"Uh, yes," Mason answered guardedly, picking up the volume that lay open on the table.
"It was a shame about his accident and all," the wide-eyed and slow-witted caretaker consoled.
Mason's heart sank. Something must have happened to his brother, but since time was of the essence he would have to wait to find out what happened.
"Uh, yes," Mason said softly, as he hurried to his prearranged meeting place. "I will have to return later to attend to the other matters at hand."
"No problem, sir," Dwight replied. "You and your brother always treated me like gentlemen. I will… "
Mason McKern chose not to hear the last words of the custodian as they formed a cacophony with the pit-pat of his own steps on the stone floor.
16
Fungus, Fugitives, amp; Fencing In the Dungeon of Southroad Keep:
Volo heard the approach of guards, their boots making a distinctive military sound on the stone floor. He nudged Passepout into consciousness.
"What?" the groggy thespian inquired.
"Either our rescuers are coming in disguise," Volo whispered, "or something has gone very wrong."
The master traveler and his longtime companion heard the bolt and locks being undone on the door. Quickly Volo took to his feet and, grabbing Passepout by the scruff of the collar, retreated into the darkness of the unlit part of the cell.
"What about the fungus?" the thespian desperately implored, only to be shushed by the gazetteer.
The door to the cell opened, and Volo recognized the backlit silhouette of the guard that he had heard talking earlier in the day.
"The High Blade has decided to move the interrogation up to tonight. I understand that he plans to torture them himself. They must be hiding back there somewhere," the guard asserted to his junior officer. "Go get them."
The junior officer, obviously blissfully unaware of the dreaded fungus, proceeded into the darkness-obscured rear of the cell, where he tripped over the cowering body of Passepout.
"I found one," the younger guard called back, still backing up, not realizing he was quickly approaching the fungus-encrusted wall of the cell. "The other one has to be-"
The young guard's report gave way to a scream of outrageous pain and surprise. As the guard's backward journey brought him into contact with the wall-anchored fungus, it had latched onto his unsuspecting body and stubbornly refused to let go. The young man screamed again as the fungus began to dissolve any living tissue with which it came in contact.
The senior guard stepped forward to help the junior officer, but quickly thought better of it as the young man's screams turned to a horrible sound that could only be described as a sickly combination of sucking and chewing. He turned to fetch reinforcements.
Frantic to make his own escape, Passepout bolted forward like a charging bull. The force of his bullet-like flight literally bowled the still-turning senior guard over, tossing him in the air, and causing him to follow a head over heels path that sent him rolling back into the sucking fungus, right past the watching eyes of Volo. Before he knew it, the senior guard had joined his junior as wall's the main course.
Passepout, meanwhile, still not looking where he was going, collided with Mason McKern who was just entering the cell. The senior Cloak saw him coming, managed to brake his stride, and braced himself against the door frame, blocking the stout thespian's charge of egress.
Volo stepped forward, out of the darkness. "What kept you?" the master traveler queried.
"Something must have happened to my brother," the mission-obsessed mage replied, "but I found his spellbook. I am sure the key to releasing the mask from Rassendyll's head is in here somewhere."
Mason opened the book, and his expression immediately darkened.
The pages were all blank.
Selfaril strode through the subterranean halls of the dungeon of Southroad Keep, muttering to himself.
"Why didn't Rickman alert me the minute that they were apprehended?" he asked himself, his gruff tones echoing off the stone walls. "Perhaps he has finally outlived his usefulness. A position such as his might lead to a lust for more power, and acting on such a desire would not be convenient for me…"
The High Blade knew the subterranean passageways by heart, having played beneath the city during his carefree childhood years. He often found the below-the-surface byways to be a much more agreeable method of getting around town, as it limited the necessity of his interaction with the common rabble. Without retinue or bodyguard, he traveled with confidence, safe in the security and protection afforded by his own dagger and sword, one in a concealed holster, the other bouncing in its scabbard at his hip.
A few minutes' walk, and two turns to the left, then up a staircase, and he should arrive at the cell.
"I hope that they will have the prisoners ready for me," he muttered. "Incompetence always puts me in a bad mood."
Volo ran his hand over the pages of the blank book.
"Just our luck," Passepout said, regaining his composure after the unsettling chain of events in the cell. "I guess we won't be able to get the bucket off his head."
"No," Volo corrected, "we will just have to take the book to Honor so that he can translate it for us. I can feel the letters of the language of the blind imprinted on these pages. We'd better make for the rendezvous point."
"What were the guards doing here?" Mason asked.
"Apparently Selfaril was bored and decided that a little entertainment would do the trick, so our interrogation was moved up to tonight."
"Then we will have to hurry," Mason said urgently. "He's probably on his way as we speak."
Mason led the way down farther into the bowels of secret, passages that existed beneath the keep's dungeon. The senior Cloak was in the lead, Passepout close behind, and Volo brought up the rear. They had just descended a torchlit staircase when Volo heard footsteps approaching from above. The master traveler paused for a moment to look back, and saw Rassendyll and Honor about to descend the staircase after them.
Volo called to their co-conspirators and waved, but unfortunately due to the iron mask that covered Rassendyll's face, couldn't see the look of concern on the secret twin's face. He turned back toward his traveling companions to alert them of the arrival of their allies, when he felt a sharp blow to the top of his head as the hilt of the High Blade's sword came crashing down on top of his beret clad skull.
The master traveler blacked out, his legs going limp, and his body rolling down the stone stairs like a broken puppet, his limbs all akimbo.
Rassendyll saw his evil twin brother gaining on the unsuspecting Volo and tried to warn him, but it was too late. Thinking quickly, he drew his father's sword from his scabbard with one hand, while extracting Honor's side foil from its holster as well.
Honor was a bit startled at first, but quickly realized that they were under attack, and flattened himself against the wall until he got his bearings on the battleground and the attacker. He did not even feel the removal of his side-arm due to the twin's preternaturally light touch.
Selfaril stood his ground, not aware that the helmeted knight was indeed his twin brother. The High Blade assumed him to be just the latest mercenary sent to train under Fullstaff, and decided to offer the stranger an opportunity to change sides.
"What ho, fair knight," Selfaril hailed, "I have no gripe with you. Throw in with me and I'll guarantee you a commission in the Hawks."