The roots dug us all out, and we assessed our sad situation. First, it was dark as hell. Both lanterns had gone out. We searched by feel and found one, and it seemed serviceable. After a bit more searching, I concluded that the other lantern lay buried someplace that we’d never find.
Halla took ten minutes to relight the lantern in the dark with flint and tinder. I could have worked on it an hour and probably accomplished nothing.
Whistler nodded at the wooden door. “I wonder what’s waiting behind that.”
“Sweet girls and sour beer,” I said. “And neither will wait around for a hesitant man. Help me with these bricks.”
Leddie laughed and pinched Whistler on the butt.
The four of us cleared the bricks out of the way, plus a few hundred pounds of dirt. Then I stood to the side of the closed door and held my hand close to the latch. I didn’t expect to feel a damn thing, but it seemed like something a clever person would do.
“Wait,” Whistler said. “Why is Bib going first every time?”
“Would you like to go first?” Halla said.
Whistler took a step back and bumped into Leddie. “No, I wouldn’t. I just don’t understand. Is he especially skilled at this kind of thing?”
Halla pursed her lips. “No. I am more skilled than him at many things. Maybe most things.”
“I love you too.” I patted her arm.
“He takes these risks because he is lucky. Bib is the luckiest person I know.”
Whistler nodded slowly. “I guess that’s good.”
Halla went on, “He is so lucky, he must have worked very hard to ruin his life the way he has.”
Leddie growled, “Can we go through the damn door now? Do you think you talked loud enough for the ghouls to know we’re here? They probably don’t give a shit about your personal trials—they just want to know if our marrow tastes good!”
I swung the door open and peered around the edge as Halla held out the lantern. It was another square room, halfway between the first two in size. The walls and ceiling hadn’t fallen all to hell, at least not yet. An open doorway stood in the middle of the far wall. Stone shelves were set into the right-hand and left-hand walls, and the objects lying on those shelves glinted gold. I stepped into the room, and Halla followed. Her lantern showed that the shelves were crowded with bowls, urns, candlesticks, plates, boxes, and a big set of scales. All of them appeared to be gold or silver.
A powerful, energetic voice yelled from deeper in the crypt, “If I still had bricks on the ceiling, you’d all be pulverized, damn you, mashed right flat into the ground, chunks of brains flying around like sparrows!”
I walked two more steps into the chamber. “I can’t say we’re sorry, but I can wish you better fortune with your next visitors.”
A figure entered through the door on the far wall, more gliding than walking. I could see through the thing and make out the doorway behind it with no trouble. It appeared to be a bearded, round-headed man, although the face lay in shadow. Its clothing looked expensive but archaic, and it wore a peaked hat with four red feathers so stylish it was almost foppish. I made note of these things, because who the hell knew what detail might mean my survival, but I focused mainly on the extra-long broadsword in its hand. It was a weapon well-suited to battering an armored man to death, but if necessary, it could disembowel me just fine.
“Everyone gets yanked into shreds now!” the figure proclaimed. “Who wants to go first?” It pointed at Leddie. “What about it, you grabby, dripping, jumped-up tart?”
Leddie’s eyes glinted huge in the lantern light, but her voice was steady. “Let me go last. I want to write a ballad celebrating our heroic deaths. I especially expect Bib there to make some interesting noises when you rip him asunder.” Leddie edged closer to the being, her sword held low.
I held up my free hand. “I apologize, good ghost, for interrupting your rest.”
“Ghost?” the thing boomed. “Don’t call me a frippy, whining, no-balls, insubstantial ghostly entity, you toad fart!”
“I apologize twice, then.” I wondered what in the name of Weldt’s shaggy chest this thing was, if not a ghost.
Halla stepped up beside me. “What kind of thing are you, then?”
“Please!” I smiled. “She meant to say please.”
“I wasn’t made into a damned unliving thing! No god or sorcerer has rubbed his loathsome fingers all over my spirit.” The figure surged forward and grabbed Halla’s throat. I heard her choking, but she stood unmoving as a boulder. “I made myself! I said no, I am not done.” It pushed Halla away and turned toward me. I heard Halla coughing.
“The God of Death must like you a lot,” I said. “I know for a fact that he doesn’t let many people engage in such pranks.”
The creature floated back from us a few feet. “Don’t try to impress me, you floppy little daffodil of a sorcerer. I don’t care if you pounded all thirteen gods to death with just your member—it means nothing to me!”
I didn’t feel too cozy about us killing this thing, or if it was already dead, then subduing it. I didn’t want to give up on diplomacy. “Sir, I understand that you’re not dazzled by me, and that’s quite proper. My name is Bib, and we’ve come on behalf of the city’s lord. We’re not common looters here to carry off the best bits and smash everything else.”
“Babardi!” The creature might have been saying, “Diarrhea,” because he said it with so much revulsion. “Worthless, mindless, feckless, dick-less, limp-tongued slice of clotted snot! I hoped he would come here himself, but he’s too busy being a pale, wheezing coward.”
Leddie spoke up: “We don’t give a good crap who runs the city. Is
