Beers and Beards

The sound of scraping stone echoed through the empty amphitheater as the mechanism, sticky from millennia of non-use, rattled and screeched.

“Gods, what a racket,” Johnsson complained. “If anyone’s spyin’ on us, they know something’s up now for sure.

“Duke Barnes said we wouldn’t be disturbed,” Annie muttered, as she slid the next piece of the puzzle into place. One of the columns in the back of the Greybeard’s Lyceum rotated in place and sank down into the ground, revealing a key beneath the floor. “I’d like to believe her.”

“I think that’s for the second keyhole in the fresco!” Aqua cried excitedly, running up to grab it. She then sprinted over to the two-storey high tall mosaic of a golden mountain and shoved the key into a keyhole that we’d uncovered under one of the tiles.

“I really cannae believe this was never found,” I muttered. “Has this place never had a deep cleaning, or renovations, in all this time?”

“Good dwarven architecture,” Richter said, thumping a nearby column. “No need.”

I waited a breath for the column to immediately fall over because he’d said that, but alas. I waved at Bran across the rows of seating. “Pull the lever, Bran!”

“That’s Lord Bran to you, Pete!” Bran drawled.

“You mean Lord Pete, you upstart noble!” I sniped back.

Aqua rolled her eyes. “Gods, they each win one contest and it all goes to their heads. I’m surprised it was able to get through their thick skulls. Don’t you agree, Annie?”

“That’s Lady Annie to you, peasant.”

“YOU!” Aqua yanked on Annie’s golden tressed beard, and the two began to scuffle.

“For the next step, we need two people to jump on those two flagstones over there at the same time.” Ironbellows Herder said, reading over the instructions we’d pulled from Lucky Jean’s notebook. “Then someone needs ta say ‘vyve lah franz?’ in front of the mosaic.”

“Vive la France,” I corrected. “Gotta get more phlegm in there.”

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I stepped in front of the mural and repeated the phrase as Johnsson and Richter jumped on the flagstones.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Annie said with awe in her voice. “A real treasure from ages gone by.”

“I can’t believe that Schist is tha new Prime Minister and Duke of the North,” I sighed. “I mean, I did vote for him, but now I can’t Lord my noble title over ’im anymore.”

“I can’t believe it’s open!” Aqua squealed, as she jumped out from under Annie and pulled a lever that had popped out at the tip of the mountain. A pair of handles creaked out of the mosaic in a particularly dramatic fashion.

“Pete and I should do the honours,” Ironbellows said, walking up to grab one of the handles.

“On three, heave!” I called, and with a grunt we swung the doors wide open. The space that it revealed was fairly small, actually, barely the width of a standard four-door sedan, but quite tall. And it was stuffed with gold, jewels, and gems!

“We’re rich!” Aqua squealed as she ran inside and covered herself in gold.

“This is nice…” Annie said suspiciously, searching over everything. “But we’re already kind of rich, and this doesn’t exactly count as a treasure worth hiding like this.”

“Speak fer yerself! Is that a genuine McPainter?” Ironbellows whispered, reaching up to a landscape painting of the Crackian countryside that was hanging in the back of the alcove. He lifted it off its hook and took a closer look at the maker’s mark. “It is!”

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“There’s an enchantment behind dat painting,” Richter said with excitement, moving forward. “One moment.”

He traced some sigils, and with a flash, the wall behind the painting vanished, revealing a small closet containing a simple stone pedestal. A white crystal about the size of a cantaloupe sat atop it. The crystal shone with an inner black light, and it hurt my brain to look at. Magical energy wafted off it in ethereal plasma-like tendrils.

I tried to look at the crystal with my [Manasight], but had to immediately turn the Ability off. The bloody thing was brighter than the sun!!!

“What is it?” Aqua asked, peeking at the crystal through slitted eyelids.

“A Worldstone,” Richter said, his voice filled with awe.

—

Somewhere else

The two figures stepped carefully as they navigated the wet ground of the mining tunnel. One was a black-bearded dwarf in the uniform of a Kinshasa Reform Mine Supervisor, and the other was a well-dressed elf. Each wore a hard hat with an embedded Solstone as they plunged deeper and deeper into the dark.

“Not often that we see you lot down ‘ere,” the dwarf mentioned offhand.

“Yes, well I suspect that may change in the coming days,” the elf following him murmured.

“Aye. There’s been a lotta that goin’ about.” The mine foreman grinned. “Did ya hear what they did to those monsters tha Blackbeards? They done got my cousin killed in that big mine collapse a few years back. Glad to finally see justice!”

“Hmmm… indeed.” The elf sidestepped a crew pushing a minecart up the slope.

“So… what didja say yer name was again?”

“Joseph.”

“So, Joseph, what brings ya to see ’im exactly?” the supervisor asked with feigned disinterest.

“Business,” Joseph replied curtly.

“No need ta get yer ears in a twist,” the foreman muttered. They arrived at a dive tunnel and the foreman pointed down it. He grinned widely, revealing a mouth peppered by golden false teeth. “He’s in there. He’s on tha clock, so you’ll need ta go in to chat with him.”

Joseph hitched up his sleeves and smiled. “Of course!”

It was a tight squeeze for the tall elf, and he had to crawl on hands and knees. As soon as he was down a bend and out of sight from the foreman, a frown darkened Joseph’s face. “Che Stronzo” he muttered angrily, then let out another angry epithet as his shins scraped a sharp stone in the dark.

“Who goes there?” a voice called from deeper down the dive. It was a well-cultured voice, with the cadence of nobility.

“I’m looking for Thad Harmsson?” Joseph shouted back.

There was silence for a moment, then the voice called back. “Ambassador, is that you?”

“Yes, it is. May we speak for a moment?”

“Come on in. I have to keep working, I’ve got a quota to meet.”

Joseph made his way down the cramped tunnel inch by inch until he neared the end. Contrary to the Ordinances, a single dwarf was plinking away on the wall.

“You don’t have a dive team?” Joseph asked.

“Don’t want to chance getting knifed down here. And I like the alone time. Lets me think,” Harmsson said, wiping sweat and grime from his face. “This is far more invigorating than I expected, even if it’s hard on the back”

“To each their own.”

“What can I do for you, Ambassador?” Harmsson asked, as he resumed plinking away at the wall. “[Basic Pick]!”

Joseph watched him work for a while. “I came to see you in your official duty as the Minister of Finance.”

Harmsson chuckled darkly. “I’m not sure if I should be happy or annoyed by that. I can’t believe they allowed Yellowwall to put me, a condemned criminal, on the ballot. I can’t believe I won, and I can’t believe that damn fool Schist made me Minister of Finance!”

“At least it commuted your sentence,” Joseph said, smiling.

“Bah! Not sure mining fer the rest of my life beats the headsman’s axe. The King made it clear that I’ll be in here till I die.” Harmsson’s mouth stretched into a knifelike smile. “But watching wealthy merchants and minor nobles come tumbling down the dive to see me has been entertaining at least. Probably why Schist did it. Gives ’em some perspective!”

“I see.” Joseph rubbed his cut knees and frowned. “I came to talk to you about a new trade treaty with Awemedinand. Now seems as good a time as any to try to enact more open borders.”

Harmsson stopped hitting the wall with his pick and turned to examine Joseph. “What do you want, elf? Really? It can’t just be more money, the Greybough Consortium is wealthier than most Kingdoms.”

Joseph smiled. “To see and try new things, my dear Harmsson. All of these petty kingdoms are so insular that it limits innovation and the exchange of goods and new ideas. There’s so much more we could do if all the races were given free reign to apply their own influence to all these staid traditions.”

Harmsson’s eyes narrowed as he considered the elf. “Influence… you’re one of them.” He hefted his pickaxe, his eyes shifting to take into consideration angles and escape routes.

Joseph laughed. “I am! And I’m not concerned about losing to some dwarf stuck in a mine. Nor do I care about winning! What more could I wish for!? This is as close to heaven as a Patrizio could hope for!”

Harmsson lowered his pickaxe, but remained on guard. “Patrizio… is that Italian?”

Joseph swept a deep, noble, bow. “Giuseppe Civran of the Republic of Venice at your service, my dear Representative Harmsson. Now, let us talk of trade, and of one particular dwarf that I think could have a great influence upon my home. If only he had a reason to visit…”