Chapter 87: 5.11 – What Lies Beneath

The shadows seemed unnaturally warm and close as Robin waited for a response. The tunnels were quiet, but far from silent. Wulfram snored like a sawmill and faint whispers of conversation between Drev and Savra made their way to Robins ears.

None of these noises were the one Robin wished to hear. No, the bard wanted to hear from the dungeon. However, that entity wasn’t silent. The shadows held nothing but eerie quiet and the strange sensation of feeling watched.

Technically, Rerebos was above, looking down at him, but Robin didn’t think that was the cause of the feeling he felt. No. The dungeon was watching; he knew it.

‘Come on now,’ Robin coaxed. ‘I know you can hear me. I can hear you, too. Let’s discuss things like reasonable beings.‘

He waited. The moment stretched out, long and tense.

Nothing.

‘That was an excellent trap back there,’ Robin tried again. ‘You nearly had us. In fact, all of your work down here has been excellent. Very clever stuff. The pivoting wall back there was particularly well done. I almost couldn’t find the seam.’

Still nothing.

‘Your layout is quite good as well.’ Robin could feel the pressure around him increase as more of the dungeon’s attention focused on him. ‘You’ve packed quite a lot into such a compact space. If we hadn’t been mapping it so carefully, we would have easily missed it.’

And if you couldn’t hear me, that last ambush would have taken you all.

‘True.’ Robin’s heart beat faster as the dungeon finally responded. ‘I appreciate a being who knows the value of how and when to bend the rules.’

Yes. You’re quite the tricky one yourself. I’ve been watching you.

The hair on the back of Robin’s neck rose in response to that statement. Even knowing it to be true, even expecting it, Robin still found it unnerving.

‘Flattery will get you nowhere,’ he replied breezily. ‘But maybe we can come to an accord anyway. You don’t want us here; we don’t wish to die from one of your clever traps or at the hands of one of your many, many shapeshifting minions—brilliant, by the way. I know to appreciate art when I see it.’

Robin was laying it on thick, but the only way the stale piece of bread he was selling was gonna go down was with a lot of butter.

Oh really?

Robin, his back to the rest of the party, used [Mask of Myriad Faces] to, well, shift his face. He flicked through six or seven of them, of various heritages from this world. He’d almost gone with Earth celebrities, but he wasn’t quite ready for that conversation yet and he didn’t want to scare the dungeon off.

I see.

Was that a slight lessening of suspicion in the dungeon’s tone? I mean, in Robin’s case that act would indicate the opposite. Great.

He put his face back the way it had been.

‘You want us out, we want a bit of treasure and a good story to tell in the city above…what will it take from me to get you to give us a good chunk of treasure and let us get out of your hair as soon as possible?’

The dungeon went quiet at that. Robin hoped it was because it—he? they?—were seriously considering the offer. He had the feeling the dungeon was conferring with someone else, though. Possibly the fairy Rerebos had seen.

And this time he couldn’t hear anything. Damn. There went that card.

Good thing he still had a few others up his sleeve.

You could just leave. You are trespassing, after all. Why should I surrender anything I’ve made to make you go away? You’ll just keep coming back and demanding more. I can’t be that easy or you lot will suck me dry.

‘Fair point,’ Robin said, ‘but look—wait, what do I call you? Do you. Have an official name? One I can use?’

Call me Ruprecht.

What they’d encountered certainly did fit with the description Zahn had given him of Gyrfalcon. Noviel had two living dungeons beneath it. And if the Guildmagister hadn’t given him any description of this one, it was likely new.

How often did that happen? Robin’s [Bardic Lore] couldn’t come up with another example, but he wasn’t sure if that was because he just didn’t have the right knowledge floating around in his subconscious or if it was truly that rare. There had been clusters of living dungeons developing in a region before, but practically right on top of one another? Nothing he knew said anything about that.

‘Look, Ruprecht, there has to be something you want that you can’t get, or some service you need that your minions and friends cannot provide. If you ask, maybe we can get it or do it for you. We can be friends here.’

Your knight wishes to shatter me! Forgive my scepticism. I do not think there is anything I want that is worth the risk of losing my existence, as odd and new to me as it is.

New? The word tap-tap-tapped at Robin’s brain. The way Ruprecht had said it implied he had other, older existences. Was he not always a dungeon? What had he been before? Was that why he knew English?

‘I know a thing or two about new existences,’ Robin said carefully. ‘Trust me, I understand.’

The last sentence he said in English.

He couldn’t help it! His curiosity demanded that he know. It was worth taking the risk.

Silence fell once more. Robin could feel the surprise in the air. it suffused the shadows all around.

Amaranthine told me no one in this world knew that language.

‘I’m not exactly native to this world,’ Robin said, ‘and I’m not sure you are either. Though being reborn as a dungeon sounds like a bit more of a crazy experience shift than I had to deal with. Kobolds and priests with snakes for eyes was a pretty crazy start, though, I will say that.’

Silence fell again. This time, though, it was a tense, conflicted thing, heavy with desire and expectation. Robin had gambled that Ruprecht was as curious about how he came to be a dungeon as Robin was about how he had come to be transported to this place.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that they both spoke English. Sure, infinite worlds, infinite dimensions, there could be multiple identical versions of English out there. This could just be another statistical anomaly.

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But how likely was that? No. It didn’t fit with the way this story was developing, and if a bard knew anything, it was the ways stories tended to go.

Even if the story was real life.

I will allow you to use the passage to the inner ring of the dungeon. You’ve clearly figured it out already. Though in retrospect, your performance of pretending not to know English was a little hard to believe.

‘As long as you believed it in the moment I’m not sure that really matters,’ Robin said lightly.

The dungeon rumbled slightly around him.

Robin shot a worried glance back toward the camp. He held still for a long moment but no one there stirred. There was no sign of his watch companion running back to investigate.

He was still safe to continue.

Well, as safe as speaking to a sentient dungeon while inside of it ever could be.

Honestly this world just kept getting better and better!

You’ve made me curious, bard.

‘Is that a compliment or a threat?’

A bit of both, perhaps.

‘What do you think of my proposal?’

I think I need to see a bit more of your group in action before I can judge whether or not there is anything I can ask for that you can truly provide.

‘What do you say to a little agreement on the side? Something that might be easier to engage with?’

I’m listening.

‘Look, we both speak English. I want to know where you’re from and how you got here. You probably want to know where I’m from and how I got there. We could play the question game, trade questions and answers, back and forth. You know the one I mean?’

I do.

‘Interested?’

The dungeon rumbled faintly around him, the equivalent of a ‘hmm’, perhaps.

What proof can you offer that this is not simply some bardic trickery? It’s well known that your ilk often possess strange powers that allow them to speak and understand all manner of languages they have no right to.

Ruprecht wasn’t wrong.

Robin thought.

‘I know what a computer is, though,’ he said, ‘and I don’t think most of the inhabitants of this world would. Moreover, I’ll bet I can guess what inspired you to make that your passcode for the access points throughout the dungeon.’

That’s quite an astute guess.

‘If it is a guess. It could be a deduction based on shared experience.’

Robin turned a piece of sharp stone over and over in his hands. It was a fragment of the stalactite rain. One never knew when a sharp bit of rock might come in handy so he’d slipped it into his storage space. The rock was smooth to the touch and warm from the heat of his hands.

Tell me. If I like your answer I’ll swear not to ambush you once you pass the access point. IF you can pass the access point. If I don’t like it I’ll warm up my best welcome for uninvited guests.

‘A computer is a device capable of a great many complex calculations, to the point that with only two digits it can create pictures, replicate text, and connect points separated by a vast distance with a communications channel. Sound about right?’

Robin didn’t allow the dungeon time to respond before continuing.

‘Further, you probably got the idea from a show, a fiction played out upon a screen by actors and recorded for repeat viewing, about a group of people exploring the vast reaches of space on a mission of discovery. They would ask the computer to do something, and the computer would do it for them. Right?’

You certainly seem to be who you say you are. Any divinations that might provide that level of insight must be beyond your current level. If you had them, you’d be in my inner sanctum right now, not standing here speaking with me.

‘So you’ve no objection to my leading my team to access point beta-twelve and using the passcode to gain entrance to the inner section of the dungeon?’

By all means, come to me and we shall play your game of questions.

Then the sense of the dungeon’s full attention was gone. It didn’t escape Robin’s notice that Ruprecht hadn’t answered his question properly. They might well face a bevy of traps past that access point.

But that was the direction they needed to go in, and the one place Robin could be sure he knew the right passcode for. Drev didn’t have any magics that could make them another entrance, and Savra could not divine the other passcodes or access point locations. They’d have to go this way.

Robin ran his hands along the tunnel wall until he found a bit of it that was good enough for his purposes, and began to quietly carve into the rock.

Now he had to convince the rest of the party to backtrack to the access point.

And hope he wasn’t leading them all into an epic-level trap…

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