Henrik Saetre
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Qing's Quest book 2, Chapter 18: Sewers
🕑 Added 2024-03-01 08:44:16 +0000 UTCAs the sound of marching came closer, Qing grabbed Taj by the shoulder and spun him around.
“Where to?”
The man’s eyes flickered around the street.
Was this just bad timing? Has Taj sold us out? These soldiers must be looking for us.
“Just…keep your eyes down and mouth shut,” Taj said, brushing down his city guard uniform. “Follow my lead.”
Qing, Knut, and Morgana huddled close in front of him as Taj drew himself to his full height and started berating them. “Don’t you know you should never question a city guard’s order?”
His words filled the street just as the column rounded the corner.
Qing kept his head low but watched out of the corner of his eye, seeing the column stop, feet drilling into the ground in unison. Twenty men, all armed with spears and shields. Their eyes were glued ahead, except for the officer, who peeled off and approached Taj.
“You there! Name? And where is your unit? You shouldn’t be alone in this quarter today.”
Morgana hissed, but Taj turned and saluted crisply. “Sir! My name is Ahmed Albahanaj, and I’m on my way to report for duty, but these clumsy idiots barred my way.” Qing tried to creep further together as if cowed, staring at the sandals of the officer.
“Really? Normal citizens would know better than to bar the way of the guard,” the man said. “You three! Remove your hoods at once and show yourself to me.”
“Why?” Taj asked.
A slap filled the air, and Taj grunted in pain.
“No wonder your rank doesn’t match your age,” the officer said. “Questioning orders in public will get you a whipping. Especially today. There are foreign fugitives about.”
We didn’t even make it twenty damn feet before everything went to hell.
Qing opened his inventory, preparing to equip armor and weapons in a flash, when suddenly metal pinged and a tiny rock fell to the ground, having pinged off the officer’s helmet.
“Ha ha,” a girlish voice said, calling out.
The officer cursed. “How dare you?”
More tiny missiles ricocheted off metal as a group of children lobbed rocks at the guards.
“You can’t catch us!”
“Metal monsters, poopy phalanx!”
“Get them!” the officer said, screaming in rage, setting off at a sprint. The children squealed and laughed, disappearing into a nearby alley.
The last one in was the girl whose leg Qing had healed.
Taj breathed a sigh of relief. “Hurry now, while we can.”
“We can’t let them get captured,” Qing said. “We have to go after them.”
Morgana placed a hand on his arm and shook her head. “Don’t worry. Those kids know this place better than any royal guard. They’ll be fine.”
“But—”
“Qing,” a voice called.
He turned to see Jorik leaning in the doorway. The man stared directly at him, pretended to pick a note out of his front pocket, open it, and tore it in two, before throwing it to the wind.
Qing nodded. This was Jorik’s doing. He’d make sure the children were safe.
A favor had been spent.
***
The sun beat down, scorching hot, as they hurried through narrow streets. Dust filled the air, and Qing was thankful for the local garb that acted as a facemask.
He’d always wanted to visit Egypt and see the pyramids. It had seemed like a magical place. Connected to ancient history in a way that home just wasn’t. The oldest building in Chicago was less than two-hundred years old. But this…he was pretty sure Egypt wasn’t anything like it.
Malnourished kids and elders sat on every street, hands out, begging. Slaves wearing only a loincloth struggled through the streets, led by men with whips. Cracks and screams rang out with worrying frequency.
Qing noticed Morgana wincing at every crack, and he put a comforting hand on her back, but she flinched away, and hissed, “Don’t touch me.”
He held his hands up, palms out. “Sorry.”
“It’s nothing, just…don’t touch me…now. Bad memories,” she said.
He focused instead on the architecture. Despite the city’s human tragedy, it looked glorious. Blue roofs and doors stood out against the whitewashed walls, creating a fantastical look. Clean and unique. But it came at a cost.
Slaves worked to whitewash the walls, movements slow under the scorching sun. Except where the whip cracked. But often the buildings needed repainting to hide the red splatter.
Twice they dodged patrols, hearing their march far enough away to avoid. The inhabitants didn’t seem to care, as long as they kept moving and didn’t stare. Finally, Taj drew to a halt at the mouth of a narrow alley. It opened into a square courtyard with palm trees placed along the outside. In the middle sat a dry fountain. Perched on benches around the square sat old men and women, chatting and drinking tea.
The area felt different. Richer, despite the dry fountain.
“We’re here,” Taj said, and pointed to a set of double wooden trapdoors that sat in the stone near the fountain.
“Where does that lead?” Qing asked.
“To the sewers level one,” Taj said.
“Let’s go,” Qing said, and walked forward.
“Keep your head down,” Taj said, hurrying to catch up.
“Why?”
“We’re not supposed to be here, and I’d rather not have guards follow us into the sewers, asking questions.”
“Why use this entrance?”
“It’s the shortest path once we get into the sewers. Just follow me, and go along.” Taj took up the lead, marching over to the double doors where he turned and spoke loud enough for the entire square to hear. “Let this day in the sewers teach you never to peddle fake goods again! Now open the doors, and in you go.” In a lower voice, he added, “You might need to work together to get them opened.”
Qing smiled to himself as he reached down and grasped the metal handle embedded in the wood. Twice the size of a normal house door, and opening upwards, it still felt as easy as opening a drawer as he lifted it up with one hand.
“Oh,” Taj said.
Murmurs filled the square, and he waved the others in.
“Ew…” Morgana said, holding her nose as she descended the slippery stone steps into the darkness.
“Jenny’s going to owe me for this one,” Knut added, despondently.
Qing wrinkled his nose at the stench of filth and human waste.
“This won’t work,” Taj said from halfway down the stairs. “Once we get into the palace, they’ll smell us from half the palace away.”
“Don’t worry,” Qing said. “I’ll take care of it when we get there.” He entered, and the trapdoor closed with a slam. Qing dialed his ambient lights to maximum, and the tunnel lit up. Taj gaped up at him, holding a torch and a lighter. Qing just smiled. “Save it. You might need it later. Now, lead the way.”
The stairs led to a square, similar to the one above, except green slime and black mold lay caked across the cobbled floor. Qing took a deep breath, but immediately regretted it, and he looked up at the vaulted stone ceiling.
Some adventure…
“Which way?” Knut asked as Qing handed out their weapons and armour.
Taj pointed towards one of the five tunnels that led away from the square. “There. About a fifteen minutes walk.”
“Outstanding…” Morgana said, twirling her poisoned dagger.
***
Water dripped and things rustled in the shadows as they walked along the river of sludge and filth that barely moved as it bobbed along. It ran in the middle of the tunnel, about four feet deep, according to Taj, and nobody wanted to verify. Each side held a walkway about three feet wide, and they were walking on the left.
Rats squeaked as they fled from their light, adding to an ever present hum that was filled with drip drips and pat pats. Qing leaned out to look past Taj. Up ahead lay a black circle in the wall on their left side. He waved two fingers above his head, letting Knut and Morgana, who walked behind, know they were coming to another side tunnel.
“So not only are you stronger than two men and I’ve seen you defeat a vampire, but you also glow in the dark,” Taj said, whispering. “Never mind who you are. What are you?” he asked.
“I’m just a guy from Chicago trying to get home to his family,” Qing said, forcing his voice to be calm. “And the longer it takes for us to get to the palace and rescue the prisoners, the less chance there is for me to succeed, so if you wouldn’t mind…?”
“Yes, of course, but—” Taj froze. “What was that?”
Qing held up a fist. He’d heard it too.
Footsteps splattering. Someone, or something, walked in the water inside the tunnel up ahead.
“Get behind me.”
Taj squeezed himself close to the wall, grimacing as he tried not to touch the slimy stones. Qing held out his hand and equipped Paulhandler’s keg-smasher, the axe appearing as if by magic.
He inched closer to the opening.
The footsteps were slow and lumbering, as they splattered on the stones.
Qing gripped the axe in two hands. Whoever it was must have seen their light by now.
If it’s a guard, do I kill him or disable? If it’s a civilian…I can’t afford to let them scream.
A shiver ran down his spine.
What if it’s something worse?
He swallowed.
A deep growl rumbled from the opening.
“Crap.”
Qing bent his knees, lowering his center of gravity, while giving Knut and Morgana a line of sight past him.
“Hey there,” Qing said. “We’re friendly…sewer workers. Who are you?”
The footsteps splattered closer.
Damn.
With three careful steps, Qing approached the corner and peeked around.
“What the…”
Quick Reflexes proc’ed, and he drew his face back just in time to avoid a globule of brown sludge flashing through the air.
“What is it?” Morgana asked.
“I…”
It can’t be a poop monster. That would just be…
“Quick!” Knut said. “Your words, man! Use them!”
“It looks like a man made from melted crap!”
“By the merciful gods of the untainted sun,” Taj said, stumbling backwards.
The monster’s footsteps were nearly at the corner.
“Do you know what it is?” Morgana asked.
“I…im…impossible!” the man said, bumping into Knut, who grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.
“Speak!”
Qing edged backwards from the tunnel.
“M…m…mud golem,” Taj said.
The trio went silent.
The golem splatted closer.
They’ve got zombies here, so why not golems?
“How do we kill it?” Qing asked.
“I don’t know!” Taj said, the words spilling out so fast he almost sounded like a rapper. “Never seen one. Heard stories. Thought they were fake. B…b…but one sergeant swore on his mother’s maiden name that he’d seen a mud golem in the sewers. Ate a rat, he said. Oh, gods…We shouldn’t have come.”
Qing looked across the river of sludge. It was six feet wide. A plan formed in his head.
“I’ve fought mud golems before...”
In games.
“We could freeze them, but I don’t have a cold spell.” Qing stepped back and put his back to the wall. “Sometimes they have a magical plate inside around which they form, a core or heart of some sort, located either in their chest, belly, or head. If we can cut that out, the magic should disappear. Or,” he shrugged. “We can blast it apart with fire.”
Knut nodded, arrow nocked, the tip glowing red-hot.
Qing stepped forward and hopped, soaring across the river of shit. He landed with a splat on the other side, sandals sliding across the stones, and he hit the wall hard.
Ew.
Expecting another projectile, he dodged left as he blinked his eyes shut, pulling on the air’s heat and feeding it mana. A Fireball blazed to life in his hand.
Mud splashed on the wall with a cracking sound, and Qing stood to face the foe.
“Shit.”
It’s not A mud golem…
Five forms, taller than Qing, with twice his mass, ambled up the tunnel, their bulky bodies seeming to absorb the dim light.
They roared as one and charged.
