Gathering of the Titans: The Tol Chronicles Book 2 (30 page)

Such draconian measures were not necessary, as it turned out. Barely ten minutes into the search Tol spotted a pram matching the description of the one Selpla had rented. It was unoccupied, but Tol saw one of the jeweled scarves Selpla was fond of wearing on the dashboard. He was torn between anger and worry. As he peered through the window of the pram, a half- ogre approached.

“Sir Tol-u-ol, I presume,” said the stranger, extending a hand. Tol did not reciprocate.

“You presume quite a lot. Who, exactly, are you?”

“You can call me Sticker.”

“Sticker? What the smek kind of name is that?”

“It is only a nickname given me by some former associates, but I’ve been going by it for so long that it has, in essence, become my real name.”

“All right, ‘Sticker,’ I’m looking for a female goblin who goes by the name of Selpla. Have you seen her? She was driving this pram.”

Sticker stroked his chin as though in thought. “Yes, I believe I
did
see a lady goblin around here an hour or two ago.”

“Can you show me where you last saw her?”

“Yes. Yes, I can. It was over there.” He pointed toward a dense cluster of larger tents and headed off in that direction. Tol followed. As they rounded a corner, Tol was surprised to see an armored dray parked between two of the tents. He immediately recalled the dispatch about a stolen dray in Fenurian and put two and two together. He turned on Sticker.

“What’s going down here? I’m guessing you aren’t a good citizen who just happened to discover this stolen dray sitting here and wanted to turn it in to the cops.”

Sticker laughed. “My good Sir Tol, you have, it seems, misjudged me. I am precisely that. This vehicle simply appeared here and is quite out of place. I was on my way to report it to the local constabulary when you quite accommodatingly showed up.”

Tol stared at him, looking for sincerity. What he saw was unconvincing, but his real reason for being there suddenly pushed its way back to the forefront.

“I don’t care about the dray. That’s local EE’s problem. What I
do
care about is that reporter. You said you saw her here.”

“It is most extraordinary that a special investigator—a Knight of the Crimson, no less—should be so concerned about a journalist that he travels 350 kilometers simply to find her. I would be most interested in knowing the reasons for this.”

“The reasons are EE business,” Tol snapped at him, “And none of yours. Now, where is she?”

“The fate of your lady friend and this dray are inextricably intertwined, Sir Knight,” replied Sticker. “All will be revealed inside.” “Whatta ya mean, ‘inside?’” Tol asked with growing irritation.

“Inside the dray. She is inside the dray. If you want to rescue the damsel, you must also enter.”

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but I’m just about ready to start bustin’ heads and I’m inclined to start with yours.”

“That would be most unwise, Special Investigator, for my associates have strict orders to terminate said reporter if anything happens to me.”

Tol grabbed the half-ogre by the jack and hauled his face right up to Tol’s own.

“If anything
at all
happens to her,” he said, biting the words out, “I will dismantle your ugly hide one body part at a time.”

“There’s no need to threaten violence, Sir Knight. Let us remain civilized and conduct this as a business transaction, the first step of which is for you to see what I have created inside the dray itself.”

Tol rolled his eyes. “Fine. Let’s see what is so smekking important about the inside of the smekking dray.”

Sticker yanked opened the heavily reinforced door leading into the dray’s cargo area and held it open for him. Tol stuck his head in and saw Selpla gagged and bound to a chair. He leapt in after her and Sticker slammed the door shut, bolting it securely from the outside. Tol pulled off Selpla’s gag and began to untie her.

“I’m so happy to see you, Tol. Why did they
do
this to me?”

“Some kinda cockamamie kidnap for ransom scheme, I expect.”

“But you walked right into their trap, then!”

“Your safety is my primary concern. I’ve dealt with wrats like this before. They’re dumb as a box of rocks. Everything will be fine.”

“How can you say that? We’re hopelessly imprisoned inside a heavily armored dray.”

In answer, Tol spoke into his overjack pocket. “Petey, scan this dray and tell me about the safety interlock system, please.”

“The shielding effect is too strong for normal mode; I’ll need to switch over to arcane. Hang on a moment,” the pen said in muffled reply.

Selpla was now free and rubbing her sore wrists. She looked at Tol inquisitively.

“Every armored dray in Tragacanth has a mandated escape route so that drivers can’t be locked inside accidentally and suffocate or something before they’re missed,” he explained,“Only the driver, the driver’s dispatcher, and EE have access to that mechanism, however, and the codes change periodically or when a driver leaves. That’s one of the reasons there is such intense scrutiny of prospective armored dray drivers.”

“Data accessed,” Petey announced. “This dray requires a transponder signal followed by a specific mechanical sequence to open. The egress portal is set into the floor, to the right, relative to the normal longitudinal orientation of the vehicle, of the driveshaft housing and just proximal to the rear axle.”

Selpla looked confused. “What did it say?”

Tol chuckled and pointed to a spot on the floor. “Petey said the escape hatch is right about there.” He got down on his knees and inspected the metal floor plates closely. “Here’s the outline of it. Very close tolerances on these things.”

“Yes,” agreed Petey, “Standards specifications dictate no greater than one ten-thousandth of a meter.”

“Why so precise?” Selpla asked.

“These things routinely transport hundreds of thousands or even millions of billmes, or the equivalent in precious alloys. People are very creative when it comes to robbery. Over the years the standards have grown more stringent in response to some of the more spectacular and ingenious thefts.”

Selpla was quiet for a few moments. “It said a transponder signal was required. How are you going to handle that part?”

“I have a dandy transmitter on me that can probably generate the proper signal. Right, Petey?”

“Correct. I will need you to place me as near to the receiver’s antenna as possible, however, as my output at that frequency is synthetic and rather limited in power. The antenna is that thin wire high on the wall at the front, across from the door.”

“Super. And the mechanical part?”

“Standard three-point pressure sequence, centered directly on the escape portal. Hatch disengage will trigger when you move off after activation.”

“Got it. Selpla, please hold Petey up right next to that little wire over there,” Tol said, handing the sentient writing instrument to her. She complied while Tol walked over to the correct spot. He placed his right foot on the almost-invisible circle on the floor and his hands on two similarly inconspicuous spots on the wall. “Ready,” he said.

“Signal transmission commencing,” announced Petey. “Engage pressure sequence.”

The muscles in Tol’s arms and leg suddenly tensed, followed by a solid click. He stepped away and a circular section of flooring popped up far enough for Tol to get his fingers under it. He motioned for Selpla to stay quiet and in place as he removed the hatch cover silently, setting it aside.

Tol lowered himself through the opening. “Hang tight for a little while. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out.”

He crouched down under the dray and after ensuring that the coast was clear slipped unnoticed into the cover of a nearby tent.

“Your Majesty, there is a high-priority call for you from the RPC Officer of the Day. She said to tell you it was Code Violet-Vee.”

Aspet looked up from his papers sharply. “Thank you, Sergeant. Please patch it through to my encrypted desk comm channel at once.”

“As you command, Majesty.” The adjutant saluted and turned smartly on his heel. After a few seconds a light on the comm panel built into the king’s elaborately carved desk blinked urgently. Aspet typed in the Royal Key that allowed the incoming message to be decrypted.

“Your Majesty,” the OD’s voice said, “We are in receipt of a communiqué through the Citizen’s Anonymous Reporting Service that claims Sir Tol-u-ol and a local reporter named Selpla are being held prisoner. The caller demands ten million billmes and has left detailed instructions on how the money is to be delivered.”

“What?” Aspet stood up in agitation. “Did you trace the comm path?”

“All we can tell by the circuit is that it originated in Ferroc Norda. The switching on this circuit is intentionally obfuscated so that people feel freer to report fraudulent activity.”

“What’s the time frame?”

“The caller has given us forty-four hours to get the money and deposit it on a buoy off the northern end of Yohkla Inlet.”

“That’s not much time. How certain are we that they were really kidnapped?”

“Selpla’s employer reports that she has not been heard from since yesterday. Likewise, Sir Tol-u-ol is not answering his comm unit. It appears to be turned off. He was last reported at his desk in the Justice Hall.”

“The most logical sequence of events would be that she was snatched first and he went to save her. Where was Selpla’s last assignment?”

“Hellehoell, according to the managing editor. We’ve already notified Fenurian EE and dispatched a Crimson Knight mobility team.”

“I know my brother. He will be giving these guys a serious headache. Get the money together, but don’t take any further action for now. Watch and wait.”

“As you command, Majesty.”

Aspet sat down and put his head between his hands. Kidnapped. Tol? What kind of idiot would try to kidnap Tol? How would they even go
about
it? It boggled his mind. He knew he should be worried about the safety of his brother and his girlfriend, but really he was more concerned for the perpetrators. Tol was historically not very tolerant towards edict-breakers, even less so when those close to him were threatened by said activity.

“How we gonna snag the dough, boss?”

It was an hour after sundown and Sticker had just finished a fine meal in a tent near the armored dray. He patted the corners of his mouth with a white napkin.

“I have an acquaintance who makes his living diving for marine shell meat, and as a result can hold his breath for quite some time,” he replied to Dross.“The authorities will be expecting the money to be retrieved by someone in a boat. He will swim up from beneath the waves, grab the bundle, and be gone before they realize what’s happening.”

“That’s real smart, boss.”

“I know. ‘Smart’ is, as the hipsters say, how I roll.”

“I’m gonna find just how
far
you roll,” said a gruff voice coming from the shadows, “Or individual pieces of you, anyway.” Tol crashed into the tent like a sudden microburst and caught the half-ogre as he tried to dive through the flap on the opposite side. Dross and Slag scattered in opposite directions, but Tol wasn’t interested in them.

“You’re under arrest for kidnapping, false imprisonment, and some other stuff,” he said, dislocating Sticker’s shoulder.

“Ow, you barbarian! Stop it!” Sticker whined as he tried to twist out of Tol’s hold.

Tol put an elbow just above Sticker’s neck and snapped it smartly downward. The half-ogre crumpled up like a piece of paper. He was standing above Sticker—sprawled on the floor like an ejectee from a high-speed carriage crash—with his fists poised to pummel when the Crimson Knight squad came running in, weapons drawn. Tol glanced up at them, looked back down at Sticker, sighed heavily, and relaxed. “Double smek,” he muttered under his breath, “What rotten timing.”

“Glad to see you are safe and whole, brother,” said the detachment chief, a Knight-Commander named Foumil. “We were very concerned about you.”

“Thanks, uh, brother. I pretty much had things under control.”

“I see that. Where is the reporter?”

“She’s safe, in the armored dray out there. There were two other perps, a hob and a kobold.”

“Yes. We apprehended them just outside.”

“Officer brutality...uph,” Sticker mumbled from the floor, trailing off when Tol kicked him.

“What did he say?” asked Foumil.

“He confessed to everything,” answered Tol. “Save it for the magistrate, smekhead,” he snapped down at the half-ogre.

Local EE arrived just about then and Tol and the other Knights turned their prisoners over to them, with Tol supplying the list of charges. Tol went to fetch Selpla and after they both gave their statements they left together on the next regularly-scheduled rail carriage for Goblinopolis.

“How did you know I was in trouble?” Selpla asked him as they snuggled together in the first-class carriage. The rail line put Crimson Knights there as a matter of policy: it was still a lot cheaper for them than express carriages.

“I hadn’t heard from you,” Tol replied. “When a reporter doesn’t communicate there’s usually a good reason. Checking in regularly is in your blood, so to speak.”

“Where did you pick up that gem of wisdom?”

“Just an observation. Yours isn’t the first missing journalist case I’ve worked, you know. Remember Vidda Klertios?”

Selpla thought for a moment. “The star reporter from the old
Goblinopolis Daily Mentioner
? Yeah, I remember her. Disappeared on a story, right?”

“Right. Except what the public never was told because she asked for things to be that way is that she didn’t just ‘disappear.’ She had a race-change operation and still lives in Goblinopolis.”

“A race-change operation? I thought those were mythical.”

“Oh, no: they do happen. Scaling down is much easier than the other way around, though. Vidda went even further and changed genders while she was at it. She went from goblin female to dwarven male. Can’t say that I understand the attraction, but to each their own. He’s a mystery writer now; goes by the name of Gervac.”

“
Semna
Gervac? I
love
his books. I have one in my satchel right now.
The Case of the Pilfered Portcullis
. I would never have guessed in a million years he was formerly Vidda. Amazing.”