“Well, if we only had some calluses,” said Marley, peering at his hands by wavering matchlight, “then the choice would be obvious. But as it is, I think it’s a toss-up as to which plan we choose.”
We all looked at Rafferty, our unofficial leader, waiting for his decision.
He watched the match burn a bit more, then glanced up at us, his head cocked sideways, and he flung his arms open wide, and a great open-mouthed smile lit up his face. He gave his head a little shake and said, “Coo coo-ca choo, folks! It’s showtime!”
And so, singing lustily at the tops of our voices, we marched down the alley and into the lantern light and up to the goggling guard gaping at us beside the front door of the Yellow Poppy.
We were escorted through the door and into a foyer, a foyer filled with a blue haze, and a cloying, sickeningly sweet odor pervaded the air. Fortunately, down at floor level, where we were, the haze thinned out a bit.
There was a black-haired receptionist, a Human, I think, though her eyes did have an Elven slant to them. Her skin was sallow, or yellow—it was difficult to tell through the blue smoke.
Her tilted eyes flew wide at the sight of us, and when Rafferty explained to her that we were Professor Marvel’s Travelling Wonder Show (where he got that name, I’ll never know) and that he himself was Professor Marvel and that we’d come to entertain, harrumph, for a small fee, of course, harrumph, well then she escorted us up a spiral stairway and onto the second floor.
We passed by two or three rooms, a door or two open, and inside were—Fiz gasped—naked Humans, lolling about on small satin sheets and silken pillows, lying atop a deep-pile carpet, woven with a geometric pattern, covering the floor of the room. The Humans seemed to be enthralled in some sort of trance, lost in an inner vision.
Past these rooms and through another door we went, coming before a final door, this one closed.
The receptionist knocked softly.
“What is it?” called a voice, strangely accented.
“Master, there are those here you should see.”
We waited a moment, and suddenly the door was jerked open. “Who?”
The speaker was a Man. Black hair, black eyes, swarthy skin. A scar ran down his left cheek. He was slender, for a Human, with long-fingered hands. I judged that he was nearly six feet tall. A behemoth, towering some four times over my own considerable height. I mean, for a Brownie, at eighteen inches I’m fairly large, but this guy was a monster.
“Who?” he repeated.
The attendant pointed down, and there we were.
He started back, clearly surprised. A wide smile came over his face as Rafferty, er, Professor Marvel explained who we were.
He invited us into his quarters to audition our acts and to talk over our wages, telling the attendant to have Drak and his Men come and act as an audience. Hel, this was going to be even easier than I had imagined. We had him fooled completely.
Fifteen minutes later, they hauled us down the stairs and into the basement and through the secret door and threw us in our cell, Drak bitching because “the damn fox bit me.”
As soon as the door slammed shut behind, Marley whirled on me and snarled, “See! I told you that my plan was better! But in the face of overwhelming logic, would Mister High-and-Mighty Showbusiness listen? Oooohhh noooo, says he. They’ll never believe that we are ditch diggers, says he. But a travelling show, now, says he, will pull the wool right over their eyes. Well, let me tell you, Bork, we put on the best damn show this town has ever seen, and where did it get us? In a cell! That’s where! In a crummy cell, laden with”—for the first time he looked around and blanched—“rotten”—he sniffed—“sour-smelling (urp) filthy straw.”
Trying to not touch the floor, Marley stepped over to peer into one of two buckets that were placed on opposite sides of the cell, one probably a drinking bucket and the other a privy pot. He looked into the one and shrieked, reeling back, his hand out in a warding gesture. He then looked into the other, and shrieked again.
“Which one has the dipper?” I asked. “Then we’ll know.”
Marley gagged and would have thrown up except he knew he couldn’t stand the sight of it.
Rufous sat down and began scratching vigorously behind one ear. “We’ve got to get out of here,” said Tynvyr, desperation in her voice.
Rufous now began frantically scratching at his neck.
Fiz looked adoringly up at me. “Don’t worry,” she responded to Tynvyr, “Bork will think of something.”
All of this adoration just for one slip of the tongue.
Rufous began biting at the base of his tail, chasing after something in his fur. Thank the stars for Rufous, otherwise we’d all be crawling with vermin.
“Hoosh up, anow,” shushed Rafferty, placing his ear against the cell wall, “I hear voices.”
We all rushed over and listened.
“Hiyo! Lookit this bug, Perry, its legs work backwards … Hey! This part of the straw smells rottener than that part! … Lor! You can see patterns in the wood grain of the door! Here’s one that looks like your nose, and here’s another that looks like your—”
“Shut up, Tip! Just shut the Hèl up! I’m working on another escape plan, and I can’t think! Your chatter is driving me crazy! So shut up!”
“Gee, Perry, sure I’ll shut up. I’m probably better at shutting up than anyone else I know. Tippy is my name and shutting up is my game. I won’t make a peep. Not a one. No sound. No sir. Perry is working on escape plan number four thousand five hundred and fifty three and he needs absolute quiet, and by golly I’m gonna give it to him. After all—”
“SHUT UP!”
I took my ear away and looked around at our cell, at the impenetrable stone walls, the thick, solid, locked wooden door, the vermin-ridden sour rotten straw, and the pair of who-knows-which-is-which privy and water buckets. We’d been trapped by a slaver and locked away in a heavily guarded secret room beneath a dope den. And locked in another cell adjacent to ours, we found the ones we’d come to set free.
Success at last!
Rafferty paced back and forth. “We need an escape plan,” he said, “or there’ll be th’ divil t’ pay.”
I looked up at Rafferty. “I’d deal with a Demon if it’d get us out of here.”
Fiz beamed at me. “Oh, Bork, I just knew you’d come up with a good plan.”
“Huh?” I said brilliantly, and in that same moment we heard a rattling at the door. It was flung open.
It was Drak. He towered there, all six feet or so, glaring down at us, sucking the side of his hand where Rufous had bitten him.
Drak didn’t look fully Human, but rather like he had some Goblin or Troll blood mixed in. But that’s clearly impossible, for no one but another Goblin or Troll could stand a Goblin or Troll.
I could be mistaken, though, for behind Drak hulked the other guards, like him, Goblinoid as well.
“Keep yer dog under control,” Drak growled at Tynvyr, all the while eyeing Rufous. But the fox was too busy scratching and nipping at his own fur to even notice Drak.
“Mister Drak,” Marley started to say—
“Shaddup, you!” snarled Drak, glaring at him and then at each of us. “It’s time you began earning yer keep. We’re not just gonna feed ya fer free. So the boss wants ta know and I want ta know what yer names are and what ya do for a livin.”
“My name is Marley and I am a ditch digger,” said Marley, glaring triumphantly at me. I just sadly shook my head, knowing that he’d come to regret his words.