Grailblazers by Tom Holt

Author:Tom Holt
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9789085241522
Publisher: For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Published: 1993-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

“Turkey.”

“Yes?”

“It was you who said Let’s try this one, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I was worried there for a moment that I was losing my grip.”

“No, it was me.”

“Fine.”

A rat hesitated in the doorway of its hole, lifted itself on to its back paws, and sniffed. Something didn’t smell right.

With a flick of his tail he retreated, demonstrating that animals are far more sensitive to atmosphere than human beings. If he had been so foolish as to go much further, there can be little doubt that Turquine would have caught him and eaten him.

“I’m famished, Bedders,” he said for the seven hundredth time. “I mean, prison’s one thing, you can’t really squeal when you land up in a dungeon, it’s all part of the game. They capture you, Dad comes up with the ransom, you go home, finish. But they’re supposed to feed you while you’re here. It’s in some convention or other.”

Bedevere stirred uneasily. He had tried to keep his friend off the subject of why they were there, for fear it might upset him.

“Turkey,” he said quietly, “I don’t think you quite realise what’s going on. I don’t think this is the sort of dungeon you’re meant to get out of.”

Turquine laughed. “Don’t be an ass, Bedders,” he replied. “There’s no such thing as a dungeon you’re meant to get out of. That’s the whole point about dungeons. They’re containers for the thing contained, like shoe boxes.”

“Up to a point,” Bedevere replied, staring up at where the roof should be but seeing only darkness. “Only, with your…your conventional dungeon, you’re only kept there for a limited time—you know, till the ransom’s paid or until you’ve served your time or whatever. Somehow I don’t think this is one of those.”

“Why not?”

“No door,” Bedevere replied. “The only way in is through that trapdoor thing we fell through. I think you more, sort of, stay here.”

Turquine shuffled about on the straw. “Surely not,” he said. “I mean, don’t take any notice of there not being a dour. They don’t seem to hold with doors in this place. Reminds me of an office I delivered a couple of pizzas to once, there was just this sort of partition thing and—”

“No, hold on a moment,” Bedevere interrupted. “You see, I’m basing my theory on all the, er, skeletons.”

“Skeletons?”

By way of reply, Bedevere rattled together a couple of tibias. “I don’t think they were on diets, Turkey. I think nobody fed them. Not for ages and ages.”

“Oh.”

“In fact,” Bedevere went on (and as he spoke, he had the feeling that if he was trying not to alarm his friend unduly, he had probably gone about this the wrong way), “not at all. Do you follow?”

“Sort of,” Turquine replied. “Bit unsporting, that, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.”

“Not on, really.”

“Yes.”

Turquine found one of the skeletons, and amused himself by pretending to be a ventriloquist; something that Bedevere found somewhat irritating. Still, he said to himself, if it takes his mind off things it’s all right by me. Turquine’s mind, as

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