Chapter 117 - Waiting for the Needle.

"I should have just caught that rabbit," Reginald said. 

"Which you still owe me by the way."

"Fine, fine. But if I die I'm going to haunt you."

"Don't worry about it, once I get my manna back I'll probably be able to resurrect you."

"Probably?"

Urt made a face. "I've never tried bringing anyone back to actual life before. It's not really something that's encouraged in the necromantic trade. Kind of undermines the whole point of the thing, if you see what I mean. Plus, it's really really hard to do."

"Wonderful." Sighing, Reginald shook his head. "Well, may as well get on with my impending doom then."

"That's the spirit."

Passing the torch to Urt, the werewolf started off towards the ċhėst in the corner, moving slowly, prodding the ground with his foot before standing on it.

Halfway across he stopped and looked back. "Do you know," he said. "I think I might actually…"

As if waiting for the line, the ground chose that moment to disappear, allowing Reginald to drop into the pit below.

There was a shriek, followed in short order by the thud of body hitting stone, and then a rather sad little whimper. 

Moving carefully, Urt walked to the edge of the trap and peered over, to see his colleague flat on his back at the bottom of the dusty hole. Randomly placed pikes protruded up from the floor. Reginald had been lucky insomuch that he'd landed on only one of them, which was now embedded in his thɨġh, the protruding tip dripped blood.

"That was a close one," he said. "Are you alright?" 

"Does it look like I'm alright? It hurts!"

"Come on, it's not that bad. I've done worse picking strawberries, won't even be a scar I bet."

"I've been pierced! And not in the good way," complained Reginald. "Look! Look at my leg! That could have been my head that could have been. That would have killed me. I could have died!"

"Stop your mȯȧning, it's not a silver spike is it?"

"No."

"Pity, we could use the money."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. Are you going to lay about down there all day or get back on the horse?"

"I've never ridden a horse in my life," mȯȧnėd Reginald, but sat up anyway. He pulled his leg off the spike. It came unstuck with grisly suċkɨnġ noise, just audible over his cry of pain.

"Shhhh! The guards may hear us!" hissed Urt.

"I'm sorry for being in agony." Reginald ignored him and examined his leg wound, which was closing up even as he spoke. "Look what it's done to my rags. Ruined they are."

"We'll find you some new rags later," Urt said. "Assuming we survive. Just climb back up. There's a ladder over there, in the corner." He pointed.

"Why would you have a ladder in a pit trap?"

"Maintenance probably." Urt sat down on the side of the hole with his feet dangling over the edge, and watched Reginald limp over to the ladder. "You're doing a bang up job so far," he said, trying a bit of encouragement. "I bet they'll not even be another trap. Apart from the one on the ċhėst."

"What trap on the ċhėst? How do you know there's a trap on the ċhėst?" Reginald pulled himself over the lip of the pit.

Urt swung his legs and shrugged. "Standard operating procedure. There's always a trap on the ċhėst, everyone knows that. Probably a poison needle. You lot are immune to poison aren't you?"

"If by 'you lot' you mean werebeasts, then no, we're not. Higher resistance is all."

"That's a shame. If I had enough magic I'd cast a spell to help you out," Urt replied, watching as Reginald prodded the floor in front of him with his toe. 

"How long will it be until you're powered up again then?" The werewolf took a careful step forward.

"Not sure really. Never run out of manna before." Urt held his hand up in front of his face and flexed his fingers. "Must have been all the blasting and so forth. In hindsight I should have probably just opened the torture chamber door rather than exploding it, but the look of the thing is important."

"More important than your friend?"

Showing more tact than usual, Urt attempted to look hurt. "Of course not! How could you even suggest such a thing?"

"You're not a very good liar for an evil wizard," Reginald took another step, bringing himself to within arm's reach of his goal.

"I've not had enough practice yet," Urt replied. "Can you reach it?"

"I can. Not sure if I want to, considering the apparent likelihood of getting shot in the eye with a poison dart."

"You should duck down."

"Always helpful." Still, Reginald did just that. Squatting, he poked at the small ċhėst's catch, fumbling about until he managed to undo it. When no needle, poison or otherwise, shot out, he flipped the lid open, then winced backwards.

Nothing happened.

"Maybe the needle's stuck," suggested Urt. "What's inside?"

Giving the necromancer a dirty look and, not touching the ċhėst or the dais it was resting on, Reginald stood up and leaned over, peering into the small box.

~ * ~ 

"I'm bored," said Horace. "Can't we go for a walk or something? Take in some air? See some sights?"

"No," Lucy replied. 

"Why do I always end up at the mercy of the dull ones?" Horace rolled his eyes, which was about the limit of his expressive gestures.

There was a knock at the door. Lucy didn't move. The knock was repeated, slightly more urgently.

"Someone's at the door," Horace pointed out. 

"I know."

"Aren't you going to answer it?"

"I can 'ears you in there I can," came a screech from outside.

Giving Horace a look of what could have been annoyance, Lucy shuffled over to the door.

"No one is in," she said.

This was met by a puzzled silence, soon broken.

"So ooh are you then?" 

"Lucy."

"Cunning answer," muttered Horace, from his perch on the table.

"Well, Lucy, it's time for payment on the room. So if you'd just open up and 'and over the fee, I'll be on me way."

"My master isn't here," Lucy replied, through the door.

"When will 'e be back then?"

"I don't know."

There was another pause, a more thoughtful one this time.

"Your master is it?"

"Yes."

"That 'andsome lad is 'e? Dressed in black an' all? Big on rat stew?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't 'old with perversion and slave 'olding usually, but 'e 'as a nice face. So I'll let you be for now. But 'e better be back soon, or I'll call Bob. Understand?"

"Yes," repeated Lucy.

"Very well then." There was the clumping of an overweight person walking off.

"You're a smooth talker, I'll give you that," Horace commented.

Lucy didn't reply. She just stood and waited.

~ * ~ 

"It's a dagger of some kind, and there's a small pouch too." 

"A dagger? Does it look valuable?" Urt asked.

"Do I look like a weapons dealer to you?"

"Probably magical, why else would it be there? Hold it up so I can see if it has an aura." Urt stood back up and tried to peer into the ċhėst from halfway across the room.

"I'm still waiting for this poison needle."

"If it's not sprung now, then it's not going to," Urt said with a scowl. "Come on, don't be such a coward. What's the worst that could happen?"

"I can think of any number of things," muttered Reginald, but complied with the request anyway, picking the dagger carefully out of the ċhėst with thumb and forefinger. "So?"

"It definitely has a magical aura," Urt replied. "What's in the pouch?"

"I don't know," the wolf replied. "I'll just stick my hand in again and look shall I?"

"There's a good chap."

A short, and still poison needle free moment later, Reginald looked up from the now open pouch. "We're in luck," he said. "There's some gold coins and a couple of gems, a silver ring, which I'm not going to touch. Should pay for a bit of food and some new rags."

"See? Things are looking up." Urt looked around. "Now all we have to do is figure out how to get out of here."

"Well, I guess things can't get much wor…" The werewolf disappeared in a cloud of dust as the floor below collapsed. 

Standing still for a moment, Urt evaluated the situation. On the plus side, he was alive and well, if a little hungry. On the negative side, he was lost in some kind of underground tunnel system and his only minion had just vanished down a hole.

"I've had better days," he concluded. Making his way around the pit, he moved carefully to the ragged gap in the floor that his travelling companion had fallen through. Peering cautiously down into the dark hole, he called out. "Hello?"

"You took your time." The familiar tones of Reginald echoed up.

"Sorry. How are things down there?" 

"It's an old sewer. You can draw your own conclusions."

"This isn't all bad news," Urt concluded.

"Maybe not all, but there's something moving down here."

"Probably a rat," said Urt, pondering how to get down with least wear and tear.

"Nope, I don't think so. Oh heck."

"Reginald?" Urt called down the hole. "Hello? Reg?"

There was no answer…