Threadbare listened to the shouting, shooting, stabbing, and roaring outside. It seemed to be well under control. The camp had been built on a relatively defensible spot, and nobody seemed to be screaming in pain.

He turned his attention back to the parts, started sorting them into piles to be seeded into the dungeon, then stopped.

Threadbare was alone for the first time since his kidnapping. And all the sharp-eared bunny pirates nearby were busy with a very loud monster.

And this meant that he could try to get word back home. He'd thought of a trick last night, and it seemed like the best opportunity he'd get to use it was now at hand.

Long before he'd been a Golemist, back when his intelligence was somewhere around that of a housecat, Threadbare had been thrown into a deadly encounter with a creature called a Rat King. The fight had been brutal and bloody, but in the end he'd prevailed. Upon slaying the Rat King, he'd gained his first adventuring job and become a Ruler.

Though since he had neither a mouth nor sufficient brains to understand just what was happening to him at the time, it had been quite some while before he could actually use any of the skills that the job had provided him. And even then he'd used them sparingly, mainly to help his friends.

And it had occurred to him, last night, that maybe he could use them to help himself.

“Simple Decree,” Threadbare uttered, and spoke “Be well. I am too. Ship crashed, pirates survived. We're repairing it.”

Simple Decree was meant to be a means of issuing commands to your subjects. And it was very good at that, sending up to twelve words of a decree out to everyone who had sworn their allegiance to Threadbare, first of his name.

But so long as it included a command, the rest of the words could be anything the Ruler wanted. And everyone who had sworn to him would see it.

Not too many people had pledged their allegiance to Threadbare. He'd kept the group small... his old adventuring friends from back in the day, and a few of his created children that were currently making names for themselves in the RAG. Each and every one of them he trusted with his life.

And all this cost was the small sum of ten moxie. He wasn't using that particular energy for anything at present, nor was he likely to, so it seemed worth the risk.

There was also the Complex Decree skill, which increased the word limit to one hundred, but at a much higher moxie cost, so he figured he'd wait and see if the smaller skill sufficed.

Threadbare was not disappointed.

And in a few short minutes, the thing he'd been hoping for happened.

GARON HAS ISSUED A NEW DECREE!

Good! Tell me location. Landmarks? Dangers? How can retrieval party find you?

This was the trick that Threadbare had discovered years ago. And the contingency he'd quietly left as an option, since he'd never seen reason to change it. Garon had sworn allegiance to him, becoming his subject.

And he'd sworn allegiance to Garon, becoming his subject.

He really wasn't sure that was in keeping with the spirit of the Ruler job. But Nurph had never adjusted this particular aspect of it, so for now, the trick worked.

The noise had quieted outside, he realized. He glanced through the tent flaps, saw Anne cleaning and reloading her guns as she lounged in a camp chair, saw the rest of the crew throwing ropes around the carcass of a bloody heap of blackened flesh and tentacles and suckers. They looked like they were preparing to drag it out of camp, probably for disposal or butchering or something of the sort.

Plumbarista glanced up towards him and dropped her rope, hurrying over. “Cap'n says you're to stay safe in this tent, Lady Celia.”

“Are you sure?” Threadbare asked. “It sounds like I don't have a really big job to do until you're all coming back from the dungeon. If there's something smaller I could help with...”

Plumbarista shot Anne a worried look, then leaned down, until her head was just a few inches away from Celia's illusionary full height. “Cap'n doesn't want you outside the tent. She give us the order to take ye down hard if ye get more'n a foot away. So please stay still, and don't make us do somethin' horrible.”

Now that was odd. Anne hadn't shown much concern for Threadbare's wanderings on the trip down. What had changed?

And then his eyes found the gap between the stones. The dark water that marked the start of the dungeon. He understood the problem, and the opportunity.

Dungeons were unique for every party that entered, creating a sort of pocket dimension for each group that prevented them from interacting with each other.

If he could reach the dungeon, he could enter it and there would be no way for the pirates to retrieve him... well, no, that wasn't exactly true. If they knew the trick, they could eventually find the core chamber and pull the core, ejecting everyone in the dungeon back into reality as the dungeon folded down into the core.

But if they didn't know the trick, or didn't want to mess around with the control chamber, then he could greatly inconvenience them. Especially with his nature. He didn't need to eat or drink or sleep, and could just wait in the dungeon for potentially an eternity.

Did Anne know her way around core chambers? She was a powerful and very experienced pirate. He couldn't rule out the possibility.

Or the possibility that she would learn, if she didn't know already.

For now, Threadbare simply patted Plumbarista on the boot and said “I'll be good,” before heading back into the tent.

Did he want to go into the dungeon? Did he want to stall the pirates, or potentially stop their journey for good, at least until the retrieval team got here?

This was all very much more complicated than the troubles he'd had in the past. It had been simple then; save his little girl, stop the tyrant, save the kingdom.

Fortunately, he wasn't alone. And he'd long ago learned the value of asking his friends for advice.

“Simple Decree,” he whispered, facing away from the tent opening. “Relax. North of Guzoverdees. Dungeon near. Could escape to it. Thoughts, opinions?”

He barely had time to get the words out, before the tent flap rustled, and he turned to find Anne leading the crew in and pointing at the engine parts. “All right. Pick up the bits ye lazy lasses! Let's get ta seedin'!”

The beastkin knew their business, and Threadbare watched them go, weapons out, heading into the dungeon with grim determination.

Anne stayed behind with a crewbunny, and drifted around the camp, seeing to small things and keeping watch. How long would this take? Days, Threadbare thought. They'd certainly brought enough supplies for that.

After a few moments, words appeared before him again.

GARON HAS ISSUED A NEW DECREE!

“Bide. Describe dungeon details. Illusions holding? Renny Okay? Pirates friendly enough?”

Threadbare went to the front of the tent to examine the dungeon again, and found Anne sitting in her camp chair by the fire, staring his way. Her face was blank, and she was sharpening her cutlass.

“The waiting be the hardest part,” Anne said, after a moment. “Ye want to stretch yer legs a bit? We could take a walk.”

She glanced to the other crewbunny, who nodded, and ambled a little too casually to put herself between Threadbare and the dungeon.

“I suppose it couldn't hurt,” Threadbare said. And it would give him a chance to look for other landmarks, too.

The two of them picked their way around the bottom of the slope, walking past the dark blot that was the pool, and out into the scree that crunched underfoot as they followed the bottom of the ridge.

“Jean a'told us about ye while we were preparing ta grab ye,” Anne explained. “Ye grew up in mountains just like this, aye?”

“Aye. Yes,” Threadbare said, scanning the horizon. The peaks stretched up like great, snow-topped teeth. Unfortunately, they were all too similar to each other. If only he could send pictures through the decrees...

“She tells us ye were a Scout, first of all. Do ye still have that job?”

Threadbare hesitated. Was this a test? He had been away from Celia for weeks, and from what he had gathered, Jean had engaged his little girl in quite a few conversations. If he got a detail wrong, it might raise her suspicions.

“I am still a Scout,” Threadbare told her. It seemed the safest answer.

“Good! And what else?”

This conversation was rapidly moving out of safe boundaries.

“That's a rather personal question,” Threadbare replied, thinking things through as quickly as his brain could turn matters over.

“Aye. And under normal circumstances, even with ye being our... guest... and all, I wouldn't ask it. But...” Anne glanced back towards the dungeon. “That there beastie was a bit bigger than I was expecting. This here is a wild part of the world, and if me crew gets stupid, we could be out in these parts a bit longer than I expected.”

Her eyes darted back to a foot above Threadbare, fixing his illusion with a stern glare. “But not too long. We're a-going to drop ye off, so if things go sour here we're a-walkin' for a few months. And if we do that, then I'll be needing to know yer jobs, so I can cypher out where to put ye to best strengthen our band.”

That sounded reasonable.

But it would also give Anne an advantage over Threadbare if it came to a fight. And limit the number of surprises he could bring to bear against her. She was an experienced and cunning foe, he didn't doubt that she'd use this information to her advantage.

Although, this sort of sword could cut both ways.

“I'll tell you, but I want to know what your jobs are first,” Threadbare said, folding his arms.

Anne grinned, gold teeth flashing in the mid-afternoon light. “Gladly! I be a Pirate, and as any savvy soul knows, that comes from being both a Mercenary and a Bandit. Takin' the best qualities from each, really.”

Threadbare knew quite a bit about Mercenaries. Less so about Bandits. “What else?”

“Assassin, fer when bein' bold ain't enough. Water Elementalist... though that's just fer ensuring I won't be drownin' any time soon. And one that ain't filled yet.”

“You left an open job slot?” Threadbare was surprised. She was high level, higher than anyone else in Cylvania, he thought. To make it so far without every adventuring job slot filled was surprising.

But she had a good reason for it, he had to concede as she explained. “Beastkin don't be livin' that long, compared to humans or other sorts. Every job I take is another share of me experience going to somethin' that ain't me best life. By keepin' one unselected, I made sure that me main jobs grew faster. I kept me focus, savvy? Even when it were tempting not to...” she looked away for a second. Then shrugged. “Besides, I can always slot in one I've unlocked. And then I'll get all me energy back at a crucial moment. Y'do know that trick, don't ye me pretty princess?”

“I'm familiar with it. All right then,” Threadbare said, and made his choice. “I'm a Scout, a Knight, a Ruler, a Model, an Animator, an Enchanter, and a Golemist.”

It was a mix of truth and lies. He wasn't a Knight, and he'd left out Necromancer and Duelist.

But if Anne caught any untruths in that, she gave no sign of it. Instead she nodded in approval. “So he did teach ye the trick of making more of yerself. How easy is that to do?”

“Very tiring,” Threadbare said. “And all but the most minor golems use a lot of magical crystals and components.”

“Pity. We're on low crew right now. Could use a few more hands.” Anne drummed one hands' fingers on her hip, as she thought. “We might have some magical bits we can spare toward makin' a few golems. See how this here dungeon run goes, and all.”

“You could seed it with components and crystals, along with the engine parts,” Threadbare pointed out.

“Nay. Ye never want to drop components in dungeons. Sometimes they'll spawn 'em on their own, but they're greedy to devour any that come in from the outside. Ye never see 'em again.”

They had slowed during this conversation, but not stopped. And as she spoke, Threadbare saw a mountain come into view from behind the curve of the slope. Unlike the others, the peak was jagged with a pointy shard jutting at an angle that made it look a little like a beak. If you twisted your neck a certain way, the mountain resembled the head of a bird of prey.

Shouts came from behind them, and pirate and teddy bear turned to see that the crew had emerged from the dungeon. They were battered, bloody, and bruised, but he thought that everyone who had gone in had made it out.

“Good talk. We should do it more often,” Anne said, turning back to camp. “Come along then, ye'll be busy enough after they rest up and start the farming.”

Threadbare fell into step behind her... and stopped as she did. Anne turned with a frown on her face. “Are ye trying shenanigans?”

Threadbare shook his head. “I don't think so. What's wrong?”

Instead of replying, Anne strode up and tapped a finger about a foot above his head.

She's touching the illusion! Threadbare realized. He flinched back and raised a hand. “Excuse me?”

“The light was hittin' ye funny for a moment there,” Anne said, eyes narrowed.

“It might be my defensive buffs,” Threadbare said, remembering what he could of Celia's bag of tricks. “I am always in uniform, when I'm in a dangerous place.”

“Ah, that might do it.” Anne nodded. The suspicion eased from her face... but not quite from her eyes. “Not a bad idea out here, me little lady. Do watch yerself. We certainly shall...”