Chapter 5

“LET ME OUT!”

It was useless; Rory was screaming at shadows. Is the dungeon getting darker? It felt as if his prison was getting tighter yet expanding at the same time, to engulf the whole world. He was starting to see things: rats, doors, faces, a ladder. The rats may have been real, but everything else was illusion. Not merely illusion; Roderick Casbury was convinced that he was truly hallucinating.

How long had he been here? Hours? Days? A month? There was no way of telling. Darkness and dampness were the only things he had to go on, and such elements gave no allusion as to the time. Nobody came for him either. No meals, no torture, no contact. Just a timeless emptiness to drive him to the edge of madness.

All of this because of what they found in that damned carriage…

* * *

THE ONLY EXITS from the Queen’s Parkway were ramps into the cities along the way, but those would be manned as the gate at Appleton Heights, and the trio could not chance exposure to the guards there, especially with Rafule’s power all used up for the day. They would have to ditch the cart—and likely the horses with it—but first they had to count their winnings! Having traveled for some time without any sign of either Sullivan’s crew or Wordsly’s guards, it seemed safe enough to stop for now, however briefly that break would be.

Pulling the carriage to the side of the road, Rory called Bozius and Rafule over. The boy was a surprisingly competent rider—he was able to steer Lightning well enough, and demonstrated remarkable poise during the escape, when it was needed most. Still, Rafule was an enigma: his past, his present, his ability—it all begged so many questions. However, now was not the time for an inquisition; the treasure needed to be inspected, and a real escape plan put to action. Even with the noble and the bandits behind, it was a matter of time before Rory’s trio came across sentries on the highway or a gateway to a city. The sooner they removed themselves from the Queen’s Parkway, the safer they would be.

Rory threw open the door to the carriage and let himself in. Though he was not surprised at how lavish the interior was, he was always a bit put off at how excessively nobles invested into such things as the decorating of a carriage; Rory planned on being equally extravagant when he was equally rich. The two benches within were lined with plush velvet, the floor and ceiling carpeted to match. Lace curtains adorned the windows, and a single, unlit lantern was fastened to the back wall. Beneath it, the bench opened to reveal a storage compartment. With Bozius’s assistance, Rory pulled from it a very heavy chest. Within were many garments, some of sizes that Lord Wordsly couldn’t possibly wish to fit into. Rory found a leather vest and tried it on; a surprisingly comfortable fit!

“You really have a look you’re going for, don’t you?” Bozius asked.

“Bozy,” Rory replied, fastening the front of the vest, the buttons of which were solid silver. If he ever decided he didn’t like the vest, it would likely fetch a hefty price. “If you want to be a pirate, you must look a pirate.”

“I don’t want to be a pirate,” Bozius informed. “And speaking of pirate, how exactly are you a—“

“Now is not the time,” Rory interrupted, raising a hand. “After we are gone from here, we can discuss things. I still want to know about an International Starfish.”

“Intercontinental Swordfish!” Bozius corrected, rummaging through the rest of the chest and then dismissing it to the ground outside. “You have no culture, Rory!”

To this, Rory simply raised an eyebrow. Deeper in the storage compartment was another chest, this one made of iron. Both men strained their backs wrestling this case out of the hole. Likely, this was not just to make the prize within difficult to steal, but the sealed iron box would protect it from any element: including fire, interestingly enough. Rory could not help but steal a glance to the young mage waiting outside.

“All this, and it’s secured by nothing but a simple lock?” Bozius smirked, but as he attempted to pick it, Rory stayed his hand.

“Remember the armoire in Coply?” Rory reminded his friend.

Without a word, Rory wrapped his bandana about his mouth and nose, and Bozius tied one of the loosed garments about his face. Both men closed their eyes and Bozius went to work on the lock. It clicked open, but still they waited, expecting poisonous gas to burst forth at any moment. Daring to open one eye, Rory saw nothing, nor did he hear anything.

“Silent but deadly?” Rory dared ask.

“Neither man dared remove their mask. “Rafule,” Bozius called out. “Come here a minute.”

The kid entered, poking his head in. “What is it?”

“Smell anything?” Bozius asked.

“No…” Rafule sniffed the air.

“Any dizziness, queasiness, upset stomach?” Rory asked.

“Blurry vision, loss of hearing?” Bozius added.

“Itching, burning skin?”

“Suicidal thoughts?”

“Colors changing? Dry mouth? Sweaty palms?”

“Loss of speech? Diarrhea?”

“Trouble getting or maintaining an erection?” Bozius concluded, to which Rory just gave him a look. “What? I want to make sure we cover everything! I’m not taking any chances. Not after what happened in Coply!”

“No! For goodness sake, what are you guys talking about?” Rafule asked.

“Just checking,” Rory stated, removing the bandana from his face. “Go ahead and open it.”

Bozius lifted the lid and pushed it back on its hinges. Within the box, surround by plush pillows to cushion it during travel, was exactly what they were looking for: solid gold, likely the cause of most of the box’s weight—

“A baby?” Bozius asked, fairly disgusted. “It’s seriously a baby? That’s kind of sick.”

“Art is art, Bozy,” Rory replied, reaching in to pick up the priceless treasure. “And this art is worth a fortune!”

The Golden Doll really was a Golden Baby, finely detailed right down to the clothes-pinned diaper! However, appearance was where the comparison ended. Rory had to practically drag the treasure out of the iron box, for it surprised him with its weight.

“This must weigh a hundred pounds,” he groaned, passing it off to Bozius.

Bozius grunted, but he was otherwise not all that phased by the mass of the object. “What? You have to start exercising. It’s got some weight to it, but I bet it’s barely thirty pounds.”

“Bozy, how many times do I have to tell you? These arms weren’t designed to move mountains; I save that duty for other parts of my body.”

“We should probably get going, huh?” Rafule piped in.

Both men darted glances at him.

“What’s the hurry, Raffy?” Rory asked.

“Yeah?” Bozius agreed. “You afraid Uncle Byron is gonna catch up and ground you? Don’t think we forgot that little fact, kid.”

Rafule gulped nervously, but some distance away the shouting voices of men could be heard. Not close enough yet to be a concern, but that would change soon.

“Still, he’s right,” Rory said, helping Bozius place the Golden Baby safely back in its case. “For now. We’ll get down to the bottom of this when we get safely away. Which is the more pressing matter. But to get away, we can’t exactly take the carriage all the way to Liebert.”

“Don’t gimme that look, Rory!” Bozius demanded. “I’m not carrying that thing!”

“You just said it wasn’t all that heavy,” Rory smiled.

“You tricky little bastard!” Bozius snapped. “How do I fall for it every time? Still, that box alone is probably fifty pounds. And it won’t exactly fit on horseback.”

“I don’t think we’ll be getting the horses off the Queen’s, Bozy,” Rory regretted.

“You want me to climb down? What, rope in one hand, thirty-pound baby in the other?”

“There’s enough rope in here for all three of us,” Rory explained. “We can lower the whole case down, then ourselves. Someone will find the horses and give them a good home… I hope.”

“Are you crazy?” Bozius asked rhetorically. “We’re in the foothills of the Crescent Mountains. There’s no drop below the highway less than a hundred feet!”

“That’s what the rope is for.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I would like to have a functioning back after all this.”

“Bozy, do you hear that?” Rory asked; the voices were getting louder, closer. “We don’t have much time. Wordsly and Sullivan that way, Liebert and patrolling guards that way. We stay up here, we fight our way down. Either, we have to get down.”

“Dammit, fine!” Bozy agreed. “Let’s ride ahead, get a little more distance, and do this. I want two days of whores for this, Rory. Two days!”

The trio gathered themselves up and took off down the Queen’s Parkway. Feeling they had put considerable distance between themselves and whoever may be chasing them, Rory & Company came to a stop and started slinging rope securely around the Golden Baby’s case. Together, Bozius and Rafule lowered the case down what seemed to be about an eighty-foot drop, while Rory supervised. When it became obvious that the job was too much for Rafule to hand, Rory jumped in to assist the boy. The box was successfully lowered, and there was still slack in the rope. Tying the ends off to the wheels of the cart, Rory fetched a third rope and secured it to the carriage as well. He walked up to their faithful steeds and touched them both on their faces.

“You did good, boys, you did good,” he applauded them. “If we could take you with us, we would. But where we’re going, you can’t. Literally, you can’t. Not unless one of you knows how to climb rope. Seeing as how neither of you boys appears to have opposable thumbs, I can see that being a bit of a hassle. Still, that sleazy nobleman from before, remember him? Well, he’ll be here any minute. I know, he’s a bit of a weird chap, but he’s rich! You boys will likely be put out to stud. It’s a life I could only dream of providing you. Enjoy yourself, Thunder and Lightning…” Rory looked between both horses, still not quite sure which was which. “Take care of each other.”

He slapped each on the flank and walked over to the ropes, noticing that Bozius was already on his way down. Of course he is, Rory figured.

“C’mon, Rafule, down you go,” Rory said, already straddling the sidewall of the highway.

“I can’t,” the boy replied. “I don’t know how…”

“You don’t know how to grab a rope and let yourself down?” Rory asked, slightly irritated. “What kind of childhood did you have? Did you ever play, or was it all books and magic for you? Y’know what, nevermind! Now isn’t the time. Get up here. C’mon!”

Rafule climbed up and slowly perched himself on the wall. Rory couldn’t help but notice the sounds of horses approaching. This was quite ridiculous. Why does everything have to come down to the last bitter second?

“Are you sallies comin’, or what?” Bozius asked, already having reached the bottom.

“Yes, Bozy, on our way,” Rory called down. “Rafule, we don’t have much time. Take a hold of the rope. Good boy. This is going to be like a swimming lesson, the way I was taught: I’m going to push you in, and you’ll either sink or swim. Well, in this case, you’ll either die a brutal and horribly painful death—at the very least break some very important bones—or live to tell of your success. Here we go!”

“Wait, what?” Rafule asked, confused as usual, but wasn’t granted the time to figure things out or even verbalize an answer. Rory simply shoved him over the edge! The boy’s grip remained true, but now he simply just dangled over the edge.

Rory saw Sullivan & Company coming around the final bend, and it was obvious that the Cache of the Hand saw him as well. Rory leapt over the edge, rope in hand, and quickly began his descent.

“Kid, you can’t just hang there,” Rory demanded. “We’ve got guests!”

“I can’t,” Rafule retorted. It sounded like his voice broke, as if on the edge of tears.

“Rafule, you throw fire from your hands!” Rory reminded him. “If you’re not scared of that, how can you be scared of this?”

“We’re so high!”

Rory was nearly out of patients. “Do you have any idea what Sullivan is going to do to you when he gets here? You know, the guy whose men you torched back in the forest? One of two things: pull you up and set you on fire—he’s a big fan of eye-for-an-eye, from what I’ve heard—or cut your rope and let you fall. So, it seems like you have two choices: dangle there like a hopeless, frightened little boy, or man-up and take a chance at living.”

“I’d go with door number two, kid,” Bozius shouted from the ground below.

“Really? When door number one sounds so enticing?” Sullivan called from above. “Hi, Roderick. Thanks for the horses. They’re really quite nice! So, Rafule, is it? I would much rather beat you to death myself. Help up?”

As Sullivan reached down to grab him, Rafule panicked and released the rope. The boy screamed and fell several yards, scrambling frantically for the rope, and finally gaining purchase halfway down.

“Yes! Good boy!” Rory whispered to himself, before making his own quick descent.

Finding a pinch of bravery in his heart—or perhaps it was just choosing the lesser of two fears—Rafule attempted to climb down. His attempt turned from a controlled retreat to a bloody-handed slide, but at least he was making progress. Sullivan was shouting orders, likely for his men to cut the ropes, but at this point Rory was already at the bottom, and Rafule was no more than a bruising tumble from the end of his trip.

This obviously occurred to Sullivan as well, for several bandits were now making their own descent.

“I don’t think so,” Bozius asked, pulling a few throwing daggers from some hiding spot on his person. Two of the three descending bandits were hit in the back, and another in the neck; all three fell crashing to the ground.

“We can do this all day, Sully,” Rory called up.

Sullivan, angry, raised a hand to stop more bandits from climbing down. “Fine, Rory, run. We’ll give you a few minutes before we come down there, but we’ll be down! You won’t get very far, not carrying that box!”

“We don’t have to get very far, Sullivan,” Bozius smiled. “Just far enough to find a good perch and pick your men off as they come down. We can do this all day, really. I think you should come first!”

“Good one, Bozy!” Rory applauded his partner’s taunt.

“Then what?” Sullivan asked. “Where do you really think you’re going to go from here? You just stole from a noble. You’ll be wanted wherever you go.”

“I’m already wanted wherever I go,” Rory mentioned. “By the way, how’s the wife?”

“I’m going to kill you, Roderick Casbury!” Sullivan promised. “You are dead, you just don’t know it yet!”

“See ya later, Sully,” Rory smiled. He and Bozius each took a handle of the chest and backed away. Sullivan wasn’t about to give chase, not for now, at least.

But it was quite evident that things weren’t over; not even close.