by John Coyne
Scotty slipped the note to Valerie in second period social studies. "Did you see Borgus on the bus?" it said. They were sitting next to each other in the back row, and Mr. Russell was busy erasing the board. Valerie turned the note over and scribbled out an answer. As soon as Mr. Russell began writing on the board, she leaned across the aisle and returned the loose leaf to Scott's desk. At that moment Mr. Russell turned back to the class and said, "Man loves war games almost as much as he loves war. War games go back to chess, which began, historians say, in Hindustan, then spread to Persia and Arabia before Christ was born. Chess reached Spain in the eighth century, and Benjamin Franklin brought it from Europe to America." The tall, red-haired teacher jotted the names and dates on the board, then turned back to the class. "But, aside from chess, war simulation games did not begin as sports. In the eighteenth century, toy soldiers were used to plan battles. Prussia, for example, used them in the 1871 Franco-Prussian war." Carefully removing his rimless glasses, Russell rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Scott quickly scribbled, "those fuckers-why don't you tell Carpenter?" He handed the folded paper back to her. "By the twentieth century, simulation games were being played for fun. H. G. Wells, for one, published a set of rules for maneuvers to be fought with miniature soldiers. In our own century, a National Guard lieutenant designed a war-simulation game to teach tactics to his troops during the second World War. Later on he realized he could make money on his games and he put them on the market in 1958. The Gettysburg Battle was one of his first." Valerie slipped her reply to Scott and he unfolded it, holding the slip of paper up behind the back of the student in front of him. "No! There will only be more trouble if Carpenter hears. I'm just forgetting it. Borgus is crazy anyway." "Okay, then in 1973 two war-gamers, Dave Arneson and Gary Gygax began developing a new strategy game," Russell went on. He had begun to pace through the classroom, down one aisle and up the other, carrying a piece of chalk. Scott slid the note under his books. "Instead of using historical wars, they added the element of fantasy. Their battles took place in medieval worlds with imaginary characters. Each player assumes the identity of a character he creates. The idea of the game is to send a group of these imaginary characters on an adventure. They might be told to find gold, or to free a trapped king, but they go through dungeons and forests filled with monsters, dragons, and so forth." Russell had returned to the blackboard and began to write quickly. Scott pulled out the note and found space on it to write, "They took the MGB. I'm going to the police." He handed it to Valerie. Russell stepped back from the board and said, "Dungeons & Dragons game was the first. Then came Runequest, and Traveller, a science fiction fantasy game." The teacher stepped closer to the first row of seats, looked out over the class, and continued, "I understand we have yet another fantasy war game, this one called Hobgoblin." Scott glanced up at the sound of the name. He had not heard a word that Russell had said, and now he paused to read what was written on the blackboard. "If any of you saw the last school newspaper, then you probably read Valerie Dunn's article about Scott Gardiner and Hobgoblin. Since Halloween is on Saturday, let's ask Scott to tell us more about this scary fantasy game." The teacher moved down the outside aisle, along the row of windows toward Scott and Valerie. "If we can get these two to stop slipping notes to each other back here, we might find out more about Hobgoblin from Mr. Gardiner." Scott started to get up, then remembered that at Flat Rock students didn't stand when they answered in class. Several students giggled at his mistake. "What about this Hobgoblin, Scott?" the young teacher said, ignoring the other students. "It's based on Irish myths, right?" He kept talking, seeing Scott's embarrassment. Scott nodded without looking up. Being laughed at made him angry. "Why don't you tell us more about Hobgoblin, Scott?" Mr. Russell spoke calmly, but he was watching the boy. He saw how Scott reacted, the flush on his face, the way he gripped the books on the desk. He would have to talk to the sophomore counselor, Russell thought. This boy needed some help. He considered dropping the subject, just going back to the front of the class and leaving the boy alone, but that too would draw attention to Scott. So he went on. "Why do you play, Scott?" The boy shrugged, glanced across at Valerie. She was smiling, nodding, urging him to talk. "Well, it's like acting," Scott said softly, speaking only to the teacher. Russell backed up slowly, forcing him to talk louder. "How is it like acting, Scott?" "Well, you know, you become someone else." "Brian Boru, right?" the teacher asked, lifting Valerie's article off his desk. "Yes. He was a legendary king of Ireland." "So you don't use real people?" Scott shook his head. "That's the fun of it. You create the characters." "What kind of characters? Historical figures?" "Sometimes. Brian Boru might have been a real person. But in Hobgoblin, a character doesn't necessarily have to be human. He could be, you know, an Athach." "A what?" "That's a name for a giant or monster. Or maybe a Kelpie. Those are evil water spirits who come ashore and take the form of horses. That happened to Brian Boru once. He got this golden stallion from the king of Tullamone, but it was really a water spirit that threw him into the River Shannon. That's why it's hard to know whether you can trust your own horse." Scott was caught up in the game now and he spoke quickly, explaining. "What happened to Brian then?" Russell asked. He saw how the class had quieted down to listen. Derek Brennan had been right. A few days before he had called Russell and told him about Scott's trouble with the other students. "He needs help," Brennan had said. "See if you can get him to talk about Hobgoblin. It's a game he plays." "I saved him," Scott said. "How? Could he just swim to shore?" "Well, you see, all these characters have four traits-intelligence, luck, wisdom, and constitution. And each one has his own LOA. That stands for level of achievement." "Mr. Russell, I don't know what he's talking about," complained one of the girls at the front of the room. "That's because you have to be smart to play Hobgoblin," Valerie said loudly. At school, in the classrooms and hallways, she was always on the alert, ready to defend Scott, to take on her classmates. She got a certain pleasure from it, this secret mission of hers. She felt like a guardian angel. Mr. Russell was holding out the chalk, indicating that Scott should come up and use the blackboard to explain the game. "Go ahead," Valerie urged. "Tell them how to play." "It's too hard. No, I don't want to." "Come on, please," she pleaded, leaning forward, hiding her face from the front of the class. "Maybe you can get a club started like at Spencertown." Her smile broke down his resistance. It was a silly smile, sweet but off center. Scott pulled himself out of his seat. "It's complicated," he began, walking up the aisle tentatively. "Well, give it a try," Russell said. "We're all listening." "Well, first of all you make up this character, like I said, and you deal cards to see how much power he has, and how much strength. Then the Dealer he's, you know, the referee-deals out the Hobgoblin cards." "What are they for?" Russell asked. He had stepped away from Scott, giving the boy the front of the classroom. "The cards are different colors, and each color does a different thing. But in general, the cards tell you what monsters you'll meet, what battles you'll fight, what journey you'll take. And before you draw any cards, the Dealer has to give you the Adventure." "Well, give us one now." "You mean just make one up?" "Sure, or tell us one you've been on. Show us how the game works." This was Scott's chance, the teacher thought. If he could get them interested in the game, he'd establish his own clique. "Well, this is an Adventure that Mr. Speier, my teacher at Spencertown, once gave us. It begins on the Isle of the Magic Maiden, in the Irish Sea off Carrickfergus. Now this island is only a steep crag that juts out of the sea and touches the clouds. In ancient times it was ruled by the daughter of Finetor, a Greek magician, and that's how the island got its name." Scott lost his shyness as he retold the tale of the Island of the Magic Maiden. At Spencertown, it had been one of Brian Boru's best Adventures, taking three months of games to finish. "Now Finetor's daughter, the Magic Maiden, was skilled in necromancy." "What?" Half a dozen juniors shouted at once. "Does anyone know the word?" Mr. Russell asked, surveying the class. "Scott, write it on the board, please. Valerie, do you know?" Va
lerie shook her head. "I never heard of it, Mr. Russell." "Okay, Scott, tell us." "It means the secret art of communicating with the dead. Necromancers can predict what's going to happen in the future. See, in Hobgoblin, Mr. Russell, there's a lot of this stuff, premonition and augury." Bill Russell nodded. No wonder Scott was having trouble, he thought. "What next?" he asked, encouraging him. "Well, this Magic Maiden built a beautiful castle on the island. This was a time when many ships crossed the sea between Ireland and Norway, and the Maiden, using her magic arts, would pull them onto the rocks and rob them of their cargo. If knights were on board, she'd make them fight each other in battle for her amusement." "Who else did that sort of thing?" Russell asked the class. "Pitted one knight against another?" "King Arthur," someone answered. "That's right" He nodded back to Scott, telling him to continue. "One day the Maiden captured a knight from County Sligo and fell in love with him. He knew who she was but allowed himself to become acquainted with her charms." "What does that mean, Mr. Russell?" several of the boys quickly asked. "You know what it means," he answered, not looking at them. "Go ahead, Scott." "Okay, then one day when they were sitting on this rock overlooking the sea, he leaned forward as if to kiss her-" "Okay! Okay!" A roar of applause went up from the class. "Quiet down!" Russell demanded, motioning Scott to keep talking. "Well, instead of kissing her, the knight pushed her off the cliff and into the sea. Then he ransacked her castle, taking all the wealth, the gold and jewels and stuff, back to Ireland. "But he was forced to leave behind the greatest treasure." Scott hesitated, slowing down the story. He saw that everyone was watching him, listening. It was like Spencertown again, when Mr. Speier would be telling them a tale, setting an Adventure. "What's the treasure?" asked one of the girls in the second row. "No one knew for sure. It was locked up in the highest turret of the palace and protected by a magic charm that couldn't be released. "The knight who killed the Magic Maiden returned to Ireland and told the story, boasting of his feat. Other knights followed, seeking the treasure left behind. One by one they went, but always in the winter, when they could be sure the poison snakes and water leapers were hibernating. Water leapers are gigantic toads, with wings and a tail instead of legs." "Oh, gross!" one of the girls said. "Mr. Russell, this is silly." "Be quiet, Mary Beth, and you'll learn something. What else, Scott?" he asked, hurrying him on. The story was too involved, he realized, and the class was getting restless again. "Still, when they got to the rocky castle, they couldn't get inside the turret. But the knights did say, and legend tells us, that written on the door in blood, in a mysterious language, is the name of the knight destined to enter the room after having dislodged a sword imprisoned in the door handle." "Like King Arthur," Russell added. "Sort of." Scott shrugged. "That's where the Adventure begins. Your mission is to go to the rock of the Magic Maiden, open the tower door and seize the treasure. Then the Dealer plays the Hobgoblin cards and you see what happens." "Do you have a deck with you?" "Sure." Scott pulled them from his hip pocket. "How do you go, by rounds?" Russell asked. Scott nodded. "Each player first gets a green card. That tells where you are in Ireland. Then you get a blue card; that's your first Challenge. It could be some sort of monster that has to be defeated before you can reach the rock of the Magic Maiden. "Now the Dealer can throw down more blue cards or a red one, which means you have to do some special task before you reach the rock." "Okay, do one round, Scott. It will be easier for everyone to understand if you show us. Deal a set of cards to, let's say, Terry." Scott shuffled the deck, then dealt several cards to the girl. He turned over the green one. "Okay. You are at the gateway to Inishbofin, in a fishing village called Cleggan. From here you must sail in a currach-that's a fishing boat-to the neighboring islands of Inishark and Inishdogga. On each island you will find a strong sailor to accompany you on your Adventure." Scott looked up and explained, "This would take at least three turns, and then the Dealer turns over the next card, the blue one, and she finds out her first challenge, the first monster she has to fight.
Type: Hlanith Frequency: Rare Armour Class: 2 Moves: Walk, fly Size: Immortal Spirit Intelligence: High Alignment: Evil Magic Resistance: High (Immortal) Weapons: Book of Spells Special Attack: Fishing Nets made of Fog Special Defense: Amphibian Language: Manx
At the bottom of the card was a paragraph of explanation that Scott read out loud to the class. "'These Hlaniths once lived in ancient Eire, but now live in Mag-Mell. They often return to Ireland by walking on the water, flying on the wind or sailing in ships wrapped up in the fog. On land Hlaniths adopt a human form. They are old and evil-looking people who carry with them always a book of spells. In this disguise they kidnap men and take them back to Mag-Mell where they too become immortal, but only as long as they remain on Mag-Mell.'" "So what happens is Terry and the sailors have to..." The three girls in the front row began to giggle uncontrollably. They leaned forward, hiding their heads on their desks. Scott looked at them, unsure of what he had said. He was afraid he had mispronounced something or used a word that had a dirty meaning in the school. "What's the matter with you three?" Russell demanded. "Peggy?" "Nothing, Mr. Russell," the little blond answered, whispering, her eyes full of tears. Now more students were grinning, beginning to giggle. Laughter swept across the entire social studies room. "Roger! What is it?" Russell demanded, singling out a boy in the middle of the class. Roger ducked down, looked away. "Come on, Cox, what's so damn funny?" The boy looked up, but fixed his eyes on the bulletin board so he wasn't looking at either the teacher or Scott. "Well, it's just stupid, Mr. Russell." He started laughing again, trying to talk at the same time. "It's weird, all this stuff about Mag-Mell and Inishbofin and the Magic Maiden getting off some rock." At the mention of the strange names, there were more rolls of laughter. Scott grabbed the cards off Terry's desk and glared at the class. They were all laughing now, sneaking glances at him. Russell held up both his anus, motioning for the class to be quiet, but now the kids were shouting names back and forth, calling out: "Hey, Kelpie? You want to ride my horse?" "Shut up, Magic Maiden." "Up yours, Brian Boru." The names flashed up and down the length of the room like insults. In the back, Valerie got halfway out of her seat, tried to decide what to do. Scott had pinned himself against the front blackboard. He was watching the class, his eyes shifting back and forth, flinching at each mention of a name. Slowly Mr. Russell brought the students under control. He walked down the center aisle, planting himself among the rowdiest students, and put his hand on their shoulders. Now he lowered his voice, kept speaking gently until the laughter and noise ceased. "All right," he said calmly. "We have had our fun. I would just remind you of the saying that only an ignorant person laughs at what he or she doesn't understand." "Mr. Russell, we understand," John Pettit spoke up, "but it's stupid. I mean, it's like a game you'd play in the sixth grade." Another outbreak of noise swept the room and the teacher said quickly, "Well, ladies and gentlemen, you happen to be wrong. I've read that the majority of students who play this game have above-average intelligence. In fact, a lot of Hobgoblin players are college students." "Weirdos," a voice declared from a corner of the room. "Close it down. Close it down," Russell demanded. There was an edge in his voice that the class recognized and they immediately stopped talking. "Scott, what do you think? You're the expert here." He was speaking nicely to Scott who still stood against the wall as if held captive, Russell smiled, tried to seem encouraging. "Can you tell the kids why you think they'd like to play Hobgoblin? For example, it's really helped you in math, hasn't it?" "I don't care if they play it or not," Scott answered back. "But it gets easier as you go along, doesn't it? It's not so hard once you get started-or so I'm told." Scott shook his head. He felt detached. Removed from the class. He didn't know them. He didn't care about any of them. They were staring up at him, twenty grinning faces. They looked like a pack of Padfoots, the huge dogs with immense feet and saucer eyes that came after Brian Boru when he was crossing the Hills of Ballyhoura. Brian had beheaded half a hundred of them as they came in waves, snapping at
his heels, lunging for the flesh of his bare calves. Twice he had been hit. Twice the wild highland dogs had dug their white teeth into his flesh, but he had picked their bodies off like leeches, using the pike of his horseman's hammer to spear the beasts and cast them aside. "Scott? Why don't you sit down now?" the social studies teacher asked. He was watching the boy closely and realized too late that Scott was past obeying. "Brian Boru will slaughter you all," he declared passionately. "Kill every one of you dogs." "All right," the teacher said at once, coming between Scott and the first row of girls, who went off into new fits of laughter. "He'll soak the woods with your blood and let the Nuckelavees eat your entrails." Scott was yelling at them, shouting to be heard over the uproar of laughter and swearing. A dozen hands went up, giving him the finger. "All right! All right!" Russell could not control the classroom. Scott kept shouting. "You're all turds. Big, fat, round turds." "Scott." Russell grabbed him by the arm, and felt Scott shaking violently under his grip. "Let me go." Scott ripped his arm from Russell's fingers. "Get away from me." He backed off, stumbling against the slightly raised platform on which the teacher's desk was set. Valerie jumped up. "Scott, please!" she shouted from the back of the room. Scott did not see her. Half the class was on its feet, ignoring the teacher, screaming at Scott. Now he was giving the finger to the class and swearing back at them. Russell went for Scott. He had to get the boy outside, he realized. They'd be fighting next, tearing the classroom apart. Christ, how in the world had this happened? Scott saw the teacher coming. He ran straight at him, catching the teacher unprepared, and stiff-armed him, sending Russell crashing back against his own desk. It lurched under the teacher's weight and slid halfway off its perch. Books and papers flew into the air as two of the legs hit the floor with a crash, and several girls screamed at the sudden explosion of sound. Scott regained his own balance and ran for the door. "Scott, wait," Russell pleaded, struggling to his feet. Scott hit the empty hallway running. The long corridor was oppressively silent, the floor heavy with wax and the bright, hot reflection of sunlight. At the far end of the hall a doorway to the parking lot stood open. It was cooler out there. He could feel a breeze. He ran for the daylight.