the smuggler’s bible


It is commonly held that the twisting spires of Zar-Tallok, viewed against the setting sun, can be interpreted as a simple code. Dots, dashes and the intervals between, guiding anyone educated in their obscure mystery toward the hiding place of an item of immense value.

The trick, as with many riddles devised by the wily Muntzplattner, is one of geometry.

“SMORGUBLEE,” Josko says, unclipping his harness and descending the ladder. “Accounting for parallax, perhaps SMORFUBLEE. Both possibilities are promising.”

His assistant nods. “Indicating what, sir?”

“That nobody will have beaten us to the prize, relying on gibberish such as this.”