image [https://i.imgur.com/9JnFmXw.jpg]
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Fig pulled back the bolt and opened the hatch.
The first thing that hit her was a stink of urine and waste. Fig covered her nose and dropped their torch down into the room below.
The flames illuminated a space almost as large as the living quarters above, but devoid of any light source. A slimy iron ladder, covered in rust patches, descended through the hole to a set of tables that formed a workstation against one wall. Fig could see a glass distillery set, tool racks, and rows of labelled jars on the shelves above. A laboratory?
Beyond that, were two large iron barred cells. Each had metal rings set into the stone walls, and heavy chains looped through them. Many sets of manacles dangled from those chains, all empty, except for one pair. In the leftmost cell, slumped and chained to the wall in filthy clothes was a single captive man.
‘Help me!’ he croaked. His upturned face sported a patchy beard of dark wispy hair, and it lit up orange in the weak firelight.
Rick stayed behind as Fig descended, not confident of navigating the slippery ladder.
She found a set of keys on a hook by the workstation; there were only two, one for the cells, and one for the manacles inside. It only took a minute to free the man from his bonds. She helped him out of the cell.
He was wearing the filthy remains of a set of khaki desert explorer clothes, like a character out of those Boys’ Adventure pamphlets they sold on Vostrel street corners. In the low light, Fig guessed that he was a few years older than her; early to mid thirties perhaps? Of course, he could be Alfir, or one of the other handful of castes that measured their age in centuries rather than decades, so it was impossible to be absolutely sure.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered. He sounded parched. How long had he gone without a drink of water?
The captive’s legs were shaky, but with a lot of assistance from Fig and Rick, they were able to get him up the ladder and into the living quarters where he sprawled into the waiting armchair.
Rick checked him over for injuries while Fig grabbed water from the kitchen. He gulped it down ravenously, which gave her a chance to examine the captive’s features.
His whole body was covered in a layer of grime, but beneath that she could see that his skin had a rich olive tan despite his confinement in the darkness. That suggested Alfir blood, but he didn’t share their usual elongated jaw shape or brow ridges. His nose was straight and imperious, dirty blonde hair hung just past his shoulders, and he was far too tall for a Vermili. Pale blue eyes ruled out Mardin heritage. Fig furrowed her brow; this stranger’s caste was very hard to place, his pedigree must have been more varied than most.
At last, he finished the waterskin and gave a mighty burp, then turned his attention to his rescuers.
‘Thank goodness!’ the man gasped. He beamed up at Rick and Fig from the comfort of the armchair. His face wore such open joy, it looked almost hysterical, ‘Salvation itself, you came for me at last!’
He sat forward and reached out, trying furiously to grab and shake Fig’s hand, but his nails were crusted with faecal grime. She pulled away awkwardly. It wasn’t his fault he stank, he’d been forced to sit in his own shit for weeks at least, but until he cleaned up she didn’t want to touch him any more than she’d already had to on the difficult ascent up the ladder.
The captive continued talking, unfazed by her rejection and picking up pace. His voice was still weak, but grew in animation and excitement as he went, ‘Oh, I thought this was finally it for old Dorian! Those villainous wobbling jellies! Those slimy beasts! I knew I was next. They ate everyone, you know. Everyone except for me, saving the finest meal for last of course. Oh thank you! You champions. You saviours. There’ll be a dedication for the both of you, I swear it, perhaps even some residuals, although, of course, I’d need my agent here to discuss any financial particulars. Did my editors send you?’
‘Sorry, who are you?’ Rick asked the man, still kneeling to see if the captive had any infected sores from the manacles.
‘Who am I? Surely you know?’ The man looked offended. He smoothed back his long greasy hair and gave the two of them a grin, showing off a set of sparklingly white teeth.
They returned blank stares
‘Not a clue mate,’ said Fig.
‘But… Weren’t you sent here to rescue me?’ he asked.
Fig and Rick both looked at each other, then shook their heads.
‘Mirabelle didn’t say anything about a rescue,’ said Fig.
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ Rick apologised, and shuffled back with a nod to Fig. It appeared he hadn’t found anything too alarming upon an initial examination of the imprisoned man.
A look of hurt flashed across the captive’s face, but he swiftly shook his head and brushed it off. He climbed shakily to his feet, then shot them both a wide, friendly smile.
‘Well then allow me to introduce myself,’ he said, ‘You’re lucky enough to find yourself in the presence of a bona-fide Heartland celebrity. Eh! What a treat! I am the one and only Dorian Darling!’
‘Who?’ asked Fig.
‘No, wait. I’ve heard of him,’ Rick snapped his fingers, ‘My mother used to read his articles, “Dorian Darling”. You’re a… Oh, what’s the term? A travel journalist?’
‘A gentleman adventurer,’ Dorian corrected sharply, pointing a filthy finger in Rick’s face.
“Travel journalist,” Dorian scoffed, ‘I mean, really! You make me sound like a mundane sightseer. Yes, I write a column for the Port Vermil Gazette, but my exploits are far more daring and heroic than the common fare. They’ve taken me all across the wild landscapes of Sedalia, seeking adventure with the same boundless yearning of a heart seeking its soulmate.’
He swept his hands wide as he spoke, and took on a showman’s cadence, his voice growing stronger and louder with each moment. Fig slowly sank her face into her hand and massaged her brow. She still wasn’t feeling great inside the Chest, and this guy was giving her a headache on top of everything else.
‘From the ancient catacombs beneath Trent,’ he spoke with dramatic severity, ‘to the frozen forests of the Land of Giants, and the gambling dens of Demerris; the things I’ve seen would shock you to your very core! In fact, I’m composing a new book right now! It’s a thrilling collection of previously untold stories from my many adventures–’
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
He trailed off, and Fig watched a new notion flicker into his eyes. Dorian’s face became a mask of abject despair and he suddenly spun to slam his fist down on the writing desk, making Fig and Rick jump.
He leant on the desk for support as he hung his head and wailed, ‘Oh! Just to think of all the writing I could have done! All the time stuck in that cell, wasted! If I’d only had a quill and parchment! It’s thrown my publishing schedule off by months. My poor readers will be beside themselves!’
‘Could you please stop yelling,’ Fig said through gritted teeth.
Dorian ignored her, turned around, and got to his knees, loudly beseeching them with hands outstretched, ‘Friends, you must get me to a postal station posthaste. It is of the utmost importance. My editors must know of my rescue; my very career hangs in the balance!’
Rick and Fig exchanged another look. She shook her head.
‘I really can’t deal with this guy right now,’ Fig said. She turned and walked back to the kitchen to continue looking for a coffee grinder.
Behind her, she heard Rick ask Dorian, ‘Ok, how did you end up trapped in this cell? You weren’t a part of the mercenary band with Slimy Lez, were you?’
‘Certainly not, my dear boy,’ Dorian responded, sitting comfortably back down in the armchair to recount the story, ‘I only happened to be visiting that archeological dig with my good friend Lorrace Pilcher, an old roommate from my college days. He was a part of the Magisterium’s excavation team east of Dualspire and the Jasmine River, identifying artefacts and following the trail forged by the lost Illisar patriarch. It was supposed to be a simple visit; get a few interviews, take some sketches of the ruins, but naturally, wherever Dorian goes, adventure swiftly follows. Suddenly’ – he arched his arm up high and splayed his fingers – ‘a sunworm attacked the camp out of nowhere and everything fell into chaos!’
‘A sunworm!’ Rick gasped, ‘Wow, I heard they’re bigger than buildings, and they shoot radiant rays from their mouths.’
‘Much bigger, my friend,’ Dorian smirked down at his captivated audience, ‘The cowardly camp guards fled into the desert, abandoning us to our fate, But my nerves are made of sterner stuff. I faced down the monstrous worm and prepared to fight for my life.’
Fig rolled her eyes. She finally found a crank grinder in the end cupboard and made an appreciative noise. It was Garrel made, very good quality. She said a small thank you prayer to Hod, Face of Artistry for the blessing. Good coffee was going to be vital if she had to keep listening to this self-aggrandising ass continue with an account that already sounded heavily edited to make himself out as a hero.
You’re just angry there’s another person here to soak up Rick’s admiration.
‘Can you fuck off!’ she muttered, pouring the beans into the grinder and turning the handle a little too forcefully.
In the background, the “gentleman adventurer” continued, ‘It takes a lot to rattle old Dorian, but I swiftly realised that my fellow survivors were not so sure of themselves against a sunworm, so I bravely led them in a tactical retreat towards a hiding place in the commissary tent. On the way there, a cloaked figure in a wide hat came upon us, calling out for everyone to head for the ruins and take shelter inside this magical stone box.’
‘There were around thirty of us from the camp that made it inside, following the cloaked figure. But no sooner had the lid closed with us hunkered down in this very room to weather the attack, than a cloud of pink powder filled the air, some form of dastardly sedative, and we were all knocked unconscious. Alas, I awoke in chains, surrounded by my fellow captives,’ He lowered his voice to a whisper and bowed his head dramatically, before popping back up to glance at Fig and Rick,
The guy at least knew how to tell a story, Fig begrudgingly admitted.
‘One by one, we were dragged away and consumed over a matter of months, until only I remained. "Was this it?" I asked myself, "Would the astounding saga of Dorian Darling truly end in miserable darkness?"' he paused for effect, then cried out, ‘Until you, my saviours, arrived to rescue me, just in the nick of time!’
He clapped Rick hard on the shoulder, eliciting a pained grunt from the frail scholar.
‘Please, who are you? Who do I have to thank for this most auspicious turn of events?’ he looked expectantly between the two of them.
Rick spoke up, ‘Um, well, I’m Rickard Crichét. Don’t worry, you won’t have heard of me. I’m nobody very important, but this is Darrowfig Sable,’ he indicated towards Fig, who was heating water on the stove.
She gave an unsmiling half wave.
Dorian blinked, ‘The duelist?’
‘Yes,’ Fig responded with a curt nod.
‘Why that’s wonderful news!’ Dorian exclaimed, brushing past Rick to approach Fig, ‘I’ve been dying to meet you. I’ve barely missed you a half dozen times over the past few years. Everywhere I go I’m always just a few days too late to meet you. I was sure for the longest time that we would be firm friends, if ever we did finally run into each other. Your exploits are almost as impressive as my own, after all. And here you are! Isn’t that splendid!?’
Fig unclenched her fists and took a breath before responding. Everything about his Dorian Darling idiot set her on edge; the forced gregarious manner, the inflated ego, the claims of heroism, and frankly just the fact that anyone would swan around the Outerlands calling themselves a “gentleman adventurer”.
But he’d also just gone through something truly traumatic, and she wasn’t about to have a go at someone who’d been in chains up until five minutes ago, especially in front of Rick. Best to just play nice, and ignore him for now.
‘Dorian,’ she said, and pointed to the corner of the room, ‘look, there’s a bath over there, and hot running water in the taps. Why don’t you just shut up for five minutes, and go clean all that shit off yourself.’
Yeah, real nice.
Goddamit.
Over Dorian’s shoulder, Fig saw Rick put his head in his hands. She shrugged at him.
Thankfully, Dorian didn’t seem to register any negativity, or perhaps he chose not to, because he beamed at her and said, ‘What an excellent idea! Afterwards, you can fill me in on where we are, and we can share a coffee while we swap stories about our adventures, eh?’
‘That sounds great,’ Rick said, encouragingly, shooing Dorian towards the bath.
The fool shot them both another grin, and strolled over behind the bamboo partition to the bath, whistling happily as he went.
‘Sorry, it just slipped out,’ Fig whispered to Rick as she finally poured herself a mug of the coffee. It was weak, and grainy because she couldn’t find anything to strain it with, but she nursed it with reverence.
Thank the unknown god of coffee, wherever they may be.
‘It’s ok, I’m trying to be supportive with him,’ Rick whispered back, crossing the room to stand beside her and accept a mug of the hot brew, ‘It seems like he’s had some sort of psychotic break from the stress.’
No wonder Rick was suddenly fawning over the famous writer, he thought the man was in a deluded state! Fig suddenly felt a lot better, and started chuckling.
‘You think?’ Fig said, peering over to where she could see filthy clothes being tossed freely over the top of the partition, ‘I’m willing to bet that’s just what he’s like.’
‘I hope not. Either way, he’s the luckiest out of those thirty or more captives. Can you believe it, the last one left and he’s not even injured, just a little dehydrated and underfed?’ Rick asked.
‘I’d be suspicious if he wasn’t clearly such a complete idiot,’ Fig replied.
Rick frowned and Fig raised her hands in defence.
‘I know. I know. I’ll be nice,’ she said, ‘Come on, let’s finish looking around before he interrupts us again.’
The two of them finished searching the interior of the Floating Chest, while Dorian took a much needed bath and sang a loud song about bubbles.
They turned up a hefty pouch of coins hidden in the mattress, and an empty stand for a sword, with a plaque underneath. The plaque was inscribed, Sunfire, but there was no sign of the missing blade.
A few other small trinkets were pocketed before they reconvened and agreed to spend a few hours finally getting some rest inside the relative safety of the Chest. It had been one hell of a night, and Fig was tired enough that even the coffee and the spatial nausea weren’t going to stop her getting to sleep.
As Fig closed the stone lid from the inside, she thought about the challenge ahead. Now she just needed to figure out how to get the three of them back to Saltcrust in one piece. How hard could that be?
[End of Chapter 7]