Four Beheadings and a Funeral Page 8

  “Welcome to my world,” he said, gesturing at the caverns.

  “This is incredible,” I said, my mouth agape.

  “I know. But it would not be possible without you, so—”

  “Dude, no need to butter my butt. This is all you.”

  He chuckled. “Shall I give you a tour of the upper farm?”

  “Upper? There’s more?”

  “Oh, plenty.”

  It was an impressive operation. The upper farm was all about recreating the natural outdoor environment as best as possible. There were expansive fields of grains, a few small orchards, that sort of a thing.

  “To give residents the taste of normal food,” Timurlan said, “but it certainly would not be able to supply us all.”

  To do that, we had to go down a large ramp at the back of the large cavern. Then, we reached the middle farm. This place was more cavern-like. Darker, with lots of stalactites and stalagmites, as well as huge columns of rock holding up the ceiling. There were plants everywhere. Well, plants and fungi. I wasn’t sure if fungi were plants. I remember reading a distinction at one point, but now I was too afraid to ask. Huge mushrooms the size of Buicks on thick stalks. Moss hanging off the ceiling in what I could only describe as inverse crop fields.

  “This is probably three quarters of our food supply,” he said, gesturing around. “Nearly everything you see here is edible, in some form or another.”

  “Have we been eating it?” I asked, a little wary of the slimy-looking plants that seemed to be dripping down the walls.

  “Of course. There is quite a bit that is native to Dwarven cuisine here: dropcaps and flibberteegibbets as excellent examples, which have remarkably similar tastes and textures to overland foods. Flibberteegibbets, harvested at the right time, have an incredible peach flavor.”

  “I thought it was odd we had peaches the other day.”

  “And they grow year round here.”

  “I don’t know that I want to know which one of these things they are.”

  “They don’t resemble peaches until you’ve cut them apart. It’s much the same with the Narfing worm.”

  “Are you going to tell me we grow worms here?”

  Timurlan smiled at me. A big knowing smile.

  We did, in fact, grow worms. The Lower Farm was not a pleasant place. It’s not that I’m afraid of insects so much as that I don’t like insects. They register poorly in my deep lizard brain. They are high on the ick factor for me. Worms are in the same minor vein, which might be just one more reason I like fishing so much — I don’t mind sending worms into their watery grave. One less creepy crawly to get me in the night.

  The Lower Farm had pens filled with bugs and beetles. Some were the size of my thumbnail, some were as big as my thigh, and in the distance, I saw larger fences holding back bugs that were the size of cattle. Or hippos. Just freaking huge.

  “We’ve got a wide variety of creatures down here,” he said, “but you were interested in worms?”

  “I, uh,” I said, “sure.”

  Timurlan guided me along a road that bisected the various bug pens. It was gloomy down here as well. Most of the light came from a few bioluminescent plants and animals. But the worm pens were down one more level, and that level was filled with vats about twenty feet high and fifty feet wide. All of them were carved out of the mountain itself, and each vat was filled with a different medium. Some were full of dirt, some mud, some a noxious sort of sludge I didn’t want to identify. They weren’t, thankfully, full of writhing bodies. An itsy bitsy tiny win.

  Timurlan walked with purpose, heading down to a vat about midway along the seemingly countless vats. Then we went up a few steps onto a platform, where we were basically able to step out into the vat if we so chose.

  He extended his hand out and muttered some guttural words.

  A worm about the size of a dachshund zoomed out of the muck and smacked into Timurlan’s open hand.

  In one clean move, Timurlan pulled his knife from his belt and lopped the creature’s head off. It went flying back into the vat, where it sank into the muck. Timurlan slid his knife along the creature, flaying it open. With a flick of his wrist, a little light floated into the air between us. How lucky — now I had a clear view of Timurlan cleaning the internals of the worm back into the vat.

  Gross.

  But then I saw something. He peeled a membrane back, and held up what was, essentially, the muscle of the worm. It was a dark red marbled with white fat.

  “That looks like steak,” I said.

  Timurlan smiled.

  “Tastes like it too,” he replied. “And easier to butcher. It comes out a bit square, which can seem odd, but I figure it’s a small price to pay.”

  “This is the steak we’ve been having?”

  “It is. Grows quickly, excellent marbling, robust flavor.”

  “I guess. I mean, I’ve noticed the steak has been pretty incredible.”

  “Thank you.” Timurlan beamed.

  “Is it, uh, did you make it?”

  “This is a particular breed I’ve worked on for a few years, but it’s a staple part of any under-mountain race’s diet. I just worked on getting the flavor more aligned with beef. But this vat here, this is what’s getting the marbling so generous.” He reached down and ran his hand through the sludge, “Perfect stuff for the little guys’ ease of movement. Lets them get just enough muscle, but not exert themselves.”

  “You managed to get all this set up here this quickly?”

  “One of the advantages to using magic. Cuts down on the waiting. At least at the start of things. Use too much magic, and the food starts to taste bland. And there are other side effects.”

  “Side effects of using the magic, or of eating food made by magic?”

  “Well, both, but I was referencing the latter. Food made by magic can cause odd reactions. Changes in skin or hair color. Alterations to senses. I’ve even read of a case wherein a castle under siege wound up growing additional limbs and appendages.”

  “Uh—”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, seeing the look of terror and confusion on my face, “nothing like that will happen here. This is all very safe. The magic we’ve used was nearly exclusively for preparing the environment for our gardens and pens. Nothing involving growth rates or anything. I do have a few abilities that allow me to shave off some growth time, but as far as I know, that’s not a magical effect so much as a world effect. So I don’t think it would have any bearing on the food. When I’ve used it in the past, the food has not registered as magical under investigation. So, that might do something to quell your nerves.”

  “It does. It’s just, no matter how much I learn, I always feel like there’s so much more I don’t know.”

  The lifeweaver came over and patted my forearm. ”The Empire is rather unique in that regard. Not too many countries able to look back over a thousand years and trace damn near everything to today.”

  “Have you traveled a lot?”

  “Not much out of the Empire. I went into Mahrduhm before the recent events, when it was a more sedate monarchy. I’ve heard it’s more on the march-and-conquer route of late.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But I went there to research wishberries and some of the other fruits native to that part of the land. I’ve been to Carchedon—”

  “I’ve heard they’ve got quite the garden there.”

  “It is truly a wonder. I have often considered emigrating, just to gain permanent access.”

  He tossed the carcass into a separate vat. There was a frenzy as whatever creatures that were inside made short work of their surprise meal.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Timurlan said, strolling back along the path. It seemed he was done being a tour guide and wanted to return to work. “I am a loyal son of the Empire. I just wish there were more lords like yourself. People who can see that magic is not to be feared, but harnessed.”

  “That’s what I’m going for.”

&nbs
p; “And I do appreciate it.”

  He smiled at me, and I smiled back. Then I headed back out of the cavern. I looked back, and he’d already moved into the field of grain, his back to me. I shook my head, because I couldn’t figure out how we’d gone from the lower farms to the upper farms so quickly.

  Timurlan was an odd dude. And I hadn’t had the chance to talk to him about the magic building again — I was thinking of getting his opinion on having a magic garden, but just listening to him talk about the garden in Carchedon, it seemed wiser to go for something a bit less prominent. It just didn’t make sense to have anything that people would actually make a pilgrimage to.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next day made me want to throw a tantrum because it was so full of crap I didn’t want to do. It started with standing around and being measured, having clothes draped on my body, and getting poked with needles. The tailor was doing it on purpose, because any time I started to slouch, I got a needle somewhere in my body.

  After a few hours of being a mannequin for Solomon, I moved over to be an armor stand for Zoey and her crew. Which was actually pretty cool, for about five minutes. After the novelty of seeing new armor wore off, it was back to me just standing around. Zoey worked the mithril into a helmet for me, while two of her underlings worked on gauntlets. There wasn’t time for a full set of plate, so they were resizing two hauberks. Between that and the helmet, I hoped I’d look menacing enough to not actually have to fight.

  A mild bonus, one of her helpers was new to making armor, recently transitioning from more structural metalwork. So Zoey launched into a pretty interesting, but long-winded, explanation of each and every piece of armor. The name, the point of it, how to make it, and the downsides to wearing it. So, for example, sabatons are kind of like armored shoes. The greave covers the lower leg, and the poleyn covers the kneecap. Cuisse is upper leg, and so on and so forth. And there’s a name for each piece of metal you’d wear on your body, and since full plate is full coverage, there’s an ungodly number of pieces of metal on your body. And they all have names. And reasons for existing and problems with making and wearing. So while I was really interested at first, as the lecture continued on, I listened less and less.

  Next up in my torture regimen was etiquette lessons with Eliza. Not a YouTube series I’d subscribe to, but apparently something I needed to know. I learned to open doors for her (or whomever I was guarding) with my left hand to leave my right free for a blade. Which I didn’t really see as etiquette, but maybe Eliza thought if she started with rules that were attached to violence, I’d remember them better. Smart move, to be honest.

  The last thing I remember clearly is that the appropriate way to choose utensils at posh dinners is to work from the outside in. But Eliza just continued on and on and on, and I tuned it out. Not on purpose — I think I’d just reached my limit for the day.

  Finally, I was presented with my new things. Very excited to get the armor, not quite as cool to get the Northwoods tabards and gear. Packing took a second, since I could just throw literally everything into my unfillable knapsack. Then it was time to rock and roll.

  But it was also the middle of the night, so I took the chance to get a little sleep. But once again, I got woken up by a random woman in my bed.

  This time, at least, it was a tiny woman. A brownie. Bear stood on my chest, her hands on her hips.

  “Get up, you great big beast,” she shouted at me.

  “Big beast?” I said, groggy.

  “You’re big to me. And you need to get up!”

  I threw the blankets off, and, not at all on purpose, also onto Bear. She roared something at me while she struggled to free herself, but I didn’t catch it. Then I walked over to the windows, or the holes where the windows would be if we had any fucking glass yet, and saw that it was still dark outside.

  “It’s still night out,” I said.

  “You need to leave at night,” Nikolai’s voice came from the gloom at the other end of my room.

  I spun around and saw the chancellor sitting by my fire.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Making sure you get up, get ready, and get out. And that you shave.”

  “Imsorrywhat?”

  “Shave.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. You and your beard are well-known. Especially since it’s not exactly common for men to wear beards in Glaton.”

  “Come on—”

  “You are going in disguise, Montana. You need to look like someone else.”

  I did a lot more grumbling, but it was mostly a show. My beard was an easy tell. And while it bummed me out to be clean-shorn, knowing I had a dwarven beard doctor in my employ made the whole thing easier to swallow.

  A hot shower and a shave later, I got dressed as a member of the Northwoods household guard. I had a small knapsack at my side and a small brownie on my shoulder. That was the only thing different between me and the real Northwoodsians. I thought I looked pretty good.

  Nikolai, on the other hand, looked like shit.

  “Dude,” I said, “you look like shit.”

  “I haven’t slept yet,” he said, rubbing his red eyes.

  “Why not?”

  “Besides the fact you broke my bed?”

  “We have spare beds.”

  “No. We’re short on beds because someone keeps pulling new people into our settlement with no preparation.”

  “Oh. Well, you can use mine while I’m away.”

  “Your largesse is noted. I am setting up a regular check in schedule with you, so that you can come back here and report findings, see if you need additional resources there—”

  “How am I supposed to travel back and forth?”

  “Fritz. You meet him on the top of the tall temple, he’ll grab you, bring you back here. Meet Lee, meet me, that sort of thing. See if you need more weapons, people, armor, whatever—”

  “Speaking of armor, is Zoey coming here?”

  “She is not. Is there something you need to tell her?”

  “I was hoping she’d had finished the helmet and gauntlets.”

  “I told her to stop hurrying on them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the bodyguard of Lady Northwoods would not be clad in mithril.”

  “Well shit.”

  “Also need to keep your bag of tricks here.”

  “The unfillable knapsack?”

  “If that’s the name of the thing, yes.”

  “Because—”

  “It is a powerful magic item. People will remember who had it.”

  “Losing that puts a real damper on my abilities.”

  “You should never tie your abilities to your belongings. Think of this as a chance to grow beyond relying on items.”

  “I’d rather not have to learn new skills while keeping Eliza Northwoods safe.”

  “Because you care for her?”

  “I mean, I care for everyone. She’s not overly special. I’m also thinking about how things will settle out with her father.”

  “Are you finally thinking of politics, dear boy?”

  “Yes.”

  “So miracles do happen.”

  “Well fuck you very much.”

  “I thought you hated Northwoods.”

  “I hate Valamir. Different. Northwoods has been a pretty decent fellow, all things considered.”

  “Be wary — you may think Northwoods is your friend, but as long as he supports Valamir, he will be our enemy.”

  “Great. So why am I protecting his daughter?”

  “Politics.”

  “Fuck politics.”

  “And here I thought you were finally realizing the importance of it.”

  “I guess not,” I said, and tossed my knapsack to the side. I wasn’t at all keen on leaving it behind, but my grumpy chancellor had a good point. It would be easier to identify me if I had all my usual gear by my side. “Balls,” I said, and fished out my armor and tabards. “Let’s g
o.”

  We went through the sleeping MountainHome and emerged outside. Eliza stood in the greens wearing traveling clothes. A thick blue cloak over what looked like a white and blue dress. She had her hood pulled up high over her head. There was a prominent Northwoods crest on her cloak.

  Fritz stood on the grass, big as fuck, looking around like he was bored.

  “Good morning, Lady Northwoods,” I said.

  “While I appreciate taking the shorter method of traveling to Osterstadt, having to do it in secret in the middle of the night is hardly my first choice.”

  “Ah, I wasn’t, uh, sure what time it was.”

  “Too early,” she replied.

  I knew Eliza as a reasonably conversational person, eager to talk, happy to give me history lessons or tell personal stories. But evidently she was not a morning person. Or, more accurately, a middle of the night person.

  I couldn’t blame her. There was definitely a time when I never got enough sleep, and if you dared wake me up while I was getting some, I’d probably punch you. Or stab you. Rarely shoot you. Despite my fondness for guns and relative expertise with them, I hadn’t shot that many people. It was messy and loud, and easier to get caught that way. ‘Leave no trace’ wasn’t only good advice for hiking.

  We got up onto Fritz, which took a little more work for Eliza. I thought she’d been wearing a dress, which she was, but she also had trousers on underneath. Not that I was actively looking for what was under her dress — it’s just that it became obvious when I had to help her onto the big fucking bird. Bear, for her part, was bundled in something’s fur, and looked a bit like she was an extra from the 1982 Conan film.

  Nikolai gave us a wave and we were off, rushing into the cold night air. Which got even colder the farther up we soared, until it felt like ice was forming on every surface of my body. It was definitely a new experience to feel the air on my newly shorn face — like my skin was going to tighten up so much it would rip open to reveal my skull. Probably should hope that didn’t happen.

  Fritz got a little adventurous, and grazed the peak of the mountain directly above Coggeshall by feet. Then darted down along the slopes as if he was skiing. It was exhilarating, but I could see Eliza had her eyes closed and she was murmuring a slew of curses under her breath. She had the right idea, if not necessarily the correct reasoning. I closed my eyes and sort of zoned out as best I could. Bear was snuggled down in a bag sitting on my chest. She was safe and secure, and probably asleep. I nodded off, maybe a little, too.