SCENE 5. EXT LOCATION #3. DAY 1 [23:30]
NIGHT HAS FALLEN. THEY STAND BEFORE A HUGE BLACK DOOR WITH HUGE BLACK HINGES SET IN SOLID BLACK ROCK, WHICH YOU JUST KNOW IS HUGE.
RODRIK:
I didn’t even see the damn thing until the last second. Nearly rode into it.
FALCO:
It’s really black isn’t it? Good camouflage that is.
SILVAL:
Yes Falco. Apart from in the daytime, when you can see a giant black spire splitting the sky from 100 leagues away.
FALCO:
Well it’s better than a pale blue tower with some clouds painted on it. Hm?
SILVAL STARTS TO MOUTH A REPLY, STOPS. CONFUSION HITS. FALCO TAKES THIS AS AN ADMISSION OF DEFEAT AND GIVES SILVAL HIS ‘AM I RIGHT OR AM I RIGHT?’ LOOK. SILVAL ATTEMPTS TO SPEAK AGAIN BUT SIMULTANEOUS HEAD-SHAKING FROM GORLIM AND RODRIK TELLS HIM NOT TO BOTHER.
RODRIK:
Just nod and smile.
FALCO:
Right. Time for the trusty lockpicks.
FALCO TAKES A WALLET OUT OF HIS INSIDE POCKET AND OPENS IT. HE MOVES TO THE LOCK AND EXAMINES IT, HUMMING AND TALKING TO HIMSELF.
SILVAL:
Are you sure you know what you’re doing?
GORLIM:
You don’t need to pick the lock, Falco.
GORLIM REACHES IN HIS ROBES AND PRODUCES AN ORNATE KEY.
RODRIK:
Where did you get that?
GORLIM:
From a very unusual man I met in a market a few months ago. He had all sorts of incredible stuff but absolutely no idea what any of it was worth. See the inscription? It says “Key to the Black Spear” in an ancient language. It only cost me ten gold pieces.
FALCO IS STILL AT THE LOCK, SELECTING THE RIGHT PICKS WITH ARTISTIC SHOWMANSHIP. HE APPEARS TO BE IGNORING THE OTHERS.
FALCO:
Twin tumblers and your basic dead-fall… obvious trap there… a number three and a needle-nose should do it…
RODRIK:
‘Only ten gold pieces’? For a key? That’s ridiculous.
SILVAL:
What language?
GORLIM:
Hm?
SILVAL:
What language is the inscription in? I don’t recognise it.
GORLIM:
Well, I’m not sure actually. Some outmoded local tongue. He could read it, although he didn’t realise what the Black Spear was. He knew it must be something important – that’s why he wanted ten gold – but he didn’t know just how important. It’s worth a hundred times that much.
RODRIK AND SILVAL LOOK IMPRESSED. GORLIM MOVES TOWARDS THE DOOR AND THEY FOLLOW. FALCO IS STILL PICKING THE LOCK AND HASN’T TURNED TO FACE THE OTHERS.
FALCO:
Is it black metal with the end looking like an axe-head with a letter M cut out of it?
GORLIM LOOKS AT THE KEY. THE OTHER TWO LOOK AT THE KEY. IT LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE FALCO’S DESCRIPTION.
GORLIM:
Er, have you been in my pockets?
FALCO:
Nope. Been to that market though. Little place about 200 leagues north, on the other side of the mountains. Camembert or something.
GORLIM:
Er… Bree, actually. But yes.
FALCO:
Short bloke was he? Beard? Eye-patch?
GORLIM SEEMS RELIEVED.
GORLIM:
No. Well, yes he was short and bearded but no, he didn’t have an eye-patch.
FALCO:
Ah. Must’ve been a weekend. All the rich churchgoers are a bit scared of the eye-patch. He’d have had the crutches on instead.
GORLIM’S FACE SINKS.
GORLIM:
How the hell do you know all this?
FALCO:
That’s Mick the Hedge. M for Mick, that’s his trademark. Been scamming wizards for years. As soon as he hears about some mad faraway place you can bet he’s got the key to it. A few dozen of them, usually. Pretends he doesn’t know what it means and big-headed mages think they’re turning him over. Watched you having a wank through a telescope, mate.
SILVAL:
What?
GORLIM IS HOLDING THE KEY UP, STARING AT THE M FORLORNLY.
RODRIK:
‘Saw him coming from a mile away.’
SILVAL:
Ohhh, right…
SILVAL TAKES A SECOND TO FULLY UNDERSTAND. HIS EXPRESSION CHANGES TO DISGUST.
SILVAL:
Ew!
FALCO:
No, that’s a female sheep. Intriguing how your mind works, elfy-boy. Here, watch the master thief at work, you might learn something. Picking locks is just like sex. You have to size her up… select the right implements for the job… slip it in slowly… give it a jiggle… and…
A MECHANICAL ‘SNIK’ CAN BE HEARD.
FALCO:
Bugger.
RODRIK:
On a first date?
SILVAL:
Well that just sums you up, you dirty little.... Ah.
FALCO STEPS BACKWARDS HOLDING HIS FINGER. A SPOT OF BLOOD. HE STIFFENS, DROPPING THE LOCKPICKS. THE OTHERS PEER AT THE LOCK, SURE ENOUGH A RED-TIPPED NEEDLE PROTRUDES.
RODRIK:
And how many women have spring-loaded poison needles, Falco?
FALCO:
D’you know, you’d… be… surprised…
