John Moore

HEROICS FOR BEGINNERS

John Moore

To my friends in the Fandom Association of Central Texas

Before attempting to penetrate the Evil Overlord’s Invincible Fortress, the practical hero will seriously examine the option of maintaining a safe distance and picking him off the ramparts with a long-range weapon.

—HANDBOOK OF PRACTICAL HEROICS BY ROBERT TAYLOR

Dark gray clouds scudded against the moon. It was totally overcast when Thunk started out, but the sky partially cleared, and when the bright moon came out, it illuminated the Fortress of Doom and striped it with black-and-gray shadows. Thunk stayed motionless in one such shadow, thrown by a chimney, with his feet braced against the steep slope of the slate roof. Voices wafted from below, from the heavily guarded doorways. More guards, armed and armored, could be seen pacing across the gates, leaning out the windows, or standing at the parapets. Thunk the Barbarian waited. To pass the time he pulled an india rubber ball from his pouch and practiced grip-strengthening exercises. He flexed the muscles in his forearms and wondered if it was time for a new tattoo.

When the moon darkened once again he allowed himself a derisive smile. For a man of his skill and experience, the seemingly impregnable fortress had posed little challenge. Soldiers walked the streets of the nearby village, but they had taken little notice of him. He did not find anything odd in this, despite the fact that a tall man with massive shoulders, dressed in barbarian leather and furs, and carrying a huge sword engraved with cryptic runes, usually attracts at least a second glance. The trail up to the Fortress was also guarded of course; but he had bypassed that, using his expert climbing ability to go directly up the cliff. He wasn’t surprised that the cliff edge was unguarded. No doubt they considered the sheer face unscalable. There remained the smooth stone walls of the Fortress itself, and a skillfully thrown rope had solved that problem. Then from atop the wall, a convenient cast-iron drainpipe provided access to the roof. An easy job. Not much of a challenge to a man like Thunk.

Now he removed an iron grating that provided access to a ventilation shaft. The grate wasn’t even bolted down but just slid into a groove in the shaft housing. It was amazing how often the fools who built these castles forgot to secure the ventilation shafts. Anyone would think they’d know better by now.

Once inside he replaced the grating and sat back, listening. All was silent on the roof. Reassured, he slid back the cover of his dark lantern. The shaft, wide enough for even the broad-shouldered barbarian, dropped away into darkness.

Something, however, obstructed his view. He lowered the lantern into the hole. A faint thin odor of burning lamp oil filled the shaft. Four broad steel bars stretched across the opening. But not all the way across, and at one end they were set into a rotating cylinder. It looked for all the world like a turnstile.

Thunk leaned forward for a closer look. It was a turnstile.