Chapter 10:

The Alchemist's Lair: Part 8

Wanderer's Memoirs - Retainer of Manea


The amount of equipment and manpower we had at our disposal was less than ideal. Civet and Balthazar were pretty much useless when it came to combat, so we had Iocasta, Annabel, Rhombus, Ghandor, and me. We were brought enough handguns to arm everyone, as they were easier to carry and we were unlikely to get into long-range engagements anyway. As for close combat, we had Iocasta’s knife, plus two swords.

“I hope you had the common sense to pick up my blade”, mentioned Rhombus.

“Of course. Who do you take me for? No way we’d waste our only magical weapon”.

Rhombus’s ornate sword was, indeed, enchanted, and by focusing his energy through the hilt, the wielder could summon an electric jolt to attempt to shock his opponent. This made it so that, with good timing, even parrying wouldn’t prevent your opponent from getting hurt.

As for the other sword, it was to go to either me or Gandor. However, I noticed a metal rod, which dropped off from who-knows-where, lying on the ground, and picked it up. I swung it around a few times; it seemed to work well enough.

“I’ll take this thing”, I said, “Let Gandor have the sword, he’s the more experienced swordsman anyway”.

“Quite the barbaric weapon. It suits you”, Rhombus couldn’t resist commenting, “May you bash many a head with it!”

“Do not worry, I will. Unlike some, I don’t need silly magical contraptions to crush my enemies”.

The young noble laughed. “The day your sword becomes as sharp as your tongue, the world shall tremble”.

Our banter was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the metal, which were, to our dismay, coming from the direction we were supposed to go. Annabel chanted a few words, and a ball of fire formed in her hand. She waited until the footsteps were nearly on the corner, then unleashed the fireball. It detonated, the sound of the explosion followed by a singular scream. This was unfortunate, as she was evidently planning to take out more of them; moreover, the rest of the enemy didn’t charge blindly into our line of fire, but decided to hunker down and wait for us instead. Not wanting to rush into an ambush either, we had no choice but to run the other way.

We trotted across metallic hallways, Iocasta taking the lead. The facility was massive and labyrinthine in design; if left to my own devices, I would’ve gotten hopelessly lost within seconds.

“Any idea where we’re going?” I asked.

“Not really”, admitted Iocasta. “I am not aware of a path that would take us to our destination from some other direction. I’m trying to steer us as well as I can, but the more we’re running, the more it seems our best chance may be to retrace our steps and hope the enemy has left”.

As we were running, a bandit stumbled stupidly from a room, likely assuming we were his allies and looking to ask what all the noise was about. He stared at us for a shocked second, then went for his sword. Iocasta was faster, however, raising her rifle and shooting him in the stomach. The bullet didn’t have enough force to pierce his chainmail fully, but it did knock the air out of his lungs and made him bend over in pain. Gandor then caught up to him and stabbed him under the armpit.

As the bandit tumbled to the ground, he nearly fell on a creature that didn’t belong in the underground corridor – a weasel, which quickly darted out of the way, then stood on its hind legs and stared at me intently. It was really quite unnatural.

I know what you seek.

It wasn’t quite a voice – more of a stray thought worming its way into my head, feeling as it would reek of herbs and garlic and tobacco smoke, if thoughts had such a property as smell.

Follow me.

Then it darted through the corridors, taking breaks every few steps, looking at me behind its shoulder as if checking if I was following.

It could’ve, theoretically, been a trap, but the bandits had better ways of killing us than telepathic weasels. And it was already quite obvious who was pulling the creature’s strings.

“Let’s go after it”, I suggested and ran off before anyone had a chance to complain.

The path the weasel took seemed to deftly avoid any enemies. We descended several flights of stairs, getting deeper and deeper underground.

“Are you sure we ought to be going this way?” wondered Iocasta, looking quite puzzled.

“I’m not, but I believe this detour will pay off”, I answered. “Last time you urged me to trust her. Now I’m doing the same”.

“Her?” she glanced at me quizzically, but then seemed to connect the dots and asked no more questions.

Our route ended in a large room. On the end opposite the door was a screen, at its bottom a console of sorts covered in knobs, buttons, and levers. There was a tube-shaped device in one corner, and I recalled noticing several similar ones on our way. In the middle of the floor, a skeleton laid on its stomach, bandits evidently not having bothered to remove it. Its clothes were in tatters, but it was still easy to intuit these were likely the remains of Nestor the alchemist.

The weasel briefly stopped at the center of the room, and my mind was invaded once again.

I believe this is the place you were looking for. You gave me another decade or two, so I thought it would be prudent to throw in something extra. Take care not to get killed, and if you ever need magical help, be sure to remember me.

And with that, the weasel controlled by Madam Cleo scampered into a hole in the wall and disappeared from our sight.