The Dungeoneers (9 page)

“We were friends before,” Quinn explained as they came to
another fork. “We come from the same town. We are pretty much in this together. And now so are you.” The boy smiled brightly.

Lena made the choice on which direction to take. She made all the choices as the forks multiplied. She led them right. Then left. Then right again. The idea, she said, was to avoid going in a circle.

“The idea,” Colm said, “is to find the way out.”

“The idea,” Quinn added, “is to stay alive. And m-m-maybe f-find something to eat. I'm starving.”

Colm fished in his sack for his last apple and handed it over. Quinn took it eagerly.

“I wouldn't worry,” Lena said. “We've been down here for some time now and haven't seen anything remotely dangerous. I'm guessing the place is deserted.”

Quinn reached out and clutched Colm's arm as a shrill screech, like the sound a wounded animal might make, came from their left.

“That doesn't sound deserted,” Colm said. “Maybe we should go right this time.”

Lena looked like she
wanted
to disagree, but instead she nodded and turned right, Colm following behind her.
Stay behind the big guy,
he thought to himself. That was Finn's advice. He just hadn't said that the big guy might be a girl. Or that the girl would have such brilliant red hair.

They continued deeper, away from the screeching, Colm walking on tiptoe. He listened for sounds. He watched for traps.
He inspected the walls for levers or pulleys or anything vaguely mechanical, something that might trigger a secret door or a falling rock. He wasn't sure why he was doing these things or what, exactly, he was even looking for, but his instincts—honed by so many years of sibling torture—had kicked in. Quinn held on to Colm's belt strap the way Colm used to do with his father when he was three. He had finished the apple.

“So you say you're a mage,” Colm whispered behind him. “That means you cast spells and stuff?”

“I'm n-n-not qu-qu-quite a mage yet. I'm only a m-m-m-m—”

“Mageling. Yes. But even a mageling must know
some
magic, right? I mean, you could maybe fill these tunnels with light or see through the walls or even maybe teleport us all out of here,” Colm suggested.

Quinn shook his head emphatically, eyes somehow growing even wider. “Oh, you don't want me to do that,” he said.

“No, you really don't,” Lena seconded from up ahead.

“I t-t-tried t-teleporting my cat once. Poor F-F-F-Friskers. All that was left was her t-t-t— her t-t-t— her—”

“Tail?” Colm guessed.

“Toes,” Quinn said. “Four little sets of toes. C-c-claws and all. And all the rest . . .
p-p-poof
.”

Quinn let go of Colm's belt long enough to make an imitation of a cat exploding, then latched back on. Colm decided that was enough talk of spells. He focused his attention forward and then ran smack into Lena's backside.

“Sshhh!” she hissed. “Hear that?”

Colm listened. He
could
hear something coming from up the hall. It sounded like someone singing. Soft and melodic. Much better than the screeching they had left behind. Colm thought of Finn humming on their way out of Felhaven. Maybe it was him. “Maybe this is the end,” he said.

“Or maybe it's a trap,” Lena countered, but even as she said it, she smiled, as if a trap were preferable to an exit. Beside Colm, the mageling started to shiver, but Lena Proudmore was already moving in the direction of the sound, torch in one hand, her makeshift stone dagger in the other. The three of them turned the corner.

They found themselves staring into a small chamber, lit with another torch. There was no ogre, but there was something. Another girl, her features sharper and even more angled than Lena's. She had skin the color of tree bark and short black tufts of hair that were cinched with all manner of thread and twine, making little horns jutting out in all directions. She wore a cloak, much the same as Finn's, save hers was brown and spilled out behind her as she sat cross-legged on the floor, humming and admiring something in her hand.

“Is that a spider?” Lena whispered, but the girl in the room heard her and turned. Startled, she threw up her hands, and the spider she'd been holding somersaulted in the air. It hit the ground, then gathered its legs back underneath it and scurried off into the shadows.

“Now look what you've done,” the stranger said. “You
scared Mr. Tickletoes.”

The girl with the spiky hair turned and crawled after the spider on her hands and knees, refusing to say another word until she found him, despite Lena's repeatedly asking her who she was and how she had gotten down there. Finally, when the spider had been coaxed back into her open palm, the girl stood up and addressed them.

“Greetings. My name is Serene. I am a child of the woods.”

“Oh, great. A squirrel hugger,” Quinn mumbled. Colm couldn't tell why the boy stuttered sometimes and not others, and he didn't know what “squirrel hugger” meant, but judging by Quinn's tone, it wasn't necessarily something to be proud of.

Lena stepped forward, bathing the girl in torchlight. She didn't appear to be armed in any way. Her shoes, Colm noticed, were barely more than a single plank of wood strapped with twine (his father wouldn't approve). Her underclothes were threadbare, lacking ornamentation of any kind. She did, however, have tattoos scrawled down the length of her forearms. They looked like tree roots weaving up toward her elbows.

“You're a druid?” Lena asked.

“No,” the girl said. “I mean, yes, I suppose, theoretically, but not
technically
, no. I haven't passed the ritual yet. I was
supposed
to, except I couldn't because . . . well . . . it was just so big, and with those teeth and everything . . . and why'd you have to go and scare Mr. Tickletoes like that?”

“Mr. Tickletoes?”

Serene ran a finger along the back of the spider crouched in her hand. “It's all right, Mr. Tickletoes,” she cooed to it. “I won't let these people hurt you.”

“She's crazy,” Quinn muttered beneath his breath. Colm nodded. Last he checked, spiders didn't even
have
toes.

“She's a natureling,” Lena corrected. “She can talk to animals. Plants too, probably.”

The other girl, Serene, continued to whisper to the arachnid curled up in her palm. The druid turned and cocked her head. “Mr. Tickletoes wants to know if you intend to squash him.”

Lena shook her head. “I am Lena Proudmore. This is Quinn Frostfoot and Colm . . . something or other. We were all three thrown into this dungeon, probably just like you. I promise we are not here to squash Mr. . . .”

“Tickletoes,” Colm whispered.

“Right. Whatever,” Lena said. “Honestly, we are just looking for the way out.”

“How fortuitous,” Serene sang, her green eyes sparkling. “Mr. Tickletoes and I were just talking about that before you showed up. He says he knows the way out. He can show us, can't you, Mr. Tickletoes?”

In response, the spider crawled to the edge of the dark-skinned girl's fingers and lowered itself to the ground with its silky cord. Then it scurried across the floor and out into the hall, passing too close to Quinn, who jumped back instinctively. Serene leaped up and brushed right past them as well, pausing only to look behind her.

“Well, come on, then! Hurry!”

Colm looked at Lena, who shrugged. “What are you waiting for?” she asked. “Follow the spider.”

Colm did. Technically he followed the barbarian, who followed the druid, who followed the spider . . . though, in truth, apparently, Lena wasn't really a barbarian yet, and Serene wasn't really a druid yet, and Quinn, who still hung on to Colm's belt strap, wasn't really a mage. But it hardly mattered, as Colm was still little more than the son of a shoe cobbler. The important thing, he reminded himself, was that he wasn't alone. Besides, the newest addition to their party seemed friendly. She was certainly talkative.

“I should have expected it. You can't fail your druidic rites twice and not face some sort of consequence. But I had no idea how truly horrible it would be in a dungeon without grass or trees or light. There isn't even any moss down here. If it weren't for Mr. Tickletoes, I would have gone crazy. But he told me not to worry. That I wasn't the first person to be stuck down in these tunnels, and that it was always nice for him to have someone to talk to as well. Did you know he recently became a father? Three hundred beautiful babies.”

Colm shuddered. He thought eight sisters was a lot.

“I
should
have passed the trial. It's not that I didn't
want
to talk to the bear,” Serene continued. “I understand how important it is. After all, what good is being a druid if you can't commune with
all
of nature? But let's face it, Nature can
be downright frightening sometimes. Have you seen a bear's claws? They're as long as my fingers!”

“She doesn't take a breath,” Quinn whispered in Colm's ear.

“Probably comes from talking to trees,” Colm whispered back. “She's used to having to keep up both sides of a conversation.”

“It's mostly about the size, I think. And the teeth. I told Mr. Tickletoes how much I enjoyed
his
company and that he was much easier to talk to than wolves or panthers or anything, and that, honestly, I see no point in trying to converse with anything bigger than a bunny. Regular chatterboxes, rabbits. Hard to get a word in.”

“I c-c-can't imagine,” Quinn remarked.

Colm looked down at the floor, where the spider was moving as fast as its spindly legs would carry it. The darkness was overbearing, and the chill bit into his skin, and there was still this lingering feeling that they weren't alone. Yet there was something about being down here, underneath the surface, ferreting out the exit, that made him tingle. It was exciting
and
terrifying, and for a moment he imagined what Tye Thwodin, the young blacksmith's apprentice, had felt when he fell into a sinkhole and came face-to-face with his first ogre so many years ago. He thought about the pockets full of jewels. What if there was some kind of treasure down here as well? Maybe they should take a look around. “You don't think . . . ,” Colm started to say, but stopped as Serene bent down to pick up their eight-legged guide. She brought it up to her ear and frowned.

The spider whisperer turned to Colm and the others. “Mr. Tickletoes says we should hurry. He says the Overseer is coming.”

Maybe looking around wasn't a good idea.

“The Overseer?”
Lena repeated. Colm didn't like the sound of it either. It wasn't as bad as, say, the Intestine Ripper or the Blood Guzzler, but it had an ominous weight to it.

“He says the overseer always comes when you're near the end,” Serene said.

“So we
are
close, then,” Lena confirmed. Colm felt a nervous tug on his belt and put a hand on Quinn's shoulder. Lena started spinning in circles, torch in hand. “I knew it was too easy. I
knew
there'd be a butt to kick.”

“Mr. Tickletoes says we can still get away if we hurry.”

“Get away?” Lena scoffed, holding out her rock. “The Proudmores don't shy from a fight.”

Colm put a finger up. “Yes, well, the Candorlys are naturally shy, so I recommend taking the spider's advice and getting out of here.” Quinn and Serene nodded emphatically.

Lena scowled. “Fine. But if this overseer confronts us, I get to kill it.”

No one argued. Serene scooped up the spider, holding him in her palm and whispering to him. To Colm's surprise, the spider lifted its two front legs and pointed with the toes it didn't have to one of the six tunnels branching outward. From behind them came the grating screech they'd heard before. Except this time, it was much louder.

Which meant it was a lot closer.

They quickened their pace, Serene in the lead with Colm on her heels, dragging Quinn. At one point the tunnel narrowed, and Colm slammed his head once as they stooped down to crawl through a small opening in the rock. He heard Lena behind him do the same thing and then let out a hiss.

“Are you all right?”

“Just a nick,” she said. “I'm fine.”

They pushed through the rock into another tunnel, this one wider, leading to an archway and an open chamber beyond, lit by several more torches. Colm could make out an iron door on the far side of the room. The way out, he hoped.

He turned back to see Lena propped against the wall, eyes closed, stretching out her hand. There was a small cut on the palm, less than a coin's width across, little prickles of blood beading up. Quinn quickly wiped them away with a corner of his sleeve and whispered something to her.

“You sure you're all right?” Colm asked. Lena didn't seem to be in any pain, but she refused to open her eyes until Quinn was finished cleaning her hand.

“I told you, I'm fine,” she snapped.

Colm looked at Serene, who shrugged. Then all four of them stood in the archway and stared across the room.

“You think it's really the exit?” Lena asked, keeping her hand closed.

“Mr. Tickletoes says so,” Serene offered.

“He
is
a spider,” Quinn reminded them. “They trap things for a living.”

Lena took a deep breath. “Only one way to find out.” She started across the room and toward the door, Serene behind her. Colm followed, casting backward glances, sometimes looking at his feet or the wall, still not sure what he was looking for, but looking just the same. Something on the floor caught his eye, and he paused to get a closer look, squinting in the light offered by the torches lining the chamber.

It was a stone, like all the others. Nothing remarkable except for how polished it was, and how round. The ones surrounding it were irregular and jagged, but this one was almost as perfect as a pearl.