Severil stepped cautiously off of the last step—the sixty-first one, to be quite precise—into cold, dark, ankle deep water. There was no meaning that he could currently decipher from the exact number of the stair steps, but one should always pay attention to details, regardless how insignificant they may seem at the moment. Severil always paid attention to all of the details. That's why he was Severil, master procurer of fascinating items both mundane and obscure! He always smiled to himself when he thought of himself that way, since everyone else considered him to be little more than a common thief. Really? A common thief? Why, that was plainly offensive! Few others could have found this obscure hole in the ground, even if they had known of its existence to begin with. Fewer still could have survived to get this far in to it. Granted, it had cost him two of his hirelings thus far, but it wasn't his fault they couldn't pay attention to detail. A loose stone in the floor might be a trap, or it could simply be nothing more than a loose rock. Unhappily for his associates it had been the former, and they had found out the hard way. Daven alone remained with him, hugging close behind Severil ever since the massive stone block had crushed his two companions.
"'Er we at the end now, Mister Severil?" Daven whispered, "'Er we gonna be rich now, like you said?"
By the gods, the man's breath smelled like sewage! But he had a remarkable talent when it came to disabling locks, and so was quite invaluable on a mission like this. Severil sighed in exasperation. He supposed that one must occasionally make concessions in order to achieve a goal.
Daven stood nervously on the last step above the water, watching as Severil moved guardedly forward into the room. Severil tested each step carefully beneath the frigid water, treading lightly and gingerly with each foot before putting his weight fully upon it. He watched intently as the flickering light from his lantern played off the inky ripples. How long since someone else had disturbed this water? Decades? Centuries? More?
The water was cold enough that it seemed like it should be solid ice! He was beginning to lose feeling in his feet, which could prove disastrous. He ducked his head under the low ceiling and moved deeper into the room, pausing frequently to look around. The room was small enough that his lantern could illuminate nearly the whole space. It had roughly chiseled stone walls and a low, coarse ceiling. Severil dipped his head even lower to avoid the rough ceiling as he advanced. When he reached what he guessed to be the center of the room, he scanned the area meticulously, pivoting slowly withershins until he had turned a complete circle.
Severil cocked his head to one side as he studied the walls. That was odd. Was it just his imagination? The scoring and tool marks etched into the stone seemed to suggest a hint of pattern, almost as though there was more to the roughness of the walls than simple hasty excavation. Could this perhaps be some kind of script written in an unknown tongue? Hmm, no symbols there that Severil had ever seen before, and he was well versed with many written languages. In his line of business, it always paid off to be well prepared. He couldn't make out any character or glyph that he could recognize, not even from any of the several ancient languages with which he was familiar. After several more moments of inspection, Severil finally decided there was nothing to it — his mind was trying to impose order where there was none.
He was now twelve wary, sliding steps into the room, in as straight a line from the bottom stairway as he could manage, and roughly at the room's center. In the outermost fringe of the lantern's light, at the edge of the opposite wall Severil could dimly make out what appeared to be the top of a small chest jutting up out of the water.
"Details, Severil, details..." he muttered quietly to himself, unconsciously massaging his lower lip while he considered his next action.
"Whut is it, Mister Severil? Is it anudder trap?" Severil could hear the panic rising in Daven's tremulous voice.
“Hsst! Be silent, you idiot!” Severil slid another watchful step forward and stopped, considering the area before him. He had an intuitive sense that something here wasn't quite right. The chest was maybe a foot long on each side, but it wasn't sitting square and flat on the unseen floor below. Instead, it was tilted and partially propped up against the wall behind it. Severil carefully moved another pace forward, trying fruitlessly to feel the floor under his benumbed feet. Why was the chest cocked like that? He examined the ceiling and walls more closely. He couldn't see any cracks or crumbling stone. If there had been an earthquake there would be some visible sign of it.
He moved a few feet more, and could now see the chest clearly by the light of the lantern he held outstretched in his hand. It was solid ironwood and wrapped on the sides and corners with heavy, thick bands of silvery metal. He couldn't see the lock, but he had a hunch that it would be heavy and remarkably strong. Severil approached to within a few feet of the chest. Looking at the chest, then back to the stairway, and back to the chest again, he pursed his lips in concentration while he calculated distance and trajectory. He concluded that the chest was in that position because it had been thrown across the room from the area of the steps. Someone had been in such a hurry that they hadn't even carried it in to the room. And by the look of things, it hadn't been touched since then. Why throw the chest like that and take the risk of damaging or destroying what was in it? It might have been for fear of triggering more traps, he supposed, but Severil hadn't yet detected any threat in this area—and he was very, very good at discovering traps. His life depended on it.
Severil smiled slyly. Unless, of course, they hadn't been concerned about the condition of the chest or its contents. He once again turned very slowly and carefully in a full circle, eyes darting about and evaluating, until he faced back towards the chest again.
"Mister Severil, what'r'ya... " Daven's quavering voice trailed into questioning silence at Severil's upraised a hand.
Never taking his eyes off of the chest, he whispered, "Patience Daven. Patience."
He lowered himself gingerly to his knees in the bitterly cold water and shifted the lantern to his right hand. He began to explore under the water with his left hand.
Long ago, an old thief had admonished him, “Always use your sinister hand when you explore for traps," he'd held up a three-fingered hand to emphasize his point, “just in case you find one." It was a lesson that had stuck with Severil throughout his career. So far, by dint of skill, caution, and a healthy dose of plain dumb luck, he still had all of his digits attached. Although by this point he wasn't quite certain about his toes anymore.
"Details, pay attention to the details," Severil muttered his mantra to himself as his hand explored the rough stone of the floor in front of the chest. At first he felt nothing out of place, and had a brief flash of uncharacteristic self-doubt. He began to fear that his hand would go numb from the cold before he could find anything, but then finally his questing fingers found what he'd already suspected was there. To nearly anyone else it would have been undetectable, little more than a shallow crease in the floor, full of ancient mud and grime. To Severil's skillful touch, however, it might just as well have been a signpost. With practiced dexterity — and a healthy dose of caution — he traced out the shape of the furrow in the floor. Oh, the maker of this trap had been very clever, and truly skillful. The crack was not straight and regular, but rather seemed to follow the natural contour of the stone, wider in some places and narrower in others. The one thing that remained consistent, and thereby alerted him to the danger, was that the area of stone contained within the groove was almost imperceptibly higher than the floor surrounding it. Once having found this, Severil reexamined the walls and ceiling with a new insight. The shape of those rugged rocky surfaces suddenly coalesced into a whole new pattern, a deadly pattern to the eye that knew how to see it. Trigger this stone, and trigger a collapse. Severil stood up slowly and slid his feet carefully away from the trap. Icy rivulets from his soaked trousers trickled down his legs, making him shiver involuntarily.
"Hmm… so, if you collapse the room, you'd bury that chest and whatever else you were hiding in here — maybe for good. That doesn't make sense," he mused aloud, "because you'd want to kill the thief, but you'd still want to be able to retrieve your treasure later, even if the trap had been sprung."
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Severil held the lamp up as high as the low ceiling would allow, and turned in a circle so slowly that he was barely moving. He swept his eyes over every crevice and divot for what he now knew had to be there somewhere. He could hear Daven shuffling his feet in an effort to stay warm, could hear his nervous breathing. Severil kept turning until he faced back to the stairway where Daven was standing. Sixty-one steps, why such a strange number? The methodical mind tended to prefer nicely balanced figures, so multiples of anything most often occurred in even numbers. Severil mentally traced his route back to the steps, where Daven continued to shuffle his feet nervously.
Panic welled in Daven's eyes when Severil began sloshing through the water back towards the stairway. "'Er we leavin' wifout the chest? We done come a long ways, Mister Severil, and it done cost us two good men! We cain't leave wifout it! You said we was all gonna be rich!" Daven's mouth snapped shut and he cowered back as Severil glared at him.
"Oh, we are going to be rich my fellow, but that chest isn't what's going to make it so. Now, if you would be so kind, move your ass back up the stairs a few steps, and by the gods please shut your irritating broken mouth!" he snarled.
Daven recoiled as if he'd been slapped, and backed hastily up the stairs. He watched wide-eyed as Severil again went to his knees in the cold water. Severil set his lamp on the steps above him, and ran his skillful hands delicately over the bottom-most step. It was quite solid, hewn from the same stone as the walls and the rest of the stairway. Only the sharpest eye would have spotted the tiny crack between it and the next step above it. A very fine, very minute crack, but a crack nonetheless. Severil pulled a small, flat pry bar from a pouch at his belt. He worked the wide flat edge of the bar along the crack, gradually increasing pressure until he was finally rewarded by the grating sound of stone against stone as the second step from the bottom shifted just the slightest bit. He continued to work at the crack until it was wide enough to fit the tip of his crowbar. Whoever had built this was undeniably a master craftsman! Even the mortar that had once held the step in place blended indistinguishably with the surrounding stone.
Severil pried carefully at the bottom of the stone step with his heavy pry bar. He moved it back and forth along the crack, prying and twisting the tip until he felt the step break loose from the mortar. Driving his pry bar hard into the widened opening, he bore down against the handle, staying alert and prepared to leap aside if anything unexpected should happen. Stone splinters popped away from the edge of the metal bar, and then the step abruptly fell out of the casement and tumbled down into the water with a loud splash. Severil had to jump back to avoid getting his toes flattened. Just as he had surmised, there was a small cubbyhole carved out behind the stone where the step had been, above the water line. Tiny rainbows jittered on the surface next to the hole, dancing in time with the flickering of the lantern's flame. Severil pushed the tip of his bar warily into the opening until it grated against the back wall of the niche. When that action garnered no response, he took up the lantern and bent over to peer intently into the hole. Satisfied now that there were no more traps, he reached back into the opening and cautiously withdrew a small, gray, metallic-looking cube, about six inches to a side. When light fell on the cube, indistinct rainbow shapes began to coalesce and dance just beneath the surface of the metal. Severil exhaled a long excited hiss from between his teeth, and his austere face broke out in a huge triumphant smile.
"And now we are rich Daven, richer than you can even imagine." Severil watched, mesmerized as the ever-changing hues roiled and spun throughout the odd oily-looking metal. It was as though the strange metal absorbed the light and broke it up into many colors, and then shone it back curiously distorted.
"What is that thing, Mister Severil?" Daven asked in an awed whisper. He was staring at the metal now too, hypnotized, with his mouth hanging open.
"It's Taas, my friend, but more common folks refer to it as Builders' Blood. Holy cats, I've never seen or even heard of a piece of it this big! The richest of the rich pay incredible sums to have but a small thread of this material traced over or around a piece of jewelry, just so they can show it off and brag to their rich cronies about how much it had cost. It's the rarest of the rare, and we have here a king's ransom several times over!" Severil placed the box flat on the palm of his outstretched hand, trying to gauge its weight. "No, make that several kings' ransoms' worth!" he crowed. He could barely keep himself from dancing an undignified little jig right there on the spot. He rolled the cube over in his hands, examining it from every possible angle, admiring its eerie beauty. As he inspected it, however, his sharp eyes picked out a tiny hairline crack along some of the edges of the cube. Severil turned the cube in all directions, peering closely. Why, this wasn't a solid cube, it was a gods-forsaken box! He drew his stiletto and touched the fine point to the crack. Whatever treasure might be stored inside must surely be stupendous, to be kept in such a priceless box as this!
He worked meticulously at the crack with the razor-sharp blade, until he felt the top begin to loosen. Prying carefully, he lifted the top back to expose the interior of the box, which turned out to be nothing more than a small concave depression with some nondescript dust in it. Hmph! Probably the ashes of some ancient despot’s pet ratten! Disappointed, Severil huffed out the breath he’d unconsciously been holding, inadvertently blowing the dust up out of the box in a small cloud. He sneezed once, shook his head, sneezed again, and then looked back up. Shock ran bony fingers down his spine as he realized that Daven was gone. He'd been replaced by a tall, cadaverous man with an impossibly large mouth. The man was naked, save for a rough loincloth of some peculiar and unknown fabric wrapped around his bony waist. His eyes were volcanic glass in sockets set back deep in his head. His skin was thin parchment stretched tightly over a skeletal body. As Severil stared dumbstruck, the man's nightmare mouth broke out into an oversized smile filled with ghastly pointed teeth.
"Well well, who have we here?" The man's voice was all at once smooth and soft and sibilant, like silk rubbing against satin. "I do appreciate your aid, good sir! It has been such a long while, and the quarters where quite cramped!" He stretched his scrawny arms up over his head, joints popping and creaking in protest. Those obsidian eyes locked on Severil's. "So, you hoped to find a great treasure did you, Severil Svenson? I tell you now that you have found a treasure truly beyond your understanding!"
Severil felt a thrill of fear run up his spine under the gaunt man's supernatural gaze. "H-how do you know my name?" He wanted to drop the box and bring his dagger to bear, but his body wouldn't obey him. "Wh-who are you?"
"Who am I? Ah, dear Severil, ask me the question you truly need answered," the thin man murmured, leaning close to Severil's face, "Ask me."
"W-what... what are you?" Severil's throat constricted around the words, making it hard for him to speak. Terror gripped him, and he wanted nothing more than to run away. His traitorous body continued to ignore his panicked commands.
The creature laughed, and it was the sound of ruination. "I am entropy! I am disorder and chaos. I am the utter end of all things! And you are to be the first step to that end!" The man's loathsome mouth stretched open wide, much wider and farther than should have been possible, and Severil screamed in horror as he felt himself engulfed. His final thoughts shrieked of stark insanity, and then all was darkness.
Daven watched Severil pry the box open, and saw the powder puff up into his face. He saw Severil sneeze, and then suddenly stop moving or even breathing for a long, terrifying moment. He seemed still as a statue. Daven didn't know what to do, and he felt on the verge of complete panic. "Mister Severil? 'R you awright? C-can ye talk?" He reached a shaking hand out toward Severil, then snatched it quickly back when Severil's head slowly came up and his eyes bore intently into Daven's. There was something not right about those eyes. Daven backed up the stairs a few more steps. "Uh, 'r you awright?" he asked again in a faltering voice.
"Oh yes, Daven, I am quite all right! Right as rain and all the stars in the universe!" Severil closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath. "Ah, the simple joy of drawing breath. The wondrous scents and odors of life!" He took another deep breath, smiling broadly.
"So, uh, so 'r we gonna be rich then? Be men of the world like what you said?" Daven’s voice had a quality of desperation to it.
"Men of the world?” Severil’s dark, dark eyes glittered with madness. “Why yes, my good friend! We will be beyond men of the world. We will own the world!" Severil locked eyes with Daven again, and Daven felt another wave of horror wash over him. "We will own the world, and then we will burn it to ash! We will tear this whole universe asunder." With that, Severil stepped around Daven and started up the sixty-one stairs. After a long hesitation, Daven followed.