A Building Which Fails To Fulfill Its Purpose Is A Bad Building; I Think Better Of Temples Said To House The Gods Than Of Half Our Houses Today Even Though Gods Do Not Exist

The pair arrived at the entrance and conferred with the others, and together they formulated a plan of action. The primary agent in the operation to break down the door, a course adopted with the enthusiastic approval of Hewwikke Satvo Sau himself, was to be the 76 Muscle belonging to Battler Millim Takki Atsa. The others kind of rubbed their shoulders against the door in a show of gentlemanly cooperation, but they backed off to allow her halberd the field. The sparks that came off the wood raised some concerns when the onlookers remembered what happened to the key until she busted through and set about widening the initial gash.

What must that Omme passing by on the other side of the street have thought as he returned home in the sunless evening brightened by lights streaming from rows of windows, the signs of cheerful meals inside much like the one he hoped soon to enjoy? First he suspected burglary, but the loose pages that blew outside from the house reminded him that Hewwikke Satvo lived there. He was a publisher. That kind of thing seemed normal for publishers, all the noise and papers. And was that not the civic quartermaster? He would never allow any misconduct. Mosso Eksu was becoming one of those cities that bustles with industry even late into the night, the passerby concluded as he went on his way.

“This could be news almost as big as the debate. Besides, I don't want to lose my princely estate to fake articles. Or real ones. I shouldn't have bothered specifying. What I'm saying is, will you help me save Ink House?” Hewwikke made that appeal to his countrymen first. While he reworked it into Adaban for the benefit of a foreign audience, the cooks, the regular servants, the two debaters, and the civic quartermaster took off as if they had just heard salt was on sale in the market. Millim Takki Atsa, Oppo Imlakke Pau, and the two Kitslofers adopted a different attitude.

“Good guests support their hosts. Good citizens don't wait for the state to solve their problems. Whether my brother and I can be said to be good, we stand by you tonight, Hewwikke.” Silapobenk Rikelta might have been mistaken then for one of those statesmen of yore who get statues of them put up in front of a courthouse. Perhaps it would not have been a mistake.

Hewwikke pumped Silone's hand and wept a bit. The others avoided looking at that. For all their differences, Adabans and Jalpi Peffu shared certain ideas about public displays of emotion. Some occasions called for them of course, and there the differences returned. Adabans cried when they failed to cross a river, whereas Ommes cried when they succeeded.

His gratitude sufficiently demonstrated, Hewwikke led the way to the enchanted building, explaining about it as they went. “It's a small place, sort of a gussied-up barracks I set up to accommodate guests I'm willing to have stay here overnight but don't want near the other guests for too long. Smut writers, Adabans, pedantic historians, that type.”

“Oh, so if my father had come and the Rikkeltas wanted cheaper beds, they could have enjoyed a little sleepover together?”

“Not a chance. Old man Takki is a real charmer. I gotta put him in the main hall when he comes around. Kids never know their own parents, do they? There it is.” He pointed toward the guest house, a building longer than it was tall but unimpressive in either dimension. Its more arresting aspect had to be the green, purple, and yellow specks of light floating away from it like drunk fireflies leaving the best party of the year.

The Battler's halberd took the lead. Silapobenk had moved a number of daggers to his belt, no longer suspecting trouble but sure of it instead. The Warm Body banker cracked his knuckles and stretched his meaty arms, the Colorist publisher was a Colorist, and the Ritualist made sure he remembered the final word necessary to activate his delayed ritual. It was loojweirloo. Since Fascination belonged to the Sissalsian type, the invocation consisted of distinct, word-like sounds that meant nothing. Dirant preferred Adaban rituals to Sissalsian, but Sissalsian to the Aemuiaxan ones that forced him to utter invocations along the lines of “OoooOOOooooOOOOooo.” Just reading the directions of those annoyed him.

He preferred thinking about that compared to why he was marching toward some kind of magical doom palace or what would happen when he reached it. What did happen was that the door was just as locked as that of the main house but less susceptible to northern unlocking methods. The blade of Takki's halberd slid through as if the wood were cream. Even worse, the cream started dripping.

“I might have the keys here,” Hewwikke said.

“It doesn't have a keyhole,” Imlakke said right back. “It's been dripped over.”

Takki had long ago resolved, as a Battler, to make her weapons and her body one. The former looked as if it had passed through, and so would the latter. “Ouch,” she stated when the door disagreed with her theory.

“Puzzling.” Silapobenk tried to dig away congealed door bits from the keyhole he had seen moments earlier to no success. His dagger passed through as the halberd had, cleaving a line that was soon filled again by molten wood. “That's my one idea. Henceforth I defer to our expert in unlawful entry. Dirant Rikelta, what can you say about it?”

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He could have said a lot of things, but not in public or to his boss who was also more physically adept than he. Even so, he considered the request unreasonable enough that he could be forgiven some resentment. “Your trust in me is the greatest reward for my triumph. I mean of course when I developed the reverse bribery method. It may be to our benefit to apply reverse thinking again. The first point is that you think we should go inside, and if we turn that around, surely we should not want to do that.”

Silone nodded. “Yes, but we committed ourselves already. Move along.”

“The second is that if the door is no longer a door, perhaps the walls are no longer walls and the roof something else altogether. At the point we may be inside already. Did you think of that?”

“I never did. And so we are.”

They were, too. The little party looked around at a distinctly indoors environment suitable for use as a prison for the unforgivable. Pale lights from some remote source reached them through walls made of a thick glass over which webs of black iron sprawled. The demon architect behind the design must have despised right angles, for the ceiling sagged, the floor made a mound, and the sides curved inward and outward as if a strange sea that lapped alien shores had frozen and been carved into sections to be used as building material.

“Ah. I had doubts before. No longer. I give up on reason entirely. It is a bedtime story we tell credulous children like me,” Dirant declared.

“How can you say that?” Takki asked over her shoulder. “You displayed excellent logic just now to get us in. We simply need to overcome this mystery and get to work figuring out when walls are real and when they aren't so we can generalize the solution. Let's go.”

The party advanced up the corridor, or the tunnel if they wished to surrender any idea of being in the actual outbuilding. They did come across several guests staying there, and if those were winged snakes winding through the air and searching for food with their single eyes that were glistening gems, publishers came into contact with strange people in the course of their business.

“The eye,” Takki called out. The word of a Battler went far when it came to enemy weaknesses. Everyone knew that was their main thing, except apparently for Millim Takki Atsa, hence the 42 Discernment required to qualify for the class in addition to 58 Muscle. The class's Certain Opening ability pit that Discernment against the target's Coordination in an attempt to find, to put it forthrightly, certain openings. On top of that, even hermits in the hills knew a Battler's Discernment could never be impaired in battle owing to Battle Perception, even against foes so discombobulating as weird flying eyeball snakes.

The first dagger Silapobenk hurled with Pinpointer precision smashed through an expensive-looking eye to drop one with no further fuss. He and Takki between them prevented any of the rather weak monsters from reaching the powerless, pitiable, and pathetic back lines. The difficulty of punching flying monsters troubled Imlakke, but the considerate occupants of the demon world which had replaced Hewwikke's backyard prepared a foe just for him: a scarecrow with brass knuckles and a mouth guard.

While the banker sparred with the guardian of farmers' fields, a classic contest of country boy versus city slicker, continuing developments called upon Takki to cut apart things thinner than any man, diet notwithstanding, that sported three heads at three heights attached to necks tilting out of alternating sides of their bodies. She did so with all possible dispatch, but the party's progress stalled for a time. If only Silapobenk had pursued combat-based optional class abilities instead of ones more relevant to contracts and quality assurance. Worse, new enemies appeared.

Man-like things much bulkier than the tri-heads, they wore over their faces white masks dotted with holes and wielded in one hand long staves that curved at the end and in the other, books. Rather than rushing into combat, the four that appeared stood back. Their books flew open and began to glow in just the same way as did those belonging to Reciters before they did something cool. As much as Dirant wanted to see something cool, he wanted to live. He uttered the non-word loojweirloo.

A pretty light rose up above him. Nothing special, just a pleasing little source of illumination that no one could resist watching unless that person or monster passed a test based on Gumption plus Discernment minus Receptivity versus the Ritualist's own Receptivity. Those masked chumps had no chance against Dirant's 87, a number so high they might have gazed at that, equally stupefied, had he put his status up for them to read. He decided not to warn the fighters up front against looking back out of fear they would do so immediately. Silone had long ago learned to delegate and therefore would likely listen, but he judged the inquisitive Battler and thorough banker to be at risk.

“Do these ones do anything?” Takki battled her way through the skinny monsters to the mask guys and cut them down without opposition. “Oh? Were they looking at something?” She followed the gaze of the dead before Dirant could warn her. “What a pretty little light. Is that a . . . no, I guess not. It's just a light.” At 86 total versus Dirant's 87, she beat the unfavorable odds and turned away without being fascinated.

“It is very pretty. Thank you for saying so. Don't look at it again.”

Silone stiffened. “Are you performing helpful rituals back there?”

“And they are the kind veteran condottieri approve as well.”

“Encouraging. Let us continue.” That took care of two of the combat personnel. As for Imlakke, he had noticed nothing, lacking the senses of a Battler, and heard nothing, being ignorant of Adaban. Moreover, he was breathing on his knuckles to cool them down after those blazing exchanges of fists between him and the scarecrow, and as for the result, there was no longer any scarecrow around. In the back, Hewwikke could stare at the light all he wanted. He did not though, on account of his considerable Gumption.

Under the desperate circumstances, the party ignored the stat and ability notifications it was racking up with all that monster-fighting and advanced still deeper, or else shallower. Nothing hinted to the delvers in what direction they were moving. Waves of snakes vexed them frequently. The more threatening or at least bigger monsters confronted them at this or that turn in the tunnel, but overall seemed to be rarer breeds. Dirant made a note to research all these varieties later with an eye toward learning if he was missing a lucrative financial opportunity by not capturing some of them to exhibit in a zoo.