Chapter 3

Chapter 3

THE ABYSMAL DARKNESS was starting to play on his mind. The space was beyond the span of his arms, yet not beyond the reach of his body’s full length, but it felt like it was fluctuating around him. As if his cell were the gullet of some large stone beast, the muscles of the throat contracting to pull him down, where now he found himself at the threshold of the creature’s stomach. Rory was positive that he could even smell the putrid bile of the hellspawn that had swallowed him.

Through a hair-thin crack somewhere far above him, Rory could make out a faint sliver of light, but only occasionally. Perhaps this, too, was a hallucination, but he had to believe it truly was the top; it provided what little hope he had that there was an outside not far from where he stood in the murky depths of his prison, and this hope gave way to the faintest glimmer of escape, of the possibility that sanctuary was within his grasp if he could merely reach up and take hold of it.

Alas, all his attempts were failures. The slippery walls of the cell’s craw allowed him no purchase, and despite his determination, Rory never accomplished a climb of more than a few feet, typically resulting in a crash into the puddle-soaked floor below him. He was wet, he was dirty, and he was feeling the beginnings of his sanity slipping away. Never had Roderick Casbury known a fear like this. Surely he had flirted with the notion of being afraid in the past, but nothing like this suffocating terror that was slowly slipping its dripping tendrils about him. Perhaps this was his captor’s plan, to leave Rory in solitary darkness until he finally cracked into a wretched shell of himself. If only Rory could remember how he ended up here in the first place…

* * *

“WE’RE IN IT now,” Bozius cursed as the trio peered down the bustling corridor of Summer Avenue, the main drag through Appleton Lows.

“Nonsense, Bozy,” Rory patted his friend on the back. “This is what you wanted, right? We’re here!”

“I wanted the Heights,” Bozius repeated, staring daggers at his friend. “Not the Lows! Does this kid even know where he’s going?”

Appleton was at one time no more than a small depot and trading post along the road that Rory and Bozius traveled to reach this destination. However, a major paved road across Vimiland known as the Queen’s Parkway (after some queen or another from some time before Rory cared enough to pay attention insisted that her king build her a route that granted her quick access across the country. Several such roads were fashioned, with the Queen’s being the first) was built that just so happened to connect Appleton with many other towns along its route. An interesting fact about this particular section of the highway was that it was built in the fashion of a bridge going over the terrain, for Appleton and the forest near it sat in a bit of a valley ringed by the Bumperton Hills, more affectionally referred to as the Bumps. The rolling terrain made for a most exhausting headache in planning for the engineers in charge of building the Queen’s Parkway, and by the time the project reached this small valley where the workers could finally just pave straight across reasonably flat ground, the Powers that Be at that particular time insisted on an engineering masterpiece. So the road through this region of Vimiland actually goes over the valley and forest.

As it turned out, the people of Appleton weren’t to be cut off. As the construction project brought a boom to the town, the people of Appleton took it upon themselves to build up to the towering road. The result: a massive hill was created, expensive plots of land were sold on it, and the town of Appleton went from its meager beginnings of being a simple rest-stop to being a full-fledged metropolis of sorts. This also effectively split the town in two: Appleton Heights and Appleton Lows. The Lows weren’t all bad, but were squalor compared to the Heights. Where the Heights had ritz and glamour, the Lows had pollution and trash. Where the Heights had sights and a vibrant nightlife, the Lows had pollution and trash. Where the Heights had beautiful people doing beautiful things, the Lows had more pollution and trash; fun bars and neighborhoods, too, but mostly just pollution and trash.

“Can we get up the hill and start the drinking and sexing already?” Bozius insisted.

“Not so fast, my ox of a friend,” Rory responded. “There will be none of that until we have liberated the Golden Doll from Lord Wordsly. Then you can work your way up and down the hill through every trampy nightingale your bursting loins can handle. Until then, we follow the astute tracking skills of our good fellow, Rafule Charsbic here.” Rory took this opportunity to nudge Rafule with his elbow. “So, Rafule, should we lock you back to that tree, what’s going on?”

Rafule jumped out of his thoughts in response to Rory’s elbow in his ribs, but managed to regain his composure. “Nothing… nothing to worry about, Mr. Rory. Just, um… up this here road to the Heights and then on to Lord Wordsly’s place.”

“Mr. Rory?” Rory asked with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not your nanny, Rafule, don’t call me that.”

“Mr. Casbury?” Rafule tried.

“I’m not a school marm or your friend’s dad, either,” Rory became flustered. “What is this? You weren’t doing this when you were chained up back there.”

“You saved me, Sir Roderick, I owe you so much,” Rafule attempted.

“Do I look like a knight? For Pete’s sake, kid, lighten up,” Rory insisted. “Not that I’m opposed to knighthood, but knight’s are all about broadswords and white horses. I’m more of a rapier-and-mudder guy myself.”

“But you carry a short sword.” Rafule acknowledged. “And your horses seem like strong stock…”

“Details, dear boy, details. I will have a rapier eventually, just you wait. And, yes, okay, a nice horse isn’t a bad asset. Let me tell you, Rafule, the ladies love a man on horseback.”

“Not that we’d know…” grouchy Bozius grumbled.

“And thus the epic saga continues!” Rory punched in. “So, Rafule, on you go. Lead the way. Plunder awaits.”

Despite how many times in his life Rory had laid eyes upon the Queen’s Parkway as it made its way like a bridge over the valley, he was always surprised that it didn’t come across as an eyesore. It really was a marvelous piece of engineering, though the time and money required to maintain it meant that the other, ground-level roads going through the Crescent Valley were wholesomely ignored unless tended to by the towns and villages sprinkled along the way. Still, the Parkway was a fast means of travel between Castletop and the larger cities of Vimiland, especially when it came to traveling through the rolling foothills of the Crescent Mountains. But here at the man-made hill that was Appleton, the fastest way around was to actually know where you were going.

As the trio turned several corners and looped around a few neighborhoods in both the Lows and Heights of the city, it was becoming painfully obvious that their guide truly had not the slightest notion of where he was or where he wanted to be. Finally, as Rafule stepped slowly into an intersection, Rory found himself grabbing the boy before a passing carriage ran him under.

“Thank you, thank you…” Rafule muttered, breathless from the shock. “That was a close one…”

“Rafule, you’re wasting my time,” Rory noted.

“And mine!” Bozius growled.

“Good boy, do walk with me,” Rory insisted, gliding his hand around Rafule’s shoulder and leading him down the street, away from the crowd. “Let us find a nice, quiet place to talk and sort this all out. Ah, yes, here, this dark alley should do fine!”

“No, wait!” Rafule pleaded.

“You don’t know where you’re going, do you?” Rory asked.

“I never said I did!” Rafule shrieked, seemingly holding back tears. “I said I had a street name! A street name!”

“Then why haven’t you led us to that street?” Bozius insisted.

“I’ve never been here before,” the boy replied. “How should I know where it is?”

“Rafule,” Rory continued, “why don’t you just say the name of the street and let us locate it?”

“Cuz then you won’t need me anymore,” Rafule blubbered, and water truly began welling in his eyes. “Then where will I go?”

“Are you kidding me?” Bozius stepped back and eyed his friend with daggers. “Rory, if this is the nearest I come to a woman today, I swear someone is gonna die!”

“Stop it, Bozy, you’ll scare our poor companion,” Rory replied, trying with all his will to keep from laughing at the boy’s expense. “Rafule, we’re in this together. Bozy’s got the muscle, I got the brains, and you got that whole whipping-around-fireballs thing that you do. Let us find the street, get you some dinner and a nap, and then we can all get what we want.”

Rafule stood in silence for a moment, sniffled back a few rushing tears, and wiped his eyes with the long sleeves of his white robes. He stood up a bit straighter, though his eyes remained firmly on the ground.

“Cherry Bush,” the boy muttered.

“Come again?” Rory strained to hear him.

“Cherry Bush Road,” Rafule repeated. “That’s where Lord Wordsly’s home in Appleton is. I thought I could find it and I can’t.”

“What kind of fool name for a street is that?” Bozius cut in. “I never heard of it.”

“That’s because there aren’t any hookers there,” Rory responded under his breath. “Come, I’m familiar with it. It’s not far nor is it a very long street, we should be there quickly.”

“Cherry Bush?” Bozius hissed. “Who names these things? All a guy ever wants is a little piece of action at a decent price, and instead goes chasing little dolls around town…”

* * *

CHERRY BUSH ROAD indeed was a short street, lost in the middle of an exclusive, compact, and confusing neighborhood in the center of Appleton Heights. Not a single set of parallel roads was to be found amongst the winding paths that snaked their way throughout the area. If Appleton were to ever come under siege by outside forces, this quaint little section of high society would stand invincible as the invading army would never make its way through without tangling up with itself. Upon finally finding Cherry Bush, it was a matter of picking out Lord Byron Wordsly’s home. The houses here were all quite huge and sitting on immense pieces of property, protected by gates and private patrolling guards. It was up to Rafule to notice something familiar before someone realized the party didn’t belong in these parts.

“If he was just attacked, he’s probably got extra guards out,” Bozius considered. “Let’s look for that.”

It was sensible. Rory and Bozius stumbled upon their new friend just that morning, and Wordsly was likely on edge from the attack. The Cache of the Hand likely knew that the nobleman was transporting something important; Wordsly was likely questioning his own security measures. The golden doll was on its way into the hands of a duke at Castletop, and it was likely a secret delivery since Wordsly wasn’t traveling with a large entourage. Still, every guard on his premises would probably be making rounds now that their wealthy employer was nearly slain. The golden doll must be worth a fortune, Rory thought to himself, counting bags of money in his head. Every debt could be erased…

“That might be it…” Rafule guessed, pointing a pale finger at a manor down the way. Scraps of wood and bits of cloth littered the road outside the ivy-covered walls that protected the estate, and four guards took up posts at the gate. Servants were racing out of the property to pick up the last remnants of debris, and each looked quite dreadful, as if they were being worked harder than usual.

“Well, if that ain’t a clean-up crew…” Bozy postulated.

“Good work, Rafule,” Rory congratulated, slapping the frail boy on his bony back. “Now let’s see to getting you that nap!”

* * *

THE BROKEN SPOKE was a low-down, dirty, vile tavern of ill-repute. The light was dim, the tables dusty, the piano out of tune, and any patron who received beer in a clean glass could count himself amongst the luckiest people to sample this establishment’s wares. All kinds of outcasts and outlaws frequented the Broken Spoke, from thieves to murderers to tax evaders. The ale was warm, the food was spoiled, and the women were dirty in every sense of the word.

Bozius Bozinius was in heaven!

Rafule Charsbic was not.

“Can’t we get a room someplace…” Rafule pushed away a substance on the table that was likely part of the meal from last night… hopefully. “Cleaner?”

“You’re free to open up your purse and go elsewhere,” Rory chided. “Up on the Heights they’ve got some lovely hotels, some of the best in all of Vimiland. Room service, champagne, fine dining… a room might only cost you, um, four handfuls of gold coins. Do you have 300 bobbies on you?” Bobby was the slang term for currency, as each gold coin had King Robert’s face engraved on it. Rafule simply looked down in shame. “Listen, dear boy, this is the best place we can be! We don’t stand out here. Well… you kind of do, what with your bleached white clean robes and all, but no one is ever going to notice that we’re here. I suggest you go upstairs and get some sleep, so that in a couple hours you can do that little spiraling ray of flame for us and we can snatch that precious prize! Victory is within reach, Rafule! Can you smell it?”

“I can’t smell anything but the odor of this place! It feels like we’re taking refuge in a chamber pot!” the boy replied. “And how can I sleep? Bozius is up there in bed with two women, and I think one of them hissed at me…”

“She probably likes you,” Rory said, taking a sip from his mug. “Oh, all right, you are rather precious for now. Here, take this and tell the innkeeper you would like a room.” Rafule left with the coins Rory handed him. “And bring me back the change!”

Rory kicked his feet up onto the table and leaned back in his chair, taking a hefty draught from his mug. This night’s score would be relatively easy. Sure, Lord Wordsly’s estate was crawling with guards, but the master of the house was a fool for having them all on alert all day long. They would be tired, frustrated, and off their game; all this added up to making them less of an obstacle and more of a nuisance. With the additional fire power provided by Rafule, Rory’s party would be in and out before the first flame was put out. A hefty sized doll made of solid gold would be in his possession—technically, it would be in Bozius’s possession, for Rory had to be mindful of his back—and available on the darkest black market before breakfast. Rory could actually settle down somewhere, likely Octaria. But that was getting ahead of himself…

“Roderick Casbury?”

Rory jumped to his feet—nearly knocking the table over to its side—and reached for the sword at his hip… but instead found nothing more than his belt!

“Damn!” he cursed himself. “Why do I always unpack everything every time we get a room?” He turned slowly towards the source of his accuser, being mindful to keep his sword-hip out of a direct line-of-sight.

“Roderick Casbury, bite my ass, it is you!” shouted the busty, leather-clad brunette that stepped out of Rory’s rum-fogged memory and into the smoky space before him. “Tingle my nethers, I can’t believe I’m looking at you! Come here!”

Without pause for welcome, the voluptuous harlot wrapped her arms around Rory, grabbed two handfuls-worth of the back of his breeches, pulled him as close as her hefty, high-cleft, half-exposed chest would allow, and drove her tongue into the deepest recesses of his throat. Surprised but not at all put off by her aggression, Rory took his time sliding free of her grasp.

“Mmm, Starla, hello!” Rory spoke, staring into the bright, smiling face of the hungry woman before him. “What are you doing here?”

“In the Broken Spoke?” she continued to smile, all the while grasping for whatever parts of Rory’s body she could get her hands on. “I got fired from the last gig… well, it burned down! Same thing, really…”

“Odd, that three of your houses would burn down…” Rory was suddenly aware of how warm the tavern was.

“Four, sweetie,” Starla giggled. “And counting!” Starla laughed quite heartily, and Rory forced a nervous giggle to match. “But enough about me, baby, more about you. What’s it been? Two years?”

“Since we saw each other?” Rory smiled, playing dumb. “Well, let’s see, when did the Lonesome Hermit crumble into a pile of ashes?”

“Oh, I don’t know. After four they just all blur together into one red hot brothel!” Starla’s smile—although belonging to a psychopath—was infectious. “You staying the night, Roderick?”

“Got a room upstairs with Bozy—”

“Bozius is here?” Starla asked. “I thought I heard one of the girls being asked to call their john a horse or something like that… I just didn’t believe you two could possibly be here!”

“The odds!” Rory shrugged his shoulders in nervous anticipation, while he scanned the room for an exit strategy.

“I gotta have it, Roderick!” Starla demanded, grabbing Rory by the collar and pulling him in for another deep, wet kiss. Rory was stunned, but his concerns seemed to quickly melt away every time his tongue was slapped by hers. “Tonight’s on the house, lover! Let’s set this place afire!”

“Let’s not and say we did?” Rory responded coyly.

Starla laughed. “Oh, Roderick Casbury, I hope you weren’t planning on sleeping tonight!”

* * *

THE SUN WAS up. Not merely up as if it were only dawn, but bearing down on the earth from its perch at high noon. Rory crept out of the Broken Spoke with a cold chicken leg and mug in one hand, his pants in another. So much for a moonlit assault on the fortress that was the estate of Lord Wordsly.

“You want to put Little Rory away so we can get this show on the road?” Bozius said from the stoop, not lifting his eyes from the knife he was currently sharpening. His tone was even, if not light; after all, he started the night off with two prostitutes and likely went through several more. His patience was probably renewed.

“I thought we were striking at midnight?” Rafule stopped his pacing in the dirt to inquire about.

Rory merely handed his chicken leg and ale mug to the boy and began to slip his breeches back on. He felt as if his legs would buckle under him at any moment, and quickly made his way to the stoop, taking his breakfast back from Rafule and sitting next to Bozius.

“Little Rory won’t be looking for much excitement anytime soon…” Rory muttered between sips of ale and a sigh of relief and satisfaction.

“Starla’s here?” Bozius asked.

“Yup.”

“Thought I heard somebody calling you a horse.”

“Yup.”

“What about the plan?” Rafule asked. “I thought you wanted to go after the Golden Doll last night!”

“First of all,” Rory began, pointing his half-eaten chicken leg at Rafule. “If you keep on shouting about a Golden anything around here, you’re going to wake up every thief and bandit within earshot, and then they’ll all be after our score. Second of all, did you sleep?”

“Barely…”

“But you slept? Good. Now you got all your… stuff…”

“Magic juice,” Bozius cut in.

“I’m not calling it that,” Rory retorted.

“What would you call it?” Bozius raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know… Magic Points, maybe,” Rory considered. “Or Spell Power or something. But not magic juice; that sounds so childish.”

“And magic points sounds more sophisticated?” Bozius retorted. “How do you keep track of these points? If you have more points than another wizard, do you automatically win?”

Rory paused for a long moment, chewing on some gristle while he thought. “If I thought there was any strength left in me, I would stab you with this chicken bone.” He turned to Rafule. “Anyway, you’re all rested up, so you can start tossing fireballs about willy nilly, correct?”

“Yes, but…” Rafule began.

“But what?” Rory sucked the last meat from his chicken leg. “Really, boy, what is it with the whining?”

“He’s been like this all morning,” Bozius stated.

“How did you put up with it?”

“Alcohol,” Bozius replied, to Rory’s understanding nod. “Lots and lots of alcohol.”

“Lord Wordsly left this morning!” Rafule shouted, tugging on his curly locks.

“What?!” Rory snapped to his feet, anger and shock giving him reserved strength.

“I tried telling you!” Rafule added.

“You came to my room?”

“To the door, yes.”

“And you mentioned this news?”

“Yes.”

“From the other side of the door?”

“Yes…”

“Did you hear a woman in the room moaning as if the very fibers of the universe might split apart unless she experienced another climax?”

“Yes?”

“Then I wasn’t paying attention to you!”

“Should have gone in,” Bozius said, venom dripping from his voice. “Or at least came and got me.”

“I did!” Rafule insisted.

“Same scenario?” Bozius inquired.

“Kind of,” Rafule responded.

“Same result,” Bozius shouldered his way past the boy. “I wasn’t paying attention to what was happening outside my room.”

“But you came outside!” Rafule replied, confused and frustrated.

Bozius stopped and stared at the boy for a long, quiet moment. “I was done.”

Rafule grunted some unintelligible nonsense, and began pacing and tugging at his hair again, kicking up dirt in his wake.

“Oh stop it, you’ll mess up your fancy pajamas,” Rory grabbed him. “I can’t expect a virgin to understand.”

“I’m not a virgin,” Rafule stated weakly, trying to puff out his meek chest. What little conviction he had was deflated by Bozy’s uproarious laughter.

“Sure you are,” Rory responded, feigning sympathy as best as he could. “So you know that Wordsly left. Do you know where he went?”

“Well, I went this morning to case his estate…” Rafule began.

“Okay, walked around Appleton by yourself, that was stupid.” Bozius cut in. “Go on…”

Rafule eyed Bozius, but flinched and looked away when the muscle of the trio growled at him. “Anyway, he packed his cart up and headed up hill, I’m guessing to the Queen’s Way.”

“Castletop,” Rory assumed.

“Damn,” Bozius spat.

“So?” Rafule asked. “Does this mean we’re going after him?”

Rory and Bozius looked at each other long and quiet. Bozius was shaking his head, but Rory merely shrugged.

“So, Castletop, huh?” the self-proclaimed pirate asked. “What’s the worse that can happen?”