I tried to ignore Sheogorath's giggling in my head as we left the dungeons. Filthy Larry led us up the stairs, into a filthy, squalid room. It wasn't much to look at, the barrels and evidence chest in the corner, and the unpleasant-looking table in the middle were the only decorations one could make out by the dirty light provided by the oil lamp in the middle of the table.
"I doubt that
anyone will be particularly concerned about you, Conrad," he
assured me as we sat down at the jailor's table. "I was meant to
be guarding your cell anywho, so there won't be any guards waltzing
around down here for a while yet."
"How can you be so
sure?" I asked, picking up a lump of cold smoked bacon from a
long-abandoned plate. It had been quite a while since dinner, and
bacon had always done something amazing to me when I ate it.
"Soldiers come and go all the time."
"Heh, not now they
don't. Your old chum Sergeant made sure of that. Breaking out of
Castle Bruma, killing three guards, arming himself, running off, and
grabbing the Elder Scroll from the evidence chest while he was at it.
Add that to the problems we've been having with the Elven Alliance
and, we-ll, it's a bit of an embarrassment to the Count."
My heart rose. "So
I'm innocent now?" I asked optimistically, but the look on
Filth's face answered the question for me. "I'm not, am I?" I
stated glumly.
"Conrad, Conrad, Conrad, as soon as the guards
suspected you they raided your house."
"Oh."
"They checked
places likely to hold hidden magic items."
"Shit."
"Yes, very, very shit, Conrad. 37 bottles they found, hidden in
behind the loose brick in the fireplace."
I was rummaging
through the evidence chest, collecting my old clothes, and other
junk. "Only the thirty-seven?" I asked as I slipped my trenchcoat
over my shoulders.
"Yes. They didn't find the hollowed-out
diary, fortunately for you."
I jammed my fedora
onto my head snugly. "A small saving, then. 49 bottles worth."
"Add to that the fact that you've just broken out of jail, and
possibly assaulted a choking guard-"
"That was the
goddamn Heinrich Maneuver! I was saving him!"
"Whatever it
was, you're gonna be eating meals with wooden spoons for a while
yet. Here, have a beer. It might help."
I thought about my situation. But therein lied the problem. I wasn't in full control of my brain at the moment, was I?
"Freeze time!" I shouted, clapping my hands. Filthy Larry's inquisitive face faded into black, the bottle in his hand froze in mid-air. And, suddenly, Haskill was sitting beside me again, a glass of Tamika Vintage 399 red in his hand.
"You know, technically we aren't freezing time," was his opening line. "That's just ridiculous, if you froze time then the rays of visible light wouldn't be able to move, and you wouldn't be able to see anything. And of course, you wouldn't be able to hear, smell, or talk. Much easier simply to slow time down an incredible amount."
"Wow, thanks so
much Haskill, I can't tell you how much more fulfilling life is now
I can make comments involving the nature of time with the right
vocabulary. What are you, a physicist all of a sudden?"
Haskill smiled, and sipped his wine. "Glad to have been of
assistance."
"So what do you want me to do now?"
"I truly have no
idea. Ask Sheogorath."
"What?"
"He's still in
your head. He's just being quiet now because your brain cells want
to smack Him one for the 'key' incident."
I looked up at
the roof of the dungeon. "Are you there, Sheogorath? It's me,
Conrad."
"Of course I'm here!" came the loud , mental
reply. "I'm always here for you, Conrad!"
"Great." So
reassuring. "What's our next move?"
"That's easy,
Conrad. Get out of that Castle and go stop Hircine!"
"Sheogorath, I'm
a detective, not some awesome juggernaut warrior. I can't go around
pissing off Gods."
"You're pissing one off right now!"
He screamed. "Get with it! Or I'll open a whole can of smite-arse
upon you!"
"… Yes my Lord."
"Good. And by the
way, Conrad, there's a bunch of soldiers heading down the stairs
right now, they're approximately… fourteen seconds from running
through that door. Thought you'd ought to know."
And with
that, the world coloured itself in.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Private Larry Larson shook his head. "Wow, Conrad, that was pretty weird. One second you were sitting there in front of me, and now you're suddenly standing and… barricading the door with the table. Um, why are you barricading the door with the table?"
I turned to him, forced myself to calm down. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Or was that in through the mouth, out through the nose? I could never remember.
"Larry, we used to
work together. We were good friends, and both of us were the only
detectives to make it out of Kvatch alive. Now let me ask you, and
please, hurry with this decision, do you want to help me get out of
here?"
"What? Conrad, there's no rush, the guards won't
be here for at least another hour, I was just concerned that you
spilt your beer–"
BANG!! "Open
up! Open up, Private Larson! We learnt something about the
detective's cell, it's built right on top of a shrine to Sheog–"
I spoke loudly over him. –"Larry, quick, I need your help. I got
the brains, but I need the brawn to back it up. It's your choice."
"Well, in that case–"
I realised suddenly that simple loyalty wasn't going to cut it. The banging of shields and shoulders against the door were getting more furious, there wasn't much time before they got through. I pulled out my metaphorical ace my sleeve.
"You might also
remember that you've just let a hardened criminal out of jail,
escorted him upstairs for a nice meal of bacon and beer, and, in my
opinion, just barricaded the door so a squad of innocent soldiers
couldn't get in."
"You aren't a hardened criminal! And
you didn't drink the beer! You spilt it!"
"When you're
drunk there isn't much of a difference, Filth." I nodded at the
chains sitting in a lump on the barrels. "Trust me, I can have
those on in a few seconds, and then you'll have to explain how I
barricaded the door with my arms attached to the chair."
"The
guards will believe me."
"Want to bet?"
Larry stood
still for a few seconds. Then his face broke in half into a smile.
"Alright, Munro, for old times sake I'll give you the benefit of
the doubt. What's your plan? And it had better be good."
"Isn't it always, Larry?" I asked rhetorically as I checked the
contents of the barrels. Piles of bacon fat, the stuff they use to
thicken the stew they feed prisoners, the stuff not even a guard
could eat, sat like limp bodily organs in the bottom of the round
tub. I smiled to myself.
"Remember the whole cat up the tree
business with Quentinius Quigley?" Larry asked nervously.
"Oh… yeah. But cutting the tree down seemed quite a reasonable
solution at the time, Larry."
"Well, he got his cat back,
sure, I just hope he didn't like his privy much, because the tree
landed–"
"Right, right, I
get it."
"It was quite an interesting explo–"
"Alright, but that
was a one-off bad plan! Now would you please help me with this very
good plan and stop wasting time? Get the lid off this barrel! Now!
And coat the room with what's inside!"
"What are you
doing?"
"I'm gonna go find a tinderbox. And then we're
going to get into some serious shit, private."
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The blaze started slow, but when fat starts burning, it takes rather a lot to make it stop. Larry turned tortured eyes towards me.
"Well freakin'
done, Munro, but now we're the ones stuck in a dungeon
burning from the inside out."
I laughed, the smoke was
getting to my head, I think. "Elementary, my dear Larson. We move
the table, and the soldiers open the door for us. Not too much effort
from either of us."
We took a leg each, the ones I had
levered against the door, and flipped the table onto its back with a
crash.
The soldiers rushed in, weapons drawn. Some of them began to cough.
"Azura!" Captain
Samuel swore. "I can'' see a thing! Where'd all the smoke
come from?"
"Fire!" screamed Larry theatrically.
"Everyone out!"
Pandemonium erupted in the jailor's
office, which is never a good thing to erupt amongst a group of
heavily armed men standing in an extremely small space. Guards pushed
and shoved and pulled at one another in their attempts to get out.
The fire burned, spitting, spreading, the table erupted into dark
red, smoky flames. I was glad I had moved it far enough away from the
door to avoid blocking my own exit. Bacon fat was proving its worth
once again. Sure was smoky though, I couldn't see my own hand in
front of my face. Or, for that matter, anyone else's hand.
"This way,
everyone!" shouted a voice from my left. "The door's over
here!"
There was the noise of a squad of heavily armoured men
shifting themselves rapidly to the left. Somewhere in the flames, I
heard Larry scream. But there was no time for that, no time for
anything, anything except getting to that door, which was suddenly so
far away…
"Oh, do please stop, Mister Munro. There's
always time, if you're prepared to ask for it."
The colour faded out of the world again. Haskill cleared a patch for himself through the smog.
"What have you been doing, Mister Munro?" he asked wearily.
I was puzzled.
"Exactly what you told me, Haskill. I'm getting out of the cell
alive."
"Mister Munro, there is a shrine to Sheogorath
build underneath the dungeons of this castle – in here Sheogorath's
powers are at their greatest. In here, He can freeze time, send you
aid, smite infidels… so why did you find it necessary to burn the
entire building?"
"What? It isn't burnt yet! That's
solid stone up there, it doesn't burn!" I replied angrily. In my
annoyance I waved my hand into the unusually red flames coming from
the table. "Ouch!"
"Yes, the fire
still burns, Munro. Just very, very slowly," said Haskill. "Look,
Mister Munro, allow me to let you in on… a secret." He beckoned
me closer. "Sheogorath is scared, Mister Munro. The reason your
escort, or most of your escort, Private Larson excluded, has gone
missing, is because they left in hot pursuit of the good Mister
Batchelor shortly after his escape. We watched them on our scrying
glass, they ran out into the Great Forest, into the clearing devoted
to Hircine, Daedric Lord of the Hunt, and… disappeared. We have no
idea what happened to them, but whatever Sergeant did with that Elder
Scroll, it was powerful enough to knock Sheogorath's scrying glass
out of line. That's the first time that any Daedra Lord has had His
(or Her) powers bested by Another. Hircine has the potential to
become one of the most powerful Gods in the universe. And what do you
think will happen to your little mundane realm then, Mister Munro?"
"Is this really the best time you could tell me all this?"
"Yes it is!" and suddenly Haskill was angry. "When you leave
here, it is going to be incredibly hard to get a hold of you without
a direct magical link! Daedric telecommunications are pathetic, trust
me, I know. Whether or not we can contact you, you need to
find that Elder Scroll, and, at least, discover what happened to your
escort." Haskill seemed to consider this. "Although that
shouldn't be too hard to deduce, Hircine's always been slightly
unoriginal when it comes to global dominations. 'Werewolf or bust'
tends to be His motto."
I nodded. I hadn't quite realised
how important this mission was, for everyone. "Anything else I
should know?"
"Oh, Private Larson just got his foot impaled
by a falling halberd, he may require some assistance in removing it.
Believe me, he will be very useful in times to come."
"How
in Oblivion am I supposed to carry someone with a hole in their foot
around Cyrodil with me?"
Haskill laughed. "Haven't you
heard of a potion of Cure Serious Wounds?"
"Well, yeah,
but…"
"I know, it seems very Deus ex Machina, but, then
again, when the proverbial feces hit the fan, who's going to blame
you?"
"Okay then."
"By the way… that table is
made from a special type of wood, as rare as it is illegal, which has
a rather… special sort of sap. Have you heard of the Hist? The sap
within has a remarkably low detonation point, only very small amounts
of energy is required to activate it. Better start running."
The world faded back into focus. Suddenly, I felt very, very alone.
But I no longer cared about staying anonymous through the commotion
anymore. "Run!" I screamed over the commotion. "Run, damnit, if
that table heats up anymore it's gonna blow!"
There was
little reply. The guards were filing out now, only one or two
remained aside from me and Larry (And even if they heard me, I
imagine it would have sounded vaguely ridiculous. tables don't blow
up, as a general rule). But it was so hard to see! Where was he? A
small lump in the fire turned out to be the chains from the barrels,
now so hot as to be untouchable. My vision began to blur, and I hit
the floor, coughing, spluttering.
And it was then that God talked to me.
"Wake up, damn you!" Sheogorath screamed shrilly. "I've come too far to be let down by your slackness! Oh for Oblivion's sake…"
In the smoke and fire it was difficult to tell, but it almost looked as though a blue bolt had fell from the sky, and hit me in the back. I got up again, coughing out phlegm onto the floor.
"Right, that's
one fire resistance, and one water breathing! Now grab the monkey and
GO!"
With the fire no longer burning my skin, and the smoke
no longer burning my lungs, I was able to finally have a bit more of
a poke around, nearly tripping over Larry when I finally found him.
"C'mon, up you get," I urged him gently, putting an arm underneath his shoulder, and helping him to his feet. Like some ridiculous participant in a three-legged race we hobbled to the exit, and, without much undue drama, exited.
Outside, the townsfolk hid in their cellars and houses, hiding for fear of being burned or simply smashed by debris of the exploding castle (the townsfolk mostly knew where a lot of the furniture in the castle came from, it was a kind of tree that started with an 'H' and ended with an 'Ist'), hiding for fear of the criminals they knew to be out on their streets. This, of course, provided a rather nifty opportunity for Larry and I to get out of the city without undue attack by guards and citizens. As we cracked the gate to the stable outside Bravil I turned to Larry with my question.
"Do you think I
might of… overdone it a bit?"
"Well… I think a fire was
probably the best way to handle the –"
BOOM!! With a noise like a dragon being pissed off by an over-inquisitive hobbit the castle detonated, the entire castle rising several feet in the air and then splitting into pieces as it hit the ground. Turrets fell over, a guard tower crushed several houses, the Count's own personal bedroom flew halfway across the city before embedding itself in the chapel roof, much to the Count's personal surprise, as he was having a peaceful liedown before his bath at the time. People screamed, running through the streets, looting shops as they went. The city guard was trampled, powerless to stop the terror in the streets. Larry went white.
"Remind me never to try and lock you up again. Ever," he said softly. A smouldering leg from a table landed beside him. He took a long, slow look at it, and then ran as fast as he could, up the road toward the Imperial city.