Robin wrinkled his nose against the odour of dry rot, old smoke, and stale beer. He was wedged in a small crawl space left behind by the incredibly slapdash construction of the degenerate tenement that the Broken Knucklebones had decided to use for their main flop. It was tight, dirty, and downright dangerous, but he had a clear line to everything the Knucklebones were saying and even a small sliver of the scene below, courtesy of a gap in the boards. He couldn’t see everyone, but he could see enough.
Rerebos had tailed the thugs after they absconded with his carefully staged fake treasure. The little dragon had seen where Dag had hidden it, concealed from all the Knucklebones. Terlene wasn’t even allowed to see where the secret stash was hidden.
It didn’t speak highly of Dag’s leadership skills nor the amount of trust he had in his people.
Currently, the gang was arguing over whether or not to head down into the undercity themselves to try to reclaim some of Ruprecht’s treasure. Clara and Terlene were all for it, neither of them having the sense to realise quite how dangerous a prospect that was. Riff, the slim guy who was second only to Clara in frequenting Robin’s tavern to pick up the ‘protection money’, was less keen. He was arguing that they’d be better off just selling the map for some quick coin. Dag was clearly wavering, but Robin could hear the greed in the man’s voice. Clara and Terlene were likely to get their way.
‘You’re just scared,’ Terlene was saying cheerfully to Riff. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe, little man!’
Robin couldn’t see Riff in the sliver of sight he had, but he expected the man was an interesting shade of red. He was always the easiest to wind up of any of Dag’s goons that came by. If he hadn’t been routinely robbing Robin, the bard might even like the guy.
‘I do alright,’ Riff said shortly. ‘But I also know my place. The streets? I know. Rumble with the sticks? I can handle myself. But down there? Against sorcery and living rocks and shapeshifting monsters you might not see until it’s too late? Doesn’t matter how much gold is down there. Won’t do nobody any good if we all get killed before we can spend it.’
‘Don’t be such a pessimist,’ Clara said scornfully.
She, unfortunately, Robin could see. The slim woman was cleaning her fingernails with the point of her knife.
He almost wished she was drinking something so he could sour it for her with [Lesser Phantasm]. Even if she was arguing for the side he wanted Dag to land on.
It was too close. Of the influential gang members, only Riff was really against the plan, but the rank and file were clearly all firmly behind him. None of the weaker street toughs would last a minute in the undercity, and most of them knew it. Those that were big and hulking enough and looked like they should have thought they could handle it were keeping quiet. Robin couldn’t tell if they agreed with Riff or they were simply waiting to see which way Dag would land before announcing their allegiance.
Robin needed to find a way to tip the scales, but no good opportunity had presented itself as of yet.
If it were more of a debate he might be able to slip some dissenting voice in with [Lesser Phantasm] and influence things that way, but Clara, Riff, and Terlene were the only ones speaking, more or less. Any illusory voice he tried would stand out. It’d be immediately obvious it was a trick.
Which made it no trick at all.
‘Do we even know if the map is still good?’ Riff demanded. ‘That dungeon may be dead but Gyrflacon isn’t, and she changes things in those tunnels on a regular basis.’
That thought gave even Clara pause. Robin could see the wary pensiveness in her face.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Terlene insisted with the kind of broad optimism that can only be mustered by someone who lacks any sense of the realities of a situation. ‘It can’t have changed that much! And it probably didn’t even change at all.’
‘How do you figure?’ Clara asked sharply.
‘Because we’re lucky,’ Terlene answered. ‘We found the map. Marq’s party already cleared the dungeon. Killed it, even! That means we’re lucky, so it has to work.’
‘It doesn’t have to do anything,’ Riff protested. ‘And we’re not that lucky. We do alright. That’s all.’
Lucky. That sparked off an idea in Robin’s mind. The Broken Knucklebones were a superstitious lot—if anyone in a world with real gods and monsters and demons and magic could be said to be superstitious. They believed in luck.
And there were plenty of deities of luck. Deities who might just send signs to their faithful followers. Which Terlene clearly was.
What street tough didn’t send up a prayer to Lady Luck or the Lord of Fair Fortune every time they came away with an unexpected score, or managed to nip away just one step ahead of the authorities? No, Robin could use that.
If he could rattle some useful information about deities of luck and the kind of signs they sent out of his [Bardic Lore].
Kest’Ry, Whe-al, and Iania sprang to mind. Robin decided to focus on Iania. A two-faced deity of good and bad luck, of thresholds and doorways, always looking both forward and back, Iania was popular in Noviel so there was a better chance one of the thugs below would notice one of her signature signs.
He’d have to be careful. Couldn’t make it too obvious. Thankfully, he could invoke [Visual Phantasm] without words or gestures, otherwise there was a risk he might draw attention to his position.
Robin focused. The map was laid out on the table, clearly in his sight. That seemed the best bet to start.
He caused the lines of the map to glow golden, very briefly.
His breath caught in his throat but no one said anything. Did no one notice that? It had seemed clear as day.
But there was no reaction from the assembled toughs below. Riff and Clara kept on arguing as Terlene serenely proclaimed they were lucky.
You’re bloody well talking about the bloody map! Look at it already. Robin frowned and sent another pulse of golden light along the lines of the map, stronger and longer this time.
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Still nothing.
Was the light too bright down there? Was everyone headless? How blatant did a guy have to be to fake a sign from on high!?
Third time’s the charm, right? Robin had the map emit a dazzling burst of golden light from the lines this time, and let it linger for a few seconds, golden and shimmering, before their eyes.
There were gasps from below. Finally! Robin cut the light. At least he had their attention.
A confused babble broke out.
Yes! He could use this. Robin winced as he quickly ran his cramped hands through the motions of [Lesser Phantasm]. He’d listened to these toughs yap long enough that he could replicate a voice and a lingo that would fit in with that crowd.
‘It’s a sign from Iania! She wants us to go!’ he said with one illusory voice.
‘Fortune favours the bold!’ he added with another.
‘Fortune favours the bold!’ Terlene seized that phrase like it was a chicken’s neck and she was a hungry fox. ‘Fortune favours the bold, and we are bold! Bold and bright and lucky!’
Riff was staring at the map like it had just transformed itself into a snake.
‘Or,’ the thug shouted, ‘or it’s a trick! Could be pixies, could be an imp. We don’t know.’
Riff’s voice was strained. He knew talking down this crowd wasn’t easy. He’d barely been holding to his side of the argument as it was, and now things were tipping out of hand.
Dag, however, was a suspicious lump of creosote. He might be thick and nasty, but he was no pushover. And he certainly wasn’t one to risk his own neck when things got weird. He slammed his open palm down on the table in front of him, startling the Knucklebones into silence.
‘Maybe it’s a sign, maybe it’s not, but fuck if that matters,’ the gang boss said. ‘I’ve made up my mind. This is what we’re gonna do.’
Clara and Riff each looked nervous. Terlene looked serene. Dag looked pleased as the cat who’d got the cream.
‘You,’ he levelled a finger at Clara, ‘are going to lead a team down there, following this map. You’re going to scout the way for us. If it looks like we can get to this dungeon and back alright, then you come back and tell us. We’ll muster the whole gang and go clean the place out. Pick a crew. Any other four bones. Terlene excepted,’ he said as Clara immediately pivoted to the massive bruiser. ‘I need her by my side.’
‘Aww,’ Terlene said, ‘I wanted to go. The goddess said we should!’
‘You’ll get your chance,’ Dag said, uncharacteristically kindly, ‘but we’re going to do it right. Do it smart. Fortune favours the bold, and we’ll be bold, but we’re not going to be stupid about it. We make sure we can get back. Don’t worry, Clara is plenty bold, isn’t she?’
‘I suppose so,’ Terlene said.
‘Thanks awfully.’ Clara’s lips twisted up in an unflattering snarl. ‘I’ll be sure to remember you said that.’
Riff had been relaxing, but then Clara turned on him with a smirk.
‘I’ll take Riff, though.’
‘Boss—’ the man tried to protest.
‘Done,’ Dag said. ‘And we’ll give you our best mundane equipment. No magic tricks. There’s little enough to go around as is and we can’t risk any of it not coming back.’
Clara looked like she was going to protest, but subsided.
Robin bit back his glee. Looks like the gang was going to send a few members down to Ruprecht at least. While the plan wasn’t for them to enter the dungeon, the bard was willing to bet that no street tough worth their salt would let a chance like that slip by. They’d almost certainly try to sneak in and line their pockets with some of the gold, if they got that far.
And hey, if he was lucky, Clara might not come back at all.
Now he just needed to get to work on spreading the right rumours so the Head Librarian had cause to raid this place for the fake translation in Dag’s treasure cache.
If he could get out of this damned crawlspace anyway.