Shadewell Shenanigans (6 page)

“No, milady.”

“He’s doing it because he’s had some sort of bet with Duke Modeset and all those other half-wits.

“That would explain why they’re here, Highness.”

Susti paused, studying her servant’s expression with care. “That would explain why
who
is here?” she inquired.

“Duke Modeset, Highness. He’s staying in the East Tower with his manservant.”

“Hmm … I wonder why he didn’t make his presence known at the arena.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to be seen, Highness.”

“Ha! I knew it. There’s something going on. I’ll bet my father’s told them all that he can get me married off before the Spring Games. Don’t laugh, Bronwyn. I’m serious!”

“Surely not, milady,” said the servant, emerging from the shadows. She shared the princess’s hourglass figure, but her skin was so pale that she was almost ghostly in appearance. “If that were the case, then surely your father would marry you off to a local noble?”

Susti shook her head. “You don’t know my father, Bronwyn, you really don’t. He has a kind heart, but he’s very weak willed when it comes to the other lords, Modeset especially.”

“And you, milady? What about you?”

“Oh, I don’t have any feelings, Bronwyn; I’m just bait. Well, we’ll soon see about that, won’t we?”

“Milady?”

Susti gave the girl one of her golden smiles. “We’re going on a little trip,” she said.

“We?”

“Yes, you and I.”

“Oh, but won’t your father—”

“Do not mention his name in my presence, Bronwyn!” Susti snapped. “From now on, as far as I’m concerned, I’m an orphan.”

“B-but, milady.” Bronwyn hurried over to the princess, who had jumped to her feet and was determinedly pacing the room. “W-what are you going to do?”

Susti stopped pacing and took a deep, meditative breath. “It’s quite simple, Bronwyn,” she said. “I’m going to escape!”

It was unfashionably early in Phlegm when the Teethgrit party left for the first leg of their journey, and there wasn’t a soul on the streets. Even the main gate, which was usually packed with guards, sported no more than a few snoozing sentries and a rather mangy-looking hound.

Gordo led the group, partly because he’d determined the route they were taking, but mostly because Groan and Gape couldn’t stop arguing about which one of them should go in front. Gordo strongly suspected that the argument would not be an isolated incident. At least, he reflected, they had a decent map.

In fact, the knight’s enchanted scroll showed the entire continent of Illmoor and several surrounding islands. Dotted all over these (some clustered in groups and some more evenly spaced) were many tiny pinpricks of light, presumably depicting the sites of buried treasure. Gordo squinted as he struggled to find the island of Kazbrack. His squint quickly changed to a scowl, when, having located the little landmass just off the east coast, he discovered that the area was completely devoid of a dot.

“What’s the problem?” Gape asked, but Gordo’s mind was definitely elsewhere. In fact, it had strolled through peevishness, cantered through annoyance, and was now galloping toward fury.

“Bloody liar,” he spat.

“Eh?” said Groan and Gape in unison.

“There’s no treasure mark!” the dwarf snapped. “Not one!”

“How d’you mean?” said Gape, hurrying forward and peering over Gordo’s shoulder.

“Dots mean treasure, and there’re dots all over the place, so there should be a dot! There’s no bloody dot, damn it!”

The brothers were looking at the dwarf as if he’d just suggested they all buy an ostrich.

“Not a single ONE!” Gordo shouted incredulously. “Not on Kazbrack, Rintintetly, Windlass Eyrie
or
bloody Fastrush Pass! This map’s useless. I
told
you that knight was dodgy!”

“No, you didn’t,” Gape said resentfully. “You merely told the knight that if it
didn’t
work, we would find him. Besides, you didn’t seriously think—”

“I’m going back. Herbert of Bree, wasn’t it?”

Gordo spun around and began to march determinedly back toward Phlegm, but Groan stuck out a leg and tripped him up.

“Oi, I ain’t goin’ back ta Phlegm,” he growled.

Gordo spat out some dirt and forced himself up onto his feet. Both warriors were grimacing at him.

“All right,” he said eventually. “But if I ever see that knight again, he’s dead meat.”

“Yeah, right. We’ll get ’im one day.”

“Fair enough.”

Gordo didn’t talk for the next hour. Instead, he stamped on ahead of them, studying the map as he went and trying to block the infuriating pinpricks out of his mind. At least, he reflected, the map seemed
accurate.

As he plodded along, his mind raced back to the few obscure facts about their destination he’d managed to learn from the library in Phlegm.

It didn’t bode well.

Rintintetly, their first port of call, was by far the thickest and most feared jungle on Illmoor. The city of Wemeru, nestled like a forgotten jewel at its heart, laying claim to several ancient races and a government rumored to be knee-deep in necromancy.

Wemeru was ruled by the occasionally reclusive Count Craven, who, it was said, sustained his prolonged existence by bathing in the blood of chickens. The citizens of Wemeru had no idea why this worked, but since the Count was more than six hundred years old, nobody was asking any questions. As a result of all this, Wemeru was famous for its pale inhabitants and its cold streets packed with zombie fowl.

Gordo wasn’t looking forward to the journey.

“Which way we goin’ again?” Groan asked, peering around him with the same blank expression he always had first thing in the morning, when he couldn’t remember who he was.

“See those foothills?” said Gordo, pointing eastward.

“Yeah, course.”

“Well, we’re going over those to the western bank of the Washin.”

Groan muttered something under his breath, and moved off again. As Gordo watched his friend, he noticed for the first time that Groan was actually a good deal broader than his brother, whose flowing locks occasionally made him look slightly brawnier than he was.

“Hold on a minute,” said Gape, stopping suddenly while the others walked on. “Hey! Wait! Come back here for a second!”

Gordo shuffled to a halt, though he had to snatch the back of Groan’s loincloth to get his friend to stop.

“What’s wrong?” the dwarf inquired, his half grin slightly faded by the rigorous effects of the scorching sun. “Swords too heavy for you, are they?”

Gape pointed off toward a curl of smoke in the distance. “There’s a coaching inn.”

Gordo shrugged. “So?”

“So, maybe we can get a lift. I mean, why walk if there’s wheels to take you?”

“Look,” the dwarf began, ignoring the fact that Groan had already started walking in the direction his brother had indicated. “What do we want a coach for? We’re warriors, aren’t we? Besides, it’ll cost MONEY! Come back here, damn it!”

Gordo sighed, and drove his axe into the hillside. “I don’t know why I bother,” he grumbled.

“At least there’s no one around,” Susti whispered, leading her former lady-in-waiting and newly appointed sword-maiden through the dusty corridors of Phlegm Keep.

“Isn’t that a bit odd, milady?” asked Bronwyn doubtfully. “I mean, it
is
two o’clock in the afternoon.”

The princess shrugged. “Probably just one of my father’s all-day drinking sessions,” she said. “You know what the court’s like once he gets going; they’ll be singing songs about naked women, playing the banjo, and leering ’till the cows come home. I think it’s utterly disgusting, don’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely, milady,” said Bronwyn, who’d danced privately for the king. “It’s not even as if they’re grateful.”

“You said it. Still, all the better for our escape! C’mon, let’s move.”

They hurried through the silent halls, rounded a sharp bend, and crept into the kitchen. Then Susti stopped dead.

“What is it, milady?” Bronwyn whispered.

“There’s nobody here.”

“Sorry?”

“The kitchen, it’s empty. Now,
that
is unusual. In fact, I’m beginning to smell a rat, here.”

“Oh, no, milady! I can’t stand vermin.”

“I was speaking figuratively, Bronwyn.”

“Of course, milady. Sorry.”

Susti inched her way into the kitchen, then dropped down onto her hands and knees and began to advance, catlike, across the kitchen floor. She’d got roughly halfway through the room, when a voice shouted “Now!” and a vast net dropped over her. As she struggled to free herself, the princess became more entangled, and increasingly annoyed.

Bronwyn hurried over to help her mistress, but was deterred from doing so by the sight of King Phew and several of his bodyguards entering from the opposite end of the kitchen.

“Father!” raged Susti, clawing ineffectually at her gauzy prison. “What is the meaning of this?”

There was no reply, but two of the king’s guards rushed forward, pulled the princess out of the net, and helped her to her feet. She made considerable effort to elbow each of them in the chest as they released her.

“I demand an explanation, Father,” she snapped. “Why did you do that?”

“You tried to escape,” King Phew said simply. “And I cannot allow that to happen.” He marched over to the nearest bench and used it as a stepping-stone to clamber onto the tabletop, where he took his rest.

“I’m sorry, my darling, but I had to demonstrate that I won’t be disobeyed on this matter, and I knew that if I told you not to run away, you’d inevitably try.”

“B-but I don’t want to marry any of those people. I made that speech because you begged me to, and I don’t like to see you upset, but if you think I’m marrying some idiot barb—”

“You won’t have to, precious. I’m sorry, I should have explained …”

“Explained
what,
father?” Susti hesitated, a frown briefly creasing her elfin features. “What is this all about?”

“Leave us,” King Phew instructed the guards, adding, “and you!” when his daughter’s assistant made to take a seat herself.

“Sit down, darling,” he said, when the room had cleared.

“I don’t want to.”

“Please.”

Susti sighed, and slumped onto the nearest bench. “Well?”

“It’s a trap.” The king smiled, but he was notably nervous.

“A trap? For who?”

“Groan Teethgrit. He’s—um—he’s an abomination and a—um—a menace to society; him and those other … miscreants.”

Susti hugged her arms for warmth; the air in the kitchen was unusually cold.

“Those don’t sound like your words, Father.”

“Mmm? Oh, well, that is, they’re not, as such, but Duke Modeset is here, on behalf of the other rulers, and he says—”

The princess shook her head sadly. “So you’re being told what to do by those squabbling nobles?”

“We’ve spoken about this before, Susti. Phlegm is a respected member of the Great Assembly, and I have a responsibility—”

“Yes, you do: to your people, your kingdom, and, I hope, to your daughter. Does Groan Teethgrit pose a direct threat to this city?”

“Y-yes. I believe he does.”

“He was perfectly nice to me. In fact, they both were. I mean, even Groan’s little dwarf gave me a flower! What’s going to happen to them all?”

“Um, they’re, er—”

“Those tasks are impossible, aren’t they?”

The king didn’t look at his daughter, but nodded.

“So you sent them to their deaths?”

“Well, not me personally, but—”

“And you used me as bait!” Susti leaped from the bench, her eyes welling up with tears. “I can’t believe you’d think so little of me!”

“I didn’t have a choice,” the king pleaded, snatching at his daughter’s arm. “They’re the Great Assembly. They told me not to clue you in on what was going on, but I had to at least do that.”

“Ha! We’re the richest kingdom in Illmoor.”

“Yes, we are!” Phew agreed. “But only because
they
allow it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Father.”

“I’m not being ridiculous; I’m being perfectly serious. Individually, we could probably handle any one of them, but together they’d easily be able to wipe us out. Besides, in a way I actually agree with them; this Teethgrit fellow and his kin have done some appalling things. You should hear what he did to—”

“The children of Dullitch? Yes, he and the dwarf brought them all home, didn’t they?”

“That’s not the point, my darling. The point
is,
they’ve become a menace.”

“I see,” said Susti, who didn’t. “So what
is
the plan, then?”

King Phew licked his lips. “Well,” he said, “basically, we just wait. The locations were chosen because they’re the four most dangerous places on Illmoor, places from which men seldom return.”

Susti raised an eyebrow. “So they do exist, then?”

“Well, the places do,” King Phew sighed. “Though it goes without saying that most of the treasures are fake.”

Susti’s eyes widened. “Not
all
of them?” she said hopefully.

The king shrugged. “Well, I’m sure I heard something about an Idol of Needs being found once—”

“You
heard
something? I can’t believe this!” Susti gasped. “But, but what about the people in the crowd, the people that knew of them?”

“Plants, I’m afraid: put in the crowd to assist our cause. Duke Modeset’s idea.”

“But I gave them those missions! You told me—”

“Yes, my dear, though you needn’t worry. You’re entirely blameless.”

The princess was beside herself. “So the duke’s plan is merely to send the Teethgrits into the jaws of death … and he’s chosen four different places, to make sure they don’t come back?”

The king nodded. “Modeset says that if the wilds of Kazbrack or the Rintintetly zombies don’t kill them, then the harpies or the dragon will. There’s nothing we can do for them now, my darling. Either way, it’s over …”

I
N ITS FIFTY-YEAR HISTORY,
the Welcroft Coaching Inn had played host to many strange and unusual creatures. Situated, as it was, on the outskirts of Phlegm, it had also received many unwelcome visitors, but none so immediately offensive as the man who currently stood in the saloon bar, a man whose second visit to the inn was proving as catastrophic as his previous one.