Seeing Inga attack this problem was truly epic. She went through indexes, concordances, and encyclopedias. She paged through bound copies of Dungeon Core Quarterly from the past century, looking at blueprints, dungeon schematics, and any piece of trivial information that could mean the difference between life and death. She read the latest copies of Monsters Weekly and The Desert Dungeon Review, where she found an interesting article called, “Making the Most with the Least.” Logan, Marko, and Treacle helped her by cross-referencing different dungeon strategies, focusing not only on the dungeon satyr guardian form, but also researching lesser-known varieties of the satyr: the Pan Piper, the Horned Trickster, the Ember Tail, and the Winter Dancer.
Madam Orry Gammy allowed them access to some questionable materials with questionable titles. Quick Core Creation by M.E. Velocity. A Better Abyss Faster by Andale Getright. And then there was Dungeon Shortcuts the Elite Don’t Want You to Know by Venthi Phauxa. Those books were trash. Absolute dumpster fires.
Madam Gammy herself suggested a book that came bound on the spine of a millipede. This book would crawl back to its shelf every night, which was both irritating and disgusting—though admittedly ingenious. It was an old classic called The Art of the Dungeon by Diplox Poda, an S-Class insectile dungeon lord who had been killed five thousand years ago.
But even the information in that book wouldn’t help them.
Logan wondered whether there was something they could do with Marko’s core to get him access to more Apothos. He’d significantly improved his energy flow using the Drunken Master Falls Down Well technique, but it wasn’t enough to make any sort of real difference.
The following Sunday night, Treacle was studying up on how Marko might be able to change the sand into something more useful. There was a book called Lemons to Lemonade, Trials of Transmutation, which might allow the satyr to tweak the dungeon habitat. Logan was eyeballs deep in another book on core cultivation for party-based guardian forms, and Inga had a big dusty book called Tons of Tinctures and Pools of Potions! Improve Your Core with Magic and More! This was another questionable book by someone named R. Hope Eternal.
Inga had grumbled at all the exclamation points. She also mentioned that the author regularly used the interrobang—an exclamation point paired with a question mark—which made her physically ill. An unforgivable sin, she insisted.
Marko sipped coffee that he’d sneaked inside his silver flask. Treacle chewed cud; it was noisy, but it kept the minotaur awake.
Logan closed his book and rubbed his eyes. “You know, from day one, I’ve thought of how I can use my Symbiosis ability to bring in Marko. The three of us, working together, should be able to pass the Final without a problem. I just don’t have the Apothos. We’d get like four hours, and it wouldn’t be enough.”
“Four of us,” Treacle said over the sound of his chewing.
Marko’s mouth dropped open to show his big teeth. “What’s that, my bull guy?”
“It would be the four of us working together.” The minotaur swallowed and smacked his lips. “Logan can do up to three cores given his level—I remember reading that after he advanced. Plus, Inga and I have been talking about it. I don’t want to be left out.”
Even Logan didn’t see the sense in that. “Why, Treacle? You’re doing amazing on your own.”
Treacle shrugged, keeping his lips sealed about the matter.
Marko remained flustered. “I’ve thought about asking you, Logan, but come on. You can’t risk yourselves like that for me. No way, no how. You’re doing enough as it is. Besides, it’s irrelevant. Logan and Inga have been working on their dungeon all year, and he can’t bring me on long enough for it to matter.”
“We could try giving Marko the Red Lotus Juice,” Logan suggested for the tenth time.
And Inga said what she always said. “The Red Lotus Juice is powerful, granted, but its effects vary based on the user’s guardian form. For a satyr, it wouldn’t be as powerful as it would be for Treacle, for example.”
“That figures.” The minotaur made a face. “The irony is not lost on me. Still, I wouldn’t accept the gift.”
“For me or Logan, it would help,” Inga said, “but it wouldn’t be enough. Although...” She paused, eyes wide, mouth agape. “Wait. Hold on!”
“Hush!” The word was followed by an arrow that flashed over their heads and slammed into the wall, quivering from the impact. Madam Gammy appeared in the stacks like an avenging angel, a bow in her paper hand. She frowned her folded paper face into even more creases.
Inga blanched. “I am so sorry, Madam. I am shocked at my own outburst.”
Madam Gammy nodded at them and then folded herself sideways and disappeared back into the shelves.
Logan felt the excitement growing. “What is it, Inga? What did you find out?”
She lifted Tons of Tinctures and Pools of Potions! “The answer is not in this book. This book is terrible and has too many exclamation points. Not to mention those terrible, terrible interrobangs. But it does talk about contraindication when it comes to core enhancers.”
Marko blinked and his lip quivered. “Contra indictment what?”
“Contraindication,” Inga said. “It’s how medicines, potions, and other magical properties interact. By my sharp beak, it’s a long shot, but we have to try.”
She leapt up and went fluttering off on her moth wings.
Marko wrinkled his nose. “She doesn’t have a beak. Right? Am I missing something?”
“She’s from an owl-like race... you know, the Okitori,” Logan said.
Treacle was rubbing his hairy cow chin. “Hmm, you don’t think she’s onto something, do you?”
Marko closed his book with a sigh. “I am clueless.”
Inga didn’t just come back, she came back with half the library. Her Spike Flies helped her carry the weight of a dozen dusty books.
She slammed them down, toppling several other piles of books in the process.
One exploded in a cloud of dust. She didn’t even seem to notice, which said exactly how excited she was. She loved books more than almost anything else in the universe. She’d literally died to have access to books.
Inga waved the dust away, already madly flipping through pages. “The Red Lotus Juice is very particular on how it works with guardian cores. Bad for satyrs, good for minotaurs, but very good for astral moths and fungaloids. Best yet? If you’re a mushroom-based dungeon core, and you’ve already enhanced your core, say with ghoul’s teeth, then you might be able to tie another knot.” She went through the index of a book, closed it, found another, closed it, and then grabbed a third.
Her antennae waved and quivered in manic excitement. “The Red Lotus, when used in conjunction with a knot-intensifier, will give the user additional power, especially for fungal-based dungeon cores. That’s you, Logan. This will work. You can drink the Red Lotus, tie another knot, and that should, in theory, give you the ability to infect Marko with your Symbiosis Spores for longer.”
“And me,” Treacle said sullenly. “Like I said, I want to be infected as well.”
Marko shook his head. “No. Never. I won’t allow it.”
Inga put the delicate tips of her fingers together. “Honestly, the more power we have, the better. Remember, Logan gains a passive portion of the energy we cultivate. He siphons it through his hosts, so the more hosts, the more power for him and all of us to pull on.”