The midday sun swung high in the sky, gleaming diamonds from the snowy peaks that ran behind the small party of pirates, and pirate-adjacent personnel. The slope in front of them was steep, but all of them were nimble, even the small porcelain form which walked in the middle of the crew. That form was carrying a backpack larger than it was... much larger, if you discounted the illusion.

Said illusion also cloaked a worried looking plush fox's head, as it poked out of the pack and looked around, worried.

“Where are we going?” Renny asked, in a whisper so faint that Threadbare barely heard it.

Threadbare shrugged, trying to make it look like he was adjusting the pack. “I don't know,” he whispered.

“I'm making illusionary wind noises to cover our whispering,” Renny said. “I just thought of that. It's a little hard.”

Threadbare nodded. “All right. I don't know where we're going. Anne mentioned a dungeon when she sent the scouts out, but I don't know why she needs one. Or why she had me disassemble the engine.”

It had been one of the working ones, too. It had taken every rank of dexterity that Threadbare possessed to get it apart without damaging anything. On the plus side, that had been enough for another Tinkering skill level.

On the downside, the engine was heavy. Threadbare was taking stamina damage as he walked, not quite enough that it was a problem yet, but enough that he was dreading having to carry it back uphill, later.

Fortunately he didn't think he had far to go. The scouts were showing signs of exhaustion. Which made sense, when you thought about it. Everyone here was primarily a pirate, and pirates generally let their ships do the traveling. Climbing rigging and running around the decks and doing chores doubtless ate up stamina, but when push came to shove they just weren't used to walking long distances.

“Keep quiet for a bit and stay ready,” Threadbare whispered. “Whatever's going to happen will happen soon.”

“There!” shouted the crewbunny who'd shooed Threadbare away from Anne's door.

The word echoed through the gorge's divide, and every beastkin froze, staring around.

Anne pulled out a pistol slowly, and the crewbunny cowered, waving her hands and muttering “Sorry, sorry, sorry cap'n!”

“Aye, ye are that,” Anne said, barely murmuring. “Voices down and be glad a gunshot would carry further.”

That poor crewbunny was shuddering as Threadbare passed her. And he wondered, not for the first time, why so many people followed her.

“It's there, Cap'n,” said a Scout, pointing down the slope, to a long tumble of stones that Threadbare had initially taken for the remnants of an avalanche. But now that they were closer, he could see that there was a pattern to their placement. Some had crumbled, yes, but several were at angles that nature probably wouldn't have placed them in.

The mountains sheltered this spot from the rising eastern sun, and dark water seeped out from between the stones. A mountain lake perhaps? There were eddies of it flowing and draining away, but he saw no streams feeding the pool.

“It does give off all the signs of a dungeon, doesn't it?” Threadbare said, shifting his pack.

“Aye,” Anne nodded. Then she walked over, and took the pack from him, hefting it easily with a single hand. “Still under there, Lady?”

“I'm managing,” Threadbare told her.

She frowned, and leaned in closer. “Me eyes must be going. Ye looked a little... flat for a second.”

“Did I?” Threadbare asked, then shrugged.

Over her shoulder, he saw Renny wince, and close his furry eyelids, scrunching up his brow in concentration.

Anne hesitated for another second, then shrugged back. “Too long on land. Me boots be aching to trod the deck again, and it's drawin' me gaze homeward. All right then!” She said, turning back to her crew. “Set up the tents and we'll have us a rest. Build the fires, to keep us warm fer the night is comin' fast. And break out lunch, so we can feast when we're a'done!”

Cheering, and the crewbunnies literally hopped to it. Threadbare looked to Renny, who shrugged and withdrew back inside the pack.

It seemed a lot of trouble to go to for a picnic, but he helped where he could, with a few of the tents.

“Thanks, Lady,” said the crewbunny whom Anne had nearly shot. She was white-furred with brown spots, a little thinner than most of the other crew. She wore an eyepatch that she switched nervously from eye to eye, both of which seemed to work just fine as she shot nervous glances at the dungeon.

“You're welcome,” Threadbare said. “What's your name?”

“Plumbarista,” she said, offering a smile. “On account of me mam liked plums so much.”

Past her, a pair of crew got a fire going, sending tendrils of smoke up into the sky. They got to a certain height then sheared off, meeting the currents of wind that meandered through the mountains. The fire formed the center of the small campsite, tents set to block off the wind and maximize the warmth of the fire. Another crewbunny reached into a sack that was far too small and pulled out a pot full of water, pouring in bags of what looked like pre-mixed rations.

They'd done this all before, he thought.

“What exactly are we doing here at this dungeon?” Threadbare asked.

Plumbarista opened her mouth, then looked up above him and froze, skin paling under her short fur.

“That be a fine question, and now that we're situated all cozy-like, 'tis time to answer it,” Anne spoke from behind him. “Come wi' me, lady Celia. I'll fill ye in on the plan.”

Inside, Anne's tent was dark and close. The only light in the place spilled in through a few bullet holes that had been neatly shot through the rough canvas. Anne settled down on a simple cot, the only furniture in the place, and indicated the unrolled pack that had been spread out upon the floor.

The bits of the engine that Threadbare had disassembled glittered, and Threadbare saw no signs of Renny. Hopefully the fox golem had gotten to someplace reasonably secure.

“Ye may be wondering why ye put in all that hard work a fixin', only to haul everything down here,” Anne said, staring down at the hundreds of parts on the cloth. “But don't be frettin' that. It all had a purpose.” Anne's eyes snapped to Threadbare's. “I hear tell you know a thing or two about dungeons, aye?”

“Aye,” Threadbare said, then corrected with “yes, sorry,” when Anne narrowed her eyes.

“D'you know that they get some a' their loot from the precious things that people brings in? Ye can bring a magical dagger, drop it in the dungeon and walk out, then from that point on every now and then you'll find exact copies o' that dagger a turnin' up again. And the weaker the magic, the more often they drop. D'ya get me drift there, Celia me lady?”

“That would make sense with what... we... know...” Threadbare stopped, and looked at the engine parts.

The many, many enchanted engine parts. Each one very minor, in the grand scheme of things.

“You're going to put them in there, and then you're going to go and run the dungeon and gather up all the copies of them that come out. Like some sort of...”

“Farm,” Anne confirmed. “Tis an old technique handed down by me ancestor, Stormanorm. First we seed the dungeon, then we farm it. Ye reap what ye sows!”

“This is a good idea!” Threadbare said, catching her enthusiasm. “When do we start?”

“Oh, ye won't be going anywhere near the dungeon, me lass. Yer place is out here. Ye took notes as ye broke it down like I asked, aye?”

“Ayyyyy—yyyyeeesss,” Threadbare caught himself in time. Barely.

“Then ye'll be our tallyman. Sit here while we seed then run the dungeon, an' tally the parts. And once we've got enough for four full engines, we'll be done.”

Threadbare sat back, considering the possibilities. They had put dungeons to great use in Cylvania, creating the Rumpus Room, and a few other private spaces that were only moderately dangerous. But this was a use no one had ever considered. It was so simple, too!

But there were a few flaws that he could see.

“What if the dungeon's too dangerous?”

“It happens a'times,” Anne shrugged. “If this were a big one, a named one from ancient lore, then aye, might be too dangerous. But this looks to be a small, nameless one out in the middle o' nowhere that nobody's been to in a while. Those we can handle. Course, there's one problem with that kind a' dungeon.”

“What's that—” Threadbare started to ask.

Something roared outside. Something old, and burbly, and big. Something that you just KNEW had entirely too many teeth and tentacles, just by the ambient noise that was its reverberation.

“Sometimes if it's been too long between adventurers, the dungeon sends monsters out to greet ye! Hahahahhahhaa!” Anne said, cackling as she drew pistols and burst out of tent.