hand. Then she looked at her shoulder and the spot of red blossoming between the plates of steel.

Colm saw her eyes roll into the back of her head just before she hit the floor.

It wasn't a lot of blood. But it didn't take much. The scorpion's stinger had caught her just above the armpit, finding her weak spot the same way she had found its—a small puncture, as if she had been jabbed with a quill. Except it was quickly turning black.

“What's happening?” Quinn asked as the three of them huddled over Lena's stiffening body.

“What do you think? She fainted,” Colm said. Lena was still breathing, but he could tell there was something else wrong. He looked over at Serene, who had removed the pauldron that hadn't covered enough of Lena's shoulder and was now bent over, studying the wound. She wiped away the spot of blood and touched it gingerly. Lena's eyes shot open.

“I'll kill them! I'll tackle them all!” Her eyeballs danced back and forth from Colm to Serene to Quinn; then they shot down to her feet. “Wait. Why can't I move my legs?”

“That's what I was afraid of,” Serene said, giving the wound another prod. “Scorpion venom varies by type. Some are
poisons meant to kill, others to cause pain. Some are just meant to paralyze.”

“Well, I guess it could be worse,” Colm said.

It got worse.

“I can't move my arms either.” Lena shouted. Her eyes flew wide with panic. “How am I supposed to slay anything if I can't move my
mrrfm frrfermrrfer
. . . .”

Colm kept his hand over Lena's mouth, then turned back to Serene. “You're up,” he said.

The druid tugged on her braids, her face full of worry. “I know, I know,” she hissed. “Don't rush me! It's not magic, it's poison, so blessings or countercurses won't work. You need a natural remedy.” She slipped her bag off her shoulder and frantically started digging through the jars she kept there, pulling out little vials of ground-up powders and multicolored pastes. “Stupid! I brought all of this stuff, but I don't have anything that specifically counteracts paralyzing scorpion venom.”

“All that and you've got nothing?” Quinn remarked.

“I don't see you doing anything to help!” Serene snapped.

Colm tried to get her to focus. “Counteracts? Like what?”

“I don't know,” Serene said. “Like . . . telarium root, or stimsickle juice, or even if I just had some ballum balm.”

“Wait, what was that middle part again?” Colm said.

“Stimsickle?”

Colm smiled and held up a finger, then fished in his own bag for the package, still tied with twine. He handed it to Serene.

“Where did you—” she started to ask, but Colm shook his head.

“Rogues' motto,” he said. He grabbed Lena's hand and watched as Serene frantically tore the stimsickle leaf to bits, dropping those into a vial of clear liquid from her own pack. It instantly turned yellow and gave off a rankled smell as the leaf dissolved—something like pickled onions. The concoction fizzed for a moment, then settled. Serene handed it to Colm, who brought it to Lena's nose.

Lena shook her head vehemently, clamping her lips as tight as scorpion pincers.

“You have to drink it,” Colm insisted.

“Mm-mm!”
Lena insisted right back. Serene put a finger to Lena's lips.

“You need to trust me,” she said. “This is
my
thing.”

Lena took a deep breath, then nodded. “This better work.”

“If it doesn't, it's not like you'll be able to do much about it,” Colm pointed out. Lena shut her eyes and he tipped the vial, emptying the reeking contents down her throat. She choked once but managed to swallow most of it.

“How long will it take to work, do you think?” Quinn asked, but before Serene could even answer, Lena's eyes shot back open and she bolted upright. Then she turned and gave Colm a shove, knocking him backward.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Just testing,” she said.

She kicked with both legs and wiggled her fingers. “That
was, by far, the nastiest stuff I have ever tasted,” she concluded. “Makes squirrel innard stew sound appealing.”

“You could just say thanks, you know,” Serene said.

“Guys,” Quinn said, holding one of the torches and pointing it at the smaller of the two entries on the far wall. “You're not going to believe this.”

Colm helped Lena to her feet, and they all walked to where Quinn was standing. It was another room, much smaller than the chamber they stood in now. The only light came from the torches they carried. Colm glanced up, but the ceiling was too high and shrouded in darkness. The back wall, on the other hand, was clearly visible. As was what sat against it.

“We found it,” Lena said.

A chest. Solid oak, by the look of it, with gold hasps and bracings and black iron chain handles. It looked huge, large enough to hold all of Lena's weapons, and much too heavy for even two of them to lift together. An elaborate-looking lock was set into its center, like a solitary eye staring at Colm, almost mocking him. All four of them stepped gingerly into the close chamber.

“There's no way we are going to be able to carry that thing,” Serene said.

“We don't have to,” Lena said. “We just need what's inside.”

Three pairs of eyes turned and looked at Colm.

“Right,” he said. He knelt down in front of the chest, gingerly running his hand along its smooth top and then placing
it on the lock itself. He immediately got a chill, a tingle that worked its way up the length of his arm and down his spine. He had felt it before.

In fact, this lock looked almost identical to lock twenty-four. Colm slumped backward, hands on his knees.

“Is there a problem?” Lena prodded.

“Well . . . yes and no,” he said. “I know how to pick it. Not too hard, really. It's just that this particular lock happens to be . . . enchanted.”

“So?”

“So . . . enchanted locks need to be disenchanted. Which is usually the mage's responsibility.” He looked at Quinn.

“Oh.” The mageling sighed. “Well, I c-c-could give it a tr-tr-try, I g-g-guess.”

Colm thought about Master Velmoth's flaming robes, about the training hall going up in smoke. He was pretty sure Lena and Serene were thinking the same thing.

“Are there no other ways around it?” Lena asked.

“Sure. There are other ways. There are special keys, scrolls, Magic Dan's Antimagic Paste . . .”

“Magic who?”

“You know,” Colm said, humming the tune. “‘Don't trust your locks to any man; for magic locks, use Magic Dan's.' It's this white stuff. Comes in a jar. Smells sweet. Looks like . . .”

Colm looked at Quinn. The boy was a mess. Eyes bloodshot. Face flushed. Little bits of frosting from breakfast still in the corners of his mouth. And on his chin. And his sleeve.
Colm leaned over and sniffed the boy's chin, the boy who had no magic today.

It smelled like wintergreen.

“Renny slipped some into Velmoth's stew once, as a joke. Velmo couldn't cast spells for a week.”

“That jerk,” Colm whispered to himself.

“Why are you sn-sniffing me?” Quinn wanted to know.

Colm shook his head. “Tyren was right. You missed some,” he said. Then he reached over and scraped the dollop of white paste that was stuck to the mageling's sleeve.

“Just out of curiosity,” Lena began, “what the heck are you doing?”

“New rule,” Colm said. “Never choose the roll with the most frosting.” He rounded back on the chest and spread the white paste around the edges of the lock.

“Do you expect Quinn to eat his way through the lock?” Serene asked.

“It's not frosting,” Colm replied. “We have to wait for the enchantment to dissolve.” Quinn still looked confused, scraping at another bit of frosting still sitting on his sleeve. Colm pressed his hand to the lock, felt the magical aura dissolve; then he reached in his bag for his picks, choosing the one that had worked before. The other three hunched around him.

“This is exciting,” Serene said, sounding a little surprised.

Colm licked his lips and felt each lever give in turn. With the enchantment gone, it was a matter of memory, his fingertips tracing over all the movements he'd made before. The
lock sprang free. Colm hesitated, then felt Lena's elbow in his ribs.

“What are you waiting for?
Open
it.”

Colm gingerly lifted the lid, lips pursed, eyes slit against what he assumed would be the blinding intensity of a pile of gold or a cache of glittering gemstones. He held his breath. This was the moment he had been training so hard for.

The chest was empty. Or almost empty. There was a single coin sitting at the bottom.

Silver.

Colm picked it up, reached for his pocket, then shook his head. He couldn't help it. He started laughing, his laughter echoing off the stone walls.

“What is this? Some kind of joke?” Lena remarked, staring at the huge, hollow treasure chest that contained no treasure. Colm spun the silver coin in his palm.

“Inside joke,” he said. He looked again and noticed the small scrap of parchment sitting at the bottom of the chest. He dug it out and held it up to the torchlight to read. “It's from Master Bloodclaw.” Colm read the message out loud: “‘You groped and moped and found your way around my little maze. You ducked the claw and dodged the tail and drove the beast away.'”

“That doesn't even rhyme,” Lena said.

Colm continued: “‘You found the chest and broke the lock and think your task is done. But we still have a little time to have a lot of fun. So be proud of what you've done here, and
hold your head up high. But if you dare, you should beware of the falling sky.'”

“What p-p-part of this was f-fun?” Quinn wanted to know.

“Whatever. Let's just take the stupid coin and get out of here.” Lena slammed the lid of the treasure chest shut, the sound of it rebounding off the walls of the small chamber, causing Colm to jump.

“Careful!” Colm hissed, bringing his finger to his lips. There was another sound. One he recognized from his recent afternoons with Finn. The mechanical
click
of something being set in motion, sliding into place. Levers and gears suddenly animated, working in rhythm.

The sound of a trap.

Colm spun just in time to see a giant slab of stone sliding into place out of nowhere, sealing them inside the small chamber. They all rushed for the door, but too late. The mechanical sound didn't stop, though. If anything, it intensified, transforming into a grinding, the sound of stone scraping against stone.

“Is that the ceiling?” Serene asked, pointing upward.

“And what are those tiny black bristles?” Quinn wanted to know.

Colm looked up. In the flicker of the torch, he could just make out the curved ceiling, slowly descending. He heard Quinn moan. He let the goblin's terrible poem drop to the floor.

The sky was falling. And it was covered in spikes.

Colm's first thought was of the Wolf Pack, the ones they had learned about from Master Fimbly. They were professionals, and they still fell victim to a trap just like this. At least Quinn was currently incapable of accidentally casting an enlarging spell on them. If they were going to get skewered, they would be their regular size.