The companions leaned forward, both to get a better look at the map and to hear Nadi, who lowered her voice as she continued. “On the south side of the city, there’s an entrance to the sewers that isn’t used by the sanitation crews anymore—partly because they don’t want to go into that neighborhood, and partly because there’s not much need. Apparently, the residents there tend to use pots, streets, and people they don’t like as toilets, which means there’s not much use for the sewer other than for storm runoff. Since it rarely storms in Velenia, well, that’s not a huge concern.” Nadinta tapped the map. “That’s our way in.”
“You’re sure no one will see us?” asked Rummy.
“I’m sure someone will,” replied Nadi, “but they’re unlikely to be the civic-minded type who would notify the authorities. They’re more likely to be the stabbing type who steals purses.”
“I’d like them try to steal something off of me,” cackled Whiska. She pointed to the still-smoking cockroach corpse and crooked her finger.
“I’d prefer we didn’t leave a trail of death behind us,” replied Nadi, shaking her head. “We need to do this stealthily. We’re not being paid by the body.”
“We’re not not being paid by the body though, right?” asked Whiska.
“I guess that’s technically accurate, but…just don’t kill anyone unless it’s absolutely necessary, all right?” said Nadi.
“Humans!” seethed Whiska.
“I’m an elf.”
“Whatever! All you pink hairless ones look the same to me.”
“Assuming we get into the sewers without incident,” interjected Rummy, “then what? Where do we start looking for the statue?”
“Dr. Phelonious believes it will be located somewhere in the sub-sewer of the eastern quadrant of the city,” said Nadi.
“Well, that narrows it down. Shouldn’t take us more than a year to thoroughly inspect all of those tunnels.” Rummy frowned. “I know the good doctor is paying us well, but not that well.” He raised a finger and smiled. “Maybe we can talk him into a retirement plan!”
“Relax—he gave me a magical amulet that will guide us to the statue.”
“How?”
“It’s supposed to glow brighter as we get closer. He said it’ll work like a charm.” Nadi shrugged. “I guess it is a charm, technically.”
“The food…doesn’t taste…like feces,” said Borg. He looked thoughtful. “Not deer feces…anyway.”
“Thanks for catching up, big guy,” said Rummy, patting him on the arm. “Well, then, I guess we have a plan. When do we head out?”
“Midnight,” replied Nadi. “So, no more drinking.” She looked at Whiska, who harrumphed loudly. “Go get some rest and we’ll meet back here in a couple of hours.”
It was just past midnight when the quartet of adventurers left the inn and made their way through the darkened streets of Velenia. Despite her size, big for an elf, Nadi moved gracefully and silently, and Rummy did a passable imitation of her stealth, though his rumbling stomach would have earned more than one disapproving glare from Nadi if not for the fact that Borg, on account of having feet the size of a mastiff but the coordination of a newborn deer, and Whiska, on account of not really caring all that much about remaining silent and being much more interested in muttering imprecations about everyone she would obliterate if they got in her way, drew all of her attention.
After a while, Rummy shrugged and stopped trying so hard to mask his footfalls, even going so far as to start to whistle. Nadi gritted her teeth and walked faster. Rummy increased his own pace to catch up to her. “Hey, don’t worry so much—no street thug in his right mind is going to jump a rock giant and a Ratarian.”
“Borg’s about as dangerous with a weapon in his hand as a fish is with a sword strapped to it.”
“Yeah, but no one knows that…all they see is nine feet of gray muscle. The only one who might possibly be interested in accosting us is a drunken lady with a weird rock fetish. Or a drunken gent with one—I don’t judge or discriminate. Though, I must say, you’d have to be a little, well, off to want to make love to that.” He nodded toward their granite-jawed (and bodied) companion.
“That may be true,” replied Nadi, “for now, at least. Things will be different when we get underground.”
“You think there are things underground that are going to want to want to make love to Borg? Gross.”
“I give up,” said Nadi, throwing her hands in the air. The group walked the rest of the way in relative silence, coming to a stop when they reached the alleyway in which they would, according to the map, find the seldom-used entrance to the sewers.
Borg, whose strength matched his physique, removed the iron cap that covered the entrance, and the four adventurers fell back as they were pummeled by the stench of the after-meal remnants of a thousand unhealthy pub-goers. After a few moments of gasping and wiping watery eyes, Borg spoke. “I think…this is…the sewer.”
“Or Nadi’s mom’s boudoir,” said Whiska.
“My mother is nine hundred years old,” replied Nadinta, nonplussed.
“Exactly!”
Nadi shook her head. “I don’t understand Ratarian humor.”
“Ratarians understand humor?” asked Rummy innocently.
“Bah! Hairless dragon food!” Whiska shook her head. “Come on.” She started to climb down into the hole, scrabbling down the ladder that led into the sewer.
“Age before beauty,” said Rummy, motioning to Nadi to go first.
She stuck her tongue out at her diminutive companion, but moved quickly down the ladder.
“You’re up, Borg. Or down, I guess,” said Rummy.
“I’m not…dragon food. Just…hairless.”
“She was trying to be funny, big guy.”
“Just correcting…factual errors.”
“Always good practice.” Rummy watched Borg descend and then followed suit, stepping gingerly off the ladder into an inch-deep slurry of human waste. (Sometimes it’s fun to be the adventurer; more often than not, though, it’s much, much more fun to be the storyteller, especially if you prefer to keep your shoes free of feces. Which I do.)
Nadi nodded at her companions and took the lead, walking straight for fifty yards before taking a right turn, continuing on for twenty-five more yards, and then hooking a left, following the instructions on the map. Given that everyone in the group had some form of night vision, no one suggested they light a torch, which was just as well; the accumulation of excremental gases in the sludge they trudged through would have exploded the moment a spark touched the ground. Contrary to their approach aboveground, they walked in silence through the sewers, focused on inhaling as little of the filth as possible (except for Whiska, who not only found the stench bearable, but wistfully noted that it reminded her of both a former lover and her mother’s cooking).
A few moments later, Nadi raised her hand, signaling her companions to halt. Rummy gave her a questioning look, but she just shook her head and pointed to her ear. She leaned forward, listening intently, while Rummy, whose hearing wasn’t nearly as acute, nervously gripped the handle of his mace, a weapon that looked too large for him and about as comfortable in his hand as a quill snake. Whiska’s ears perked up and she raised her staff. Borg scratched an itch that appeared to originate in his crotch, but ran all the way up to his lower abdomen before making its way back to his crotch.