***
To have been drugged was something that any man in the room could have expected from their captors. Each and every one of them had been in this situation before and when they started coming to the most shocking thing was not the idea that their soup had been cooked up using one of Mickey Finn’s recipes. Instead it was to find themselves free from the firm grip of webbing, and indeed free from bonds of any sort. Somewhere in the back of each of their minds, they expected to hear the rattle of chains when they moved sluggishly along the stony floor.
“Jobi?” the Captain groaned.
“Right here,” the slender Anasazi replied from a nearby section of darkness.
“Where are we?” the Captain asked.
“Give me your goggles and I’ll tell you,” Ghost-Tongue hinted.
“Oh,” replied the Captain, “that’s right.” A slight whir indicated he had switched his technical spectacles from the standard refraction setting to one of reflection. That is to say, instead of drawing in all the area’s quinta essentia for visualization, the glasses instead projected it back out as a soft blue light. Nowhere near as illuminating as his electric torch, or even an actual torch, this bit of candescence still managed to allow the Captain to make a brief but encompassing analysis.
“Oubliette,” he said.
Ghost-Tongue nodded. Again, this was nothing unexpected by the two.
However, what was unexpected was to hear the venom-dripping growl of Doc Skaar’s Germanic voice ooze, “Zere you are, dear Captain.”
The blue light of the Transdimensional Aural-Sensitive Goggles ™ turned on the voice faster than a bottle fly can spin around a cow patty; beating the tension in the room to the finish line by only a nose.
“Skaar!” the Captain spat like so much vulgarity.
“Who else vould it be?” the Doctor droned. His eyes were still closed and his head sagged over his chest as he was propped against one of the curved walls to this egg-shaped cell. “I can’t go anyvhere wizout hearing zat awful American drawl; not efen here in Kese’Esum.”
Ghost-Tongue was perhaps the only one grateful for the drugging. This meant the Captain, in his present state, could not kill the Doctor, whose knowledge of the spider people was obviously greater than their own. At least he knew the name of this place. They could use this knowledge to their advantage.
The Captain was slow to respond but managed to hiss, “What were you after, Skaar? What brought you here and how did you learn about this place?”
“As if I’m going to explain myself to you,” Skaar chuckled. “I fear you’re under ze delusion I am obligated to inform you of my efery scheme. Ve may be joined at ze chi, dear Captain, but you are neizer my brozer nor my keeper.”
“You listen here,” the Captain demanded like so much sodden bar patron to the tender, “I aim to vacate this prison any minute now, and if you know something, you had better share because the only way you are ever going to see the light of day again is if I haul your cantankerous hide out with me.”
“A partnership?” the Doctor crooned. “Again? Zis never works out fery vell for eizer of us, as you might recall.”
“We must,” demanded the Captain.
But the Doctor only lifted his head until it fell back against the wall behind him. The resulting thud did not break his wicked grin. “Do you remember St. Petersburg?” he asked. “Tryink to find ze key to Babayaga’s hut in all zat snow vhile a hundred of ze tsar’s men svarmed up ze mountain after us? ‘Let’s make a pact,’ you said. ‘Ve’ll find it faster!’”
The Captain growled.
“Oh ve found it alright. Right zere in ze snow and fery quickly just like you said. But maybe finding zat key vas not in your best interest, eh Captain?”
“I survived.”
“Sure you did,” the Doctor nodded. “After how many veeks in chains? After how many hours of brutality at ze hands of your jailers? Tell me, dear Captain, how badly vere you scarred?” When he smiled, the lengthy mensur fencing scar running down the left side of the Doctor’s face curled into a jagged crescent. “My own scars remind me of my follies; of when I hafe made mistakes. Like zis one on my face. I should have blocked left when my opponent feinted right. I will nefer forget zat one poorly made choice. How about you, Vaguely? Does zat checkerboard of shredded flesh across your back remind you zat your decision in St. Petersburg vas a mistake?”
Again the Captain only growled.
The Doctor continued, “Of course ve might have seen ze Russians comink if our heads hadn’t been buried in ze snow. Und maybe, if you vere not such an arrogant American barbarian, you vould not hafe gotten such a sour reaction from ze Tsar. Perhaps if you had ze grace und charm of nobility, ze Tsar vould hafe seen fit to let you go as he did me. But zen again, not many men can say zey held ze key to ze chicken-legged hut of a legendary Russian vitch und zen had ze key to zeir own cell zrown avay. As such, I suppose in ze end, you are proud of ze denigration you suffered in St. Petersburg; much as I am proud of zis scar on my face. Zis scar tells eferyvone who sees it zat I vas brave enough to stand toe-to-toe viz an equal und take a vound like a man!” The Doctor sighed and chuckled, then said, “Alas, dear Captain, your scars are but the disgrace of a criminal.”
“Damn you, Skaar, you Teutonic fool,” Tripp roared, “This is not a Russian prison! This is not the past! This isn’t St. Petersburg, nor is it Crow Mountain, or Shambhala, or Ys! This is a damned oubliette and it is very much right now! Understand? There are no doors here! No apparent escape! Beyond these walls stand only a kingdom of octopeds soon to sacrifice us to their trickster god!”
The Doctor groaned, stretched his neck, and flexed his hands before he seemed to acknowledge the Captain. “So ve are beink sacrificed zis time, eh?”
“That we are,” said the Captain. This time it was Ghost-Tongue’s turn to remain silent. Diplomacy might seem apropos to the situation, but whatever cosmic bond kept these two at each other’s throat was best left to their own arbitration. So far it had seen both through several egresses from Hell.
“Ah Anansi,” Skaar sighed. “He might play cute in ze folk tales from here to ze bayous of New Orleans, wiz all ze vit und cunnink of some harlequin imp. But in ze end, he’s just as bloodzirsty as any of ze old gods.” With a twist of his lips, as if he understood the inclination, the Doctor added, “It is zeir vay!”
“Well now that you are apprised of the situation, and understand the certitude of our demise in what I expect to be an extended education in disembowelment,” the Captain urged, “you might be persuaded to tell us what you know and what you were after. Then maybe, just maybe, we might be able to devise a plan to get our doddered flesh back above ground.”