The Philosophical Strangler by Eric Flint

“Well said, my stupid but loyal apprentice!” spoke Zulkeh.

My lip curled mightier still. I daresay my mustachios flourished.

“It’s true!” insisted Shelyid. “It all happened exactly like the professor said!” He hesitated. “Well. He gave it an eighty-seven percent probability. But that’s awful close!”

The dwarf pointed back at the tunnel through which we had entered. The rumbling sounds of collapsing passageways had almost faded away completely by now.

“He said we were bound to meet a Great Ogre of Grotum before too long. And then it was almost a sure thing that somebody would screw up and alert the Great Ogre of Grotum’s Mother and the Peril More Dire Still.”

He gave the sorcerer an apologetic glance. “It’s true the professor predicted it would be somebody else who’d blow it. Instead of himself.”

Zulkeh started to bridle. So did Greyboar and Gwendolyn. So did Jenny and Angela. Fortunately, Magrit—of all people!—intervened before tempers got further aroused. “Cut it out, all of you!” she wheezed.

The witch huffed and puffed. Magrit’s on what they call the matronly side, which is a polite way of saying middle-aged and plump. The long race through the corridors had clearly put a strain on her.

But she’s a tough cookie, Magrit, no doubt about that. Under all that heft there was plenty of muscle. Not to mention probably the most sarcastic soul in the world, except her familiar. Which, since she’s the one who conjured him into sentience, explains Wittgenstein. Like witch, like witchee.

“And he’s right, anyway,” she huffed, jabbing a finger at Shelyid. “I heard the old fart say it myself. Then blather on about how the inevitable ensuing destruction of a portion of the labyrinth would disguise our entry from malevolent monsters while he led us to a secret alternate route into the Infernal Regions.” Sourly: “Scheming like he always does, even if he calls it thaumaturgical guile.”

Zulkeh started to say something, but Magrit cut him off.

“So—okay, genius! We’re here. Now what?” She nodded at the hatch. “You did notice that the `secret alternate route’ has got no handle to open it, I trust. And by the looks of the thing, we’re certainly not going to break it down. So how are we supposed to get in?”

“Bah!” oathed Zulkeh. He pointed with his staff toward the tunnel not far from it. “Some of us shall simply take that route, circle around, and open the hatch from the other side.” He cleared his throat. “Greyboar and Ignace, to be precise.”

A torrent of protest erupted.

“Why only them?” demanded Angela.

“Yeah—we should all go!” yelped Jenny.

“And how will they keep from getting lost?” added Gwendolyn.

“We’re already lost,” groused Wittgenstein. “Don’t believe all this wizardly folderol. Probabilities, my ass!”

“I think we should—”

“Enough!” thundered the mage. “Is my science to be questioned at every step? My reason doubted at every fork?”

Again, he jabbed at the tunnel. “Some of us, I say, because all of us may not go. Imprimis, because Gwendolyn and Hrundig are needed to stay behind, in the event some sullen brute insensate to my sorcery should happen to stumble upon us in this grotto. One does require mighty thews upon occasion in these adventures, even when guided by such a puissant mage as myself. Secundus, because it is no fit place for ladies.”

Here, he managed a gracious bow at the “ladies.” Magrit snorted. Jenny and Angela stuck their tongues out. The Cat just gave him her patented bottle-glass gaze, followed with: “You’re not a lady. Neither’s the runt.”

Zulkeh cleared his throat. “Indeed not. But, if you will allow me to continue, madam: Tertius, because Shelyid is needed to carry my sack and, as you can plainly see, the sack will not fit into that pitiful entryway.”

The Cat’s cold, unforgiving eyes were still upon him. “Still leaves you.”

Bless the woman! She’s nuts, but she’s no fool.

Zulkeh straightened indignantly. “My dear young lady! Surely you don’t expect me to advance into danger without my instruments? My scrolls! My tomes! My talismans! My—”

Wittgenstein blew a raspberry. Zulkeh broke off his expostulation and glared at the salamander. “None of which reasoning requires this odious amphibian to remain behind. Indeed! He would make a splendid addition to the party soon to be advancing into yon tunnel!”