Chapter 11: Come Hells or High Waters

The sun had started to set by the time Bonny and Brill made it back to town. Normally this was Bonny’s favorite time of day. When the sky set itself aflame and the planetary rings high above glittered like distant gems. Even Arrowhead, the black moon, had peaked over the mountain behind them. Its obsidian surface reflected the last vestiges of sunlight. Once night fell, the rings would fade into the night. And Arrowhead would pierce the heavens alongside them, becoming a mere shadow flying high in the sky. Instead, this evening the black moon felt like an omen over her shoulder.

They hadn't talked much on the way down. Bonny was at a loss of words. Her thoughts had spiraled. She followed after her uncle in a daze.

What was she going to do?

Walk. Keep going. Just walk. Don't think about it. One step after the other, follow along, mindless but alive. Walk.

Brill came to a stop.

Bonny walked right into him. She rubbed at her nose. It felt like she had just run into a tree trunk.

“We’re here,” her uncle stated.

She looked up at the sign. “Hearth and Tav?” She asked. “Is this a tavern?”

That was fine with her. She could go for some liquor. And by that, she could have gone for a lot of it.

He grunted. “Poppymill is too small for a proper tavern. It’s more like, hmm, a diner. But she usually has a few spare rooms upstairs.”

"So it's an inn?" Bonny asked.

"It's got rooms."

They stepped inside. Pipe smoke filled the air and her nose was assaulted with the heavy smells of tobacco and pig grease. A dog stretched out lazily before a fireplace in the corner. Older men gambled in another corner, roaring with laughter. And a jolly woman walked by carrying ale sloshing about in clay mugs. She gave Brill a wink in passing. "Be right with ya," she called.

The place certainly wasn’t Bonny's usual preference when it came to eateries. But it seemed nice and was a comfort after such a horribly long day.

“I’ll get you food. Wait here.” Before she could protest, Brill dropped off her luggage at an open table and walked over to the bar.

Bonny became acutely aware of the wayward stares from around the room. She took a seat and distracted herself by wiping crumbs off the table with her sleeve.

Brill returned. "Here. Food. Eat."

Brill set a bowl of porridge before her, then took a seat across from her.

“How much was it?”

“Don't worry about it.” He folded his arms. “Eat.”

"I'm not hungry."

He stared at her with a raised eyebrow. Which she had to admit, was effective. He almost never made eye contact. So she knew it was serious when he did. How bad did she look?

She begrudgingly ate. Satisfied, Brill averted his eyes. He pulled a large stick out of his pocket and started whittling it with a small knife. When had he picked up that?

Eating, of course, helped. She felt the words rising from her depths. “That ghost. Was that your sister?” She asked.

Bonny had heard legends of powerful mages overcoming their mortal lives by binding their souls to objects. She wasn't sure how it worked. But that seemed like exactly the sort of thing Ms. Tanner would be capable of.

“No,” he replied simply.

"Then how can there be a Dungeon in her old home?" She asked.

"Dunno. If I had to guess, I’d wager it came from deep within the mountain. Might have found an old mine shaft. Then dug up through the cellar." He cursed as he nicked his thumb with the knife. It looked like a toy in his large hands. Unprompted, he said without looking up, “I’m fine.”

"That means..." Bonny groaned and slumped in her seat. "The Core could be miles away."

"Afraid so, lass."

“What can we do?"

"I'll notify Waye in the morning. He'll contact the nearby cities. Put out a quest." He examined his wood carving in the firelight. He frowned.

That could open up a whole mess of problems. It could take days before they got a response. The Dungeon had to be surveyed first, since they had hardly any information on it. Depending on that survey, it could go a couple ways.

If the Core was old and powerful, then the town would try to destroy it as quickly as possible, or risk a Dungeon Break. Even a few dozen undead could be enough to raze the town of this size to the ground.

However, if it really was connected to the old mines, then that would be great for the town. And bad for Bonny. Possibly one of the worst case scenarios for her. Whole towns could spring up around a mine, normally. But a mine that was also a dungeon? That could offer untold riches. Poppymill could see a ‘gold rush’ of prospecting adventurers and tourism. The town would go out of their way to avoid destroying the Core, just to keep the riches flowing. The cottage would become a glorified tollbooth. And with that, her dream of a quiet life in the countryside would be over even before it began.

She slumped farther into the chair, burying herself under her hat.

“Heya, good lookin’. All done? Let me grab that bowl for you.” Presumably, the ‘innkeeper’ to this diner asked. Her voice hovered close by. “And who's this pile of laundry you dragged in?”

She heard Brill swear under his breath again.

“Goodness, Brill, you alright? Need a bandage?” Bonny noticed the woman's pitch went higher when she spoke to her uncle.

“I’m fine,” Brill said.

“You sure, hun? It's no bother."

"That's true."

"Well, alright. If you insist, big boy.” Her flirtatious tone made Bonny want to gag. But she didn't want to spend energy on any verbal capacity. She was fine with listening in for now.

She huffed. "Anyways, who's this?"

“She’s new. Had a hard day. She needs a room. Do you have any?”

“Sure do. Though I don't see why you want a room when you live alone... Afraid to let her see your mess?”

“Oh. No. She's my niece. I don't have a spare bed for her.”

“I’m Bonny. Pleasure to meet you,” Bonny said, her voice muffled under her hat. She waved a hand. “Please ignore me dying.”

The woman laughed heartily. “Well, Bonny, ain’t that a mood. I’m Mally. Mally Tav. Good to hear Fletcher here has another family member to keep him in line. Come find me when you’re ready for your room. And Brill, give a holler if you want another meal on the house for being a good uncle. Or if you want those hands of yours kissed better.”

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Bonny stifled a laugh. She lifted her hat up and took a peek at Brill. A puzzled expression had crossed his brow. “No, I’m fine. Really. Thank you.” He shook his head and continued whittling.

“Suit yourself.”

After Mally passed out of earshot, Brill muttered, “Strange woman.”

Oh, Uncle, Bonny thought. You have no idea, do you?

Bonny went back to stewing in her thoughts.

She was missing something.

After a while she heard Brill announce, “It’s done.”

She sat up. He held out a wooden figurine.

"Oh wow! It's uh... what is it?" Bonny asked.

"It's a feather."

"Of course! I see it now."

She did not.

Clearly, her uncle was not a Savant at the Whittling Skill.

Maybe he hadn't unlocked it yet. She didn't have enough levels in Scan to know for sure. One didn't need to have a Skill in order to try using it. With enough practice, time, and willpower most common Skills could be unlocked and one could accumulate levels.

Of course, that didn't always happen. She had been walking around for over twenty years of her life, but she hadn't unlocked the specific 'Walking' Skill. Only a select few people truly did.

Mally Tav walked by, carrying not one, or two, or even six, but twelve mugs. All stacked in one hand. Clearly using some sort of Balance Skill.

She stooped down low, placing her other hand upon his shoulder. “Ooh, Brill. Nice tree.”

Maybe he actually was a Savant. Just on another level.

Maybe one in the negatives?

****

Finally. A notification that made sense to me.

Good to know I could get experience from scaring off solicitors. I was already an expert at that! If only I had brought my 12 gauge with me! I could call up Avon and level up in no time at all! Nice and simple.

Instead, my only defense was two and a half bumbling idiots. And trying to figure out how to navigate this online poorly designed Sears Catalog.

Jellybee held the black cat under its arms. He lifted it up to me, proudly displaying the creature–like Simba on top of Pride Rock–its long body and legs dangled. “What should we call him?”

“He has a name. It’s Bedknob,” I stated absently. I had been reading through my Skill screens, trying to figure out what sort of traps I had available. To my disappointment, there wasn’t a specific drop-down menu for traps. Which meant I had to make some the old fashioned way. Which was a shame, really. Even if I could rise to this engineering challenge overnight, I didn’t like the idea of filling the home with spike traps and falling boulders. Where would I put the “Fine China” porcelain plate cabinet?

Bedknob let out a loud yawn.

Jimbo-no reached out to pet Bedknob. The cat hissed fiercely at the other skeleton. Jimbo-no flinched backwards. “I hate everything about this place. Can we leave now? Please?"

I ignored his comment. I gave up on the menu screens. There was another matter to address.

"Jellybee?” I asked. “Would you kindly be a dear and go out back to water the garden? It's a very important task that I can only trust you with."

“Yes, ma’am!” He held up the cat’s paw in a mock salute, then left.

I turned to Jimbo-no. “He’s, uh, how to say this nicely? Well. He’s a bit of a space cadet.”

He replied with a flat stare. “I have no idea what the shit that means.”

“He’s special. Confused, but got the spirit.”

“Oh, ya mean he’s a fuckin’ dumbass? Yeah. Ya sure chose the best head to land on.”

"Speaking of, I find it interesting that a boy like that would end up on the same squad as you. I don't suppose you could tell me what your mission was?"

He saluted with a rattle. "That's classified, Ma'am.”

“Ah. I see.” I gave him the look. I raised an eyebrow. “Jimbo-no.”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“I can see it in your eyes, even with these old peepers. Don't lie to me.”

“Me? Never! Cross my heart. Oh, whoops. Don't got one.” He turned away.

“Don't you make me turn my Aura back on. Jellybee is out of its range. Only you'd suffer. Spit it out!”

He turned back to me, throwing his hands into the air. “Okay, fine! Ya sadistic old bat. Marrowmar had all the details. Not me, alright? We were supposed to leave a message. The big boys up top wanted her to meet with them. Don't ask me why. If we failed, our orders were to fetch reinforcements. Then return to leave an even bigger message.”

“I presume failure means kicking the bucket?”

He stared flatly again. “Once again, no idea what you’re saying. Oh! You mean keel over, right? Then yes. Failure means keeling over dead dead.”

I nodded in response.

My. Another interesting discovery about the video game system I was navigating. My inflight entertainment options had clearly included language translations, or else I wouldn’t be able to communicate with anyone in this world. But those translations didn’t always work for metaphors. Nor did they work for all written languages, like the lumberjack man’s ax. Nor did they include every species. Otherwise I could have conversed with Bedknob just as well as these skeletons.

“Sheesh. What backcountry cesspool did you dig your way out of, lady?”

I tapped my chin. “This mission of yours seems very important. Except, I can't help but notice, dear minion of mine, that you didn't give our visitor a message. In fact, Jellybee attacked her on sight. Now why is that?”

The skeleton sailor shrugged. “We just covered this.”

I continued to tap my chin. "You both seem unusually calm considering the circumstances. I’m presuming some of you weren't expected to survive your mission?”

“Ha. Hells no. Jellybee wasn’t expected to survive the trip here. You're less senile than ya look, lady.”

I forced a smile. “And that wasn't the adventurer you were looking for, was it?" I asked.

"No. No, it was not."

“Is this… Is this even the right house?”

The man shrugged.

“Which means…oh lordy. Your mission failed before it began.” I bowed my head and rubbed my temples. Could Dungeon Cores get headaches? It felt like I could easily develop one with this enlightened company I kept.

“Eeyup. By mornin’ the entire town will know there’s a dungeon here. And any day now a whole fuckin’ army could be on its way to burn down the whole fuckin’ town. Come Hells or high waters, we're double, triple fucked.”

*****

Bonny laid down upon the bed with a loud creak. The downy pillow poked at the back of her head.

She was exhausted. Yet sleep wouldn't come.

She flipped the pillow over.

She stared up at the ceiling.

She fluffed the pillow.

Her head swam.

She fluffed it again.

Her eyes were heavy. Yet they wouldn't shut.

She flipped it again.

She tried every trick in the book to fall asleep.

She fluffed it again.

Bonny stood up, walked over to the wall, and placed a hand upon the wall.

Ah, yes, here it is, she thought. That Leyline I Scanned earlier. It’ll do.

Her eyes flared bright green as she activated her Control Paste Skill. She tapped into her Mana, drew from her past encounters, and then Pasted a Link to the Farwide upon the wall.

It appeared at first as a small piece of paper, then rapidly unfolded itself into the shape of a small door. The Link was not much bigger than a cabinet. She opened it.

To find all the Hells staring back at her.

The souls of the damned clamored for her Command Prompt. They churned in anticipation. Ever so demanding.

She threw the pillow inside the FarWide. “”

Bonny watched just long enough to see them tear into the pillow case with reckless abandon. An explosion of feathers joined the endless cacophony of sights and sounds.

She closed the door, then Control Cut the Link as soon as possible. The cabinet faded out of existence, leaving no trace.

The wall returned to being just a wall.

She laid back, her head hit the mattress.

That was better. Now she could think.

The cottage hadn’t been burned down. It was still standing. As she recalled, the wooden porch was perfectly intact before Brill threw a damn tree at it.

She thought back. There was ash on the porch steps. She had left footsteps in it. Weren’t there bristle marks in the ash?

Somebody had taken a broom–before the smoke even cleared–to sweep the porch? Why? That puzzled her. For a dungeon, wasn’t that …. oddly domestic?

Of course, she had long thought it was odd that the undead spirit had taken the form of an elderly woman. Why not choose a more intimidating form? Or one more suited for combat? Instead, the undead spirit asked to speak with them.

Which could have been a trick, of course. Unless… No, it had to be a trick.

But even if it was, so what? Tricks needed to be planned out with some degree of logic. They needed forethought.

Didn't that mean she could possibly reason with the Dungeon?

Bonny could go back … and? What? Ask the Dungeon to invite her inside her own home for tea and biscuits? Show the Dungeon the deed and tell it to stop squatting in her home?

It was a stupid idea.

But one that haunted her thoughts, even as she drifted off from exhaustion.