“Voulez-vous bouche avec moi.” I muttered.

Aqua’s reply was shrill. “SPEAK DWARVEN!!”

“Enchante des poisson!!”

“I t’ink da correct term is ‘dwarfish’, Aqua.” Richter pointed out.

“NOT NOW RICHTER!!” Aqua shook my shoulders again.

I finally snapped. “I cannae concentrate on it if yer all hangin’ over my shoulders like this!! By Yearn’s Yummy Yams, bugger off!!!”

I was seated at Ironbellows' desk, leaning over Jean’s journal and desperately trying to translate the rest of the last page. It wasn’t going well, and I was at my wit’s end. I even had the [Stressed] Condition, which probably wasn’t helping things.

My discontent was met by a wall of angry energy from a grumble with treasure on the line.

Johnsson was the first to shout back, “If ya could read some of it, why can’t ya read tha rest of it!!”

“Because I don’t remember the rest of it!”

“Try soundin’ de words out loud?” Richter said, helpfully.

“Ughh, ya sound like me French teacher, Madame Gerard! I cannae remember what I cannae remember! I ‘aven’t done any French in years!!! And I wasn’t even very good at it!”

The room descended into nervous antsy silence. Ever since I’d done that first translation, everyone had been going bonkers trying to parse out where Jean’s ‘treasure’ was. So far we’d been able to pick out that it was in Whitewall, with a reference to an “Iron Court”, and a string of different numbers and associated distance units.

So we had enough of the picture to know we were on a treasure hunt, but not enough to be able to actually find it.

Everyone was understandably frustrated.

All the already-translated bits were pinned to one of the walls along with maps and other notes. Lines of string criss-crossed them like some kind of conspiracy theorist’s wet dream. Ironbellows and Kirk were busy reading over every history or geography book the Herder’s owned for the umpteenth time, while Appletina moved pins around on the wall.

I buried my face in my hands. “Ugghhhh, If only I’d been a better student in high school! Mum always said French would be a valuable tool one day, but this is ridiculous!”

Aqua sat down beside me with a *whuff*. “Sorry. Pushing harder probably isn’t going to help you remember better.”

“Hey, you’re the [Counselor]! Do you have any counselling to offer?”

Aqua scratched her beard in thought. “Hmm…. well, what have you tried?”

“Honestly, the only reason we’ve gotten so far is my higher Intelligence. I’m amazed I remember this much.”

“And you’re just trying to do it by memory? Like you always have?”

“Uh, how else?”

“Well, you’re in Erd now. Do you have any Abilities that would help?”

I stared blankly at her for a moment, then slowly palmed my face. “Argghh,” I moaned. “I got so caught up in high-school flashbacks that I didn’t think! [Flash of Insight]!”

A few ideas and half-remembered French verbs flashed into my head, but one stood out like a beacon. I jumped to my feet with a shout of joy, and the attention of the room snapped back to me.

“What is it!?” Johnsson asked. “Dijda remember?”

“No!” I cheered. “But I’m now super thankful to Madame Gerard! After two years of horrific nightmare homework nights, that French Book and I were GODSDAMN INTIMATE! [Pete’s MIniature Remembrance]!!”

I posed dramatically, and everyone held their breath as with a barely audible *pop* a hardcover textbook plopped into my outstretched hand. The cover read, “Tres Amis: Textbook and French-English Dictionary”. It was ratty, and dishevelled, and glorious!

I thumped it down on the desk and slumped back in my seat as a weight lifted from my shoulders.

“What is it?” Aqua asked, looking the textbook over. “It’s falling apart.”

“Years of being passed down will do that,” I said. “We got it second hand from someone who also got it second hand. Madame Gerard let me keep it because it was going to be discarded at the end of the year and I wanted to build a memorial of my hatred for it.”

Richter snapped the book up. “‘Dis is a school text? From Earth! Let me see!” He flipped open the pages and his face fell. “I can’t read any of it.”

“Of course not,” I scoffed. “It’s not a Dwarvish-French textbook. It’s an ENGLISH-French textbook. Well, more of an English-Quebecois textbook, but I never really understood the difference.”

I began copying out the text in earnest, though a few words weren’t in the dictionary. Time passed quickly as each new set of words was added to the board, and the electricity in the room grew.

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We were on a treasure hunt! An ACTUAL treasure hunt! A treasure hunt started by the greatest dwarven explorer of all time! It was like being in an Indiana Jones movie! One of the good ones! Without nuclear fridges or alien beer goggles or whatever.

Suddenly, Richter shouted out, lifting up an old book he’d pulled from the office shelves. “I T’INK I’VE GOT IT! Jean said ta ‘Search Beneath De Golden Mount! Come and see!”

Richter’s shoulder was immediately mobbed by the entire room. He was reading a book of Kinshasan architecture and landmarks, and the full-page painting was of a golden mountain covered in sparkling gems, surrounded by dwarves with pick-axes. The style was simplistic, but it had a certain rustic charm.

“That’s certainly a golden mountain. Where is it?” I asked.

“It’s Tiara’s Hold in de Greybeard’s Lyceum!” Richter chattered excitedly. “It's a mosaic made of real gold and jade and precious jewels! It was built a few years before Jean left on his final journey, and it was gifted to de city by a secret donor! It took ‘em over a year to build it, and de Lyceum was closed de whole time!”

Appletina pointed at the map of the city tacked to the wall. “Greybeard’s Lyceum is this big amphitheatre in Whitewall, right here, past The Iron Court.”

“What is it? Is it Greybeards only? I dunno if I’m willing to wait several hundred years to get a grey enough beard to finish this. Can we get Malt to do it?” Johnsson grumbled.

Richter thumbed to another page in his book. “It says here that it’s where ‘de Council of Greybeards teach and listen to ‘de lesser nobles. It’s a way fer ‘da nobility to grumble to da King’s advisors. Even ‘de King goes there sometimes, to give speeches or hear complaints.”

Aqua finished scribbling in her personal notebook with a flourish. “I think we have the mechanism fully mapped too. We need to turn some statues, sing a tune, then push a specific tile, and it should open a secret door!”

I rolled my eyes. “Seems needlessly complex.”

“But, what if somebody already found it?? It’s been such a long time.” Appletina groaned..

The atmosphere fell a bit at that, and I tried to change the subject.

“What’s this ‘Iron Court’?” I pointed at the map. “You said we need to go through there, first?”

Richter thumbed through another book he’d been reading and held it up for me to see. The image was of a dark, square room with tall pillars inside it. It reminded me of the sewers beneath Tokyo. “The Iron Court is a giant cave with walls covered in Dark Iron. It connects to de Palace, as well as clan holdings of de oldest and biggest clans in Crack. We’re talking about Blackbeards, Underhills, and Barnes among others.”

I twitched; that name and I had history. “Wait, Barnes? Like PROPHET Barnes?”

Richter nodded. “Aye.”

“OUR Prophet Barnes??”

“How do ya think he became Prophet of Minnova? There’s more than a few [Prophets], but most get sent to smaller towns, not put in charge of grand Cathedrals!”

“But… he ate at our pub! Every week! Like… just some guy!”

Aqua giggled. “He’s a fixture of Minnova at this point. He’s our [Prophet], not just some noble. The [Prophet] eats where the [Prophet] wants.”

“Like a four hundred kilo gorilla.” I muttered.

“But how are we going to get in there!?” Johnsson whined. “We aren’t even allowed in Blackwall, let alone Whitewall!”

Ah, yes. No good adventure was complete without a few roadblocks! I activated my second [Flash of Insight] to speed things along. The answer that popped into my head, in retrospect, was pretty obvious.

“Doc Opal has family connections. She may be able to get us into Whitewall, or know somebody who could.” I explained. "Heck, she seemed to know Barnes's family when they came by the pub in Minnova."

There was excited murmuring.

“Alright, I’ll ask her tonight at the – ” I began, but stopped as an audible *thump* carried up from the floor. At the same time, a string of papers fell off the conspiracy wall and fluttered to the ground.

“Um, did anyone else feel that?” I asked, glancing around.

Ironbellows laughed. “We’re a bar fer adventurers. It’s just another fight; we get ‘em a lot. Nothin’ down there worth worrying about. ‘Cept maybe my apprentices, eh? Hah!”

I smiled. “We get those too. Mebbe not as bad since our clientele is mostly travellers and locals.”

“Adventurers can be a different breed,” Ironbellows nodded. “Tha rules are: no Abilities or Magic, just ta keep tha place from falling down.”

There was another, louder, THUMP from below us, followed by some crashing. Ironbellows frowned. “It’s a good bit louder than usual.”

Appletina crossed her arms. “I hope it's not a dungeon break. We’ve been lucky so far, but they are a serious possibility in Yellowwall this close to the dungeon, especially recently.”

Ironbellows shook his head. “They told us there’d be an alarm bell. Certainly would be a capper if it happened tonight!”

Johnsson’s eyes flickered accusingly to me and I rolled my own. If it was a dungeon break, I was absolutely blaming Balin for it. Let him take some of the heat for once. But, given the total lack of red dots on my [Map], we were probably fine. I gave Johnsson a little thumbs-up, and he calmed down.

“Should I check on it?” Appletina asked.

“Mebbe...” Ironbellows muttered.

There was another, louder, BOOM and the entire building vibrated. Ironbellows’ face grew grave. “No. We should all – “

He was interrupted as the young dwarf from earlier leaped into the room, locking the door behind him. “Sir! Ya need to come right away! “

Ironbellows jumped to his feet. “What’s tha matter Pennystock?”

“Some crazy adventurin’ team is throwin’ Abilities around! They’re wreckin’ everythin’!! Team Granite Heart is holdin’ ‘em back, but someone’s gonna get really hurt!”

“ARGH! Those bastards! Are they drunk!?”

“No, Master Herder! They came in and were demandin’ to speak to ‘tha owner’! When I told ‘em you were busy and not to be disturbed they got real angry, and then stuff just got out of hand!”

Richter stepped forward. “I’m a [Healer]. I can help if anyone’s hurt.”

Ironbellows breathed a sigh of relief. “Good! I think I saw Healer James from Team Sandcat down there too. Can anyone else help?”

Kirk put up his hand, and I hefted my warhammer. Aqua looked a bit pensive, but stepped up as well. Johnsson… put on his best game face.

At which point Balin smashed through the door, his armor shining with the light of a thousand torches and his grimace promising bloody violence. Annie stood at his back, holding a shield and keeping a bevvy of apprentice brewers at bay.

“WHERE’S ME BROTHER, YA ELFIN MUDWORMS!?!” Balin screamed.

I had the good grace to look sheepish.

I, uh, probably should’ve sent someone to tell Balin we’d be late.