Crypt fun. Church history. The trio and the secret room. An unlikely diary. A lack of luck.
Sal found himself alone in the church.
He waited a bit before going through the iron gate, down spiraling stone steps, to reach the crypts below. With the dust and shrouds on the stone shelves, it was clear that no one had been enshrined there in a long, long time.
The crypts were narrow. There were shelves on either side of him, dug into the bare rock. Three levels of shrouded bodies laid there, probably the priests who had served the chapel before. For a second, he dreaded the idea of the dusty corpses coming to life to stop him from seeking the treasure.
However, the bodies just laid there on their shelves, faces covered with linen.
Betty had her head out of his pocket. She sneezed. “Okay, smart guy, where’s the loot? If you go digging through bodies, I’ll probably throw up. Oh, and speaking of food, regurgitated or otherwise, why didn’t you give me some crumbs? I love a good dark rye.”
Sal felt bad. “Betty, my friend, I have failed you in every imaginable way. To tell you the truth, I was a bit beguiled by the Ponti. Did you see how handsome and muscular he was? He had Yeshu’s physique, which I always thought was a bit overdone, given the fact he eschewed the physical activity of a warrior’s life for the life of a scholar and its indoor comforts.”
“The Ponti looked okay to me,” Betty said,” but all you humans kinda look alike. Was it me, or did I hear he was afraid of ghosts?”
“Not just you.” Sal had brought a candle down with him, and he held it aloft, but all he saw were bodies. “The irony does not end there, for he sleeps with corpses under his feet.” The crypt stretched beyond the length of the building. It extended far into the distance.
“The raider I interviewed claimed that at the very end of the crypt, far underground, there was a secret door, which led to a chamber, which was filled with gold, the church’s gold. Not simply for this chapel, but the main church by Dark Lord’s Square, now known as The Champion’s Plaza.”
The mouse sneezed again. “Gotta be careful about using the old names, ace.”
Sal quickly moved through the crypts. He wasn’t afraid—if there had been a ghost or a ghoul, it would’ve troubled the Ponti, and Fabrizio wouldn’t be bedding down above the crypt. Since he was sleeping peacefully, it was only the dead filling the shelves, and the dead didn’t move.
Sal addressed the mouse riding in his pocket. “I showed a great of restraint during my repast with the cleric.”
“You’re killing me with the vocabulary, guy. Dumb it down.”
Sal tried. “I didn’t ask that joker all my many questions while we noshed it up.”
“Ouch. Don’t try slang. What’s got you curious about the Ponti, pal o’ mine?”
“Why he became a priest. Why wasn’t he married? Why has he let the paintings of Yeshu fade? Why are his chapel and the grand Church of the Sacred Family in such disrepair? And how will I know if I sin gravely enough to lose Karma points? You see, I have a veritable multitude of questions.”
“Yeah, buddy, that’s a bunch all right. Look, I’d watch every little step. Like every little one. The way I understand it, you mess up too much, you die. Probably one big old heart attack. You clutch your chest, I watch in horror, and then I’m on my own again. No big chocolate-chip cookies for everyone’s favorite Gwynar!”
“Are you everyone’s favorite?” Sal asked.
Betty’s ears drooped.
“Never fear, my Gwynar friend. You are definitely my favorite.” He took a second to lightly pet the mouse’s soft little head between his big ears.
“Ahh, Sal,” Betty said. “I’m touched, chief. I didn’t know you cared.”
“I do,” Sal said after a while. “Without you, I would be lost, adrift on a sea of confusion, and not just on Confusion Street. Verily, I need you.”
“Verily, stop saying verily. What you need to know, friendo, is that the church filled the power vacuum after the goddess threw a tower through your palace. You bit the dust, Kenny did too, the Deux Coin is lost, and the Sacra Famiglia Religiosos takes over, offering people peace and comfort. And taxes. People got sick of the church taxes, fast, and then you had the Scallian-Yaniri War, which helped the Church a bit because war is hard on folks, and they can find comfort in their respective religions.”
Sal had a question. “This Scallia Capra alliance. Is this new? If I remember my geography, Scallia was an island to the east of the Capra peninsula. Both were very easy to conquer. Capram was a grand city, but its defenses were poor. Scallia was only a place for fisherman.”
“Yeah, well, the dragons changed all that.”
“Dragons?” Sal asked. Now there was a topic that was intriguing.
The mouse sighed. “One topic at a time. So, yeah, there’s this war, but by the time the Yanir won, the church was already starting to decline. People were still smarting from the taxes, corrupt clergy, abuses of power, that whole deal. And so the wheel of history turns and turns. Nowadays, people are more interested in sorcery and dragons than giving ten percent of their cash to their local ward, even though it still could do some good. Like the book and bread thing that Fabrizio has going on.”
Sal wasn’t too surprised that people got tired of the corruption. He’d gotten weary of the corruption himself, and he’d been in charge of the whole deal. As the Dark Lord, he’d became the de facto leader of the Alikor Cults. There was some bitterness over that word. Many wanted to call it a sect, or the one true path, but cult was fine. It was rather cult-y in the end.
“If people don’t call it the Sacra Famiglia Religiosos, what do people call the church now?”
Betty chuckled. “People don’t much refer to it at all. Or they call it the Church, you know, capital C. Oh, and before you ask, no more Alikor Acolytes. That whole cult vanished with you, or at least all the acolytes put on different robes and pretended to worship the Madras, the Warrior Mom. If you ask me, the Warrior Mom had the better abs, even better than Yeshu. She was shredded, brother. Totally shredded.”
“I am assuming that is slang and you are not referencing cheese.” Sal turned the corner and there, at the end of the crypt, was the last set of shelves and a rough altar set into the dusty stone. It was the Trio, statues of three of the seven gods—the grandparents and the grandson, Yeshu. Yes, there was Grandfather Breath and Grandmother Maker, standing behind Yeshu of the Book, who looked about ten years old. In his hand was the Deux Coin he’d gotten for writing the first book. In that version of Yeshu, the god had made a bundle by writing an amazing book that captured the imagination of both gods and humans. Yeshu gave his father, Alikor, one chapter at a time until the Bad Dad was completely hooked. Until the end. Yeshu told his father it would cost him his Deux Coin to learn the ending. The Bad Dad paid and said it was totally worth it.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
In other stories, Yeshu used the Deux Coin he’d had since birth to buy his first pen and paper, so he could write it in the first place. Given the nature of art, that was probably accurate. Finding someone to buy your actual book, even for a god, wasn’t an easy thing. Most novelists died poor.
Though in some stories, Yeshu convinced his mother to buy him his first pen and inkwell, and she did so, though she didn’t give up her own coin. She’d stolen it from Alikor after giving him too much wine. In all the mythology, Alikor had a definite drinking problem. He was the Bad Dad after all.
Sal took a moment to regard the statues of the Trio. Grandfather Breath, Grandmother Maker, and little Yeshu were all motioning him to join them in the Eternal Happy Home. Dying meant going to your grandparents’ house, or that was the hope, and for many that would be heaven. For Sal, for a long time, that was the case. He was desperate to see Grandfather Mood again. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
What would he even say to Mood? That magical immortality was too hard on the joints? That he’d been betrayed by his only friend? That Dark Lording wasn’t worth it?
It certainly wasn’t worth an eternity roasting in the Abyssmuck in eternal torment.
Betty cleared her throat, and that was only when he realized she was gently tugging on his shirt. “Hey, guy, uh, I’m assuming the secret room is behind the Trio. Wanna get cracking so we don’t have the Ponti asking us why we’re wandering around his crypts?”
Sal thought that would be a hard conversation to have, though he could probably come up with some mostly true thing to say. Nice thing about figurative language, you could play around with hyperbole and metaphor.
He touched the coin on Yeshu’s hand and felt it give as a switch clicked. Beside the Trio, there was a secret door in the rock that swung open a little.
The doorway was small, and Sal would have to duck, but he’d found a secret little cache, hidden away for centuries, and inside would be all the gold he could ever spend. A thought struck him. There would be enough to help Fabrizio with his chapel, maybe improve the food at the Mind & Body Tables, maybe earn some points with the Pontrafax Genetrix.
He paused, and part of him felt almost disappointed. He’d be rich in a few seconds. He wouldn’t need to carry out all the gold today, but could come back, over and over, and take it. It wasn’t stealing because no one knew about it. It was found treasure. Without a doubt, coming to the chapel had been a spiritual experience. The money would make his life so comfortable.
Sal wondered at himself. Why the disappointment?
Because he’d been enjoying the challenge, and the promise of more challenges to come. With the Deux Coin, things had been so easy for so long. Not anymore.
Betty, again, tugged on his shirt again. “Hey, chief, are we going in there or not?”
Another thought struck him. “What if the Deux Coin is in there? You said it yourself. Madras threw her spear to stop anyone from finding the coin. What if it’s in there?”
“It’s at the top of the Tower, pal. Or somewhere. It’s not in there. And you’re counting your gold before it’s hatched.”
“Betty, my friend, I do believe you are mixing your metaphors.”
“Fine. Counting your chickens before you have the gold statuaries to buy them. I’m assuming there’s gonna be statuaries, not that I understand what that is, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around coinage, currency, promissory notes, and interest-free loans.”
“Ah, loans, yes,” Sal said. “Do the Hajawan still do most of the loans?”
“Friendo, in this town, everyone does loans.”
Sal opened the door, moving slowly, in case of traps. The Church in his time would’ve trapped the secret room for sure. All he saw was a dusty stone floor, which was fine, but then he squeezed himself through the small door, and he stepped inside, again, moving carefully. The room wasn’t empty, there were more shelves in the rock, but instead of bodies, they held books.
In old writing, in Gorbin actually, across the wall in the monster speech were the words: New thoughts brought by books are life’s true treasures.
Sal got tired of stooping, and so he knelt, and pulled a tome off the shelf. It was written in Gorbin, as well, and it was called The Chronicles of GuNakt.
Betty laughed.
Sal laughed as well, oddly relieved. “I was just thinking about the benefits of figurative language, but here are the drawbacks as well. I suppose there is some poetic justice here. I came looking for treasures, and it seemed I found some. I believe I knew GuNakt. I did not know he’d penned a book. And his penmanship was quite good. What are the ethics of taking this volume?”
“If you bring it back, I think you’re fine, though are you gonna tell Fabrizio about this little secret library? I know, the Gorbin used to be your lackeys, but things have changed quite a bit since then. Guess what some people are calling the now?”
Sal had no idea. “I will ready my intellect to be dazzled.”
The mouse snorted. “Some jokers call the Gorbin orcs. Like, what is even an orc? Isn’t something that left on your plate after you’re done eating?”
“It is an old world, a bit like goblin. But no the Gorbin weren’t orcs.”
Betty shrugged. “Yeah, you ain’t wrong there. But I have to warn you about the Gorbin. There’s been some, uh, changes. Some advances.”
“What kind of advances?” Sal asked.
“Uh, it’s a longer story than I’m comfortable with, since we’re up against the clock. We don’t wanna get caught.”
The mouse was right.
Sal relented. “As you wish. Perhaps when my situation is less precarious, I can let slip a question about the secret library. For now, I’ll take the book, intent upon returning it.”
“You ever get tired?”
“Of what?”
“Of all them fancy words?”
That made Sal laugh. Changing his speech wasn’t going to be easy. He left the room and pressed the door closed until the mechanism latched it shut. With the book in hand and the candle held aloft, he hurried back through the crypts, he was glad it was a simple hallway and not a labyrinth.
He climbed the circular staircase wearily and went back through the iron gate, which he closed and latched behind him. Waiting, he listened, but the chapel remained empty. Fabrizio hadn’t returned.
For a second, Sal considered staying, just to watch over the chapel, but it sounded like it would be fine, and the Ponti would be back in a second.
He was on his way out of the chapel when the icy pain pierced his heart, and at the doorway, he clutched his chest.
<<<>>>
Petty theft! Lies of omission! Karmic Gauge reduced by 5%. You ever hear that old saying that the road to the Abyssmuck is paved with good intentions? Sure, you plan to tell that handsome Ponti all about the secret Gorbin library under his feet. And sure, you plan on returning GuNakt’s book, but are you gonna?
Current Karmic Gauge: 1% (So much flashing light the color of thick, thick blood)
<<<>>>
Betty looked at him with concern on tiny face. “Hey, pal, you alright?
“No,” Sal said miserably. “I have been given a strict warning by my Mysterious Benefactor. I have been punished for taking the book and not telling the Ponti about the secret library. My Karmic Gauge has made that clear.”
Betty sighed. “Well, friend, looks like you’re walking a very narrow path. You’re gonna have to be careful.”
Sal didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was still in so much pain. The thought of confessing everything to Fabrizio seemed like an impossible task. Connecting himself, in any way, to the Gorbin was dangerous. If the Ponti figured out he was the Dark Lord returned, Sal might lose everything. He’d take his lumps and try to do better next time.
Upon leaving the chapel, Sal was back in the heat and stink of Confusion Street. He did take a second to go and find the Mind & Body Tables, which were a series of rough-hewn tables and benches under a ragged awning next to a bakery with blackened outside walls. So that was where the bread came from. Fabrizio was probably baking it himself.
Sal would come back for the free meal that night, but for now, he wanted to get back to his haunted diner with his book. And to consider his next steps.
The treasure hunt had been a bust. Now what?
He was on his way out of Confusion Street, which was really Confusion Streets, when four men watched him pass with malice on their faces and an empty disdain in their eyes. They fell in behind, and Sal knew his bad luck had turned into rotten luck.