Jak Barley-Private Inquisitor and the Case of the Seven Dwarves (33 page)

"Oh!" I had been under the notion time was of no import since the priests were not going to get Dorga's head--therefore no mass sacrifices.

"How long has Zgahnisma been going on?"

"Five days," he answered tightly.

Five days? One handful of days of being able to do nothing while a young maiden a day was being bled and burned! Now I knew why Berrick appeared so stressed.

"In the morning or evening?"

"Evening."

"What time?"

"In about an hour and a half."

I suddenly felt roused again. "Then we better hasten. What disguise are you wearing?"

Berrick was dressed in a long gray robe that went to his ankle. It had no hood.

He seemed startled by my outburst. "I am a supply clerk."

"Supply clerk?"

"Every temple has supply clerks. We distribute everything from the food for the suphall to sandals, parchment, torch oil, and sacrificial blades."

I do not know why I was surprised by the need of supply clerks for temples dedicated to a death god. It seemed so mundane.

"You were following me all afternoon. Can you go freely about the temple?"

"Hah! A supply clerk has more power than a middle priest. You need a new blanket? A set of quills? Lost your winter underwear? It can take weeks to requisition an item. But know a supply clerk--trade a favor--and it be yours."

This was something to ponder. "Only middle priests?

"Even the high priest of a temple sometimes desires an extra case of wine or fine meats," Berrick answered in a cynical tone.

"Can you travel to the quarters of the high priest?"

"I have. Why do you ask?"

"Could you travel there with a minor priest?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well. Can you?"

Berrick paused. I was afraid he would become mulish. I was a younger private inquisitor and one he still appeared to distrust.

"We could enter the domain of the high priest. But once there without a good reason, we would be questioned. And without a good reason, even a supply clerk would be under suspect. Why do you ask?"

"I told you how I once impersonated the high priest of the Stagsford temple. If it worked once, it can work again."

I had to wait through another long pause.

"You are mad. I will not waste all my efforts at infiltrating this temple on some foolish gamble."

"What good is all your stealth if an innocent maiden, someone's daughter or sister, is about to be bled and burned?" I asked. "What more can you do for the King? I am sure you have already sent numerous reports. Is that all you are, a toothless scribe?"

I have been criticized as being too impulsive by some and I try to control such urges. But I could not slink about some dark cavern knowing of the horror about to pass in the Dorga shrine. Try as I might, my blood was too far up. I even considered rapping Berrick on the head and taking his garb, but it would be too large for me.

I was getting tired of Berrick's pauses, but I controlled my ardor long enough for him to answer. He straightened in the tunnel entryway and a bit of the weariness evaporated from his frame.

"Barley, you almost push me too far and it angers me. You have no grasp of what horrors I have seen in this depraved temple. I have suffered much and it will haunt me in dreams and to the crypt."

He paused again and by his tormented expression, I was fearful he might yet use his blade.

"But now that you have suggested a course of action, no matter how futile, I can no longer sit by," his speech burst as if from a broken wine jug. "Follow me."

Berrick wheeled about and with large strides, made his way back into the lit passage. I was hard pressed to match his pace. Whereas I had just aimlessly wandered the temple burrows, Berrick was on a purposeful route. I was still not grasping this sudden turn. If Berrick had agreed to my mad plan after an hour's argument, I would have been surprised. I could only surmise he had been already teetering on the verge of some foolhardy venture.

The trouble was that I was not certain what to do once the high priest was in our power. I decided it would be best not to mention this, remembering how irked I would get at Lorenzo's half formed plots.

The temple reminded me of an ant nest. The numerous off branches were as a maze. I could not tell if we were in the heart of the mountain or manmade tunnels.

Berrick was right. It did not matter if they be guard, servant or priest--at the sight of his gray robe, he was met with solicitous greetings. We passed a set of guards standing stiffly at the entrance to a well-lit passage and stopped before another ornate door. This one was adorned with a large image of Dorga holding the tiny figure of a squirming, naked maiden. It appeared to be snack time-he was about to pop her in his mouth like a grape.

Berrick rapped before I could stop him. I had wanted to at least discuss several possible ploys. The door slowly swung in. Greeting us was a fleshy servant with a head like an egg. He was even missing eyebrows. I opened my mouth to begin a pretext for our visit when Berrick slipped out his blade and plunged it into the lackey's left eyeball.

"I have wanted to do that for some time," he explained as the body toppled toward me.

I jumped out of the way and the corpse landed with a thump across the doorsill.

"Everyone should have an ambition in life," I observed, "but should we be so impromptu?"

"You have not seen what I have seen," was his simple reply.

It was difficult to argue with that. I jumped over the fallen form and began dragging the body into the apartment while Berrick watched with an eerie distraction. I hoped he was not going weird on me. It was a strain to move the corpulent corpse by myself.

"Who was at the door?" a voice asked from another room.

I looked at Berrick to see if he was about to launch himself on another impulsive deed. The private inquisitor had turned his head to the source of the voice, but otherwise stood as if serenely waiting for a carriage. I ran as softly as I could to the doorway and arrived at the same moment as the high priest. We both jumped. The priest was opening his mouth as if to scream, it still equipped with pointy little teeth, when a dagger materialized magically in his left eye. The evil priest of Dorga dropped just as quickly as the servant.

"Will you quit that," I almost shouted. "It is playing havoc with my nerves."

Berrick did not answer. He silently crossed the room and retrieved his blade; wiping it on the priest's robe before returning it to its sheath. I grimaced. I was planning to wear that robe, but decided not to complain. I looked down at the decidedly dead high priest. So much for having him recite bedtime poems to my children.

I turned back to Berrick. His eyes were unfocused. I waved a hand in front of his face. Nothing. He had obviously gone over the precipice. I gently took him by the arm and sat him on a couch before returning to the body and beginning the unpleasant chore of disrobing the priest. The robe was a little billowish, but it would have to do.

Standing in the middle of the room, I spoke several common commands until I believed I had the comparable timber of the high priest's voice.

"Berrick, I am going to go now. Can you lock this door behind me?"

No answer. I stooped over the dazed private inquisitor and repeated the question. This time he vaguely looked into my face and nodded. I took the blade gingerly from his hand and hid it in my robe, then pulled him from the couch and urged him to the door.

"This be a strong bolt and you will be safe here until I return," I spoke slowly as if to a child. "Will you be all right until then?"

Again a vague nod. I sighed and pulling the hood over my head, opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

"Remember, close the bolt."

He again nodded. I waited at the closed door until I heard the bolt slide safely in place. I had seen former soldiers like him at the King's Wart Inn sitting silently in dark corners. Sometimes they would rouse to curse randomly at a passing patron. They were usually left alone as long as they did not pose an overt peril.

Chapter Eighteen

I suddenly realized that without Berrick as a guide, I had no way of finding my way to Dorga's chamber of horrors.

"Are you ready, your high officiness?"

I turned to find several guards and a priest before me. I hesitated then waved my hand to lead on. I was hoping it would be to the sacrificial hall, but asking would give myself away. I developed the only plan I could think of as we tread through the endless maze. I would grab whatever sacrificial maiden was at hand and scale the brass belly of the god, there to enter the mouth of the fish-headed god and slide down its gullet. The statue at the Stagsford temple was hollow and an alcove below also led to a maze of secret tunnels.

Several times I believed I recognized a passage, but it was impossible to be certain until I once again came to the massive bronze doors. My group stopped and looked at me in question. There was some command or formal procedure they expected of me.

"I am impatient to begin the ceremony," I mimicked the priest's voice as bet I could, "just open the gates."

I was the high priest and no matter the unorthodox command, they would obey me. After looking at each other in uncertainty, a guard stepped forward and took the mallet in hand. He beat the door three times and several seconds later it began to slowly open. I was met with a vision from Hades. A large crowd of devotees milled about the base of the idol. The room was abuzz with the excited murmurs of bloodthirsty Dorga followers. Some were gibbering madly and dancing.

The room turned silent as we entered and the mob parted as my entourage led me to the base of the platform. The adherents bowed and murmured as I passed. I nodded coolly in return and hoped the hood would not fall back. The guards remained at the foot of the stairs as the priest and I climbed to the altar. A young woman lay on the marble slab above the giant fire basin. Since there was just one offering tonight, the fire consisted of only several tree trunks ablaze instead of the veritable forest that would be consumed for Dorga's planned return. I was handed the sacrificial blade and we walked to the altar.

A sense of foreboding swept over me as we neared the maiden. Long, black hair spilled down the side of the marble slab. I stopped at the edge of the altar and gazed at the still form of Morgana. She was garbed in a diaphanous gown that left little to the imagination. The blade trembled in my hand. The priest beside me began a stiffly shouted litany as the throng replied at set pauses.

This was not going as planned. Morgana had been drugged or placed under a hex. There was no way I could scale the idol with her as a dead weight. I could tell the ritual was coming to a close by the rising pitch of the refrain. I was sweating profusely under the hood and one drop of sweat fell directly on Morgana's brow. She frowned and blinked, then slightly opened one eye before explosively flying from the altar. With one hand she grabbed for the knife and with her other palm she made to smash my nose, which I barely ducked. I stumbled back and felt the object of my affection twist one arm behind my back while thrusting the sacrificial knife to my throat.

"Stand back of I will have the blood of your priest flowing down these stones rather than mine," she commanded in a strident voice.

The other priest was as startled as me and he stood motionless in uncertainty. The mob was silent. Pulling me back, she whispered in my ear, "Priest, if you hope to survive, you will follow my orders. We will scale this gruesome idol of yours to its hideous mouth, where I will release you if you behave. Understand?"

She had remembered my tales of being hostage in the Dorga temple in Stagsford. I began to speak, but she pulled the blade tighter to my throat. "No accursed spells or speech. Just nod," she snapped.

I nodded. As we backed toward the crossed legs of the statue, she again yelled to the crowd, "Your priest will be safe, but Dorga has commanded me to enter his mouth so he can converse with me."

This set off a murmur of confused voices with a few sounding distrustful. Still, the shock of what was going on before their eyes was enough to keep them from taking any action. It was difficult climbing the highly polished belly of the fish-headed god of death with only the rolls of fat providing handholds. Making it more difficult was Morgana's tight grip. I tried again to speak, only to have the blade pressed tighter against my neck.

We came to a halt beneath the chin. It was impossible for her to find a purchase on a necklace as big as a log chain while keeping the knife at my throat.

"Well, priest, I am afraid I will not be keeping my promise as having seen what evil deeds you have..."

"Ah, could not we talk about this for a moment," I quickly interrupted. "I just got this robe cleaned. You know how hard it is to get blood out."

I could feel her body tense against mine. "You are truly villainous to mimic the voice of a man better than you could ever be. Tell me, does he still live?"

"If you can call it living. You would not believe what my day has been like," I spoke as well as I could with the knife pressed even tighter against my throat. "I would certainly feel better about it all if you would just lighten up on the blade."

Morgana jerked back my head with her free hand and drew off the hood.

"Jak! Oh, Jak, how could it be you?"

I was out of clever retorts. I grimaced and shrugged my shoulders. The mob burst into mad howls at the sight of my bared face.

"I believe you can put the knife down, now," I reminded Morgan, "and make haste to Dorga's maw."

The witch's daughter gave me a sound kiss on the check and turned to begin the final stage of the climb. Once over the lip, she turned to offer a helping hand. I tumbled over a familiar set of fish teeth and was met by Morgana, who tightly pressed herself against me as she lightly sobbed. I put one arm around her neck and pulled her down for a long kiss.

"Come," I said, pushing her away, "we must hurry before they think to follow."

"Oh, Jak," she repeated in an anguished whisper.

"What is wrong?" I sat up and looked below. The devotees were already climbing the stairway. I turned back to Morgana then noticed the back of Dorga's mouth. It abruptly ended. There was no throat, no escape passage. The Dorga idol was not an exact replica of the idol in Stagsford.

"Well, that does not look good." I laid a hand on Morgana's trembling shoulder. "But we should be able to hold them for a while. Only a couple can come up at a time."

Morgana sat up and fingered her sacrificial blade. I withdrew the blade I had taken from Berrick and held it before her.

"The high priest may have been waiting for Dorga's eyes, but he lost one of his own with this knife."

She examined the blade and placed a finger against its tip. "What do you mean?"

"I mean our split-tongue friend is not going to be roasting virgins anymore."

She lifted an eyebrow. I fingered my borrowed robe in answer.

"You killed the priest?"

"No, but the owner of the knife did. He is not feeling well and is holed up in the high priest's chambers."

Our discussion was rudely interrupted by a swelling roar from below.

"Now what?" I sighed and thrust my head over Dorga's lip.

"What is it?"

"Ah, this is not good."

"You already said that."

"Now I mean it."

She crawled to my side and looked down. The rabble was parting before a large form lumbering to the base of the idol. Evil emanated from the figure and the devotees closest to him seemed to wilt and collapse to the floor. Still, the god would have been much more imposing if he had a head.

"Dorga!" she gasped.

"I did not see this coming," I admitted. "If it is not one damned thing after another."

A couple priests were running to keep up with the long strides of the headless god of death. A black-robed member of the followers grabbed Dorga's left hand and began making what appeared to be finger signs in its palm. They led the god up the stairs and past the altar to stop at the crossed legs of his larger likeness. Dorga raised his arms like a sleepwalker and leaned forward with outstretched fingers until touching the statue.

I felt an overwhelming dread and despair at his approach. It seemed to intensify as Dorga blindly began his climb. Morgana was violently trembling at my side. I raised a hand to comfort Morgana, but found it shaking in harmony with her. The last week of trials had finally caught up with me and my body was yielding to the strain. I tried to speak calming words for Morgana, but my throat felt constricted and I realized I could barely catch my breath.

Dorga was a monster. No statue could reveal the pure malevolence, the foulness that radiated from his real body. All my strength was draining away. An anguished moan slowly escaped from Morgana's lips. The blade I borrowed from Berrick dropped from my immobilized fingers. I began shaking even more violently.

It was the stuff of nightmares. Dorga's clumsy ascent brought him inexorably closer, and the nearer he came, the stronger his presence was wrenching me apart. What had he been like with a head? Now I knew why the ancients had gone through such arduous lengths to scatter his body. I could not imagine the courage and strength it took for the task. No wonder Berrick was so disturbed if he had witnessed this.

The temple had become totally silent except for the scraping of Dorga's searching fingers. A shadow preceded the hand that finally reached in with its blunt fingers as thick as my wrists. A nauseating jolt surged through my body as I was lifted by my left arm and pulled from the idol's mouth like a kernel from its shell. His touch leached the heat from my arm and the chill began spreading through my body. A wild cheer erupted from the worshippers as I was displayed as a trophy, dangling limply from Dorga's outstretched arm. I flittered in and out of consciousness as he retraced his way back down the idol. Standing on the crossed legs of his giant likeness, Dorga's body flung me to the waiting priests who eagerly caught and carried me to the altar. I watched helplessly as he began climbing back to Morgana's refuge.

Some of my strength began returning and my head slightly cleared as the distance grew between the god and I--but that was of little solace with a half dozen priest firmly holding me down. I attempted to jerk one arm free and was rewarded with a cuff that snapped my head to the side and made me see bright, flashing lights.

I realized there was more to the bursts of light when rather than fade, they grew in intensity. My captors' grisly joy turned to panic and they stumbled away from the altar. I attempted to push myself to a sitting position, but dropped back down when hit by a wave of lightheadedness. One bolt of flame momentarily blinded me.

I did not know how the witch Morganna had gained the temple as swiftly as she had, probably with some magical aid, but I have never felt such a sense of relief as I did on the altar of Dorga. The floor shook under the massive impact of what could only have been a dislodged god. I opened my watering eyes to see I had missed being crushed by his fall by only several feet.

I was able to roll off the opposite side of the stone altar and ducked beneath it. The wild bursts of lightning were striking haphazardly around the huge temple chamber--ripping chunks of stone from the ceiling, punching scorching gaps into the now panicking crowd of worshippers, and blasting holes through the stone walls. Chunks of falling ceiling were dropping all about. The air was filled with dust and the stink of burning flesh. The witch was obviously very piqued.

Though I could still feel the deadening emanations of Dorga, I was no longer shaking uncontrollably and managed to stand. The god was beginning to stir. I had to save Morgana. I looked up to where she hid, only to be blinded by another burst of flame. I was shocked, not by the brilliance of the flash, but from where it had burst forth. The bolts of energy were striking from the idol's mouth!

The onslaught ended as quickly as it began. The screams of fleeing Dorga followers almost covered the crawling rustle of something moving near my head. I turned to see what at first appeared to be a large, vampire spider. I hate spiders, but I would have welcomed a spider at that moment. Picking its way over shards of broken stone was one of Dorga's hands. I weakly pushed myself to my feet and steadied myself against the altar. Dorga lay in pieces, several parts already flexing and inching themselves toward the torso for another reunion. I kicked the hand as hard as my weakness allowed and sent it tumbling away from the body.