THE EPIC GILGAMEK: CHAPTER 10 - PIT OF THE ANCIENTS
HONOR AMONG THIEVES - A MINERAL DILEMMA - THE PERSEVERATOR
10
Too late Gilgamek realizes the fan’s screen is facing up and he tries to cover it over, but Weazus has already seen the ouput.
“It’s reading sithril, boss.”
Mekton almost drops Feckles in surprise. “Gilgamek!” Feckles cries and Gilgamek barks: “Mekton, don’t!”
“Are you sures?” Mekton hisses at Weavus. His other goons are looking at each other in amazement. “I’ll scrapping kill you if you're playing around.”
“Why would I play around about sithril? That’s what his display is reading.”
“How much sithril? A pixel?”
“Sorry, boss, I couldn’t read it.”
“Sorry, boss, I couldn’t read it,” Mekton imitates him in disgust. “Did you find sithril, Gilgamek?”
Mekton shakes Feckles vigorously over the pit and causes Feckles’ glasses to fall down into the darkness. “That was my last pair of glasses,” Feckles moans, but Gilgamek says nothing.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Mekton says. “How much sithril?”
“You need to keep your voices off, if you want to live,” Gilgamek says, trying to stall. He's got to come up with something — anything.
“That’s what I’ve been stressing,” Feckles stammers weakly.
Mekton snorts. “We’re not worried about a few Lurkers, are we boys?”
“No, we are NOT,” the triplets shout in unison.
“The only meks who have to worry about their lives are you and your scrawny friend here,” Mekton says.
“Actually, my name is Feckles and if you must refer to my habitus I prefer the less pejorative term svelte — ”
Mekton shakes her. “Shut it, dork. I repeat: how much is there, Gilgamek?”
“There’s enough,” Gilgamek says.
“I could toss your dork friend down —”
“Or not,” Feckles says.
“— and maybe that will help you be more forthcoming?”
Silence.
“Gilgamek? No? Alright, on a count of three. One, two—"
“Two point one!” Feckles cries.
“A third of kilo,” Gilgamek admits through gritted teeth.
Cursed. Scrapping cursed.
Complete silence.
“You’re joking?” Mekton says.
“I’m not.”
“You better not be joking, you fleshy bastard.”
Tossing Feckles to the triplets, a giddy Mekton motions for Gilgamek to hand up the pan. If his eyes were hands they would be rubbing together greedily. “Boys, I think our lives are a-changing —
And right then Weavus shoves Mekton into the pit!
Mekton starts falling, eyes wide with confusion, too shocked to flail, but not too shocked to trigger his displacer power, which teleports him right up to the edge of the pit, but Weavus is prepared and pushes him off again and Mekton starts falling and manages to teleport himself back up once more, barely on the edge this time and Weavus shoves him a third time and despite how difficult such things are Mekton forces a third displacer jump but comes up short, all air, and that’s it for Mekton. As he plummets he howls “You scrapping traiiiiiitoooooooooooooo” and then slams into the outcrop under Gilgamek hard and continues his descent in silence.
(Perhaps something I should have explained earlier: in this age a miniscule minority of meks and birds possess “gifts” — or “mights” as they’re called — that grant higher order abilities. Among the elites these gifts are assiduously cultivated, passed between generations like the invaluable inheritances they are and because of these intergenerational investments and attunements these powers are almost always stronger and more reliable than the ones that occur randomly in the unfortunate classes, but in both cases these hypercausal abilities tend to be limited in range, duration, and puissance. It is believed that only the Autarch and the Wizard possess powers that approach the legendary Mights of Conqueror Race. We have not the time to review all these pseudo-mights but commons ones include vulcanical fire, limited telekinesis (the Hand of Qosis), displacement, invisibility, increased resilience, partial shields, and of course the limited prescience that the Witch Oracles have elevated to an art. People with the power of Habitus are able to double or half their size while those with Shadow gifts can dematerialize themselves into a dark cloud. Never for long, never far, and while there’s no question these extraordinary abilities can be decisive in many a situation, there are plenty of examples of regular schmegular folks overcoming these advantages and putting the Dawud to the Jalut.)
“Sorry, boss,” Weavus says, “but it’s easier to divide things into four than five—”
And right then Bok, the oldest of the Bekter triplets, shoves Weavus into the pit!
Weavus shrieks, “I thought we were friiiiiiiiiiienddsssssss” and then strikes the outcrop under Gilgamek hard and continues his descent in silence.
“Family comes first, right boys?” Bok barks.
“That’s right, big brother,” the others bark back.
“You know it’s way easier to divide anything by one,” Gilgamek offers. “Way easier.”
“Nice try, Fleshface, but we’re family, right boys?”
“And family always comes first!” they bark.
“Alright Gilgamess, let’s have the goods or the dork drops. Imma count to five and you try anything fleshy or mess up the drop and it’s over for the dork and then it’s over for you.”
“Is Feckles really that hard to pronounce?”
“Five, four, three” — the Bekters all count together —“get ready dork—”
“It’s Feckles!”
“—two —”
Gilgamek has opened the fan as surreptitiously as possible and is trying to break the ingot into two but there’s a reason sithril is so valuable — it’s harder than hope, harder than love, harder even than a republican democracy. Gilgamek puts all his strength into it — puts all his hate and all his hope into it — Come on, just one bit of luck, just one!
And the ingot does not crack.
“One! Have a nice flight, dork—”
“Stop,” Gilgamek says, defeated. “I’m going to throw the pan. You idiots better not drop it.”
Did Gilgamek ever once consider keeping the ingot and letting Feckles drop?
Of course he did! The promise of impossible wealth can tempt all bonds. For one second he thought about it, but then Gilgamek felt deepest hottest shame. Let Feckles drop? Feckles, who saved his life? Who is scared of everything and only came down to Level Four to help Gilgamek, who touches his back when he is sleeping?
Well, there goes my whole life, Gilgamek thinks and sends the pan sailing up.
Bok Bekter catches the pan easily. Inspects the goods and whistles loudly.
“Are we good?” Gilgamek asks. “Can I come up now?”
As he puts the pan into his jerkin Bok peers down at Gilgamek, hanging from his line. “Regularly speaking I would let you up, Gilgamess. A mek should always honor their deals, right boys?”
“Right, Bok!”
“Problem is I know you, Gilgamek. Known you my whole life. Know if I let you up you’re going to do something not so good to me and my brothers. Maybe not right this minute or this week but you’ll do it. Because you don’t quit. Because you’re — what’s the word?”
“I’m sure Weavus would have known,” Gilgamek says.
“Ha-ha, very funny. Relentless is what you are, Gilgamek. What did I always tell you boys about Gilgamek? That fleshy might not look like much, but he’s hard as sithril. Ironic, right?”
“Look, Bok, I appreciate the talk-up but I just want to get out of here before the Lurkers come.”
“Just know we won’t forget you, Gilgamek. You really saved our tins. So salute our benefactor, boys.”
“We salute you, Gilgamek!”
Without another word Bok snips Gilgamek’s line.
Last sight? Feckles horrified eyes, her mouth forming No. The Bekters’ giddy mugs.
Last thought? Lonqo, on the street, starving.
Gilgamek shouts, “Run Fecklesssssssssssssssss!”and then, hitting the outcrop below hard, continues his descent in silence.
.
.
Next: The Deeper Dark - Lurkerville - Legends Lost to Time
Oh my fucking god!! It’s a cavehanger!
wait what? Are you planning to kill off Feckles? Nooooooo!