Kid Charlemagne
I am the Very Model of a Modern Moderator
"Nine o'clock in the morning, must be time to beat up the Green Daggers again," Artimis deadpanned.
Orla tugged on Nigel's coat sleeve.
"Look over there," she said softly.
Nigel looked in the direction she was pointing. Iron Tusk was slipping down the alley just down the road from the Green Dagger headquarters. Orla, Nigel, Artimis, and Sandor followed; Dr. Holmes returned to Lloyd's of London to inform Cass and Amanda of their whereabouts. The Orkling headed directly north, to the wall surrounding Highgate Cemetary. He clambered over the wall, and dropped ungracefully on the other side.
Nigel took Laddie around by the main gate a few blocks away, but the others climbed the wall after Iron Tusk. They met up just inside the wall.
"How embarrassing," Nigel said. "Was Cyranthus just feeding us bad information, or are Gwyneth and Iron Tusk double-crossing him?"
"I do not know," Sandor replied. "But we seem to have found our friend's destination."
The Hungarian pointed to a large mausoleum. The four investigators took cover by a hedge, and watched as the Orkling entered through the main entry of the tomb.
"Well, good," Orla said. "Things are looking up. It's not like they could get much worse.
"What's Laddie getting into there?"
The wolfhound had started growling at something under the hedge, which Nigel took at first to be a rabbit or mouse. Then he realized Laddie was struggling and biting at the sleeve of an old coat.
What was odd was that the coat appeared to be fighting back.
"What have you got there, boy?" he asked.
And a small child's chemise wrapped itself around his neck and started choking him.
It took a moment or two for the others to realize that they were actually in danger. Sandor was particularly perplexed, until a ratty pair of trousers tried to put him into a scissors lock.
Artimis passed his hand over one of his tattoos and spoke a word, and a pale green ray shot at the chemise wrapped around Nigel's throat. Nigel ducked out of instinct, and it flew over his head.
Nigel pried the chemise off of himself and tried to hit with one of his axes, to little effect. Sandor ripped the trousers off of himself, and pinned them neatly to the ground with a pair of thrown daggers. Nigel chopped them up into bits, and Orla slashed the chemise that had attacked Nigel with a couple of deft strokes.
Nigel regained his composure.
"Next time you feel the need to express your opinions about our changing fortune," he said, "Please consider it carefully!"
"What is this," Artimis exclaimed, incredulously. "The cemetery of misfit clothes?"
"Shhh," Sandor whispered. "Iron Tusk again."
The Orkling stepped out of the tomb, and around the corner. He was only gone for a few seconds, and returned quickly, closing the door after himself again.
"What was that?" Nigel asked as they closed on the mausoleum door.
Sandor stepped around the side of the building. "Call of nature, I think."
"Whose tomb is this?" Orla asked.
The name above the door read "Chenowith." The coat of arms matched that of the dagger that they had taken from Gwyneth, and given back. Sandor's mood brightened.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "This means I will get to take that dagger back again!"
"Just don't say your luck is changing," Artimis said. "We might get attacked by an armoire."
Nigel opened the metal door. Several steps led down to a hallway extending forward from the entrance. Iron Tusk was no where to be seen. The hall stretched about forty feet, and at the twenty foot mark, a side hall led to the right. On the left hand wall was a carving of a face. Water poured out of the mouth of the face, and into a channel which ran down the center of the right hand wall, and into a small pool in a dead-end chamber. There, they found carvings of a host of demons, and a man with his arms outstretched. The Bastard, and once again, it was impossible to tell if he was commanding them or holding them back.
"This place is dedicated to the family," Nigel said softly. "That is the Bastard, and the carved face is the Father, I think. These other carvings," he said pointing to several niches with statues, "would be the other members."
They advanced down the hall, and entered a rectangular room with a low, murky pool and two side passages. Each passage led into a smaller sepulchre. Each contained three sarcophaguses. Iron Tusk was nowhere to be seen, and there seemed to be nowhere for him to have gone.
"I guess this is the last of the Chenowiths," Orla said. "Seems August first, 1760, was a bad day to belong to this family."
"What do you mean?" Sandor asked.
"Look."
In the right hand sepulcher were:
And on the left hand,
"Faith Chenowith", born September 21st, 1745, died August 1st, 1760.
"Lord James Chenowith, son and heir," born April 10th, 1749, died April 1st, 1818.
"Richard Chenowith," born April 1st 1762, died August 1st, 1760.
Each of the stone coffins had been opened.
While Orla and Sandor searched the sepulchers, Nigel had rolled up his pants legs and climbed into the murky water of the low pool in the central chamber. It was only about a foot deep, but covered in muck.
"You wouldn't catch me dead in that water," Artimis said, looking on disapprovingly.
"How bad can it be?" Nigel answered, not as confident as he tried to appear.
"I could go on and on," Artimis replied. "But I can at least do this."
He spoke a word and passed his hand over his eyes. He looked at the pool, lost in thought. Finally, he pointed.
"There."
Nigel moved the spot Artimis indicated. He reached out, and then thinking better of it, drew out an arrow and felt around for something. He encountered resistance, but as he lifted it, he could feel the arrow head tear into it. He muttered a curse under his breath and lifted it out as quickly as he could while still being careful in case anything was fragile.
He laid what appeared to be a shiny, rubbery pouch on the flagstones. The arrow had poked through the skin of the pouch, and the contents were soaked. Nigel quickly knelt down and picked them out. There was a leather pouch, filled with what was now muddy sand, two glass vials, one containing a colorless liquid, the other a gold liquid, an intricately carved stone about two inches in diameter, and a note that was completely soaked, the ink running off the page.
Nigel laid out the note and tried to read it. He had gotten it just in time; it was still legible.
"I wonder what that pouch was made of," Orla mused, indicating the torn, rubbery, bag.
"Kraken skin," Artimis answered, absent-mindedly, turning the carved stone over and over in his hands. "It's ideal for keeping things perfectly dry. So long as you don't poke it with sharp objects."
"Who is 'V'," Sandor asked. "'I,' could be Iron Tusk."
"Perhaps," Nigel responded. "Hard to say. I'd rather know where they went."
"I think I might know," Artimis said. With a sigh of disgust, he stepped into the pool, and to a carving in the wall. He placed the carved stone into a spot where the design had been broken. It fit perfectly. He pressed on it, and a door, previously unseen, opened. A set of roughly carved steps led down, through a widened natural fissure. The sounds of running water could be heard.
Artimis stepped through the door and down the steps, followed by the others. The steps led to a landing above a wide cavern. They could not see the farthest side, but they could see that just below them, a waterfall issued forth from the cavern wall, falling down into the chasm below.
:"Fifty feet, maybe, from the sound of it," Artimis guessed.
A narrow fissure led out from the landing area, and seemed to circle the central chasm. After a short while they found themselves at another landing. Another fissure led into the cavern wall.
"Do you hear something?" Sandor asked.
"Something squeaking, like an old machine, or something," Nigel conjectured.
"More than one thing," Artimis said. "And it's getting closer. Quickly."
"Look lively," Nigel shouted. "Whatever it is, it's almost here!"
And then the rats came.
Orla tugged on Nigel's coat sleeve.
"Look over there," she said softly.
Nigel looked in the direction she was pointing. Iron Tusk was slipping down the alley just down the road from the Green Dagger headquarters. Orla, Nigel, Artimis, and Sandor followed; Dr. Holmes returned to Lloyd's of London to inform Cass and Amanda of their whereabouts. The Orkling headed directly north, to the wall surrounding Highgate Cemetary. He clambered over the wall, and dropped ungracefully on the other side.
Nigel took Laddie around by the main gate a few blocks away, but the others climbed the wall after Iron Tusk. They met up just inside the wall.
"How embarrassing," Nigel said. "Was Cyranthus just feeding us bad information, or are Gwyneth and Iron Tusk double-crossing him?"
"I do not know," Sandor replied. "But we seem to have found our friend's destination."
The Hungarian pointed to a large mausoleum. The four investigators took cover by a hedge, and watched as the Orkling entered through the main entry of the tomb.
"Well, good," Orla said. "Things are looking up. It's not like they could get much worse.
"What's Laddie getting into there?"
The wolfhound had started growling at something under the hedge, which Nigel took at first to be a rabbit or mouse. Then he realized Laddie was struggling and biting at the sleeve of an old coat.
What was odd was that the coat appeared to be fighting back.
"What have you got there, boy?" he asked.
And a small child's chemise wrapped itself around his neck and started choking him.
It took a moment or two for the others to realize that they were actually in danger. Sandor was particularly perplexed, until a ratty pair of trousers tried to put him into a scissors lock.
Artimis passed his hand over one of his tattoos and spoke a word, and a pale green ray shot at the chemise wrapped around Nigel's throat. Nigel ducked out of instinct, and it flew over his head.
Nigel pried the chemise off of himself and tried to hit with one of his axes, to little effect. Sandor ripped the trousers off of himself, and pinned them neatly to the ground with a pair of thrown daggers. Nigel chopped them up into bits, and Orla slashed the chemise that had attacked Nigel with a couple of deft strokes.
Nigel regained his composure.
"Next time you feel the need to express your opinions about our changing fortune," he said, "Please consider it carefully!"
"What is this," Artimis exclaimed, incredulously. "The cemetery of misfit clothes?"
"Shhh," Sandor whispered. "Iron Tusk again."
The Orkling stepped out of the tomb, and around the corner. He was only gone for a few seconds, and returned quickly, closing the door after himself again.
"What was that?" Nigel asked as they closed on the mausoleum door.
Sandor stepped around the side of the building. "Call of nature, I think."
"Whose tomb is this?" Orla asked.
The name above the door read "Chenowith." The coat of arms matched that of the dagger that they had taken from Gwyneth, and given back. Sandor's mood brightened.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "This means I will get to take that dagger back again!"
"Just don't say your luck is changing," Artimis said. "We might get attacked by an armoire."
Nigel opened the metal door. Several steps led down to a hallway extending forward from the entrance. Iron Tusk was no where to be seen. The hall stretched about forty feet, and at the twenty foot mark, a side hall led to the right. On the left hand wall was a carving of a face. Water poured out of the mouth of the face, and into a channel which ran down the center of the right hand wall, and into a small pool in a dead-end chamber. There, they found carvings of a host of demons, and a man with his arms outstretched. The Bastard, and once again, it was impossible to tell if he was commanding them or holding them back.
"This place is dedicated to the family," Nigel said softly. "That is the Bastard, and the carved face is the Father, I think. These other carvings," he said pointing to several niches with statues, "would be the other members."
They advanced down the hall, and entered a rectangular room with a low, murky pool and two side passages. Each passage led into a smaller sepulchre. Each contained three sarcophaguses. Iron Tusk was nowhere to be seen, and there seemed to be nowhere for him to have gone.
"I guess this is the last of the Chenowiths," Orla said. "Seems August first, 1760, was a bad day to belong to this family."
"What do you mean?" Sandor asked.
"Look."
In the right hand sepulcher were:
"Lord James Chenowith," born January 11th, 1717, died June 4th, 1784.
"Lady Mary Chenowith," born May 3rd,1720, died March 15th, 1752.
"Margaret Chenowith," born September 18th, 1741, died August 1st, 1760.
"Lady Mary Chenowith," born May 3rd,1720, died March 15th, 1752.
"Margaret Chenowith," born September 18th, 1741, died August 1st, 1760.
And on the left hand,
"Faith Chenowith", born September 21st, 1745, died August 1st, 1760.
"Lord James Chenowith, son and heir," born April 10th, 1749, died April 1st, 1818.
"Richard Chenowith," born April 1st 1762, died August 1st, 1760.
Each of the stone coffins had been opened.
While Orla and Sandor searched the sepulchers, Nigel had rolled up his pants legs and climbed into the murky water of the low pool in the central chamber. It was only about a foot deep, but covered in muck.
"You wouldn't catch me dead in that water," Artimis said, looking on disapprovingly.
"How bad can it be?" Nigel answered, not as confident as he tried to appear.
"I could go on and on," Artimis replied. "But I can at least do this."
He spoke a word and passed his hand over his eyes. He looked at the pool, lost in thought. Finally, he pointed.
"There."
Nigel moved the spot Artimis indicated. He reached out, and then thinking better of it, drew out an arrow and felt around for something. He encountered resistance, but as he lifted it, he could feel the arrow head tear into it. He muttered a curse under his breath and lifted it out as quickly as he could while still being careful in case anything was fragile.
He laid what appeared to be a shiny, rubbery pouch on the flagstones. The arrow had poked through the skin of the pouch, and the contents were soaked. Nigel quickly knelt down and picked them out. There was a leather pouch, filled with what was now muddy sand, two glass vials, one containing a colorless liquid, the other a gold liquid, an intricately carved stone about two inches in diameter, and a note that was completely soaked, the ink running off the page.
Nigel laid out the note and tried to read it. He had gotten it just in time; it was still legible.
V.,
As promised, here is the key as well as a few gifts in honor of our meeting. We are impatient to discuss with you the terms of our business, and await you in the Grand Hall.
I.
As promised, here is the key as well as a few gifts in honor of our meeting. We are impatient to discuss with you the terms of our business, and await you in the Grand Hall.
I.
"I wonder what that pouch was made of," Orla mused, indicating the torn, rubbery, bag.
"Kraken skin," Artimis answered, absent-mindedly, turning the carved stone over and over in his hands. "It's ideal for keeping things perfectly dry. So long as you don't poke it with sharp objects."
"Who is 'V'," Sandor asked. "'I,' could be Iron Tusk."
"Perhaps," Nigel responded. "Hard to say. I'd rather know where they went."
"I think I might know," Artimis said. With a sigh of disgust, he stepped into the pool, and to a carving in the wall. He placed the carved stone into a spot where the design had been broken. It fit perfectly. He pressed on it, and a door, previously unseen, opened. A set of roughly carved steps led down, through a widened natural fissure. The sounds of running water could be heard.
Artimis stepped through the door and down the steps, followed by the others. The steps led to a landing above a wide cavern. They could not see the farthest side, but they could see that just below them, a waterfall issued forth from the cavern wall, falling down into the chasm below.
:"Fifty feet, maybe, from the sound of it," Artimis guessed.
A narrow fissure led out from the landing area, and seemed to circle the central chasm. After a short while they found themselves at another landing. Another fissure led into the cavern wall.
"Do you hear something?" Sandor asked.
"Something squeaking, like an old machine, or something," Nigel conjectured.
"More than one thing," Artimis said. "And it's getting closer. Quickly."
"Look lively," Nigel shouted. "Whatever it is, it's almost here!"
And then the rats came.
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