“The seal is broken! Look you, ’tis broken!”
“It’s not my fault,” pouted the dwarf. “I didn’t break it. I didn’t do nothing!”
“Anything,” corrected the mage. Then, still glaring, he stroked his beard. ” ‘Tis true,” he mused, “there is no way such a novice as yourself could have broken the seal. Still, ’tis odd. ‘Tis most odd!”
“Who cares how it got broken?” interjected Ignace. “It is broken, right—the seal, I mean?”
“Certainly!” snorted the mage. “Can you not—”
“Then it don’t matter how it got broken!” cried Ignace. “And don’t bother with my grammar,” he added, forestalling the mage, “I’m to old to change habits. The important thing is to get out of here quick. We got what we came for, so let’s go!”
“But the paradox—” protested Zulkeh. ‘Twas of no use. Ignace snatched the relic from Shelyid’s hand and headed out the door, Greyboar close behind. After a moment, the wizard threw up his hands in frustration.
“Bah!” he oathed. “I fear Ignace is right. Come, Shelyid, we must depart.” And so saying, the mage followed the strangler and his agent. “Still,” he was heard to mutter, ” ’tis most mysterious, most enigmatic!”
Shelyid came after, followed in turn by the snarl, like a giant puppy following a child. Rapidly, the bizarre-looking party made their way through the snarl’s former prison chamber and into Inkman’s bedchamber. No sooner had the snarl squeezed its way into the room than it began a fierce sniffing of the bed. ‘Twas apparent the beast had smelled his ex-captor’s scent, for the monster suddenly roared—causing all others present to jump with alarm!—and then proceeded, in but three seconds, to transform the bed into so much wood and leather wreckage.
“Inkman did not win the heart of his pet, I’d say,” commented Greyboar drily. The strangler stooped and entered the tunnel in the far wall.
“Here we go again,” he complained. “I’ll be a hunchback before the night’s over.”
Greyboar was followed by Ignace, then Zulkeh, then Shelyid, then—
—a problem presented itself.
Hearing a whimper, Shelyid turned and beheld the snarl’s head at the entrance to the tunnel, its hitherto-fierce eyes filled with a look of sorrow. It whimpered again.
“Oh, wait!” cried Shelyid. “She can’t fit into the tunnel! We’ll have to find a different way out!”
There followed a most absurd dispute. For the dwarf, exhibiting that petulant stubbornness which was perhaps his most unattractive characteristic, refused to listen to reason, even as his master advanced the most cogent arguments and clever dialectic, the thrust of which was that there was no other possible escape route than Gauphin’s tunnels.
“He’s right, Shelyid,” said Greyboar, as the mage paused to catch his breath. “The only other way out is through the main corridor into the Embassy. Place’ll be crawling with soldiers. If I thought we’d have a chance, I’d be willing to try it. But there’s limits, I’m afraid, even for a strangler.”
“Let’s just open the door into the corridor and let the snarl out,” suggested Ignace. “Maybe she can escape on her own—what the hell, the soldiers probably won’t try to stop her.” The agent looked up at the great horror. “I sure as hell wouldn’t.”
“Bah!” oathed Zulkeh. “‘Tis a ridiculous scheme! No doubt she could deal with the soldiers, but how is the great creature supposed to open the various doors along the way? The snarl could break through some of them, certainly, but an Ozarine embassy is sure to have any number of bronze portals, iron gratings and the like, cunningly locked and barred, which no amount of brute force can overcome. ‘Twould require deft fingers to pass through such, and—well.” He shrugged. “Examine the beast’s paws, if you will!”
All looked. And ’twas clear at a glance, even to the dwarf, that the snarl’s extremities were not well suited for lock-picking. Other tasks, yes—gutting, rending, disemboweling, mangling—but opening cunningly barred and locked metal doors, no.
“So, you see,” concluded Zulkeh, “we have no option.” In a rare gesture, he laid a kind hand on his apprentice’s shoulder. “I am unhappy myself at the fact, Shelyid, for I abhor the thought of leaving the poor creature to Inkman’s mercy—the more so as our recent theft of his relic will no doubt greatly enhance his already, judging from all evidence, exceedingly sadistic bent. But here as in all things, must Reason be our—”