Not Nearly Enough Dragons by Sheldon Clarricoates

“Where could he be?”

Cecily shivered on the steps of a large, derelict mansion. Shifting, she adjusted her heavy knapsack to be more comfortable; it was filled with the various things needed for the day’s work. A compass, shiny, almost brand new; a hammer, which comes in handy more often than you would think; various gemstones and instruments of dubious purpose; and two sandwiches, hastily made, that Cecily thought were mediocre. It was her turn to pack lunch, August’s job was to bring the map, and he was nearly twenty minutes late.

No longer able to sit still, she began to pace in front of the steps. It was a clear spring morning and a chilly breeze blew through the manor grounds.

Continuing to shiver in the cold, she imagined August hiking up the steep road to the manor being assaulted by the morning wind.

I hope he remembered his warm coat, she thought.

He could be so forgetful sometimes. Cecily, on the other hand, made a point of never leaving the house unprepared. Today she had worn not two, but three pairs of socks, her warmest stockings, a wool tunic, and a tightly wrapped cloak of ambiguous colour that hung down about her knees.

Just then, she heard the sound of loose gravel crunching underfoot; someone was walking up the path. Quickly, she gathered herself up and jumped behind a nearby pillar. It was probably just August, but bandits were becoming more common in this part of the world and she was not the kind of person to take unnecessary risks.

Pulling her hood close around her face, Cecily could hardly be seen. Her cloak had an uncanny habit of blending in perfectly with its surroundings, which she has always claimed to be pure coincidence. She made excuses like “This was a commonly used colour when they built old ruins,” or, “I know it looked more green last week, but it’s just the changing light playing tricks.” August insists that there is some wizardry behind it and I’m inclined to believe him.

The crunching sound grew louder as the newcomer approached, followed by a faint humming. The voice was unhurried, smooth and had a haunting warmness. Cecily rolled her eyes and stepped out from behind her hiding place to see a tall, well-kept man of gentlemanly appearance walking up the path.

Cecily crossed her arms and gestured toward the sun, which had now climbed high into the morning sky. “August, you’re late.”

August smiled jovially and offered a brief bow. “Apologies my lady, it won’t happen again.”

Cecily raised an eyebrow. It would happen again.

“Did you get lost?” she asked. “You shouldn’t have; you’ve got the map.”

“Ah yes! The map.” August’s rosy face lit up as he reached into a bag slung over his shoulder and produced a small stack of neatly folded papers. Stepping forward, he handed them to Cecily.

“That old scallywag at the archives had me haggling over these for nearly an hour. I paid a mint for them too.”

August bowed his head reverently. “A truly worthy opponent.”

Cecily began to eagerly flip through the stack of papers, as one might look for a letter they were expecting in the mail.

“I managed to find some old building plans like you asked,” August said, shifting and running a hand through his short curly hair. “In all of the excitement, I did however misplace my sword… terrible shame. I didn’t realize it was gone until I was halfway here, almost turned around and went back for it.” He paused. “Though, I didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer so I will just collect it later.”

Cecily continued to riffle through the papers.

“I don’t imagine that we will need a sword today anyway,” he continued, twisting his arms back and forth to show how agile he was without it, empty scabbard swinging at his side.

August had been making a habit of forgetting his sword places, which made sense. Cecily had never actually seen him use his sword other than to take it out, ceremonially clean it, then immediately return it to its scabbard. In reality, it didn’t inconvenience them too much, except when it was the cause of their needing to backtrack when he forgot it in the last town over. For the most part though, they had no need for swords. They were not warriors, or mercenaries. Sure, they picked up odd jobs to cover expenses (I’ll have you know that aimlessly wandering the countryside costs money), but they had a policy of avoiding serious confrontation wherever possible.

“Yes!”

Cecily excitedly unfolded a yellow piece of paper, and turning it over, faced toward the building. Turning it over a few more times, she squinted at the paper through her round glasses.

“Well… this is useless.”

August leaned over her shoulder, “Ah yes, I didn’t see any reference to catacombs or tunnels.”

“But that doesn’t mean they’re not here,” Cecily said optimistically.

She re-folded the paper and handed the stack back to August; then she removed her glasses and began to clean them with the edge of her cloak.  Recently, a thin fog had formed beneath the surface of Cecily’s eyes, which caused a slight loss of clarity in her vision. It wasn’t a real problem yet, but had become annoying. Crafting glasses, although the process was finicky and expensive, had helped immensely.

“These old ruins always have secret passages,” she continued. “They were probably left out of the building plans intentionally.”

She returned her glasses and joyfully looked over at August. “Looks like we’re doing this the slow way.”

At this, August looked a little dismayed.

The pair spent what was left of the morning poking around the old manor, looking for what they hoped to be a secret entrance. The house was small in comparison to a castle, but still quite large when compared to typical dwellings one might find in the surrounding countryside. The grounds contained a handful of crumbling outbuildings that had been stables and barns at one point but now lay like skeletons half consumed by the earth below. They explored these structures for a while but soon decided that they might have better luck with the main house.

The exterior of the house was currently occupied by a thick, tangled mess of vines and moss. It was obvious that the historical masters of the estate were long gone and nature had brought the grounds under glorious new management. Empty window frames sat open to the wind, trees broke out into the air from stone foundations, and chirping of birds in hidden nests rang out musically in the cool air.

Cecily began her investigation by pacing the perimeter of the manor. Placing one hand on the exterior wall, she counted her steps, carefully avoiding thorn bushes and piles of debris. The strategy was to measure how many paces it took to walk the exterior dimensions of a structure, then repeating the process inside, and accounting for wall thickness. If there were any anomalies, you have likely found a clue leading to a hidden room or passage.

Cecily found this kind of work wildly exciting and would happily spend the next few hours muttering to herself as she counted her steps. August however, found these methods to be incredibly tedious and excruciatingly boring. He drifted slowly behind her, despondently kicking at pebbles and sticks.

“For the record,” he said. “I still think that taking this job was a mistake.”

Cecily took no notice and continued counting.

August sped up to walk beside her. “Come now, is any amount of money worth getting cursed?”

Cecily paused her count and turned. “August, we’re flat broke. Have you seen your reflection lately? If we don’t make some money soon, I don’t think we’re going to make it.”

August looked down at himself for a moment and stretched stiffly. Having run out of money to rent a room, he had spent the last week sleeping in a tree. It showed.

“And anyways,” she continued. “Curses aren’t real, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Having studied at a prestigious mage’s college, Cecily had learned much of the lore and history behind things like curses and magic and had arrived at the personal conclusion that many of these things were greatly exaggerated. In her mind, magic was always one of two things. One, illusions employed by charlatans and performers seeking to entertain or deceive, or two, natural forces that most people did not fully understand, which those with sufficient understanding could manipulate for their own purposes. Cecily liked to think that she was among the latter.

Without waiting for a reply, she resumed her counting in earnest, leaving August to ponder.

She’s right, at least about the money, August thought. He still wasn’t sure about curses and didn’t like the idea of tempting fate. With a sigh, he left Cecily to her work and slowly wandered back toward the main entrance.

Lingering at the door for a moment, he tried the handle. The old door was beaten and weathered from years in the elements, yet it creaked open with remarkably little effort. August squinted suspiciously at the open doorway. It was as if the old ruin wanted him to venture inside.

Cecily diligently continued counting her steps; she secretly hoped that the map would leave out what they were looking for.

Life on the road was constantly putting her out of her element. Unfamiliar paths, dangerous jobs and, lest we forget, the constant threat of being robbed. She knew that being thrown into new and often nightmarish situations was what she signed up for when entering this arrangement with August. That said, the odd bit of boring, tedious work was a welcome change.

She had not seen August in some time.

He must have gone inside already, she thought.

There were no horrified screams as of yet, so presumably it was safe inside. Walking back to the entrance, Cecily lingered at the open door for a moment.

Curses aren’t real.

Taking a deep breath, she crossed the threshold.

Inside, the house was nothing special. The ancient stone floor was slowly crumbling away, leaving an uneven surface. A few beams of sunlight shone through the house, let in through the many broken windows. Other than those, the house was left in complete darkness. Cecily continued her process. Walking slowly through the house she ran her fingers along weathered walls, quietly counting each step.

She began by exploring the second floor, but that was short-lived. Not much of it remained; years of rot had left only a stone skeleton behind. An unlikely place to find secret passages. She searched the main floor next, systematically walking through halls and kitchens and dining rooms, all with no luck. Each room was exactly as large as expected from the paces she had counted outside.

All that was left was the basement, which took Cecily a few minutes to find. Many staircases led up, but none could be seen going down. After some time of quiet searching, she finally found it tucked away in what was presumably a pantry; there was a large hatch in the floor. The heavy stone and brass door lay closed though dust had been disturbed around the edges. August must have already found it and decided to go down; she quietly commended his bravery.

He must be getting over his fear of basements.

August groaned as he gingerly placed a hand on his bruised head. Wincing, he found the aching lump that had begun to form.

He had found the hatch to the basement quite unintentionally, and before he could turn and pretend that he hadn’t seen it, a bat flew out of the darkness and startled him so much that he tripped and tumbled loudly down the steps.

He now lay at the bottom in a heap. Of course, the door had shut behind him ― not creepy at all. At the moment, August sat in complete, utter dominating darkness.

Still stunned from his spectacular fall, he removed his bag and began hurriedly searching through its contents. After a moment of concentrated rummaging, his hands felt a small rough stone that was cool to the touch. Removing it from his bag along with a small glass bottle, he poured a drop of liquid from the bottle onto the chilly stone. Immediately, an icy blue light shone from within it, illuminating the room.

Cecily had given him this trinket as a safer and more economical alternative to carrying a torch. August didn’t much like using it at first and stated that he had no use for magic. Cecily, of course, reminded him that magic was not real, and that this was in fact a simple case of ‘applied alchemy,’ which was a relatively new term that Cecily had devised herself. In contrast to magic, applied alchemy was simply one element or substance coming into contact with another. Which, under specific conditions, could produce a desired reaction.

To August this all sounded very boring and an awful lot like magic. He did, however, appreciate how this magic stone could make his own life easier and could abide some light magic use if personal convenience was at stake.

The basement was, in every way, exactly what one might expect a basement to be, a long dark corridor splitting off into musty rooms of various sizes likely used for storage. August crept through the gloomy hall and entered an especially large, stale-smelling room. Wooden barrels were piled up in corners, ancient clay vessels sat on shelves, and glass bottles reflected the icy blue light creating constellations of stars on the weathered stone walls. August reached out for one of the bottles and carefully inspected it in his hand. Placing his ‘magic stone’ on a nearby shelf, he began twisting the cork, which promptly disintegrated between his fingers. Eyeing the bottle, he lightly swished its contents and raised it to his nose.

He coughed violently as the smell burned his eyes and he felt as if he had been poisoned. Lightly placing the open bottle back on the shelf, he straightened his coat. If that was indeed wine, August settled on the conclusion that it was no longer suitable for consumption.

“I think I’ve found something!” Cecily stood in the doorway grinning ear to ear, her glasses reflecting the thin blue light that hung from the shoulder of her pack.

“Follow me!”

In a flash, she turned and disappeared into the inky darkness, the light pitter-patter of her steps echoing through the hall. August quickly picked up his own light and followed the sound of her steps down the corridor.

Cecily led August into a small, sparsely furnished room that was not much more than a closet.

“They did a wonderful job making the entrance difficult to find,” she said, surveying the room. “According to my steps, this room is exactly where it should be.”

August eyed the small room, stroking his chin. “Hmm, I see. A perfectly normal room then?”

Cecily knelt, looking at the smooth floor. It was made up of a single slab of jet-black stone that had thin red veins marbling its surface.

“Not quite,” she replied. “The stonework in this house is exactly what you would expect to see in a structure from this era.”

She ran her hand across the cold stone. “These stones are different though; I believe that this house was built on top of something much bigger… and significantly older.”

August’s insides began to churn slowly as he looked down at the black stones; they had an almost glass-like sparkle in the light, and strangely, no dust had settled on their surface.

“As far as I know,” Cecily continued, “these stones are nearly indestructible, making it impossible to mine. The ancients called it Virtum Aeternus, roughly meaning eternal glass in the modern tongue. They would seek out large deposits and were somehow able to carve tunnels through the stone burrowing deep into the earth. No one knows for certain what these tunnels were used for, probably holy places, created to worship the dark powers of old.” Cecily once again grinned and shot August a knowing glance.

August shivered slightly, his imagination filling with pictures of abominable arcane rituals and cruel, unknowable powers.

Cecily continued, “Small deposits of these stones are scattered throughout the basement, but this room is simply packed with the stuff.”

Standing, she walked to the far side of the room and thoughtfully inspected the dark stone wall.

“There’s probably a clever mechanism hidden somewhere to open the door. We would need to find the key, of course.”

August placed his hands on his hips and looked left and right in the empty room. “That may be time-consuming.”

Cecily turned back to August. “Agreed, I say we knock it down.”

August turned his head. “Wait, you said this stuff was indestructible.”

Already setting to work measuring the dimensions of the wall in hand-widths, Cecily grinned. “Nearly indestructible.”

Heaving her pack to the ground, she methodically pulled out a series of wooden boxes, each with a distinct rune carved into its lid. After these, she produced a scale and a small wooden bowl.

Once her materials were assembled, she removed and folded her cloak, placed it neatly on the floor, and then pulled at the fingertips of her nearly sleeve-length gloves. Underneath, a sprawling stream of runes and diagrams were tattooed on her arms.

August was taken aback the first time that he saw this. Not by the tattoos exactly, but by the sheer number and complexity of them. It was an ancient, but still common, tradition among practitioners of ‘The Art’ to mark their research on their own bodies.

This served multiple purposes. First, it was a practical way to reference important information and formulas in the field, eliminating the need to carry around dense textbooks and grimoires. Second, among mages who followed the old ways, the markings served as a symbol of status and experience; the more intricate and numerous the markings, the more learned the mage. It is also worth noting that reliable texts on the practical application of magic were becoming rare. Only the wealthy could actually purchase one of these books; everyone else had to find them through alternative means. This usually meant joining a mage’s college or searching for books in ancient ruins; the latter could be rather dangerous and the former could be quite expensive.

Cecily’s tattoos ran in tight helical patterns from the tips of her fingers all the way up her arms, trailing off just below her shoulders. August had seen his share of magicians and wizards in the royal courts bearing their elaborate and cryptic markings in dignified postures. However, he was astonished to see such intricate markings on someone so young, a mage who he assumed to be younger than thirty. From this he guessed that she must have undergone rigorous training from a young age, or was some sort of prodigy, or both. He had wanted to ask her about it but stopped himself as it could be impolite.

Adjusting her glasses, Cecily ran a finger along the underside of her arm, murmuring to herself as she read the tightly packed runes. Then, one by one, she opened the boxes and poured out small portions of their contents, carefully measuring each on the scale. The boxes were filled with various powdery substances, each with distinct colours and consistencies. Some were bright, with an almost dust-like appearance, while others were dark and metallic, clumping together in heavy clusters. Pouring all of these together into a wooden bowl, she picked it up and tossed the mixture to incorporate the powders thoroughly.

Sitting down, she placed the bowl on the ground in front of her, and taking a deep breath, she stared at it for a moment.

I hate this part.

Gritting her teeth, Cecily pulled a small blade from her belt and held a trembling hand over the bowl.

Many of the more potent reactions required blood, specifically human blood, to act as a catalyst. An archaic and often inconvenient element of mage-craft, though modern scholars had devoted much research to finding a way around this unfortunate requirement, a suitable substitute was yet to be discovered.

August knelt beside her. “You know. . .” he said, gesturing to the flickering blade in her hand. “I could do that part if you’d like.”

For one so vocally opposed to magic, August placed himself in its path remarkably often.

“No. It’s fine.” Cecily shook her head. “I haven’t planned for your blood type.”

“And besides,” she continued, “the last time you bled, we couldn’t get it to stop. I thought you were going to die.”

August nodded his head. She was right. He had very thin blood that would, at the earliest opportunity, escape his body eagerly with impressive speed.

Wincing, she ran the blade along her palm and bright red blood ran from her hand into the bowl below. Standing, she mixed the contents of the bowl once more and poured the resulting substance onto the far wall.

Oh, I hope this works.

Then, taking a few generous steps backward, Cecily and August watched the wall with eager eyes. They held their breath for a moment, hands clenched, waiting for something to happen.

Then ― nothing.

Relaxing, they let out a breath of mixed relief and frustration.

Venturing a little farther into the room, August peered at the far wall. “What’s it doing?”

Cecily adjusted her glasses, perplexed. “Apparently nothing, it should have been very frightening.”

Before she could finish speaking, an enormous cracking sound boomed through the basement as the far wall exploded into violet flame, sending them, along with their possessions, bouncing off the walls as if gravity had been sucked out of the room. The fire burned blindingly bright, but without discernible heat. August, of course, did not see the flames as they required a specialized lens or unimaginable concentration to perceive, though he felt their effects all the same. It was as if a powerful wind had blown through the room, picking up and tossing anything that wasn’t properly nailed down.

Then, as suddenly as the flames had arrived, they extinguished sending August and Cecily plummeting to the ground with a crash.

With ears ringing, August groaned and rolled over; his already bruised forehead was now pounding. Cecily coughed as she stood, bracing herself on a wall. Her ash-coloured hair that was usually kept very tidy was now dishevelled and appeared to be ever so slightly greyer than it was before.

August gasped for air. “King’s ransom, what was that?”

Cecily hobbled across the room and gingerly took a seat beside him.

“Egni Viola,” she said, taking a strip of white cloth from her pocket and wrapping it around her bloodied hand. “It’s one of the hidden flames, an ancient and volatile form of alchemy. I’ve read about it being used to break strong barriers but didn’t actually know if it would work in a practical setting.”

Study of the hidden flames was a fringe sub-discipline of alchemy where a mage would not so much create matter or illusions from nothing but rather draw on natural forces already present in the world, which were invisible to the human eye. According to legend, there were at least twelve hidden flames though Cecily could only find reliable documentation on about three and a half. Lack of reliable texts on the subject had caused this school of alchemy to lose popularity over the years, and although it was very practical, the human body struggled to interact with these forces and it tended to be hazardous to one’s health over time.

They both sat for a moment, before them an opening had formed in the far wall. It didn’t look broken or burned. In fact, the stone appeared to have always been that way, though mere moments before it had been a solid wall. Beyond the opening, a tight staircase made of glassy stone spiralled down into the earth.

August closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against the bridge of his bloody nose. “I would say that it worked.”

Feeling around on the ground for a moment, Cecily picked up her now very bent glasses and worked at bending them back into place. “Yes, I would call it a smashing success.”

They collected what was left of their things, which were now strewn on the floor in a broken mess. Cecily put on her gloves and cloak; while August straightened his shirt and ran a hand through his hair attempting to restore his respectable appearance, with little success.

Standing at the mouth of the gaping hole, they peered down into the darkness. August had been proud of himself for facing his fear of creepy basements but cold sweat began to form on his brow.

Another basement? This just isn’t fair.

Cecily jostled his shoulder jovially, though she winced while doing so, still sore from opening the entrance.

“Cheer up old man,” she said encouragingly, “this is exactly what we were hoping for.”

Pushing past him, she eagerly descended the first few steps and then turned back to look at August.

He stared through her down into the looming darkness. “Yes. I suppose you’re right.”

With that, he followed and they journeyed down the steps further into the deep.

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