“It's strange his wife didn't just have the package delivered to his house.”
He'd been stopped by a botanist once inside the building but showing the package was apparently enough to make an official courier.
“Well, Mrs. Lawfer said that his office practically was his home. I can't imagine why he'd want to hang around though. His office is right across from the waste management room.”
They stopped in front of two doors that had painted onto their surfaces Telowe Lawfer and Waste Management.
As easily dismissed as the odor had been outside it was now very apparent, almost painfully so as Clarke tried to take shallow breaths. Rotting organic wastes, fertilizer and who knew what else mingled in the air to create a sensation that not only appalled smell but taste.
“Oh, well, you spend enough time here and it sort of goes away. Honestly, sometimes clean air makes me gag now.”
She tapped on the door a few times and called through it.
“Mr. Lawfer? You have a package.”
There was no answer as Clarke expected and he knew he had to do something quickly so he could look around on his own.
Poison her!
No!
He shouted at himself. Luck intruded on his behalf in the next few seconds as another elf ran up, sweating form running all over the building.
“There's been a big outbreak of...well, rampant carnality when something kicked up the Titan's Arousal pollen. The guards need to know if there's an antidote before it spreads any further.”
“What! I told them the pollen is occasionally excessively strong after a dry winter! I said this would happen! You can leave that package at the door and show yourself out!”
She shouted as they ran and disappeared from sight.
That worked better than I thought it would.
There was no lock to keep him out and after tossing the package on the desk inside he found out why. The room was sparse, a few notes on plant experiments and some plants lining the back of the room, labeled with horticultural names and times. A few papers were on the desk, all of them about plants and dirt and the very mundane subject of nutrition. Even checking the walls, ceilings, floors and desks revealed no secret passages or hidden alcoves. It was a dead end.
He stuck his head out the door and checked for any passing mages or botanists and crossed to the door to Waste Management. It was much larger and easily swung in on a large room, some twenty feet high and widely round piled up high in around the edges of the room with things you'd expect to find in a waste room. Shuttered windows let the accumulating gases escape but the smell was excessive and almost forced him back. Even covering his nose with the neckerchief helped only marginally.
The only difference here was the use of stone instead of wood for the floor, a change that invited his eyes to quickly glance over every seam.
We're still pretty high up in the tree. The only way to go anywhere else would be through...
At the farthest end of the room was a knothole, a thick lump of wood that puckered together, gentle light escaping the leaves that ringed it, soaking in sunlight from the vents.
Maybe this is something...
He approached and knelt by the branch, seeing nothing special about it besides the obvious glowing of a several hundred year old holy tree.
“Boo!”
A face lunged out of the bark and Clarke yelped and fell back, throwing the first thing in his hand.
His book.
It was a well known rule amongst all adventure scribes that you never threw your book away. Your life, maybe, in the pursuit of a good story but never your book. But anyone can succumb to surprise and the metal spine cracked the face in the forehead, snapping her neck back so she immediately set to rubbing it.
Clarke stared at the pained response, wondering what the thing was. Thick, dark green leaves covered its head and rustled as it rubbed its face. Pale, rough skin the same as the tree it was currently sticking half out of. The body began to rise and Clarke stared at something far more unusual. Conjoined at the shoulder were two bodies both the same, three legs at the trunk and sharing the whole of one side down the middle. Two heads looked at him, one glaring and the other pained but sheepish.
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“Sorry about that~”
Sang the first one. It seemed pretty chipper despite the smack to the skull. He had a good guess what it was now after taking a moment to gather his thoughts. A dryad, a magical spirit bound to a tree.
Of course a magic tree hundreds of years old would have at least one. No, at least several. Uh oh.
“You! You're not supposed to be here!”
Growled the other head, swiping his book off the floor with the hand on her side.
“State your business!”
She barked again and threw his book back at him. He jumped to his feet and slung the book around his back.
A guardian? Maybe the doorwoman for the entrance?
“He's okay~ He's okay~”
Chirped the other head.
“It was my fault. He's obviously just some tourist who got lost and the alluring aroma of nutrients brought him down here.”
She sniffed of the air, mmming at the smell of feces and the nutrients plants distilled from it. The more serious one scowled.
“Humans don't enjoy a good fertilization like we do.”
She advanced forward while her other half was absorbed in smelling the air.
“Now what do you want?”
Kill her. Even with ventilation, one bottle of explosive fire and the place will go up like a firework.
Yeah, I don't think one big fireball is going to take out a spirit of nature. Things probably got spells that would take out whole platoons. And I'm in here!
Clarke heard something far behind him, heavy feet thudding down the stairs and he looked back, elves carrying heavy boxes and he grasped at the only strands of an idea he had.
“Delivery. I came ahead to find space.”
The nice half of the dryad ruffled his hair, bark crumbs coming off.
“See? He's just a delivery guy from one of those companies. He's fiiiiine~.”
He stood and composed himself. The delivery men would debunk him if he stayed too long.
“I'd better go help them. Just leave the boxes here?”
The cheerful side waved at the deliverymen coming in and the other side nodded at him.
“Yes, here, and make it quick. We have a lot of botany to take care of.”
She held out a hand, prompting for something Clarke didn't understand.
What do people do during deliveries...what...oh!
“Right, right, I'll need a signature.”
He took out his book, tilted it up as he wrote as fast as he possibly could, the stolen order form in his book to copy from.
He gulped, dashing out items plucked from thin air, copying over the language used, the dry, business style as the dryad got more impatient.
Official looking seal...is that...the Weatherworn Export seal?
He swiped it free and presented it to her with his pen.
“Sign here.”
She quickly scribbled half of a signature and handed it to her friendly counterpart who finished it, doodling little leaves around her side.
“There. Now go, it's uncomfortable having so many people in here.”
She turned and melded into the tree once more leaving Clarke alone with the actual deliverymen.
“Hey!”
One of the men called, stamping his foot as she disappeared.
“Wubwé have mercy! Now I gotta wait for her to come back.”
He seemed to be having trouble breathing, the other men covering their mouths and noses. It was apparent they wanted out and Clarke needed them gone.
“Needed her to sign your delivery notice too?”
“Yeah.”
He turned to kick a pile but stopped just before contact, thinking better of walking around smelling like fertilizer for the rest of the day.
“I feel for you. Let me help. That was the lady who signs for things ,right?”
The elf nodded.
“And you wanted her signature?”
He nodded again.
Clarke swiped the paper from his hand and overlaid it on top of the signature he'd just gotten.
“And this is her signature?”
The elf's face lit up and he looked around the room hoping no one else could hear.
“...yeah.”
Clarke copied it out, ink over ink and handed it back.
“There you go.”
The elf burst into a smile that quickly closed as he pulled in more of the smell.
“Thanks. You saved my life.”
They exited quickly and Clarke found himself alone with the boxes, all stamped with the mark of the Weatherworn company.
A rustling alerted him, a noise he'd only faintly missed before and he ducked behind a box, peeking out as the dryad re-emerged. She looked around, satisfied she was alone
It rubbed its hands and without a single incantation it called up roots and vines that slid through the windows around the room to lift a few of the boxes, carrying them towards the one spot where the tree came through the wall It slid back like the top of an acorn pushed aside and they disappeared down into the branch.
Clarke crept forward, eyes on the bio-luminescent hole, and checked the boxes. The nails were cleanly hammered around the edges but a little tug had them creak and near lifting away. He kicked the edge of the crate so it came up, the nails squeaking out of the wood as the corner was exposed.
Short nails. Comes up easily enough...I could...
Lifting it up brought him face to face with an elf, carefully tucked inside who squeaked as she tried to move, her body pained from being stuck in such a position. A little smoke bomb chucked in and he slammed the lid shut, sitting on it and thumping and bumping hammered the inside and grey gas leaked from the corners.
He quickly tore the top off to see food stuffs and blankets piled on one side and an unconscious person dressed in body concealing clothing in the other corner, snoozing away, their head lolled back. The rest of the gas poured out of the cracks in the wood and dissipated into the air.
He grabbed an arm and hoisted them up and out onto his shoulders.
So that's what they're up to. That's pretty clever.
He carried her into the office and tossed her under the desk, putting her legs out straight so they'd smooth out the cramps she no doubt had.
He rushed back and hopped into the box, kicking the blankets back for a little room and pulling the top back over, jerking the frame down so the nails more or less found the holes they'd made. He could still smell the faint scent of the gas and pulled his hood over his head and the neckerchief around his nose and mouth. All he had now was the seam of daylight around the edges and the returning footsteps of the dryad, he assumed. The slither of vines wrapped the box and he felt himself lifted, his weight sliding back and forth as he was carried.
“Hey, the lid on this one is loose.”
His heart stopped.
“No, no more snacking! This stuff is for the guards and the prisoners. Telowe will get mad at us again if I don't watch you.”
“Maybe just a-”
“No!”
The rest of the walk was whining and begging but he had a moment to breathe easy.