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“It’s up,” Eric cried, punching one arm up, “and down!” punching the other arm down.
Before the tiny man lay Capicombital, a city made up of a multitude of stalagmites thrusting forth from the earth and stalactites looming above from the cave’s ceiling. The surfaces of all dotted with - Eric squinted his eyes to focus - tiny, quaint windows.
“They’re occupied?” Eric gestured one sweeping arm out in wonder.
“Yes, well actually,” Gregory said, “Capicombital is just the up.”
The team looked on waiting for further information.
“You see the hoity-toity people who live on the upper half of this here cave claim their town is the capital of these here parts.”
“Sooo, they’re jerks?” Tim queried.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Gregory laughed “but one thing is for sure, they got to that there top spot and they’re clinging on for dear life. There ain’t no way, no how, they’ll be budging from-”
Gregory was interrupted as a large stalactite unwedged from it’s central, lofty spot, cracking from one end to the other, plunging into a vacant lot below.
Chapter 19: Assail of Two Cities
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"Well now, I'll be a rooster’s wattle—the courthouse!" Schreck exclaimed in a pell-mell yell, throwing his arms in the air as if objecting to a motion.
"I'm great at this questing thing. Everywhere I go, adventure follows," said Tim confidently.
"You mean disaster!" Matilda retorted, rolling her eyes.
"And spooky things," Eric added, shivering. He couldn't shake the feeling that something ominous followed them wherever they went.
"Whatever it is doesn’t matter," Tim declared, raising a finger aloft before crying out loudly, "Let's quest!"
Schreck led them down a long and winding path. The distance between the city above and the city below was considerable. As they walked, tiny bipedal beings emerged from their stalagmite homes to catch a glimpse of the fallen courthouse. Occasionally, these creatures would wave and call out a hearty "Howdy!" to Gregory Schreck.
As they got closer to the commotion, it became clear that the creatures were very human in appearance, about the height of an average halfling with matching foot sizes. The only notable differences were their oblong heads and the miniature elephant trunks in the middle of their faces.
“These people are known as the Mightees, so named because they dwell in the stalagmites all over these wide plains,” Gregory explained.
Matilda, who until recently was a farmer, wouldn't have characterised their current locale as a "great open plain," but she refrained from saying so to hear the whole tale.
"They're also named for their ineffable and unbreakable spirit to improve their station in life—a goal they might just reach in the future," the orc-ogre continued. "That's where I come in!"
"So, are these the fellas you're, ya know, lawyering for?" Eric asked oh-so-eloquently.
"I suppose you could put it that way," Schreck responded, turning down a street lined with large boulders pick-axed down to rubble. "You see, the city above is home to the Tightees. If you go far back enough, they were all part of the same group. But eventually, some started to accumulate more and more wealth and forced others to dig out the mine."
They walked around a giant hole labeled 'Bottomless Pit.' Around the edges lay a collection of detritus that looked like remnants of a fancy dinner: an upended silver platter, some half-nibbled hors d'oeuvres, and cheese so blue it could be mistaken for lapis lazuli.
“Eventually, they developed these magnetized shoes that reacted to the mineral deposits in the cave walls,” Gregory said, shaking his big green head. “Soon all the rich ones moved out, hollowed out the stalactites above, and before anyone could comprehend what was happening, the Tightees were born. A mess of capitalism's worst instincts, with unfairly paid workers living down below. They don’t dispose of their rubbish, you know. They just throw it out their windows and let gravity—and the Mightees—do the rest.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything…” Matilda grimaced, holding her nose as they walked past yet another discarded caviar bowl, smashed champagne flute, and cigar butts.
“It wasn’t perfect, but the pittance the Mightees were getting for mining the gems was deemed unfair down here, and they started a strike,” Gregory continued, a small smile forming. “You gotta admire their gumption, sticking it to the big guys. But that’s the problem. The Tightees want for nothing. What do they care if they don’t have gems for a while?”
The troupe stopped to watch a Mightee push through a hinged door from a kitchen, place a cloche on a platform, and proceed to hoist it up by a rope on a pulley all the way up to what looked like a fancy restaurant above. This took some time, as the gap between the cities was a few hundred metres.
“But that’s great, isn’t it? Can’t the Mightees just go and mine and keep the spoils for themselves? And where do I need to go to find those gnomes mentioned in the prophecy?” Tim asked, eventually breaking the silence and scratching their head.
“You’d think so, but do you see that?” Gregory pointed to a huge staircase and door. “That’s the passage to the mine. The Tightees have locked it up tight. Along with those gnomes you’re itching to find? That’s why I’m here—class action lawsuit. Mightees v. Tightees.”
“Sounds like these Tightees are real pieces of work,” Matilda said, waving her fist.
“…And they smell!” a random Mightee passerby yelled out, wrapping a bow around Matilda’s assessment.
“Nicely put, Pionerax,” Schreck said with a winning smile in their direction before leading the party once more through the streets.
As they dodged the fancy rubbish strewn throughout the Mightee streets, they noticed that the closer they got to the fallen courthouse, the more crowded the streets became with Mightees eager to assess the situation.
The courthouse itself was intricately carved to give it a Romanesque appearance. Its entrance, naturally, was several stories up. Thankfully, some industrious Mightees had already attached a rope ladder to it.
Gregory navigated the rowdy crowd, straining to understand what the Mightees were saying. Finally, he blew a note on his harmonica, climbed three rungs up the ladder, and commanded everyone’s attention.
“My mighty friends, don’t be clamberin’ and hollerin’,” he called out. “I’m just as distressed as you are about this here building fallin’ down, and I’ll set right out to find a darn-tootin’ solution for it.” He paused for a moment before asking, “Now, what is it that this here municipal block has landed on?”
A rabble ensued, but one voice broke through clearly.
“Just the Rubble Gardens! No one was hurt!”
A head leaned out of one of the windows above, looking exactly like a Mightee but adorned with a monocle, a bow tie, and gesturing with a martini glass and an expensive-looking cigarette at the people below.
“Oh, of course,” the Tightee said with gleeful over-enunciation and scoffing sarcasm, “this huge, hulking building fell from the town above and managed not to harm anyone or crush any charming Mightee hovels!”
The Tightee cackled from the window before angrily shouting at the furious congregation below.
“We all know this was some kind of ridiculous Mightee plot, and we’ll be dealing with it in court!”
The Mightee crowd lost control, throwing small stones and yelling spirited class-warfare slogans.
“Well, I don’t think there’ll be any calmin’ them down now,” Schreck said, his limbs firmly on the rope bridge. “Time to go smooth things over.”
The lawyer started climbing up the wonky rope ladder, its rungs spaced somewhat too closely for his tall frame. He abruptly stopped and looked down.
“Y’all comin’ or what?” he asked, tilting his head.
The party exchanged glances before Matilda grabbed hold of the ladder and started climbing.
“What the heck, it’s not like we’re going to get any deeper today.”
“I’m not particularly fond of legal quests,” Tim said, wrapping their gauntlet around the rungs. “Not enough jousting.”
“Squeak!” Socrates squeaked.
The party turned to see Eric still firmly on the cave floor.
“You lot go on without me. I’m just going to stay here… where it’s safe,” the cowardly butcher said, looking around for threats that didn’t materialize.
“Ya know,” Matilda said, grinning, “you’re less likely to have a building fall on you inside.”
With a sigh, Eric started climbing up.
Man, I hate those elitist Tightees! I hope they choke on their martini olives…
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