Chapter 80

All That Glitters

The room is a treasury, that much is immediately clear. Every corner is piled high with glittering riches. Brass banded chests lie open, their innards disgorging goblets, metal plates, gemstones, shimmering necklaces, rings and glittering tiaras into teetering piles. Marble columns veined in precious metal rise from towering piles of coins. Einheath pounds, Quellec florens, gold pieces from the western isles, and more exotic currency I do not recognise lie stacked and scattered like discarded leaves in the garden of some mad and extremely wealthy god.

In some areas the treasures are hip deep. A centre aisle leads down from the pool, and a lushly carpeted walkway lies before me, culminating in a single obsidian throne. The seat is so black it seems to absorb the light. Dangling from the spike of the armrest is a diamond encrusted crown. The rest of the room is lit by copper braziers. The firelit reflects off the multitude of glittering surfaces making the whole room gleam with light.

It is an abomination of wealth. An abomination of wealth disguising the fact that absolutely any one of these objects could be Janvier’s phylactery.

I look around with pursed lips.

Leaning out of the pool, I pick up an emerald ring. The stone is carved into the shape of a tiny eagle’s head. I regard it for a moment and then toss it away in disgust. This place contains a king's ransom. What a waste. Why do I find it so distasteful? Probably, if I’m being honest, because it is not my treasure room. But sitting here thinking judgemental thoughts about the price of crafting materials will get me nowhere.

I highly doubt this is just a treasury. Perhaps his highness likes to lord it over his treasures on the throne from time to time but my assumption is that this place is just as trapped as the rest of the maze. Or at the very least protected. Why wouldn't it be?

Carefully, with one eye on the teetering piles of gold, I stand up and wring out my skirts. The pool itself is worked in shiny mosaics. Sparkling water ripples over gems and precious metals pressed into the walls. The design is passing lovely, I suppose, if you enjoy that sort of opulence.

I clamber out of the pool, and suffer no ill effects other than making the plush carpet a little soggy. Then I go back and fish out all my little spies who are all floating, miserable and bedraggled. Gunder has to be laid out on the edge of the pool in state. He lies on his back and spreads his wings wide, muttering under his breath.

A concerned ring of robins shake out their feathers. Elding and Tora look as annoyed as I feel. The whole business has been mortifyingly undignified. And I will have to make a plan to extract the beastie, which was trapped in the previous room when the pit filled with water.

No sooner has this thought crossed my mind than tentacle-tendrils float past my vision. The chitinous monster drifts by innocently, pausing to look at a stack of jewels.

“How did — how did you get in here?” I demand. “We left you - You weren’t in the pit with us?”

The beastie does not comment but continues to drift, one gentle appendage caressing a crimson ruby.

I know it can speak but in the sum total of the time we have spent together I think it has uttered three words. My gaze turns to Elding and Tora. The two crows shrug in unison and open their beaks to utter whatever nonsense they think will placate me.

Before they can speak the piles of gold start to shake. An enormous serpent head lifts from beneath the treasures, coins trickling from its scales. Undead, viciously fanged and extremely angry, the lindwurm shoves its head between the columns. Jaws snap. A single, vivid green drop hisses from its teeth to dissolve the unlucky jewels beneath it.

All thoughts of caution scatter as I am forced to move at speed to avoid being impaled.

The room shakes with the guardian’s rage. I sprint through the piles, slipping and sliding, trying to extract my axe. Half snake, half dragon, the monster undulates after me, smashing precious jewels aside and toppling a pillar.

It is a hideous, unbalanced thing with two undersized forearms and tiny fluttering wings, nowhere near strong enough to carry it in flight. Unfortunately, in the narrow confines of the treasure chamber, it does not need to fly. Confined by the space, it is angry and taking out its ire on everything before it. As far as I know, lindwurms are creatures of wild mountain forests, and lofty northern crags. Janvier must be breeding them, or perhaps he found a nest?

This one knows it is confined.

I will free it in death, nothing so magnificent deserves to be caged so. In the meantime the lindwurm barrels through everything with the grace of a rampaging bull.

Around its scaly neck is a collar. From the collar hangs a jewelled pendant. That would be a good place to hide your soul, I suppose; swinging from your oversized house pet. The gem is gaudy. Shiny, yes, large, yes. I expected something more phallic.

But again, Janvier is smarter than this.

I duck under the lindwurm’s tail and it smashes into a wall, roaring with anger as I evade its teeth.

On the other hand, this whole place is set up like an exhibition. I doubt many people reach this room, but it is still reachable. It is dangerous yes, and it is tended, yes, but it is impersonal. Who tends it though? I doubt Janvier is here often. Most of the dungeon seems to be automated.

This gives me an idea.

“When I give the word,” I hiss at the crows, at my little spies, at the beastie, all of who are careening around the room with me, in varying degrees of helpfulness. “When I give the word I want you all to play dead!”

“We are already dead, mistress,” says Gunder, his tiny bat face wrinkling in confusion.

“More dead!” I hiss. “Just flop over, and lie as still as you can.”

“Now?” asks one of the robins.

“No!” I say, leaping back to avoid a taloned swipe. “When I tell you too. Just… pay attention. I will say ‘now’.”

The lindwurm lunges and the little spies scatter.

I veer right, half rolling, half falling down a pile of gold. Lunging with my axe I strike towards the scales and miss. There is so much stuff it is difficult to move. Elding and Tora go for the lindwurms eyes. Screaming, I bring my axe down hard on the monster’s scales. It bounces off. Great.

The lindwurm corners me in an alcove with a handful of marble statues, all of them with emerald eyes. Its teeth gleam vicious with poisonous dripping globules. Grabbing one of the statues behind me, I hurl it with all my strength. It is surprisingly heavy. The statue hits with a satisfying crunch, and I see the bones break.

Flinging myself sideways, I barely avoid the next vengeful snap.

A massive two handed strike of my axe cracks one of the ribs, but the broken bones do nothing to slow the creature down. Can I somehow tie it together? Bind long, sinuous tail to snout? It is so long and snake-like. But no, the lindwurm has strength to topple the pillars. I dislike resorting to magic, it seems lazy.

“Glacies tempestas,” I shout.

Nothing happens. Ug! Too loud! “Glacies tempestas,” I whisper.

The frigid blast swirls through the room, caking the riches in a layer of icy diamond. The lindwurm is frozen in place, one evil blue eye fixed on me.

“Ha,” I say to it.

There are already cracks in the frosted prison. Wasting no time, I leap onto its back and begin hacking blindly at its neck. There is little finesse to my attack but it does the job. Now that the serpent is held in place I am able to make some progress. The ice cracks widen and splinter as the lindwurm struggles. But it is too late.

I sever its head and the massive undead serpent topples in a shower of frosted gold coins. The great beast lies still.

“Goodnight,” I say, patting its side. “Dream of the wild open skies.”

Now it is finally quiet, I can think properly. My eyes settle on the fist sized gem around its neck. Hmm. Oh well. I will see where this game takes me.

Reaching out, I pluck it free.

My fingers immediately start to disintegrate. Flesh melts from bone, dripping from the ivory like goo to splatter on the gold. With a squeal I flick my wrist, attempting to drop it but to no avail. The emerald is seared to the bones by magical means. A curse? No time to ponder. I have to do something. The decay is spreading up my arm.

The flesh sizzles and hisses as it boils away into a blackened soup. If I don’t stop it soon it will spread to my torso. There is a simple solution.

“Do it Maud,” I tell myself.

Wincing, I chop my aze down, severing my own arm at the pit.

It hurts, but not all that much. Mostly it is just a strange sensation.

To my intense relief the curse did not spread to the rest of my body, thank the Goddess. This flesh was hard won and I will not give it up for the likes of a man who is not even present. My poor limb lies on a pile of coins, the rest of the flesh melting away as I watch.

What now? Having only one arm would be awkward in the extreme. The other is already damaged and skeletal thanks to the impolite Archon and her overly generous use of holy water.

That gives me an idea. Muttering under my breath I grab my bag and search through it. After a moment I find what I seek: a bottle of holy water.

“Elding,” I say, holding it out to the nearest crow. “Open it for me, please.”

The crow plucks the cork from the bottle with his wicked beak, and spits it out. “Thank you,” I say.

I upend the liquid over my poor severed arm.

What few scraps of flesh remain are scoured away, and I think the clinging curse as well. Only one short, skeletal arm remains, but now I think it is just bones. Good. I will fix it back on later.

“Now,” I say, to my companions.

They look at me strangely. “Now!” I hiss, before draping myself melodramatically across the floor next to my limb. “Pretend to be dead!”

“Oh!” whispers Gunder, his eyes brightening.

The little spies flop to the ground on their backs and lie still, legs straight in the air. The beastie collapses in a pile of jellied tentacles. Elding and Tora roll their eyes but play along.

“Good,” I whisper. “Now lie still till I say, no matter what.”

We all wait, feigning death.

If I am correct, at some point a caretaker will come alone to clear our bodies away, or to display them more fittingly. It is only a matter of time. Fortunately I am patient.

Lying uncomfortably on the piles of treasure I plan out a dress I would like to make for the spring. Something with ruching, and poofy sleeves maybe. Green, perhaps? Green might look strange with my skin tone, I will have to think about that.

Just as I start planning the accompanying bloomers, a soft mechanical whirring greets my ears. At last! Footsteps. A dry cough. Someone living, then. That is a surprise.

I keep my eyes shut tight, resisting the urge to peek, trying to imagine who, or what I will see when I open them.

Whoever it is, there is only one of them. That is good. I can ascertain from their foot falls that they are not heavy, and that they are not wearing armour. My suspicions are correct then; a caretaker comes.

I wait for them to come close. Then I open my eyes and lunge. My hand fastens around the neck of a small, green-skinned little man. I drag him up, and he tries to scream, hands pulling at my fingers. His pulse thunders in his neck.

“What are you?” I ask him, “I’ve never seen something like you before?”

The stranger gurgles in response.

“Goblin,” says Gunder. I look at the bat. “What?” he says. “I’ve seen pictures.”

Oddly muscular and dressed in simple peasant brown trousers and a waistcoat, the creature is barefoot. He struggles against my grasp, cheeks flushing scarlet which looks odd on the green hue of his skin. Whatever he is, I can investigate later. Right now I want to explore through the secret doorway that has opened in the opposite wall.

“Beastie,” I call. “Eat his memories, please!”