image [https://i.imgur.com/IY3qy1s.jpg]

While listening to my story, Hana took notes and asked for details about the dungeon’s architecture, layout, location, and condition. Her disinterest in monsters surprised me, but she was a historian, not an adventurer. That she didn’t feign astonishment at our accomplishments struck me as socially stingy, leaving little wonder why she had made no allies with her academic peers. Despite her elegant home and formal reception, Hana cared little about conversational proprieties. She focused on the facts, of which I provided a treasure trove. To my host, only accuracy mattered.

Riggley served tea and a plate of sweet biscuits on a blue tea set. I felt honored she’d broken out her fine porcelain on my account.

Oddly enough, Hana showed less interest in the relic than the dungeons holding it. I suppose that’s the difference between treasure hunters and archeologists. The culture and history of a people mattered more to them than the riches they produced.

She sipped her tea once and hadn’t touched the biscuits. “And what was the aquatic lobster-mummy called, again?”

Recalling the word in the nameplate, I pronounced it carefully. “It’s called an anomalocaris. Its species built the worm room and crypt. I’m surprised you’re not more surprised about the mummy.”

“Yes, well, besting monsters is part of the work, isn’t it?”

“Have you ever fought monsters?”

“In my younger days, yes. And you say the lizardfolk built temples around the crypt?” She looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded. Before I could ask what an anomalocaris was, Hana explained. “They are a sentient marine species. Those with Mineral Communion have seen visions of ancient lizardfolk but never anomalocari. And accounts of lizardfolk came from digs in the North—in Blyeheath and Blyemoore. You’re telling me you’ve not only found two anomalocari structures, but the lizardfolk built a temple around one?”

I nodded. “The ward worm’s room probably went too deep—or maybe the lizards never found it.”

Hana shook her head. “No one knew the anomalocari built things. We barely have evidence of their existence.”

“Are they still around?”

She nodded her head. “Every hundred years or so, a dead one washes onshore. Some say it’s all nonsense. Yet somehow, you found two structures at different locations.” She didn’t say it to challenge my veracity but to work a puzzle in her head.

“None have been caught in fishing nets?”

She shifted her position and dismissed my question. “Well, of course not. They’re a saltwater species.”

I hadn’t realized no fishing industry existed in Miros’s oceans. But they couldn’t survive in freshwater, which meant none lived in Otter Lake, news that gave me some relief.

Hana read her notes to herself. “So the lizardfolk built a temple around the anomalocaris crypt….” She didn’t finish her sentence.

I ate another biscuit while Hana mused over her notes.

After a long while, Hana made more notes. “It’s a shame one of them lies in kobold territory. But are these coordinates correct? -65.1, -22.8?”

That’s where we found the relic.

“And the ward worm coordinates?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t think we bothered to check. It’s near our settlement, but its tunnels have collapsed. I could mail a rough location for you when I return home.”

Something about the anomalocaris seemed off—like I missed something, and the strange itch that’s been bothering me for months returned. After mulling over the matter, I showed Hana the parchment with Commander Thaxter’s mysterious symbols. “The reason I came here involves this glyph. I wondered if you could help me trace its origin. Does this mean anything to you?”

“Where did you find this?”

As I promised Iris not to discuss Fort Krek’s leadership crisis, I lied about how we acquired the symbol. “I dreamed about these squiggly lines but can’t explain their meaning.”

Hana studied the symbol and led me to her study. Unlike Mr. Fergus’s office, it looked clean and well-organized. A door opened into a small storeroom filled with shelves of books, a treasure trove by private library standards. “These books are valuable, but I trust you won’t get any ideas. I’ve adequately warded my estate.”

Hana pulled a tome off the shelf, placed it on a table, and paged through it until she reached a spread showing designs like Thaxter’s. The configuration of the squiggles didn’t match, but at least she’d had something that resembled it.

“What is this book about?”

“It’s derivative of a famous book, one infinitely rarer, called the Archon.”

“That’s a strange title.”

“It’s not the original title. Many authors have contributed to it. The Archon is a colloquial term academics use to refer to it. The book contains everything we know about the anomalocari. It’s virtually the only historical source covering their civilization. This glyph is part of their language.”

“Wait, this symbol was written by the anomaly-whatever?”

Hana nodded. “Shaped more than written—one can’t write underwater.”

I digested the news. If I understood correctly, Commander Thaxter’s vision came from the worm room and crypt builders. It seemed far-fetched that the worm or mummy sent Thaxter telepathic messages before they died. But a link existed between his madness and those dungeons.

The symbol somehow related to the dungeons that Fabulosa and I have been dancing around since we’d settled Hawkhurst. If I could find the Archon and match Thaxter’s symbol to a clue, perhaps it would lead to another dungeon—similar to how I deciphered the gnoll glyphs.

I pointed to the pages of symbols. “What is the rest of this book about?”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Hana shrugged. “It’s about fables and mysteries. There’s only a little about the anomalocari in it.” She emphasized this by closing and re-shelving it. “It only references the book you want—the Archon.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Is it magic?”

Hana shook her head. “No. A theologian wrote the Archon long ago, claiming to have had visions of anomalocari. Many thought it divine madness, but his book survived until someone stole it decades ago—a gentleman wizard named Lord Rammons.”

“Who is that?”

“He’s the grandson of one of Malibar’s grand wizards—his remains rest in a local mausoleum—a popular tourist site. But his grandson is a low-level flunky with no spells or powers of his own. That didn’t stop him from making waves.”

“How so?”

“There’s an aristocratic movement to simplify history, and Rammons is a proponent. In his younger days, he gained and used power by bullying intellectuals. He undermines opponents by destroying, buying, and stealing old books. I doubt he destroyed something so valuable as the Archon. He’s a demagogue, not a fanatic. It’s not as if he could read it. It’s probably locked away in his grandfather’s magic tower.”

“In what language is the Archon written?”

“It’s in a dead tongue called Irrogean. They’re one of humanity’s first civilizations on Miros. The Irrogeans settled Blyemoore thousands of years ago. I have a codex for translating Irrogean words to Common.”

When she didn’t say more, I crossed my arms defensively. “Okay. I’ll bite. What do you want for it?”

Hana made a great show of thinking about a suitable price. “The only conceivable use you’ll have of an Irrogean codex involves translating the Archon. Dressed and equipped as you are, I would guess you’re planning to liberate it from Lord Rammons—an enterprise to which I am sympathetic. I’ll give you the codex for free if you can acquire the Archon. Translate whatever you need, then send both books back to me.” She held up her hands and gestured to her estate. “I have ample means to protect it from being stolen again. Furthermore, I’ll republish it for posterity and for my vindication. Circulating the Archon rebukes a number of my critics.”

I couldn’t stop myself from grinning like a conspirator. “And if what you’re saying about Lord Rammons bullying intellectuals is true, it gives us the moral high ground to rob him blind, does it not?”

Hana stroked her chin. “I hadn’t considered it before, but I do believe, Mr. Apache, you are correct.”

I rubbed my fingers along my spear. “Is the tower heavily guarded?”

“Doubtful. To my knowledge, it’s not in use. Lord Rammons’s grandson’s primary residence lies outside the city. I believe he keeps the tower for state occasions and annual balls.”

“If it’s so valuable, why hasn’t anyone tried to steal it back?”

Hana shook her head. “Academics are not the adventuresome type.” She eyed the weapons hanging from beneath my robe. “Do you have the means of defeating magical traps?”

Gripping Creeper, I grinned. “Oh, I might know a guy.”

On the way home to The Gatehead Inn, Hickering drove me past the Rammons tower. It looked less impressive than I imagined. Hana’s description sounded ominous. The structure didn’t appear to be an evil sanctum where sorcerers delved into secrets humans were never meant to know. Instead, the place looked like a cheerful four-story residence with balconies adorned with empty flowerpots and rusting wind chimes. What evil wizard decorates with gossamer drapes? Some windows and terraces didn’t even have shutters. As security went, the tower looked airtight as a fishing net.

This tower appeared so contrary to Hana’s description that I wondered if she’d sent me off on a wild goose chase. The translation book wasn’t thick, but it looked authentic enough. I flipped through it and skimmed its pages. The Irrogean vocabulary wasn’t extensive, but it worked better than nothing.

When I returned to the inn, I found Fabulosa staring out the window, relaxing in a small sitting room. Dishes from a finished meal littered the table beside her.

Fabulosa gestured to the empty wooden bowls. “The food in Malibar isn’t bad. It’s not all sauces and puréed creams like Grayton. The Cross Keys offered a wide menu, but it tasted too rich. Food in the East hasn’t as much fat, and the texture has a more down-home feel. Have you eaten yet?”

“I picked up fried lizard sticks on the way.”

“Fried liz—”

“It tastes like chicken.”

Fabulosa snorted while I pulled up a chair.

The table setting had no delicate decorations, so I summoned my Familiar. Our apartments counted as one of the few places where I could trust my pet not to cause a mess. Grills covered the windows, preventing thieves from breaking in and errant griffons from flying out and causing trouble in the streets below.

The griffon screeched as soon as it saw Fabulosa. Beaker’s cry sounded much louder indoors, and I chastised him for making the noise. “No, Beaker! Be quiet. You must be quiet indoors.”

He clucked, cocked his head, and waddled to the window next to Fabulosa, who looked shaken by the sudden noise. She wore her full armor, with no accouterment adorning her costume.

“No new outfit today?” I sat down next to her.

“You’re right. My clothes unraveled as soon as I entered combat. I’m a dope.”

“What happened?”

“Another player jumped me. His name was Uproar, and he played an elf.”

“An elf? I’ve been dying to see an elf.”

“I always imagined elves would be tall, but they’re not. At first, NPC rogues attacked, and it felt like a random city encounter. The thieves attacked until I triggered Anticipate. Then Uproar appeared, but he didn’t count on me having Slipstream and Aggression. After one-shotting a rogue, another unloaded something called Dark Strike, which I Reverbed back.” She bounced her eyebrows. “Uproar lit out of there after anchoring me with Tangling Roots.”

“What level was he?”

“19.”

“Ambitious.”

“Yeah, he must have thought I was a weed.” In a deadpan voice, she joked. “I’m not a weed, am I, Beaker?”

The griffon cocked his head and stared at her as if to answer that she wasn’t a weed.

“He attacked me with a katana. Its fast attack speed surprised me. I’m thinking it might be the optimal weapon to carry.”

“Not a longsword?”

Fabulosa shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. The Phantom Blade is a saber. Even though his skills weren’t great, the katana’s aggression put me off guard for a moment.”

I filed away details of the ambush into my memory. Players leaned on NPCs to further their game. Winterbyte used gnolls and chimeras. Femmeny used wererats and kobolds. Darkstep used a spy network of little eyes. The strategy made sense—we had a whole town of NPCs, and it looked like settling Hawkhurst had been wise.

Fabulosa interrupted my train of thought. “So, this hump who attacked me was a player.”

She stared at me to see if I understood the implication. I didn’t, so she continued. “He was a player—which means he saw my nameplate.” She looked sorry about something, but I wasn’t getting it.

“Yeah?”

“That means he saw my title—Lieutenant Governor of Hawkhurst. He knows where I live and that I have Reverb, Slipstream, and Aggression. All he needs to do is parse his combat log, do the math, to fix up an attack designed to mitigate my powers.”

Leaning back in my chair, sharing her concern. “It’s good he doesn’t know there’re two of us.”

“Or that we’ve got Beaker on our side.”

At the sound of his name, Beaker clucked and looked at her.

Fabulosa ruffled his chest feathers while admiring the city view through the window grill. “They found me outside The Daily Events.”

“Daily Events?”

“Remember those parchments you inked for our trip to Arlington?”

I had completely forgotten about them. I nodded. “Yeah. I never had time to hand them out.”

“When I heard someone yelling in the streets about the day’s astrological omens, I stopped to listen. Malibar has a town crier. A crowd surrounded him, and we listened to news about marriages, births, and deaths. After listing public appointments and upcoming trials, he cited crimes and military reports—including some outdated news from Fort Krek. I asked him where he got his information, and he told me about The Daily Events. The city of Malibar gives daily news to criers who work for tips on street corners.”

“Did you tip him?”

“I did better than that. I gave him a gold piece and one of our fliers. He promised to include news about Hawkhurst for a full month and pointed me to the officer who collected news for the city.”

“I wish I’d updated those fliers. I wrote them before we had a shipyard. Do you think the orrery might make for a tourist attraction?”

Fabulosa shrugged. “Who knows? Anyway, the flier gives everyone a general breakdown of our trade route. I gave it to The Daily Events team, and they’ll include it in the news throughout the rest of the city.”

“Wow! Medieval mass media. We’re famous.”

Fabulosa shrugged. “True, but if Uproar tracked me from the town crier, he’d get Hawkhurst’s location.”

I grunted at the bad news. “And if Darkstep could see my nameplate with his Improved Eye, the same fell true for him—or her.”