Victor

  The last stage of our little drive took us up a well-maintained series of switchbacks through a number of fortified gate outposts; they let us through of course, though they did seem to marvel at us as they should when beholding such a magnificent machine such as I was driving! For a race of people half the height of humans, they sure liked to build big. The main gate of the city was presently open, and it was about two cars width while being tall enough for a big rig to squeeze through. The doors were made of a shiny black metal and were set into an impressively massive gatehouse carved into the side of the mountain itself. They literally quarried until they had a flat surface, and meticulously carved out pillars, windows, awnings, and everything you'd expect in a fortified stronghold.

  We stopped the Cadillac at the gate - just a shred of gas left in the tank, maybe two gallons tops. I breathed a sigh of relief, but I was also praying that our efforts here would bear fruit. Everyone stepped out of the car and we were approached by a heavily armored feller with a round brown beard. Like the last dwarf I’d seen, the gun salesman, he was half my height and twice my width and looked like a formidable warrior. The armor he wore was thick heavily decorated plate and it looked ancient but well cared for.

  "Well met, travellers," he said in common, formally, "What business brings ye tae our fine hold today?"

  "This," I said, slapping the car affectionately, "Would you be willing to give us directions to an artificer, and we need to buy or rent some mules to push her inside; I was concerned about, er, miner's bane. The engine operates on a-"

  "Some form o' intaernal combustin' or other," The dwarf sniffed a little, "Aye, I can smell the burnin' - but not tae worry, lad. We Dazrim know how to ventilate an underground stronghold - we do engage in a great deal 'a forgin' down there. Ye can pass with tha' magnificent mechanical carriage with its belly rumblin' on."

  Well that was good news, I shoulda known that - hey wait why didn't the others bother to tell me? Ah nevermind.

  "All the same," I said, "I am dangerously low on fuel and I'd like to keep at least some in the tank to demonstrate how it works."

  The guard nodded,"I reckon ah ken what ye mean." He brought out a large whistle and blew. Six other dwarves came running, "Take these a'venturin' types to the third deep, lads - Borin, move yer arse an’ tell ol' Flinty he's got a customer!"

  Quicker than guys with short legs and heavy armor should have been capable of, the dwarves started examining the Cadillac and tried to figure out how to move it - I put the gear in neutral and disengaged the parking brake. Two of them went off, while the others were checking the front bumper for stability - then shortly after the two which had left returned with a pair of goats. No, I don't mean some scrawny little billy goats, I mean goats the size of draft horses - thick legs of pure muscle.

  “These are called Gruffs,” said Mal, “The dwarves favor them because they can pull cargo up all but the steepest mountainsides.”

  I scratched the back of my neck. “They’re not gonna scream at us are they?”

  Mal shook his head, “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous - that’s my job!”

  I sighed in relief. I prayed he meant the “being ridiculous” part and not the screaming.

  These beasts of burden were hitched up to the front of the Cadillac and we followed the dwarves as they led us into the city. Once we passed through the main gatehouse, somehow even bigger than the one in Tor Anaura, our eyes were greeted by a bustling market dome - a tremendous chamber full of stalls and also buildings carved out of mountain stone. The dome was painted with a black on ochre mural with various geometric patterns. It kind of reminded me of those old Greek vases in that regard. Ah, I spy an Inn over there - noted!

  Once through the market area, we swung left through an ovoid tunnel with a downward grade. The tunnel was lit with more permanent light spells attached to dwarf-faced wall decorations, which allowed us to see all of the brilliantly colored murals along the length of the tunnel.

  Mal said, “Ah, various scenes from dwarven history - specifically pertaining to the clans which dwell here. There’s the initial founding - the first king of Anvilgrund lies prostrate before the three peaks, seeing them as a sign from the divines. His clan had just lost their home and he was searching for a new place to build a stronghold…”

  He went on like this while we descended, and we were walking down for a really long time. How deep were we going? We passed by two landings with entryways, before we went through yet another rounded entryway. My ears were popping. If we weren't at least a thousand feet down I'd be surprised. I guess that song was right: they don't fear what lies beneath, they can never dig too deep.

  The third deep was our destination, so-called because it was the third level down from the entrance. The dwarves helping in the car were more than eager to explain their robust defenses and even how they got food - there's actually surface farms in some of the nearby valleys only accessible by tunnels. These mountains had little microclimates scattered about and there were even human settlements in some of the vales - I didn't wanna spoil the surprise by asking what kind of societies had formed in the mountains, besides, I wanted to hear about dwarf culture! Especially the food and the forging because I'm incorrigible that way.

  I could tell that this deep was dedicated to the forge - it was hot, and I could smell the coal and steel in the air. Eventually we made our way to a large workshop, out of which stepped a male dwarf. This one had a long black beard, with a set of goggles resting upon his soot-stained brow. I could see little bits of metal shavings stuck in his hair and beard. Thick hairy arms were visible sticking out of his rolled up shirt sleeves, and various tools dangled from a thick leather apron. He saw the Cadillac and immediately ran straight for it - hey man, ask before you - oh nevermind, let him nerd out over it.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Ah' heard wha' Borin said an' I dinnae believe him," he looked at me, "A steel chariot what moves of its own poower? Oh such a marvel, magnificent."

  "You ain't seen nothing yet," I popped the hood release and set up the kickstand. Sure enough, the dwarf pulled his goggles down, "Examine it to your heart's content, um, mister…?"

  "Oh! Oh! Where are me manners?" He reached out a dirty, ash ridden hand, which of course I still shook, "Well met, Henford Flinthammer. Flinty fer short, lad."

  "Victor Kirkland, huh I thought dwarves didn't like the word short?"

  "If I had a cap fer every fokkin' time a human made that ah-soomption I'd be rich beyond words," He let out a deep belly laugh, "Ye bigguns have the funniest ideas, the way ye squirm when speakin o' time bein short, or short tempers, some times it's fun to make em flinch."

  He adopted a faux angry affect and said arms akimbo, "What's that about short, mister fancy pants pantsy man? But as yer customers I woulnae do that to ye."

  He looked up at the car again, struggled on his tiptoes for a moment and said, grinning sheepishly, "Well that having been said…" He turned and shouted "Stool!" A younger looking dwarf with a red beard came running with a wooden stepping stool, which Flinty stood upon. Then he gasped, nearly choking on air.

  "Would ye look at that? Look at this- what a marvel of steel! Er um, so," He pulled his goggles up again, and scratched his beard, "What exactly did ye need me to do with it, laddy?"

  "I am glad you asked," I explained how the engine worked while Flinty feverishly took notes, everyone else was listening with rapt attention - when was the last time they saw me speaking with such authority and passion, I wondered. Naturally I explained the history of gasoline and how it was originally a discarded byproduct of kerosene, and I had to explain kerosene too. When we told him about the fact that I'd been brought from another world he was quick to believe it given the evidence we presented. I even turned the engine on and let him listen to it for a time, he seemed to understand the basics of the four-stroke engine well enough. Intake, compression, power exhaust - suck, squeeze, bang, blow!

  "So ye'd like an array of magical tools made so that it can still go voom even after ye run outta tha' gasoline stuff."

  I nodded, "That's it exactly."

  He stroked his beard, "Well tha’ way ye describe it, how it's more of a controlled burn than an explosion, it wouldn't do to stick modified explosives wands in there. Aye, yer engine relies on some very precise timing t'keep rhythm. Hmm, so, walk me through again wha' happens when ye turn tha' key?"

  "First the key engages the ignition switch, which sends electricity to the starter motor, which in turn cranks the engine and starts the combustion; once that gets going, it continues to cycle until you turn the car off, or it runs out of fuel. The electricity for the starter motor comes from that large battery, which is full of a chemical mixture capable of producing a current."

  "O now tha's intriguing, I'll have to ask aboot that battery thing later," said Flinty.

  I nodded and kept going, "The battery is kept alive by the alternator which converts mechanical energy into electric energy with a series of belts, rotors, and coils. As for the fuel, it starts out as a liquid but then it runs into the carburetor where it's converted into a fuel-air mixture, a flammable gas, and delivered into the cylinders,"

  "An' thas when it blows up! Er well, when it does a controlled comboostion.” He smiled a toothy grin, and pointed with his charcoal stick. "Aye, I think thas’ the ticket then."

  "I agree," I opened my magic backpack and brought out the trap part that we'd gotten in the Grimdark Stronghold. "A proof of concept, of sorts, my good dwarf," I handed it to him, and he flipped a red lens over the left lens of his goggles.

  "O this is an old model - aye, the trap-makin folks from tha mid to late Gaian period were fond o'this sort o' conjurin tool; versatile, adjustible, too. More poowerful ones can summon deadly poison or even clouds o’ fire!"

  I said, pleadingly, "Do you think you can-"

  "Ah ken I kin convert yer carboorator into a magical tool fer conjurin' somethin similar to what yer gasolin' is made of. Aye, matter magic woulnae do if'n the pattern's too complex, but summonin' the right sort of vapors is possible. Then there's that throttle thing tied to yer pedal, yes, I'd need to magic oop that part too. Yes, we’ll need tae do a full on conversion to mana poowered ah reckon. It doesnae seem as though I need to touch the ignition key but the starter motor as ye call it would need an ancillary function attached to start oop the conjurin' bits. Aye, tha' soundsa boot right. An' when ye accelerate it adds more o' that mixture, so I reckon I'll need to run a bloody mithril cable through it, and this'll take some time t'get right, because I assume ye want it to still feel the same."

  I grinned, "You sure do know your customers. So um, what's your estimate?"

  He seemed lost in thought, "Oh, aye the estimate. Um," He started counting on his fingers and mumbling calculations, "Twenty-two thousand crowns, more or less. I'll even throw in a few other refinements, as I've goot some ideas."

  Everyone seemed shock at that price, but I didn't care.

  "Done," I said. Didn't even have to consider it. That Cadillac was part of me, and I was no stranger to dropping money on new parts, mods, and repairs. We had easily that much in the trunk right now. I shrugged and brought out the appropriate amount of gold.

  "Great Duram's Axe! I wasnae expectin' moore than a doon payment!"

  "All the same, I hate being in debt. Consider this a show of confidence."

  The dwarf nodded, "All right, I'll get started in a brace o’ days then - I've a commission to finish oop."

  Meli said, "D'ya reckon this lil ol’country bun can be of any help, sug? I reckon my pattern-sense can be of some use here, kno' whatta mean?"

  "Goo' thinkin lass," said Flinty, "Aye, if ye can figure oot the density of the fuel-air slurry it'd be helpful to calibrate the gas emitter."

  Of course Meli hopped for joy.

  Nenewyn raised her hand and said, “I, too, offer such assistance as I can proffer.”

  Princess Sylfaena said, “Likewise. Our expertise is at your disposal if you'll have us .”

  Flinty laughed, “Off-coorse, tha’ more the merrier! Especially if’n either of ye’s got access te’ low grade gravity an’ kinetic spells.”

  Nenewyn smiled and pressed her glasses, “As a matter of fact…”

  “Hold it!” Cried Princess Illiana, “Surely with all of this extra labor you can drop the price a little bit. Furthermore, Sir Victor is an adventurer and can locate additional components and reagents personally at need.”

  Flinty laughed, “Ye must be the fourth princess ‘erself. A’ight, twenty-thoosand it is.”

  The princess flashed me a V sign and smiled. Her reputation for making deals had even reached the ears of the dwarves, I see. Well that settled it! Twenty-thousand gold crowns poorer we went to go secure some lodging for a nice long stay, down in the village of dwarves.

  ?? Click to Read

  The Dungeon Broker

  The Sewage of Slaughter.

  System Log: Subject STEVEN YORK.

  Status: Dungeon rep.

  Assets: crime interface, slime contacts, shady contracts.

  Origin: MMO corporate nightmare.

  Complication: gremlin lawsuits, loot farmers, idiotic accomplice.

  Risk factors: HR audits, economic collapse, sewer stench.

  Forecast: criminal empire (pending).

  The Dungeon Broker.

  ?? Release Schedule:

  2 chapters a day!

  Until corporate switches it to 1 per day in October.

  No hiatus, Book 1 is finished.

  Just crime, slime, and at least one gremlin lawsuit!