Thinneus held the paper bag in his hand and stood on the sidewalk, enjoying the rays of the morning sun as he waited for his ride to arrive. And then it came rolling up the street: an armored van equipped with flashers ready to shine if an emergency presented itself. Memlen waved from the driver’s seat and Thinneus hopped in the back and sat on the bench alongside the left wall. “Thanks for picking me up.”
Anthony sat on the opposite bench. “You’ve got to get a car one of these days.”
“Nah. I got wherever I needed to go by walking for five hundred years. It’s easier to figure out how to navigate Arcadia Gardens than learn how to drive. I don’t know how you guys do it. Oh! I brought everyone presents.”
Memlen glanced in the rearview mirror. “Yeah?”
Thinneus reached into the bag and brought out four treats.
“You bought Wondercakes?” said Anthony, skeptically.
Thinneus shrugged sheepishly. “I thought you said they weren’t dangerous.”
“It’s not that,” said Anthony. “The Strigoli Family controls the Wondercake market.”
“And we don’t want to deal with a rival adventuring guild?” asked Thinneus.
Sarah looked back from the passenger seat. “We don’t want to support an organized crime syndicate that’s just pretending to be a guild to get extra legal protections.”
Memlen added, “And we don’t want to buy from a punk adventuring guild.” Anthony nodded in agreement.
“I’m sorry.” Thinneus dropped the cakes back in the bag.
Memlen said, “What’s done is done. I’ll take one.” Thinneus tossed it to Sarah who handed it over to Memlen.
“I’ll take the orange one,” said Anthony. “How much did this cake cost you?”
Thinneus handed the cake over. “Twenty two lucre.”
Anthony handed over that amount in bills. Thinneus said, “You don’t have to do that.”
“‘Leave no debt outstanding,’ the Proverbs of Sandragor.”
“I’ll pass,” said Sarah.
Thinneus opened the wrapper of his Wondercake and took a bite. “This is amazing! You people really know how to do food.”
Memlen shrugged. “They’re pretty good for human food. I still prefer my mother’s fermented rice pudding.” He turned the van into one of the lowways that ran beneath New Babylon, leaving behind the bright daylight of the surface world. He lifted his sunglasses off his face with one tentacle and put them on the dash, relieved to be in the undercity where the lights were set for trow eyes.
“Shouldn’t we update the client,” asked Thinneus, “before we lose reception?”
“We already did,” said Sarah. “Filled him in on the progress so far. Oh, Anthony, did you get ahold of the Conclave and arrange a liaison?”
“I did no such thing,” said Anthony. “Our only shot at profit on this venture is if we’re the only ones who know where the Wondertrove is. A liaison officer would just be a liability.”
“You’re being paranoid,” said Sarah.
“Not entirely,” interjected Memlen. “I worked a bit as a liaison officer. My job was basically to make sure surface-worlders stayed out of undercity business. That meant keeping them out of the rough parts of the undercity, making sure they didn’t find anything they weren’t supposed to, and bilking them for tolls and fees when I thought I could get away with it. A liaison officer would do everything they could to waste our time down here while smiling and being as polite as possible.”
Memlen turned off the lowway to head deeper into the undercity. This was an area where surface-worlders were rarely expected, and the trow weren’t making an effort to be accommodating. Everyone but Memlen struggled to see in the dim light, and most of the signage was in Grenter, with very few Imperial translations to be found.
The team checked their equipment loadouts and discussed possible strategies they might employ once they got into territory where the Trow Liberation Front was operating. Exploiting the trow's weakness to fire was discussed as a potential option, but Memlen convinced them that this would be seen by the locals as particularly cruel and would tarnish the Guild’s reputation. Using deadly force was one thing, but flames crossed a line.
The van came to a tunnel that had barriers erected and a sign in Imperial and Grenter saying it was closed due to a cave-in. Memlen backed the van up and parked it at a charging station.
“Well, this is unfortunate,” Sarah said as she stepped out. “Memlen, how else can we get where we’re going?”
Memlen twisted two tentacles together in thought. “I’m not sure,” he admitted at last. “This is THE major artery in and out of the area.”
“All right,” said Sarah. “Well, why don’t you get the van charging for now. I’ll see if they have any snacks fit for human consumption. Thinneus, ask around about directions.”
Thinneus seemed nervous. “Actually, I think I’ll help with charging the van, if that’s all right.” Sarah shrugged and Anthony said, “I’ll figure out an alternate route.”
Those two left and Memlen put the charging cord into the van’s port while Thinneus attempted to work the display to get it started. When he couldn’t, Memlen stepped in, leaving Thinneus to wait.
A trowlet family walked by. The father was tall for a trowlet, a little over a meter high, with rows of shark teeth growing out of the backs of his hands and arms. The wife had chameleon skin that seemed to shift colors to match her mood as she talked. The four children had mostly turtle-shell plates on their skin and cat eyes, but the daughter had antlers as well. She looked up at Thinneus, studying him, but he didn’t react as the family passed by.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Memlen finished his task and turned to Thinneus. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Thinneus. “Well, maybe not. I don’t know how much of my time made it into the history books, but in the era I came from, the trow were our enemies. If we found them, we killed them, and they did the same to us. That’s the way it had been since the archons created this world.”
He paused, hanging his head. “I remember when my crew and I came to one of our villages where everyone had been killed by the trow. A few adults had been eaten and the kids had all been stolen away to be turned into hafftrow. Everything of value had been taken, even the bodies. We found a few survivors in the woods and we all went down in the tunnels and killed as many trow as we could find. We fought for what seemed like days. Half of us died. Some of my mates, they strung up a couple trowlets and tortured them for hours. Not to get any information; we couldn’t understand a word they were saying. We just wanted revenge. That’s how it was in those days. We never found the children. That’s the part that haunts me the most.”
He looked Memlen in the eyes. “I get that it’s different in this age. It took me a while to really believe it, but I see now that peace is possible. You’ve saved my life more times than I can count and I’d die for you if it came down to it. But, when I come back to these tunnels, it’s like I’m there three— five hundred years ago and I’m looking for a trow ambush around every corner.”
Memlen put a hand on Thinneus’ shoulder. “Well there’s a lot of people in our time who still haven’t figured that coexistence is possible, so don’t feel too bad about yourself. Which reminds me, we’re leaving my clan’s territory and heading into Clan Simistil tunnels. They’re from a place where that war is still going on, just as brutal as it was in your day. So don’t get rid of all your fear just yet; some of them will try to eat you if they get the chance.”
Anthony walked up. “I found an alternate path. We’ll have to go on foot, though.”
Sarah picked up her stride. “Let’s just get this over with as quickly as possible. Oh, don’t look at me like that, you guys! It’s too cramped down here for me.”
Memlen chuckled. “I hear a lot of birdkin suffer claustrophobia.”
“It’s not claustrophobia,” said Sarah, “I would just be more comfortable with more space.”
Her wish for space would not be granted as their path led to a maintenance tunnel that was neither tall nor wide enough for her to spread her wings. It went on for several kilometers, and as they traveled down it, the pipes and ductwork got smaller, the lights were fewer in number, the walls showed more and more graffiti carvings, the tunnel got narrower, and Sarah got more agitated. Even Memlen had to pull out a flashlight at one point to attempt to read a hand-painted sign, only to realize it was written in a trow dialect he wasn’t familiar with. Finally, after more than an hour of walking, the path came to a T. The left side was caved in, but the right was clear.
“Only one way to go,” said Sarah, moving forward.
As the adventurers came around the corner, the tunnel opened into a massive mined-out cavern where a few bare lightbulbs struggled to illuminate a shanty town of small huts. In the space between them, hundreds of trowlets were talking and going about their day, right up until they saw the adventurers. Mothers hurriedly rushed their children indoors. Stragglers suddenly realized they had somewhere else to be. Some of the trowlets made a show of keeping about their business, realizing that the adventurers were likely a problem – hopefully someone else’s problem. A few dozen kept a sharper eye on the newcomers, trying and failing to conceal the fact that they were readying to draw their knives.
Thinneus drew his pistols. He nodded at Anthony. “Get ready to call George.”
“Stow your weapons.” barked Sarah. “We don’t draw unless they charge and we don’t shoot unless attacked.”
Anthony added, “And we’re not hiring George to deal with rabble.”
“Greetings,” Sarah called out to the watching trowlets. “Do any of you speak Imperial?” There was no response.
Memlen called out something in Grenter, but none of the assembled trowlets seemed to understand. He called out again in truespeech and the trowlets ducked out of sight expecting a spell. “I asked them if there are any mages here, but no one seemed to understand. That’s Imperial, Grenter, and truespeech. Anyone else want to try?”
Anthony noticed a pile of burnt bones under a simple painting of a red dragon and considered it for a second. He finally announced, “I think I can handle this conversation.”
Memlen laughed. “Let me guess. ‘There are many languages in the world, but everyone understands lucre’?”
Anthony smiled. “So you do pay attention to your chaplain. But, no, I had a different one in mind. ‘The world is shaped by those with power, and those without must either submit or be crushed.’” He gestured at the red dragon paintings on the walls. “Many of these people are part of the crimson church of Arjax, and it’s time to give them a sermon.” He looked upward. “Arjax, give strength to the strong and let me remind these fools how the world truly works.”
Glowing dragon wings sprouted from Anthony’s back and a crown of horns sprouted from his head. As he spoke, illusory fire erupted from his mouth and his voice echoed through the cavern like a thunderclap. “I am Anthony Jackson, executive priest of Arjax, and I have had enough of your obstinance. There has to be someone here who can understand me. If you help us right now, I will reward you accordingly. But any trouble anyone gives me, I will return tenfold. ‘Do not provoke the dragon’s wrath.’”
Sarah grabbed Anthony’s shoulder and yelled “Stop this, now! We do not threaten—” He turned to glare at her, the power of Arjax giving him the fiery eyes of a dragon.
And then a trowlet came forward and broke the tension. He placed a pile of ration bars and a few pieces of scrap copper at Anthony’s feet. And then another came up, placing down her handmade shell necklace. More came, offering up whatever they had. Several knives and a worn pistol joined the pile.
“We are not taking what little these people have,” said Sarah.
“That wasn’t my intent,” said Anthony. For each person that came forward, he put a hand on their head and prayed, “May Arjax bless you to claim power and wealth, to enlarge your territory and seize your destiny.” Each trowlet, after receiving their blessing, nodded graciously and made room for another. None of them seemed to understand the words that were being spoken over them, but they nonetheless had their hearts lifted by the blessing.
“What do you think you’re doing?” asked Sarah.
Anthony finished a blessing and said, “These people don’t have a priest among them.” He said another blessing, then continued speaking to Sarah. “They’re desperate for a spiritual connection.”
Sarah scowled. “Well, you don’t have to take their things.”
“You know better than that.” Another blessing. “‘For nothing in this world is acquired without paying the cost,’ the Testament of Brigis.”
After half an hour of benedictions, Anthony had accumulated a pile of bric-a-brac nearly as large as himself, and no more trowlets were coming forward. Anthony made a dismissive gesture at the pile. “I don’t want any of these things.” He pulled out a paper from his folder of documents which had the Wondertreats logo large and prominent in the center. “We came for this. Can anyone show me where this is?” The trowlets discussed amongst themselves in their language. A few came forward and gestured for Anthony to follow.
Memlen came up beside him. “Do you think they’re taking us to the Wondertrove?”
“I have no idea,” said Anthony. “But they’re taking us somewhere, and it’s probably not an ambush. Let’s see what we find.”
The adventurers followed their guides through a shack that had a hole in the back that led to a small, hand-carved tunnel that forced the trowlets to hunch down and the adventurers to crawl. With only Anthony’s glowing draconic features and the enchantments on Sarah’s machine gun to light the way, they could barely see the person in front of them. And they could only hear the sounds of the team scuffling forward and Sarah’s rushed breathing.
“Do you need help?” asked Memlen.
“It’s Anthony who needs help.” Sarah snapped. “What were you thinking?”
Anthony scoffed, producing a small gout of fire. “I’m sorry. You must clearly be familiar with the teachings of the Crimson Church of Arjax, how those differ from the Golden Church that I follow, and the best ways for them to interact with each other. Please enlighten me as to how you believe a group raised on legends of raiders like Brinn and Miplix would view my actions. I’m only an executive priest in this religion, so what do I know?”
“You were wrong,” said Thinneus. “You thought they were playing dumb, that some of them understood what we were saying. But they had no idea.”
Another scoff. “It worked. As Mannat St. Steven wrote, ‘Virtue does not consist of good feelings or good intentions, but good results.’”
Memlen was about to respond when Sarah screamed. “What’s wrong?” he shouted.
“I’m stuck. I can’t get out, I can't get out, I can't get out!” She thrashed but couldn’t free her combat webbing from the protrusion it had caught on and feathers flew everywhere as she tried to break free.
Memlen chanted a spell and red light streaked out of his staff to wash over the tunnel, shattering off pieces of the tunnel between him and Sarah. She tried to move, found she was able, and caught her breath. “Thanks.”
The guides stopped but Anthony gestured for them to continue and they did. Soon, everyone came to an opening where everyone could stand. The adventurers took out flashlights and looked around. The room was massive, stretching hundreds of meters in length and width and also going several stories high. Steel platforms and walkways criss-crossed the room. The ceiling was dotted with crane hooks and tracks for them to travel on. But the adventurers were focused on the center where a number of shipping containers were stacked, some of them open. The team walked over to the nearest open container, and even in the limited light, they saw it was full of cardboard cases bearing the Wondertreats logo.
“We found it!” said Thinneus.
“It is real,” said Sarah.
“I’m gonna pay off my student loans,” said Memlen, “and then I’m going to Grenger’s and buying the biggest steak they have.”
Anthony said nothing, but his grin shined even in the darkness.
Thinneus shushed them and cocked his head. “We’re not alone down here.”