The Dungeoneers (32 page)

“
Warm?
My rump was roasted that day. You could have shoveled it straight into Fungus's stew. And all for what? Seven sacks of silver and a sword as dull as Velmo's sense of humor.”

Master Velmoth sneered and was clearly about to say something in return when Master Wolfe raised one hand, the other dropping to the hilt of one of his swords. Then he lowered his hand and crouched down. “It's all right. Just a spider.”

“We should let Frostfoot squish it,” the goblin said. “It might be as close as he gets to slaying anything today.”

“Don't you dare,” Serene said, rushing forward and scanning the ground around everyone's feet. “Where is it? Let me have it.” The ranger bent over and quickly snatched something from the dungeon floor, holding it out. It was probably twice the size of Mr. Tickletoes, but still nothing like the giant spiders Fimbly had warned them about.

“You're not a scary monster, are you, Mr. Wigglelegs? No, you're not.” Serene petted the hairy back of the spider with one finger.

“This
is
an odd group,” Master Velmoth remarked.

Quinn squirmed his way up between Colm and Lena, whose smile had turned to a tight grimace. The goblin tossed out that maybe they should go back and explore some of the side tunnels they'd passed, that perhaps they were leaving treasure behind. That's when Wolfe said he could see something just ahead.

A door. Finally. Thick rusted iron, and warded with a simple lock.

“This is it, then?” Master Stormbow asked, tightening her grip.

“You can almost taste it, can't you?” Tye Thwodin said, unhooking Smashy Two from the strap on his back and hoisting it to his shoulder.

“Finally.” Lena pulled her own sword free. Quinn muttered some incantations, staring earnestly at his hands, but again nothing happened.

Wolfe quickly stepped up to the door and started eyeing the lock, but Master Thwodin pulled him back. He looked at Finn. “This is what I pay
him
for, remember?”

Finn stepped past Master Wolfe and inspected the lock with his torch. “Tricky, but far from the worst I've ever seen. It might be beneficial to let our junior rogue have a go,” he said. “This is a learning experience, after all.” Finn motioned for Colm to come up beside him. “Just like I taught you,” he said.

“You can do it, Colm,” Lena whispered behind him. “Just get me inside, and I'll handle the rest!”

Colm removed his set of picks from his bag and studied the
small opening in the iron door. It looked complicated, but no more so than any of the ones in the tens or twenties he'd already mastered. He pressed his hand to the lock, feeling for the resonance of enchantment, but didn't sense anything out of the ordinary. Colm held up a pick and the rogue nodded; then he carefully inched it into the keyhole. He could feel Finn behind him, draped over him like a second cloak. Lena passed her sword from one hand to the next. She was nearly dancing.

“Just look at her, Grahm,” Tye Thwodin remarked. “I think she might explode. Reminds me of you a little.”

But Master Wolfe didn't seem to be listening. He was pacing around, running his hands along the stone walls, as if their rough faces were speaking to him. Behind Colm, Finn inched even closer. Colm felt one tumbler drop. Then another. A yelp from behind distracted him, and he turned to see Serene shaking her hand.

“What happened?” Lena asked.

“Mr. Wigglelegs bit me,” she said, dropping the spider and sticking her finger into her mouth. A third tumbler dropped.

“I f-feel f-funny,” Quinn said, holding his head in both hands.

“Concentrate,” Finn urged. “Focus.” Colm could feel the rogue's breath on his ear.

“Something's not right here,” Master Wolfe said. “These markings aren't the work of ogres. Am I right, Renny?” Colm turned to see the ranger pointing to the wall.

“No ogres I've ever seen. They look like orc markings to me.”

“Really. I f-f-feel a l-little d-d-dizzy,” Quinn said, leaning up against Lena.

Grahm Wolfe pressed his ear to the wall, then shook his head. “No. Something's not right at all.”

The last tumbler fell and Colm heard a sound, but it wasn't coming from the door. It was coming from all around them. It was, in fact, vibrating through the walls. A low, rumbling thunder of footfalls on stone.

Hundreds of them.

The ranger drew both of his swords.

Finn reached over and pulled the handle on the door, pushing Colm through the opening just as both sidewalls of the corridor crumbled away behind them, revealing a dozen more doors, through which peered a hundred red-and-yellow eyes. Colm saw the look on Lena's face, both terror and determination, as she pushed Quinn behind her. Saw an arc of blue light burst from Master Velmoth's fingertips. Heard the harsh whisper of Anywhere and Anytime crossed and the cry of the first orc as it came bursting into the tunnel to meet the face of Tye Thwodin's hammer.

And the door slamming shut, with Colm on the wrong side of it.

Colm turned and pulled, kicked and pounded, but the door wouldn't budge. Somehow it had been locked again. He reached for his bag, for his lockpick set, then realized it was on the other side of the door as well, on the ground where he'd dropped it. Through the keyhole he could hear sounds. Weapons clashing. Grunts. Curses. He heard an explosion, and then
another, the sound of a giant hammer slamming against the door, followed by Thwodin's booming voice, commanding Finn to “hurry up and open the blasted thing!” Colm turned to the rogue, who had taken a few steps back. He just stood there. As if he was in a trance. A man possessed.

“What are you doing?” Colm demanded. “We have to open this door!”

Finn reached into his pack. Colm hoped he was going for his own set of picks, but instead the rogue removed the purple crystal that had brought them here. “I'm afraid not.”

Colm shook his head and pounded on the iron door. He could hear more muffled shouts from the other side. He pulled desperately on the handle.

“Help me!” he shouted. He felt Finn's hand clamp down on his arm.

“I
am
helping you,” the rogue said. Then he hissed an unfamiliar phrase. The crystal in his other hand began to glow. Colm heard Lena call his name.

And felt his whole world come apart.

T
he first thing he felt when he pulled himself back together was the knife in his back.

He immediately reached for Scratch, but it was too late. The scabbard was empty. The sword lay on the ground, out of reach. The circle of purple light that had once held ten dungeoneers now held only two. Colm was on one knee, and Finn was standing behind him. He could feel the point of the dagger nudging him, just below his neck, between his shoulders.

“Take a deep breath,” Finn said. “You're a very smart boy. Smart enough to know that a rogue standing behind you with a blade in his hand is a reason to be cooperative.”

Colm glanced again at his sword, then felt the tip of Finn's dagger press a little deeper, piercing the thick fabric of Colm's cloak, now scratching at the surface of his skin.

“Use your good sense. I don't want to hurt you.”

Colm bit down hard on his lip. That would have been much easier to believe ten minutes ago, before the door slammed shut and Colm had found himself back in Thwodin's castle, leaving his friends stranded in an orc-infested dungeon. On his knees with a blade biting into his back. “What's going on? Why are you doing this?”

“I have a promise to keep,” Finn said. “And I need your help to do it. But first you need to move. Come on. Up on your feet.” Colm felt Finn's hand under his arm, dragging him up, the other still holding the dagger against him.

Colm felt dizzy, but he managed to stand with Finn's help. “What about the others? You took the crystal. What if they can't find a way out?” He thought of Lena calling to him through the door, of the terrified look on Quinn's face as the walls crumbled and the orcs started tumbling through. “We have to help them!”

“
Help
them?” Finn laughed. “The last thing they remember of you was you shutting the door on them. Tye Thwodin will kill you if he sees you, except he won't be able to, because the orcs will get you first.”

“We can't just leave them there!” Colm shouted.

“I know you feel that way,” Finn said calmly. “I knew you would find this part difficult. That's the trouble with this whole guild business. You get attached. You lose sight of what's important. You start to believe you owe them something, but you don't, Colm. None of them. What's yours is
yours. Besides, there's nothing you can do for them now. As you said, I've got the crystal, and there's no way I'm going back there. I'm not going back into
any
dungeon. Not now. Not ever.”

Finn leaned in close, his chin on Colm's shoulder, lips to his ear. “Now move.”

Colm considered his options. Finn had taught him plenty about locks and traps, enough that Colm might be able to hold his own against the rogue. But in a physical struggle, it was no contest. Even if he had Scratch in his hand, there was no way he could overcome Finn and get the crystal back.

He had no choice. He moved.

Finn pushed Colm through the door of the Crystallarium and into the corridor beyond. The rogue didn't bother checking to see if anyone was there, moving quickly, surely, leading Colm by the dagger at his neck. Colm considered calling for help, crying out, but it didn't seem as if there was anyone around to hear him. It was as if the entire castle had been deserted.

“Where is everyone?” he choked out.

“Fast asleep by now,” Finn said, then forced Colm through another set of doors and down a staircase, careful to stay close to him, mirroring his movements. They took a few more turns before ending up in a familiar hallway. Colm had been here before, of course. His very first day. Finn shoved Colm forward until they were standing at a door with only one lock.

The
one lock.

“All right,” the rogue said, voice soft but still tinged with a threat. “I'm going to take a step back, and you are going to turn around and we are going to have a talk, rogue to rogue. Understood?”

Colm nodded. Then he felt the tip of the knife ease off. He turned to see Finn, dagger in hand, leaning against the far wall, but not far enough that he couldn't easily tackle Colm if he tried to run. Colm scanned the rogue's cloak, looking for the bulge or outline of the crystal that had brought them back here. “You know why we're here?” Finn asked.

Colm nodded. He had a really good idea, at least.

“But you don't know what it took to
get
here. How long I've waited. What I've done. All for a shot at that.” He pointed to the door.
PROPERTY OF TYE THWODIN. KEEP OUT.
Colm shook his head. He looked at the door and then back at Finn.

The rogue shook his head. “An impossible lock with only one key, guarding what just might be the greatest hoard any creature alive has ever collected, and more than any one man has a right to.” The corners of Finn's mouth worked into a frown. “Of course, the only way to get hold of that key is to pull it off Tye Thwodin's decapitated body. So, not being in the decapitation business personally, I made a deal with an unsavory character. A Mr. Gutshank. Prickly fellow, even as far as orc chiefs go, but he has a long history of having his dungeons looted by a certain hammer-toting guild master and was more than happy to negotiate. Tye Thwodin's head . . . in exchange for the key around his neck.”

“Finn, listen,” Colm said, taking a step closer, but the rogue tipped the knife toward him.

“I'm teaching you something. Please, Colm. Pay attention. This is important. Now
getting
the treasure and getting
away
with the treasure are two different things. Rule number thirty-five. And I knew once it was discovered that I was at least partially responsible for Tye Thwodin's premature expiration, I would be hunted by his faithful dog. So I had to get rid of Grahm Wolfe as well. Unfortunately that man is obnoxiously hard to kill.”

Colm thought about the first time he had seen Master Wolfe. Being chased by a pack of orcs through the forests outside the castle. Maybe they were some of the same orcs Master Wolfe and the others were battling in the dungeon right now. There was also the conversation Colm had overheard the night before. The night Finn had come to his rescue.

One of many times Finn had come to his rescue.

“Of course, Grahm Wolfe wasn't my only worry,” Finn continued. “I had to ensure that the other trainees and masters would be indisposed. I also figured I would need someone strong to help me load the wagon once I made it through the door. Fortunately, the promise of immense wealth is more than enough to convince a castle's cook to quit his day job and become a thief, but not before he suffuses the day's stew with a sleeping draft. In fact, our good friend Fungus should be hitching the wagons as we speak.”

Finn twirled the dagger in his hand. Colm looked at the
sword hanging by the rogue's side. He wondered . . . if he was quick, quicker than he'd ever been before, if maybe he could pull it free before Finn realized what was happening. Except he knew how fast Finn was. He knew what the rogue was capable of. At least he thought he did.

“The problem was the key itself,” Finn continued, reaching into his cloak and removing his own lockpick set, dropping it on the ground between them. “Orcs aren't exactly honorable, and though we had an agreement, there was always a very good chance they would turn on me as well, and I would be left with nothing—not even my life. But then
you
came along, Colm Candorly, and I realized that I didn't
need
Tye Thwodin's key anymore. I just needed him out of the way. All of them out of the way. And so, with an excuse for the masters to accompany their charges into a dungeon of my own choosing, I simply had to switch the crystals and make sure I escaped when the orcs came barging in. And bring you along, of course.
You
are the key.” He nodded toward the door barring the way to Tye Thwodin's fortune.

“So that's it, then?” Colm said bitterly. “You led them all into a trap, but you saved me because you need me to do what you can't?”

“Partly. But also because I made you a promise too. You and your sister. Your whole family. So did you. Don't you see, Colm? This is your chance. Forget those rotten, trap-ridden dungeons. There's enough coin in
that
room to provide for your family for the rest of their lives. And your children's. And their children's.
Why risk your life for Tye Thwodin, giving him half of whatever you find? I'm offering you precisely what you signed on for. One lock. One door. And then we are both kings.”

Colm shook his head. “And what makes you think I can pick that lock any better than you can?”

He caught the flash of silver and gold as Finn smiled. “Because you already have.” The rogue kicked the leather pouch that held his lockpicks, and it skidded across the floor to Colm's feet. Colm turned and looked at the silver-plated mechanism set into the door.

It suddenly hit him. That's where he had seen it before.

The impossible lock. Except Finn was right. He had done it once before, using something as ordinary as a hairpin. The one that was still in his pants pocket. The lock on the treasury door was identical to the one on the chest in Finn's workshop. Colm remembered what Finn had told him the first time they came down here.
“Failed attempts to pick it can result in death by half a dozen means.”

Finn's voice shifted. For the last ten minutes, he had spoken with that icy confidence that Colm had first mistaken for charm. Now it softened into the voice he had used all those afternoons in his workshop. The one that had convinced Colm to take the journey out of Felhaven in the first place. It was the voice of the man Colm had come to trust. Still, Colm didn't move.

Finn sighed. “Did I ever tell you how I got this scar?” he asked.

“You told me lots of things,” Colm said. He tried to be still, to listen for footsteps, voices, anything that would suggest it was more than just the two of them down here. But they really did seem to be alone. Finn reached up and stroked the curving path of white tissue that stopped at his chin.

“I wasn't much older than you when I became a thief. And I wouldn't just pick pockets. I'd steal anything. Food. Horses. Jewels. I was good at it too. Good enough to get noticed by others who made a scoundrel's living. I eventually joined up with a gang, cutthroats and mercenaries. One day whispers came in that there was a man traveling through town with more gold than he could carry. An adventurer. A
dungeoneer
. So the group I was traveling with decided we'd lighten his load. Tracked him to a tavern where he was already half drunk. But it soon became clear that we weren't simply going to pick his pockets. We were going to take everything he had. He was dangerous—you could tell just by looking at him, hulking and battle-scarred and well armed. Odds were, if we robbed him he'd hunt us down and have our heads, but it was too much gold to pass up. We couldn't leave him alive. So one of us would sneak up behind this man and slit his throat. Then the rest of us would empty his bags.”

“So, what? You killed him?”

Finn shook his head. “I was supposed to. But I had never killed anyone before. So I panicked and warned the man instead, just as the rest of the gang came for him. He grabbed his hammer and smashed the first thief's face in like a melon.
Then the whole tavern exploded. Everybody fighting everybody. The other thieves turned on me for turning on them, and one of them gave me this.” Finn pointed to his cheek, then took a long, shuddering breath. “I could have died that day. I nearly did. And when it was all over, do you know what that man did, the one I warned? The one whose life I saved? He gave me a single piece of silver. Just one. Then he grabbed his sacks full of treasure and left me bleeding on the floor.

“Just imagine it, Colm. Years and years of dungeoneering. Half of every trove, stash, and hoard. Piles of gold ripped from the hands of worthy adventurers and deposited here. Probably the greatest fortune that has ever been amassed by one man, and all he can give me for saving his life is one measly little coin?” Finn pressed his hand to his face, covering the scar. Or most of it.

“He didn't even recognize me, so many years later when he hired me. Even with the scar. I kept expecting it to come to him, but he simply doesn't see it. Not the way you and I do. He thinks he's entitled to it, half of everything. But you and I know better, Colm. We know that if you want your share, you have to fight for it. You have to bend the rules a little. Sometimes you even have to make sacrifices.”

“Not everybody's like Tye Thwodin,” Colm said.

“No,” Finn said. “There are also people like your father, who toil away all their lives just to keep food in their children's bellies, simply because the world has told them they aren't allowed to hope for anything better. Seems a shame that
one should prosper while the other one struggles so, don't you think? But you . . . you could change all that. Just one lock. Almost as easy as picking a nobleman's pocket. What do you say?”

Finn glanced down at the lockpicks by Colm's feet, then back up. He had a pleading look in his eyes. And a dagger in his hand.

Colm nodded. “All right.”

“All right?” Finn echoed.

“All right,” Colm repeated. “You're right. This is what I came for. I've just as much right to it as Tye Thwodin. As anyone. You promise to split it, and I promise to pick the lock and get us in.”

Finn put his hand over his heart. “You have my word.”

Colm nodded, then turned and looked closer at the lock. It really did look like the other's twin, but Colm knew there was one important difference: The one in Finn's workshop wouldn't burn you or zap you or turn you to stone if you got it wrong.

Finn must have been thinking the same thing. “Remember, you have to undo each pin, every last one, or you won't disarm it. It may feel like you've got it. You might even be able to open the door. But if you don't get all of them, you'll still trigger the fail-safe. Then it's all over.”