The Dungeoneers (10 page)

He spotted another one just a ways up, almost identical to its brother. In fact, looking closely now, he could see the whole floor was littered with them, spread out at wide intervals, but plentiful enough that you would almost certainly step on one if you weren't watching.

“Stop!”

Colm's cry rebounded off the walls. Everyone froze. Lena turned, a look of annoyance on her face. She was nearly to the door.

Colm pointed at the floor. “Those stones, the round ones. They don't look right to me.” He looked over at the wall. There, next to one of the torches, was a small crack, except it too was unnatural, carefully carved. The wall was studded with them, just as the floor was covered in the stones, all running parallel to one another.

“Watch your step,” he warned.

Lena and Serene looked around them, pointing out the stones that they had barely missed and the ones that lay between them and the exit. They would be easy to avoid, once you knew what you were looking for.

“Um. C-C-C-Colm?”

Colm turned around to see Quinn staring at his feet. At his right foot in particular. And the smooth round stone that right foot pressed flush to the floor.

“Ooooh-kay,” Colm said. Serene gasped, and Lena made a move to come toward them, but Colm waved her off. “It's all right. Just stay there. We've got this,” he said, then turned to Quinn. “Just don't move, okay?”

Colm took a cautious step toward the mageling, careful to watch where his own boots landed. He could see Quinn trembling in the torchlight, even underneath his giant folds of robe. Colm moved carefully, Finn's words ringing in his head.
Your face scorched by a fireball.
Colm looked at the cracks in the wall, one lined up evenly with Quinn's head. He had no idea what might come out of it.

“Mr. Tickletoes says be careful!” Serene cried.

Colm nodded and wiped his forehead. Picking a padlock with a pear thorn was one thing. He had no idea how to disarm a trap. When he was young, his sisters would hold him down, pin his arms to his back, and tickle him until he peed his pants. He had never even learned how to get out of
that
. He studied the smooth stone Quinn's foot pressed against. There was clearly no way he could keep this thing from triggering;
something
was going to shoot out of that hole in the wall as soon as Quinn took a step.

But maybe Colm could make sure it missed.

Colm stood right in front of Quinn now, the boy's blue eyes big as pumpkins. Colm checked to make sure the space behind him was clear of triggers.

“All right, Nibbles, listen to me. When I say three, I want you to jump, all right?”

“J-j-jump?”

“Yes. Jump as high as you can. Got it?”

Quinn looked at the wall, panicked. “B-b-but I d-don't see how . . .”

“Just trust me on this one.” Colm got down on his knees, held out both hands. He could sense the boy tensing. This would only work if Quinn was taken completely by surprise. The same way Colm had been, back on the road with that sword aimed straight for his head. Colm put both of his hands right by Quinn's feet. He saw Lena and Serene huddled together.

“All right. Here we go. One.”

Colm positioned his hands right above the boy's ankles, calculating the angle. He really hoped that whatever shot out of the wall came out straight.

“Two!”

Colm grabbed hold of Quinn's feet and yanked hard. Quinn fell backward, feet slipping from beneath him just as a sizzling bolt of blue electricity burst from the crevice, frying the space
where his head had just been. Colm could hear it cackle as it passed. The bolt splashed against the opposite wall and dissipated into nothing. The trap missed.

Quinn hit the floor hard, and his curse filled the chamber. “Fergin flagnaggats!” he said, rubbing the back of his skull.

Colm took a deep breath and looked at the mageling struggling up to his elbows.
“Flagnaggats?”

Then they both started laughing. Colm couldn't think of anything terribly funny about seeing Quinn nearly electrocuted, but there must have been, because he couldn't stop himself. They huddled together there on the dungeon floor, arms crossed on their knees, rocking back and forth.

“You swept me off my f-f-feet,” Quinn said through heaving snorts.

“Bzzzzzzttttt!”
Colm said, pretending to be zapped by lightning, which was easy because the laughter was making him shake uncontrollably.

“Um, guys . . .”

Colm somehow managed to get control of himself, then glanced over at Lena, who was pointing to the hallway they had come from. The torches cast enough light that they could see their own shadows on the far wall. And one shadow that wasn't theirs, growing larger by the second.

Without another word, Colm bent down and pulled Quinn up, the two of them quickly but carefully picking their way across the booby-trapped floor to the iron door at the opposite end of the chamber. They could hear footsteps coming from
the hall now, and an awful sound, like claws scraped along stone. Lena reached for the door, but it wouldn't budge.

“Locked!”

From the hallway, the scraping grew louder. Whatever was coming was right outside the entryway now. Colm saw Mr. Tickletoes suddenly leap from Serene's hand, land on the floor, and head straight for the darkest corner. Lena slammed her chain-mailed shoulder into the door. Nothing.

“Here, let me try.” Colm pushed her out of the way and bent down to inspect the lock. It didn't look complicated. In fact, it looked like the one on his own front door in Felhaven. He could pick it . . . maybe . . .
if
he had one of his sisters' hairpins. He turned to Lena and asked if she had one.

“Do I look like the kind of girl who does her hair?” she snapped.

He turned to Serene, who shook her head. “Druids aren't allowed to wear metal,” she said.

Colm sighed, but then Quinn said, “I have this,” and handed Colm a feathered quill produced from his robe, the feather white and brown and frayed along the edges. It was thin enough, but Colm wasn't sure it would hold; it wasn't even as strong as a pear-tree thorn. It could easily snap, but he didn't have any other options. Colm took the feather and inserted it into the lock, putting his ear against the iron door. He thought he knew what to listen for, but it was a little hard with Lena shouting at him.

“Hurry!”

“I am hurrying!”

“Hurry
faster
!”

Colm glared at Lena, who glared back. Then he felt Serene tap him on the shoulder. He was too late.

Standing in the entryway, across the chamber floor, was the Overseer.

“
That's
the Overseer?” Lena exclaimed.

Colm looked across the room at the figure standing in the entryway.

“He's just a goblin,” Lena said dismissively.

Colm had never seen a goblin before. He had read about them. Had heard about them, but he had never laid eyes on one in the leathery flesh. The Overseer was a wiry-looking thing, mostly bones with a little muscle to hold them in place, and flat ears the color of cabbage poking out on either side of a bald, sloping, greenish head. Its hooked nose hung well over its upper lip. It might have been comical if it weren't for the very nasty-looking axes the goblin held in each hand. Hatchets with curved blades that glinted in the torchlight. He looked to be even smaller than Quinn.

“I'll handle this,” Lena said, brushing her bangs from her eye with one hand and adjusting her grip on her stone dagger with the other. Colm knew he should turn his attention back to the lock, try to get them out of there, but he couldn't help himself. He had never seen a would-be barbarian battle a goblin in the middle of a trap-filled dungeon before either.

From across the chamber, the goblin spoke. “Behold. It is I. The overseer. Lord of the Labyrinth. Keeper of the Keys. You have trespassed. Prepare to meet your doom.”

Colm expected a voice terrible and menacing, the kind of voice that puts ice in your veins. Instead the goblin sounded bored, slurring the words as if it couldn't get them out fast enough.

Lena was menacing enough for both of them. “I am Lena Proudmore, warrior and barbarian, and my heart is as steel as my . . .” She looked down at the rock she was holding, licked her lips, then continued. “Erm, my resolve is as unyielding as the stone in my hand. Surrender now, and I may see fit to spare your life. Or take another step, and forfeit it altogether.” She held her makeshift dagger before her, pointing it at the creature.

The goblin nodded as if he'd actually heard this speech before and was just waiting for it to end so he could deliver his next line, which he did with the same apathetic monotone as before. “Then I shall make gravy of your blood and pick my teeth with your finger bones as I feast upon your skewered flesh.”

Then, with what looked like a sigh, though it was hard to tell from all the way across the room, the goblin charged—or at least began to hobble quickly. Lena held her ground, eyebrows cinched. Serene looked around wildly for Mr. Tickletoes. Beside Colm, Quinn was stuttering through half a dozen words that Colm didn't recognize. Colm frantically
turned back to the lock, working the tip of the quill around, desperately trying to get the tumbler to fall. If he could just get it open before the raging goblin made it across the room. The raging goblin who seemed to dodge the traps with ease, as if he had the route memorized. The raging goblin who was only ten feet away now, both axes raised, ready to take off Lena's head.

The raging goblin whose legs were suddenly on fire.

Who cursed and dropped both of his axes, dancing around before curling up and rolling on the cold stone floor to smother the flames, triggering traps that caused more bolts of electricity to zap across the room, making the whole place buzz, just as Colm felt the last tumbler drop and the lock give way.

The goblin screamed.

The door swung open.

Revealing a grin of silver and gold.

T
he rogue smiled at them.

They tumbled through the door and into an immense chamber, falling at Finn's feet, a bundle of limbs entwined. Colm untangled his legs from Serene's robe and managed to pull himself up.

He was immediately dumbstruck by what he saw.

In contrast to the dreary tunnel behind them, the great hall before them was filled with light. Huge chandeliers hung from chains of gold, the flicker of a thousand candles casting fiery halos against the ceiling. Giant marble pillars anchored the four corners of the room, and a huge winding staircase with gold railings led both up and down in its center like a vortex. The floors were polished marble as well, dark green and buffed to a mirror sheen. A strange clock with twenty-four separate hourglasses hung over a set of huge double doors, and
Colm noted that most of the sand had sifted to the bottoms.

Lush tapestries draped each wall, interspersed with paintings depicting all manner of brutal but courageous confrontations. In one, a band of armored knights was surrounded by a horde of wolves. In another, a figure in a black cloak was dueling a towering demon. In yet another, a wizard was calling down the stars from the sky.

At least two dozen doors and arches led to more rooms besides. This one hall was five times as large as the magistrate's house in Felhaven (which made it fifty times the size of Colm's house). Colm looked over at Quinn, whose face held a similar expression of awe. Even Lena looked impressed, and she didn't strike Colm as the kind to be impressed easily.

Suddenly Colm felt a shove in his side as something small blustered by, trailing tendrils of smoke. It was the Overseer, his pants scorched, marching up to Finn, who seemed to be stifling a laugh.

“You didn't tell me the bloody mageling was a blaster!” the goblin shouted, indicating his burned pants with both hands. Here, in all this light, the goblin looked much uglier than he had in the dungeon. You could really make out the crusted warts on his nose.

“I didn't know.” Finn shrugged. “I didn't recruit him.”

“Well, someone could have given me a warning,” the goblin shrieked. “He could have killed me!”

“I hardly think a pair of smoking breeches counts as attempted murder,” Finn quipped. “Besides, you're the Overseer.
It's your dungeon. One would think you'd be a little better prepared for a pack of first timers such as these.”

Colm felt another push as Lena jostled her way to the front, stone still in hand. She pointed the tip of it at Finn and the goblin in turn.

“Wait a minute, what's going on? Who are you? What's the meaning of all of this? Where is the woman who brought us here? Master Stormbow? And why are you speaking with that vile creature?”

“Ah, Miss Lena Proudmore,” the rogue said with the same bow he'd used on Colm's mother. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Finn Argos. I am one of the masters of the guild. And this is my associate, Herren Bloodclaw.”

“Your
associate
?” Lena squawked.

“B-but he's a g-g—”

“Spit it out, will ya?” Herren Bloodclaw snapped, glaring at Quinn with beady orange eyes. “I'm a goblin. And a right ticked one at that. Didn't anyone teach you not to fling fire at your elders?” Quinn looked like he might be sick.

Finn put a hand on Herren's shoulder. “Renny here is no ordinary goblin,” he explained. “He is a valuable member of our staff and has worked at the guild much longer than I have. He is also the primary architect of our practice dungeon, which you conquered with aplomb, by the way. Congratulations.”

Colm blushed. He couldn't help it. Lena, on the other hand, seemed to grow even more irritated.

“Congratulations?” she pressed.

“On passing your test,” Finn explained. “Not only did you make it out unharmed, you each exhibited courage and poise and used your natural talents when it mattered. Talking to animals, discovering traps, picking locks, singeing Herren's backside. A joint effort.” He looked at each of them in turn.

The goblin grunted. Apparently he didn't think being set on fire was commendable at all.

Lena shook her head. “But what about me? I didn't do any of those things. I was going to slay him with my dagger, but Nibbles beat me to it.”

“Excuse me?” the goblin interjected. “I am no thing to be slain. I am a true-blooded cave goblin of the Black Hills clan!”

Lena wasn't deterred. “Oh, please let me fight it,” she pleaded with Finn. “Just to show you how I
would have
killed it.” She turned to the goblin and half whispered. “Don't worry, I won't really slay you.”

“You're flamblasted right you won't!” Herren Bloodclaw shouted, reaching out for her with both hands, but Finn held him back.

“That won't be necessary, Miss Proudmore,” the rogue said. “Your courage was never in doubt, and we are thankful that a well-timed spell from Mr. Frostfoot here probably spared the overseer's life. Aren't we, Ren?” Finn looked at the goblin, who huffed but didn't say otherwise.

“What matters is that you are here at last.” The rogue indicated the great gleaming hall with both hands. “Normally
there would be a warmer welcome, but I'm afraid the other masters are preoccupied at the moment, and your fellow apprentices are all asleep.”

“Fellow apprentices? Does that mean we've been accepted?” Serene asked in her reticent whisper, peeking over Colm's shoulder.

“It means you passed,” Finn repeated. “Though nothing is official, not without Master Thwodin's approval. You still have some time to think it over. Tomorrow we will give you a proper introduction, give you a feel for what we do here, what you can hope to accomplish as a member of our guild. Then you can decide whether this line of work is right for you.”

He was speaking to everyone, but Finn was looking dead at Colm. Colm took in the vast chamber, thinking of how much it must have cost to build. Just one of those paintings was probably worth more than his father made in a month, or even a year. Not to speak of the gold chandeliers or the marble pedestals that lined both sides of the room.

He looked back at the hole they had just crawled out of. This was it. This was the treasure at the end.

Finn Argos pointed up at the bottom-heavy hourglasses. “No doubt you have hundreds of questions, but as you can see, it's late, and I'm sure we are all tired from the long roads we took to get here. I'm afraid sleeping space is limited, so you will have to share a room. Master Bloodclaw, if you could please escort Miss Proudmore and Miss Willowtree to the ladies' hall . . .”

“I'm not goin' anyplace with her,” the goblin spit, pointing a crooked green finger at Lena.

“Then if you could take Mr. Candorly and Mr. Frostfoot . . .”

The goblin looked at Quinn and cringed, even though the mageling was still tucked behind Lena, just as scared of the goblin as the goblin was of him.

“Fine. I'll take the girls,” Herren grumbled. “But if the red one so much as touches me, I'm going to bite her head off.”

“Good luck trying, with my fist crammed down your throat,” Lena muttered. Colm watched as Quinn whispered something to Lena. “It will be all right,” she said to him. “Colm will be with you.” She gave Colm a lingering look; then the goblin escorted the girls to the stairs.

Colm felt a tug on his belt, saw the question in Quinn's eyes as they darted back and forth from him to Finn. After what they'd just been through, it made sense that the mageling would be a little wary.

“It's all right. I know this guy,” Colm said. “He's the one who brought me here.”
And pushed me down the hole,
he thought—but at least now he had an explanation for that.

“But he only has
four fingers
,” Quinn whispered.

Colm held up his right hand.

“Oh.”

Colm grabbed Quinn's hand as the rogue led them through the great hall, through one of its many oaken doors into a well-lit corridor lined with even more rooms. Colm heard
noises coming from most of them. Conversations. Laughter. Snoring. The sound of a blade being sharpened. Someone moaning in his sleep about not wanting to be turned into a pig again. None of his sisters ever complained about
that
in their sleep, at least.

“Here we are, then.”

The room Colm and Quinn found themselves in was sparsely decorated—especially compared to the great hall—but it was still an improvement over Colm's closet at home. Each bed was twice the size of his hammock and came furnished with an actual pillow, so he wouldn't have to make one out of his pack. A dresser separated the two beds, and another stood against the far wall, candles burning on each. Two desks sat next to each other, with hard wooden chairs to match. They didn't have a window, but they did have a mirror—a precious commodity in a house full of girls, and not something Colm was used to having pretty much to himself.

One look in the mirror confirmed what Colm suspected: he was a mess. Hair matted. Pants wet and ripped. Knees bloody. Face caked brown and gray, eyes red, nails broken from scrabbling along stone. No wonder Lena had mistaken him for some kind of monster down in the dungeon. He could use a thorough scrubbing. He hadn't thought to bring spare clothes, save for the extra pair of socks, still damp in his pocket.

As if reading his thoughts, Finn pointed to the dressers. “You'll find basins by your bedsides to wash up, and there are clean clothes in the drawers. You can find parchment and
quill in the desk. All letters go out the very next day. I would stay and chat, but you need your rest for tomorrow.”

As if on cue, Quinn yawned and collapsed onto one of the beds. Finn took Colm by the shoulder as they walked back to the door, leaning in close. “You did it. I knew you would. I had a hunch about you, Colm Candorly, and my instincts are seldom wrong.”

“So this is it, then?” Colm asked. “This is where people like us come to get rich?”

Finn shook his head. “This is where people like us learn how not to get killed. The getting rich comes after.”

Colm nodded. Not getting killed sounded like a good first step. He must have looked worried, though, because Finn immediately tried to reassure him. “I'm not saying you have to stay. If you wake up tomorrow and decide you want to go back, I will take you. I am a man of my word, and you are a long way from home. I know how important your family is to you.”

Which is exactly why I need to stay,
Colm thought to himself, but he didn't say it.

“Most of us are born below,” Finn whispered. “Closed in. Locked out. Few of us ever get a chance to rise above our station, to claw our way up. A rogue is always aware when an opportunity presents itself. He knows which doors to open.”

“Thank you,” Colm said. “For the opportunity.”

Finn shook his head. “Don't thank me yet. You've only had a taste of what lies ahead.”

And with that, the rogue bade them both good night and shut the door.

Colm sat on the corner of his bed and kicked off his boots. As well as they fit—and they fit perfectly—it was still a relief to finally have them off, along with the soaked and stinking socks. The day caught up to him in a rush, and Colm was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. His whole body ached, and he lay there paralyzed, barely able to lift a finger, let alone nine, recalling everything that had happened over the course of that one day. The duel on the road out of Felhaven. The failed attempts to get his coin back. Being pushed into the dungeon, saving Quinn from that trap, seeing Serene with that spider. And the goblin—Colm had never seen anything quite like him before.

And Lena. She was something. What, he wasn't sure yet, but definitely something.

Colm turned to ask Quinn what he thought of it, this place, but he was too late. The mageling had already fallen asleep, fully dressed, without even bothering to get under his covers.

It would all still be here in the morning, Colm told himself. He crawled beneath his blanket, this one plenty large enough to reach his feet, and nestled his head on his new pillow, relishing the suppleness of it. It seemed so extravagant, having a soft spot for your head.

He considered snuffing the candle beside him, but then he remembered the darkness of the dungeon when he had first descended, how
close
it was, as if it could attach itself to you and
follow you everywhere. How it made it hard just to breathe.

Colm let the candle burn. A little light wasn't going to hurt anyone.

He woke to the sound of Quinn nibbling.

The mageling was sitting on the edge of Colm's bed with a sweet roll in his hand.

“Good morning,” Quinn said between bites. “You are a heavy sleeper.”

He said it without a single stumble, confirming at least one suspicion: that the boy's stutter was mostly a matter of nerves. He could speak just fine, Colm noticed, as long as he wasn't being attacked or electrocuted. “There's some for you too,” Quinn said, pointing to the plate by Colm's bed. Colm sat up and rubbed his eyes, getting his bearings. He thought at first he wasn't hungry, but then the smell hit him.

“They're really good,” Quinn mumbled through a mouthful. Colm didn't argue, devouring his own roll in four bites. Obviously Tye Thwodin didn't have to skimp on butter or sugar. They sat together on Colm's bed, polishing their plates, licking their fingers to get to the crumbs. Colm stopped once to pinch himself, just to make sure that he really was in a castle in the middle of nowhere with a boy named Frostfoot who could shoot fire from his fingers.

“You eat fast too,” Quinn remarked.

“I have eight sisters,” Colm reasoned. “The faster you eat, the more you get.”

“Wow. Eight sisters. Your parents must be crazy.”

Colm nodded. It was as good an explanation as any.