Shadewell Shenanigans (14 page)

Susti’s face fell, and she lowered her mace. “Of course,” Modeset mimicked, “there’s always your wild friend from the jungles. Oh … but what am I saying? My men drowned him in the river this evening. I’m so very sorry. Now, are you going to put down your weapon peacefully and return to your quarters, or are we going to have to do things the hard way?”

Susti glanced at her father’s wretched expression, and reluctantly held out her mace for collection. Modeset grinned, Pegrand breathed a sigh of relief, and General Crikey strode over to retrieve the weapon.

Everything that happened next, happened in a blur of bewilderment and fury …

It wasn’t the first time Gordo Goldeaxe had witnessed the emergence of a twinling; in fact, it wasn’t even the first time
that
day. Still, the sight took his breath away. It was almost indescribable.

Put simply: he’d thrown a head that’d landed on its feet. That is, Loogie had simply sprouted another body, fully formed,
in midair.
The twinling, which’d started off as a red mist, was solid by the time it hit the ground. Cursing unnamable obscenities, it had promptly gone tearing up the hall like a thing possessed—which, of course, it
was
—reached the count before he could summon anything with his staff, and was currently trying to unscrew the zombie lord’s decrepit skull. It was all very entertaining to watch, and, from a confrontational point of view, it had turned the tide of the battle.

Groan, ever the resourceful combatant, had quickly realized that his sword was redundant in their present situation, and had also figured out that the farther you threw a zombie, the longer it took the thing to stagger back.

Gape, usually by far the smarter of the two, was still persisting with his swords, and had several deep gashes in his chest as a result.

Gordo had leaped up onto the back of one of the larger zombies and was riding around on it, swinging his axe whenever the opportunity presented itself. He was also watching the Lambontroff versus Craven struggle with increasing curiosity.

Dark Loogie was winning. It’d pressed two thumbs into the eye sockets of its erstwhile uncle and was literally pushing the life right out of him.

“You stole my chicken!” it screamed. “You thieeef!”

There was a final, strangled scream, and the count collapsed into a crumpled heap. The move proved to be a domino effect, and, one by one, all of the count’s minions succumbed to a similar fate, tumbling to the floor like unwanted rags.

Groan felt the zombie he was holding on to go limp, and tossed it aside.

Gape took two last swings at his own aggressors as they dropped, and Gordo landed on top of his makeshift horse with a cheer of victory.

“We did it!” he cried. “Can you believe that? Are we the toughest bunch of nutcases on the jetty or what?”

“I am,” Groan bellowed. “You two didn’t do nothin’. ’Sides, how we gonna find that ring now?”

“Hold your hors—” Gordo started, but Gape interrupted him.

“Not now, fellas. We’ve got trouble …”

The three warriors looked up toward the throne, where Loogie Lambontroff’s twinling was finishing off the count’s staff. It raised the weapon high above its head and snapped it over one knee. Then it brandished both halves of the staff and came at them, screaming bloody murder …

Stump awoke, freezing cold.

He was hungry, thirsty, and not a little annoyed. Still, he reflected, at least the guards had gone. He looked up at the full moon and tried to work out where he’d come ashore. It didn’t take him long …

He was on the eastern bank of the Washin, and the bordering trees of Rintintetly seemed to reach out toward him. He’d heard about the woods, of course. Everyone had. If the rumors were to be believed, they contained nothing but terrible danger and almost certain death. Then again, the same could be said for virtually any forest in Illmoor. Stump was at home in forests, woods, and jungles, but he usually liked to keep his base of operations in the southern stretches, like the Carafat, Helter Glades, or Shademost. This was new territory, and despite the come-hither wave of the trees, it didn’t look too inviting.

Still, he had to get away somehow. It looked as though the duke was baying for his blood. He wondered about Phlegm’s reach, guard-wise. Would it stretch up to Spittle, down to the Twelve? Hmm …

The best thing, he decided, would be to wait until morning and then go into Rintintetly. That way, he could follow the wood south and eventually emerge near the old Dullitch road.

First things first.

Stump looked around for a good-size rock, and went fishing in the moonlight.

Gape swung out his swords as the twinling rushed toward him. He caught it with the first, missed with the second, and found himself hurtling backward across the hall, before he could even think about trying for a kick.

The twinling looked down at the cut that the warrior’s sword had made in its arm, and grinned at the sight of its own blood.

Gordo was next up. He ran screaming at the creature, leaped into the air, and swung his battle-axe in a vertical arc. The twinling caught the weapon just below the blade, wrenching it away from the dwarf. Gordo rallied quickly, flinging himself to the ground and successfully sweeping the legs of the dark twin. It crashed to the floor, then spun around with such force that both its legs smashed into Gordo at the same time.

The dwarf shot across the flagstones like a flicked coin, disappearing through a window in a shower of glass.

The twinling cackled evilly, then raced across the room at Groan …

… who caught it in midair and snapped it like a twig.

There was a sudden eruption of flame, and the twinling vanished.

“Thank the gods for that,” said the head of Loogie Lambontroff, looking up at Groan from amidst the smoking remains. “I thought we were in real trouble then.”

“Help! Somebody help me!”

Gape staggered to his feet, and the two warriors hurried over to the window, pulling Gordo up from the ledge below with comparatively little effort.

“I’d say it’s about time,” Gordo spat, noticing that Groan had Loogie’s head under one arm. “I see we’re
ahead
of the game once again.”

“Very funny,” said Loogie miserably. “You know, I really should’ve grown back by now.”

“I dun’ care if you never grow back,” Groan roared. “Tell us where the count keeps ’is chickens.

Loogie sniffed. “Don’t know that I will.”

“If you don’t,” said Gape, retrieving his swords, “I might start taking a dangerous interest in sport. I hear deathball is a lot of fun.”

“All right, all right!” Loogie spluttered. “He keeps his chickens in a big coop in the gardens, but—”

“Good.”

“Wait a min—”

“Shut it.”

“Fine!”

Gape made an exaggerated gesture with his arm. “Lead on …”

“Have it your way,” the head muttered. “You’ll need to go back through the door at the far end.”

The group slowly began to head for the exit, but halfway across the floor, Gordo’s sixth sense started tingling. It was a strange sensation, and one that seldom affected the dwarf unless he was about to miss out on something special.

“Stop!” he said suddenly.

Groan and Gape paused in the doorway and peered back at him.

“What is it?” the younger Teethgrit inquired, squinting at the dwarf. “You need a breather after your little trip through the window?”

Gordo shook his head. “There’s something else in this room.”

Groan stepped back through the door, and both brothers began to look around. After a few minutes, Gordo came to his senses and tapped Loogie on the top of his head.

“Yes?”

“Am I right?” asked the dwarf. “Is there something in this room that we’re not seeing?”

The head sniffed. “Like what? Hidden treasure or something?”

“I dunno: you tell me.”

“Hmm … I don’t think so. There’s a door you might be interested in, though—”

Gordo grinned. “I knew it,” he said. “Where?”

“Behind the throne, but don’t get excited; it doesn’t contain the secret wealth of Illmoor or anything like that.”

“Does it contain the secret wealth of Wemeru?”

The head twitched a few times, then sighed, “Scientifically speaking,
yes.
”

“That’ll do.”

The warriors made for the steps that led to the throne, dashed up them two at a time and, together, heaved the giant chair to the flagstones.

Sure enough, there was a door in the wall behind it.

“Get it open!”

Groan’s broadsword was the first to breach the gap between the door and the wall. Gape soon joined him, driving both swords in to give the team extra leverage. There was a hiss of escaping air, an audible creak, and the door scraped open.

“Look, why are you doing this?” Loogie complained. “I thought you wanted to find Lady Khan—”

“We do,” said Gordo. “But if there’s a gold deposit in there, then obviously we have to put that first.”

He glanced at Groan and Gape for support, but both of them were looking doubtful.

“Look,” Gape said, snatching a burning torch from a nearby wall bracket and peering beyond the door. “What
exactly
is up there?”

“I told you,” Loogie muttered. “The scientific wealth of Wemeru.”

“I don’ wan’ no si-an-tif-ic welf,” Groan thundered. “I wan’ welf you can buy stuff wiv.”

“That door leads to the top of the pyramid,” said the head. “And I’m warning you, it’s one hell of a trek. If I were you I’d camp here and go up in the morning.”

There was a vague murmur of agreement before Gordo conceded the point and slumped, exhausted, to the ground. Groan and Gape had a brief discussion about the best way to start a campfire and wandered off to collect a few zombies for kindling.

They slept peacefully, albeit in shifts.

Susti paused for a second to take stock of the situation. Somehow, she’d managed to knock General Crikey back with such force, he’d bowled into Modeset and Pegrand, and now all three were rolling around in the corridor like stuck turtles.

She seized the opportunity, and, grabbing her father by the elbow, she rushed outside. She snatched a dagger from Crikey’s belt, kicking him in the face before he could muster a reaction. Pegrand got similar treatment from King Phew, while Modeset had the common sense to stay down and wait for reinforcements. Unfortunately, the duke’s luck wasn’t in, and he felt a dagger prick his throat.

“Get up,” Susti ordered, pressing the blade a little further. “You’re a hostage.”

Modeset struggled to his feet. “You’ll never get away with this,” he said, staying unnervingly calm as they shuffled back along the corridor. “I’ve got troops watching every wall in the city, and they’ll have forty arrows in your back before you even get out of the keep. Ha-ha-ha!”

Susti smiled at the duke’s laughter, and brought her mouth close to his ear. “We’re not going to leave the city through the main gate,” she whispered. “We’re leaving through the network of tunnels that lead from the lower kitchens to the outer wall.”

King Phew flashed a smile of his own. “That’s the beauty of being overthrown in your own kingdom,” he said. “You always know things the usurper doesn’t know.”

Crikey and Pegrand were both on their feet, and inching ever so slightly forward.

“I’m warning you,” Susti cried out from the end of the corridor. “One more step, and I’ll slit his gizzard.”

“Really, my dear,” King Phew complained. “That’s not the sort of language I’d expect from a princess.”

Susti sighed. “Considering the day I’ve had, Father, I think I’m being remarkably reserved. Now, do you think you could run ahead and clear the way?”

“Me?” The king looked doubtful. “How, for goodness’ sake?”

“Grab a torch from the wall,” Susti advised him.

He did as he was told.

“Good. Now, anyone who gets in your way, you can crack them over the head with it.”

“I really don’t know about this …”

“Father, you’re as bad as Bronwyn. Are you the King of Phlegm or not?”

“Well, yes±”

“Then bloody well get out there and prove it!”

I
T WAS VERY EARLY
morning in Wemeru, and Gordo, Groan, and Gape had been ascending the pyramid for more than an hour. The steps were covered in cobwebs, and strange hieroglyphics adorned the walls.

“How much longer?” Gape complained.

Gordo waved a hand. “Quiet!”

“This is a waste of ti—”

“Shh! I can see a door.”

“Well, whoop-de-do!” Gape mimicked. “Gordo’s found himself another door. Let’s have a party, shall we?”

Groan said nothing, but a heavy sigh betrayed his opinion.

Gordo had hurried up to the door and was already using his axe to prize it open. By the time Gape and Groan reached the top of the stairs, the dwarf had already slipped through the door and into the chamber beyond. The brothers reluctantly followed.

Three enormous coffins dominated the wide, drafty room at the top of the pyramid, and each of these was wired to a series of squat and bizarrely shaped mechanical machines. The room looked part laboratory, part mausoleum.

Gordo sneezed as he inadvertently breathed in some dust.

“What the—”

“It’s a translocator,” the head explained, closing its eyes as Gordo’s nasal discharge engulfed him.

“A what?”

“A star mechanism: an earth shifter.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it in my life,” Gape said, staring around him with bewildered awe.

“Yeah, well, we’ve always built magikanic machines. In fact, we were practicing technomancy before the rest of Illmoor was walking upright.”

Groan’s face was a network of creases. He hadn’t understood anything anyone had said since he’d entered the room. It felt as though he were walking among foreigners.

“So how do you use it?” Gape managed, still aghast.

The head puffed out a long sigh. “Well,” it said. “Basically, it uses stockpiled energy to realign the stars, only it doesn’t really do that. In actual fact, it realigns Illmoor.”

“What’s real-ine mean?” asked Groan irritably.

Gordo shrugged. “I think it’s a fancy way of saying ‘to move things.’”