Darkwell - Douglas Niles [84]
Snap! "Hey! What's going on?" Pawldo leaped, or rather tried to leap, backward, but the sudden clasp of a pair of metal handcuffs held him securely to the door. "Damn!" he whispered. "A trap!"
Indeed, two firm iron bracelets had sprung from the door when his probe had pulled on the lock. Now they pinched his wrists in a most uncomfortable, and permanent-looking, fashion.
Pawldo suppressed a momentary surge of panic. What would Daryth do at a time like this? For the first time, the halfiing grudgingly admitted to himself that the Calishite had been a master at such tasks as opening locks and finding traps.
He remembered Daryth's gloves, which Tristan had given to Pawldo after the Calishite's death. They had shrunk to fit the halfling's hands perfectly, so much so that Pawldo had forgotten that he still wore them. Now he looked at them on his fingers, barely visible in the dim light. At the same time, he tugged very gently at the handcuffs imprisoning him.
His hands came free! They slid right through the manacles, as if the gloves could not be held in such confinement. Murmuring a quick prayer of thanks to Daryth, wherever he was, Pawldo drew one of the wire lockpicks from its pouch in the glove. Once again he probed the lock, and this time it popped open quickly.
Pawldo's eyes flashed, and the pounding of his heart threatened to shake more rocks from the ceiling as he seized the door and pushed it open. The halfling darted through the portal, his darkness-attuned eyes flashing as he stared eagerly around the room.
And then his eagerness turned to shock, then disbelief, then anger. This was indeed the firbolg treasure room, but it was virtually empty!
"What happened to the treasure?" he groaned. "Thieves! It's been stolen! Why, those scum! If I get my hands…"
He slumped to the floor, stunned. A single coin gleamed mockingly from beneath the layer of dust. Pawldo picked it up and brushed it off to reveal a virtually worthless copper piece. The dust covered everything in the room nearly a half inch thick, so he knew that the plundering had occurred long ago.
Perhaps the few surviving firbolgs had carried their treasure away when they abandoned the ruins of the stronghold. Or maybe a band of dwarves – avaricious fellows, dwarves! – had come upon the place. For several minutes, the halfling stewed his rage building as he groped for someone to blame.
Finally he realized there was little point in trying to pinpoint the blame. The bulk of the treasure had been removed, and that was that. He saw several other dust-covered coins and checked each one, but all of them proved to be copper.
"Not just thieves, but discriminating thieves!" he grumbled.
He saw an irregularity in the dusty surface beside a fallen beam and brushed it away to reveal a glint of gold in the form of a thin chain. He tugged on it and pulled forth a round medallion as big as his hand. Here was something worthwhile! The medallion was pure gold, in the circular shape of the sun, and it surrounded a large rose made from several rubies. Eagerly he tucked it into his pocket, reaching below the beam with his tiny hands. Perhaps the plunderers had missed a spot!
His efforts were rewarded as he pulled out a few gold and silver coins. Pawldo then encountered an odd shape, and tugged at it a few times to bring forth an unusual object. It was a pair of spectacles. One lens was cracked, and one of the temples had fallen off. The halfling started to toss the thing aside, but something stayed his