The Saving of the Seventh Star

[Rimbaud]

The Saving of the Seventh Star
Invite only.
This tale carries on from this post in the Seventh Star.


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All her training was evident in the purposeful nod of the head. “I will aid you, Master Rimbaud,” she declared.

Rimbaud smiled gratefully but briefly, and moved to the wardrobe, from whence he retrieved a dark cloak, with a hood similar to her own. He clad himself in such, and adjusting his hood to hide his face, motioned for her to do the same. The cloaked figures stood close to the window, in the small wood-panelled room. Rimbaud secreted a small oil lantern beneath his cloak and turned to face the Princess.

“Will you tell me who gave you the letter?”

“In time.”

He nodded.

“My Lady, are you armed?” he asked, a note of caution in his voice.

She nearly laughed at his unexpected naivete. Composing herself, however, she kept her smile hidden in the shadow of her hood. However, he knew her well enough and reddened slightly. The light from outside was paling as evening drew close.

“A foolish question,” he said. He looked over at the mirror on the wall, beside the wardrobe. She shifted to get a better view as he moved towards it, but he disguised his movements well and she did not see how the wall swung away and the second staircase to his quarters was revealed. She knew of the labyrinth of passages that riddled the Inn but not of their entry points.

Again he led, surefooted in the darkness of the narrow passage as he moved down. She was about to ask about the secret door in his room when it swung silently shut behind her, plunging the thin staircase into darkness. The sound of Rimbaud stopping his descent, some way beneath her could be heard. She swallowed her nervousness and felt for the rail alongside the stair; she began to climb down. Estelyn heard his downward passage resume, and followed his footsteps, hearing them change as the staircase spiralled gently. She realised they were not going to the ground floor, the common room or kitchens.

Rimbaud led her down quickly, not slowing the pace, not allowing her to judge where other doors must be. He heard the noise of the common room as they descended down past it. He felt the heat from the chimney, which adjoined part of the passage wall. Before too long they were walking on level ground, on cold stone flags, although still in darkness. Away from the dry wood stair, he drew out the lantern and smoothly ignited it, although Estelyn did not see how. Light bloomed in the darkness and it took some time for their eyes to adjust.

The passageway had widened here, she wondered at how spacious it seemed. The flickering light cast ominous shadows up against the walls. She realised swiftly that they were underground and that the Inn was far more massive than she could have imagined. From the large grey stone passage they were in, many ran off from either side, their entrances deep black maws. Up ahead the main way curved to the right and she could not judge how long it went on.

Rimbaud knew well the complexity of the Inn's secrets and led her swiftly to a point just below the main fireplace of the common room. This was evident by the chimney column which descended, oddly, to the ground far beneath the fireplace.

“The puzzle of which I speak is near here,” said Rimbaud. “As I said, the letter led me straight there.”

“I am not sure what you expect me to know of the matter,” said Estelyn, feeling a little off-balance. “But I am glad to help you.” She said this last a little tentatively, and pulled her cloak tight around her, for it was very chill in the passages, and there was a draft upon them as they stood, close together. Rimbaud walked ahead again, turning left into an inconspicuous pathway, off the main passage, which ran through the middle of the catacomb.

“Carefully now,” said Rimbaud normally. “We do not wish to disturb…any clues that may be around.” Estelyn wondered at what other things there were to disturb down here, but kept her counsel.

At the end of the slightly damp passage way was an innocuous wooden door, with a central knob, once golden, now tarnished green. Lichen lined the passage and the odour was not pleasant. Rimbaud strode for the door, undistracted. He pushed upon the door and entered before she had traversed halfway down the passage. Estelyn noted the marks of his previous visit here, and saw that he had forced the door before, and it would not close fully now.

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“Here,” said Rimbaud and gestured to what lay inside.

He had no idea what it meant but he knew he didn’t like it or what it might mean. He felt the Princess move up behind him, looking past his shoulder at beyond. He sensed her nervousness but said nothing. The room was small, the same stained grey stones as in the tunnel that led here forming the walls, moss and lichen sprouting between. Rimbaud wondered at the damp in this area of the Inn. He knew much of the Inn, yet this passage and this room had never given him cause to investigate. The floor was cold grey stones, carpeted in dust, as the passage leading there had been. Yet in the centre of the room, the dust had been disturbed and flung about. The marks of Rimbaud’s last visit stopped a pace inside the doorway. It was freezing cold. In the dead centre of the room, a hole gaped blackly, yawning at them. To its side was a slab, cold grey, some four inches thick. It had clearly been shifted from where it disguised the hole beneath. A cold breeze came from the home, stirring their cloaks.

The dark, square hole was not what their eyes were drawn to, however. By the side of the dark floor door lay three grim items. One was a rough helmet, with a rough symbol painted in red on the front. The symbol was that of Mordor, and for the educated and experienced Princess, it was the symbol of an orc of Cirith Ungol’s regiment. Beside that, lay an axe head, blooded, light red, the weapon of an orc. A mysteriously nondescript arrow was beside that, wooden shaft and simple feathers. The tip was also stained, in a dark, viscous looking fluid.

“The door was un-opened and undisturbed’” said Rimbaud, breaking the clammy silence. “Whoever opened the trap-door and placed the items there left through the floor, as they came. They were strong too,” and he nodded at the thick slab, shifted so that it overhing the hole in one corner, not fully removed from it’s place in the floor. “I see it that the person is trying to help us.”

Estelyn wondered at his perception, having reached the same conclusion. She nodded and continued to listen.

Rimbaud went on. “They encountered an orc or orcs, were wounded and brought the pieces of that story here. The orc was slain by the arrow, as I read the matter. But why here? What was that party doing beneath The Seventh Star? How did orcs get near here? The Guard is well-manned. My Lady, I am puzzled.”

He looked at her acutely. "But you know something of these matters, no?"

The Princess sighed. This was a riddle and no mistake.

[ December 12, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]