Notes From Underground

[Balmafula]

By Gashrock

Dirt. Everything was dirt. Walls of dirt, floors of dirt, ceiling of dirt. Even Gashrock had to admire the resourcefulness of their captors, for rather impressively demonstrating how many things could be made of dirt.

Then again, it wasn't like there was much in the cell to keep them occupied. She and Blackbriar were loosely bound, across from the door?a molemaid had patted them down and confiscated her dagger and Blackbriar's saber. Another molemaid had passed by, handing the first what seemed to be a piece of paper. She held it close to her side, squinting heavily through the dim torchlight in the tunnels.

?What I'd give for somethin' to read,? Blackbriar muttered.

?What do moles even read? It's all hoo-urr this and oi-gum that, innit.?

?They've abducted us! Don't underestimate them.?

?Right, then,? said Gashrock.

She glanced at the moles' robes, which had the singular distinction of not being made of dirt. That cut of the neck, those long hems...the moles she'd seen in Yew wore more neatly trimmed garments, perhaps copying the military style.

?I reckon that's the Carrigul cut.?

?The what now??

?The style?that's the sort of thing they wear, up in Carrigul. Only I didn't igg-zactly think it were a safe place for moles, last time I went. Somethin' ain't right about those.?

?Or maybe you're grasping at straws.?

?Ooh, that'd be brilliant. Somethin' proper to drink, that'd be.?

There were advantages to being rudely carried off by a horde of underground nuisances. Nobeast was tempted to eat her. She didn't have to put any weight on her leg, if she didn't want. And being so thoughtfully restrained, there was absolutely no way anybeast would want her to dance.

You just had to adapt, was all. Make the best of it.

?You sons of skilly, you daughters of duff,
If you reckon that yer up to snuff
Then row, mateys, row!
For there's many a ship below
Full of rubbish and wrecks of beasts like you
Who slumbered and shrugged and stranded their crew
So row, me hearties, row!?

?Do you mind?? Blackbriar asked.

?Sorry,? said Gashrock. What had she been thinking? That wasn't at all the way to keep up one's spirits. Hardly suitable.

Proper ballad meter, that was more like it.

?My mum she were a searat
My dad a searat's spouse
The boat it were my school and
My vee-hick-ul and house.

The beck and gill are runnin' free
The rain is silin' down
The foss is full of watter deep
Who'd bother with a town?

So if you're up for sailin', mates,
I'll nevermore need land
The mighty skip is waitin', mates,
Let's push off from the strand!?

Blackbriar was not looking at her, preferring instead to try and bite at her bonds. Maybe she just had something against corsairs.

In which case, there'd be nothing to rouse her spirits like hearing about corsairs being defeated!

?Right,? Gashrock began. ?It don't all scan great, yet. On account of I'm?? She broke off. ?Piecin' it together.?

Risk had left her a perfectly accurate narrative as things stood. Rather epic, all told. But that didn't make it a ballad. No, any song worth its salt had a place, and had a form that fit it. Oh, there were somebeasts who just didn't care. ?Go on, just make somethin' up, worryin' about rhymin' and all that might've been good back in the day, but this ain't?this ain't the day anymore.? Whereupon Gashrock would point out, irritably, that it was too the day, the sun was shining.

That didn't work so well underground. But it was the principle of the thing.

?So they'd defend New Marshank, up
Against the pirate tide
Eight hundred beasts were slain that day
But he was still alive!

The horde trekked south, so they could scout
Out Salamandastron.
The abbey'd brought no luck, but could
The mountain be as strong?

For many a hare was fightin' there
And soon the scouts grew few?
'I'll even this old field!' he bragged.
The lord's son??

?Enough with the singing!? yelled Blackbriar.

?He then slew?? Gashrock finished in a monotone.

Blackbriar huffed, looking like she'd dearly love to pace to the opposite extremes, were it not for the fact that the opposite was too close for comfort and the incidental fact of being tied up.

Gashrock tried to continue the song in her head. The hares were sent a-packing. She'd never come up with the rest of the stanza. Probably something about snacking. Hares loved to eat. Didn't they? Or were those rabbits?

Probably hares. Rabbits were rubbish fighters, she'd heard. Like silly fieldmice. Or moles. Moles that just happened to have the ability to chuck you in a prison made of the earth itself, with your only friend a jumped-up pine marten who tried to boss you around and?her pretensions aside?didn't have real taste in music.

?I'm sorry,? said Blackbriar.

Gashrock turned, incredulous?had she imagined it, through the shoals of self-pity? She didn't exactly want to ask for clarification, in case Blackbriar snapped at her.

But she went on. ?I shouldn't have yelled at you. That helps neither of us.?

?Thanks,? said Gashrock. ?I'll be quiet. Save my mouth, for eatin' tasty rope.?

Blackbriar nodded. She'd taken a break from the attempt to chew through the bonds, and her paws?somewhat longer and more loose than Gashrock's?were at least able to reach for a locket that she dug out from under her robe and opened up, glancing inside for a moment. Finally, she asked, ?How did you get here??

?Here? Well, there were these moles, you see, and??

?Before that. With the Dewhurst players, and all. Where are you from??

?Oh, well then. You see, my mum, she were a searat, and my dad??

?I'd gathered, thanks.?

Gashrock hesitated. ?It was the nav-ee-gator on our ship, really. He liked to learn old shanties, from woodlanders even. To try and figure out, if they knew shortcuts we didn't. Or, if a bundle of old nonsense was really a code, to help fu-zhit-ive slaves escapin'. Anyhow, I learned from him, helped him read when his eyes were dimmin'. After he died, I reckoned I'd try my luck on land a season or two, see if I could make a go of it. He never?really thought it was proper work. Said only fools and mousebabes could sit around talkin' nonsense all day and expect to earn an honest livin', and Mum and Dad didn't know any better, they'd never been much for big towns. So I made sure to learn to sew, a proper trade?it beat climbin' masts. Fell in with Dewhurst one day, and that was that.?

Blackbriar nodded, the locket bobbing back and forth as her neck moved slightly. ?So if you could be in any play you wanted, whichever role, who'd you pick??

Several thoughts quickly flashed through Gashrock's mind, but there could be only one answer. ?Franceska Zephyrs,? she blushed.

?That's a good choice.?

She nodded. ?It's such a great story?everybeast loves it, even if they don't quite tell it right. I met a woodlander who swore it was really about a plucky young mousegel who defeats corsairs, and there's a vole who was talkin' rubbish?said all the con-few-zhin meant nobeast could really tell good from bad, green from red, east from west. But the proper play of it...that'd be the thing. Windsbane! Nothin' like it.?

?Have you ever seen it performed??

?Only the mousegel version. Which is silly, but it's fun, I suppose.?

?It must be a lot of work, to memorize all the different versions, keep them straight...?

?You learn quick. And if you forget something, you make up owt, just to keep it goin'. That's how you learn.?

?Can you still recite the first plays you learned??

?At first it wasn't even plays. Only games. Teachin' you to think fast.?

?Games? Your searats may have been onto something, that doesn't sound like very hard work.?

Gashrock laughed. ?It ain't. I mean, it's hard, but it's fun. I'd show you, iffen we could move our paws some more. Or if there were more beasts...?

?I hardly think we want more beasts tied down here??

I hardly think there's a ?we? to be going on about. ?I can think of a couple beasts who might find it benn-y-fishul.?

?Most of them are friendly enough! Besides, any port in a storm, as you searats say.?

?I suppose. Wait a tick, iffen you wanted to play games?there's always Worst in the World.? Blackbriar looked doubtful. ?No singin'! Promise.?

?How do you play??

?Better with more of us, but somebeast calls out a?a job, or owt that a beast can do. Then everyone calls out how you'd do that job, iffen you were the worst in the world.?

?So?if I said?the worst warlord in the world?then I'd say, 'try and conquer an abbey nobeast has ever conquered'??

?Aye, that's it! The worst warlord in the world...thinks it's so nice to make a prison cell out of dirt, he makes all his weapons out of it too.?

?Shines his sword with clean cloths and forgets to make the army keep up hygiene.?

?Injures hisself shavin' with a great old sword.?

?Pays a soothsayer to make up encouraging mumbo-jumbo.?

?Pays a soothsayer to make up discouragin' rubbish with his enemies' address.?

?Forgets his enemies' address and gives 'em her own!?

?And then cancels the attack once she hears it!?

?That's a good'un. All right, you tell me about the worst navigator in the world.?

?Oh, I'm settin' my course by the light of the northern?gi' over, you ruddy fowl, and put out your cigar!?

?Turn left at the dead tree?here's a roll of parchment, that's a dead tree, let's turn left.?

?I'm sailin' west into the sunrise. What d'you mean sun rises in the east? When I wake up it's out west!?

?It says downriver, mates, so down below the river we go!?

?I tried to sneak in with the woodlanders, but they caught me, on account of I was wearin' my spy-glass.?

?I ain't got no spyglass?it was supposed to make things bigger, but the worst warlord in the world stole it for examinin' his sword.?

Gashrock snorted. ?Worst bartender in the world.?

?Alcohol? I don't serve alcohol, my mother would never approve.?

?My servers ain't gettin' paid owt by me. You keeps the extra, iffen your customers pay too much on account of they're too sloshed to count.?

?Every season has its own name, except for fall, which is split up between not October, and October, when you drink ale.?

?No, matey, you can only have this much. On account of, iffen I keep the bottles full only up this far, I can play melodies by toastin' em together.?

?There's no poison in this, I guarantee I've tested it and it's all come out clean.?

?Well, there is poison in this, but I forgets to make my cly-in-tell pay in advance.?

?Worst cook in the world!?

?Tonight we're feastin' on tasty ropes, mates.? Gashrock nodded over at Blackbriar's bite marks.

?They said we should roast the warlord, for a lark. Well I roasted him, now I'm just waiting for the lark.?

?Skilly and duff? I thought you said kill thee and stuff.?

?The healer gave this powder to me for boils. I put it in, but it's not boiling any faster.?

?They said to throw a feast. So I did. Dunno whereabouts it landed.?

?Warlord says my stew is dull as dishwater. I served him some proper dishwater, so he can make a comparison.?

?I don't even know how to...ah, confound it all. I miss Cookie.?

?I miss proper?oh. Risk.?

?Aye. I?aye.?

?I can imagine,? said Blackbriar. ?If you don't mind talking about it, how did Risk first fall in with the Players? And when did you find out who he was??

?Couple seasons back. Then he told me one night when we were sloshed. I dunno if he meant it, see. Didn't believe him, till it kept happenin'. The second or third time I knew not to get into a drinkin' contest with him. So by then I was payin' more attention, like.?

Blackbriar sighed. ?I wish I could have known him better?no! Not like that!? She smirked. Gashrock glowered more deeply. ?I just mean that he seems like a beast who had a lot of stories to tell.?

?Oh, he was. Dunno what yer askin' about my mum and dad for, he was the real adventurer.?

?Not to mention that he would have been a good sort of beast to rescue us...Speaking of which, we need to figure out some way to get out of here. I like to think that Nessa wouldn?t leave us down here...I mean, Captain Noonahootin wouldn't really just leave us to..? Blackbriar's face fell as her voice trailed off.

?He wouldn't leave me,? said Gashrock, ?on account of I'm a waste of dinner.?

?Except...maybe he would. If Noonahootin and Istvan have written us off, Nessa has to listen. Goragula doesn't care. Nyika and Poko can't just come barging in here on their own...? Blackbriar drew in a breath, trying to keep her expression blank. She opened her mouth once, then closed it, then opened it again. ?Point is, we can't just wait around.?

Gashrock turned, studying her, and her eyes lit on the locket that the marten had managed to extricate. ?You've got a nice long reach.?

?Thanks. But I'm still tied up.?

?Aye. And even if you bit yourself loose, I don't fancy tryin' to outdelve moles.?

?Me neither. But we can't get out of here, unless you can pick locks...?

Gashrock hesitated. ?Okay. Zevka??

?Yes??

?Try and reach for my hem.?

?What??

?Over there, right above the bottom of my robe. Give it a ruddy old tug, why don't you. Or can you not reach??

?I think I can, just about. But??

?This ain't no time for modesty. Iffen it tears, I'll fix it once we're free. Go on.?

She braced herself as Zevka reached out and pulled. Across her body, Gashrock could feel the robe pull taut against her, but they did not rip.

?There you are! Careful now, don't cut yourself.?

Eyes wide, Zevka let go, slackening back towards her own restraints. But not before, through the darkness of the cell, Gashrock noticed a glint of light flash between them.

It was the point of a needle.