Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web - Volume 1

by Prestopnik, Thomas J.

  Mune sat down and took a sip of his drink, leaning back in his chair to continue listening to the wild and fanciful yarns that George and Gill spun in their friendly competition. He was quick to refill their glasses when needed.

  “Remember that time, Gill, when... That time when–probably fifteen years ago–when, uh, whatever-his-name dared me to climb that dead pine tree?” George slapped the table. “I can’t believe I really did that!”

  “He did!” Gill excitedly assured Mune. “It was the deadest, driest pine tree ever, standing right in the middle of this field, see? The rotting tree had been dead for years and that was the summer we had nearly no rain besides. The tree was drier than kindling.”

  “Not a needle left on it!” George said. “Some of the thinner branches snapped off if you just looked at them.”

  “You don’t say.” Mune’s eyes widened in feigned fascination.

  George gleefully pointed to himself. “And I climbed it! That guy who dared me–I still can’t think of his name, but he doesn’t live around here anymore–had to pay me two copper half-pieces on that bet. What a fool!”

  “And the best part,” Gill added, slurping down another mouthful of gin, “was that the tree fell down in a storm not a week later! Now isn’t that a good story? Isn’t it?”

  “Most certainly,” Mune said as George and Gill doubled over in convulsions of drunken laughter. He pretended to take another sip of his drink before casually lowering his glass to the side of his chair. With George and Gill not paying attention, Mune emptied most of the glass, carefully pouring the gin through a crack in the floor planks. He had executed this procedure several times during the evening, not allowing even a single drop to hit the floorboards during this latest attempt. When George and Gill recovered, Mune was already refilling the three tumblers.

  “My, but you men certainly have had some exciting times in your youth,” he said. “Little seems to bother us during those carefree years. It’s our advancing age that makes us more cautious in our choices, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Gill mumbled, offering a shrug.

  “Still, I do enjoy a challenge now and then to make me feel alive. A risky gamble or a wild dare is just the right spice sometimes!” Mune raised his glass, a wicked grin painted across his face. “To taking chances!”

  George and Gill lifted their glasses with unsteady arms to join in the toast, downing the gin in a single gulp. Mune quickly refilled their empty tumblers and then sat back and stared at the two men, both now teetering on the edge of awareness. Their eyes darted like flies, their heads bobbing like driftwood on an ocean. Suddenly, Mune set his glass down with a thump and cleared his throat.

  “You’ve inspired me, gentlemen! Your stories of joyous youth have awakened in me memories of my own adolescence.”

  Gill rubbed a finger across his nose. “Sorry, sir. We didn’t mean to.”

  “That’s a good thing!” he said, pulling out a small cloth pouch from the inside pocket of his coat. “So in keeping with the spirit of the moment, I wish to propose a dare.” He tossed the pouch onto the center of the table, where it landed with a metallic thud. George Bane and Gill Meddy stared at the object, tongue-tied, then glanced at Mune, their eyes focused on his mischievous grin.

  “What did you have in mind?” George asked.

  “I recall you mentioning earlier in the evening that there are some caves just east of the village.”

  “The Spirit Caves,” George said. “Less than two miles out along River Road. But I don’t remember mentioning those tonight.” With one elbow firmly planted on the table, George rested his tired head in the palm of his hand.

  “Yes, the Spirit Caves. That was the name.” Mune slowly untied the cloth pouch and gently poured out some of its contents. A stream of silver and copper half-pieces glinted in the dim light. “I could swear that one of you spoke about those caves tonight.”

  Gill’s eyes popped open. “We easily could have! Now that I think about it, George or I probably did say something about them. Don’t you think, George?”

  “Guess so...” George mumbled, enthralled by the clinking coins. There was enough money in that pouch to equal two months of his salary as a farmhand. The corners of his lips turned upward like thorn points. “What kind of dare do you propose, Mr. Mune?”

  Mune had them hooked and he knew it. He picked up one of the silver half-pieces and rubbed it between his fingers. “I hear that those caves are haunted. Is it true?”

  “Don’t know if they’re haunted exactly, but I recall hearing strange stories as a boy. Some creatures were supposed to have been trapped inside, if you can believe that.” George watched as the coin gently somersaulted between Mune’s fingers, the light of the tavern gleaming dully off it. “We can tell you about those caves if you like.”

  “Perhaps on the way over.”

  “On the way–over?” Gill Meddy clutched the glass tumbler. “You want us to go to those caves? Now?”

  “Considering your condition, walking along the main road would take us less than an hour to arrive,” Mune said. “Besides, the air is refreshing tonight. A perfect time for a walk. You can fill me in on the details surrounding the legend of these so-called Spirit Caves on the way over and then decide if you wish to accept my challenge.”

  “Which is? You haven’t actually told us yet,” George said.

  “Gentlemen, my dare is a simple one,” he replied as he dropped the coins into the pouch one by one, each metallic clink luring his companions closer to his web. “Whichever of you spends the longest time inside the caves will receive the entire contents of this pouch.” Mune pushed the full bag of coins in front of them. “If you both stay in there, let’s say for two full hours, then can you split the money evenly. In either case, the payoff is substantial. Hardly much of an effort for two such daring men.”

  George looked askance at his challenger. “What’s the catch? Sounds too easy. Doesn’t it to you, Gill?”

  “Yeah, I suppose…” he said while longingly starring at the pouch of coins.

  “No catch,” Mune assured them. “Just the thrill of the dare. Unless those stories you regaled me with earlier were simply tall tales from two men who really have nothing to show for their lives up to this point.”

  George slapped the gin-splattered table. “I really did climb that dead pine tree! Probably no more than thirteen years old when I did it. We weren’t telling no tall tales, were we, Gill.”

  “No. Mostly.”

  Mune shrugged. “Well all that matters is the here and now. Your desire for another victory is what counts. So you may either accept my dare, and we’ll set off for the Spirit Caves at once, or simply refuse and there’ll be no hard feelings. We’ll remain friends and finish up this bottle of gin.”

  Gill sat back in his chair, combing his hands through his hair as a gush of air shot out through his puffed cheeks. As tempting as the offer was, Gill had a deathly fear of enclosed spaces, especially haunted caves in the deep of night. The thought chilled him. All the liquor in the world couldn’t prepare him for that stunt. George, however, stared at the bag of coins, his dizzy head already contemplating how to spend the cash. All it would take was spending a few hours in a dark cave. How difficult was that?

  “I’ll pass on your offer,” Gill said sadly.

  “We’ll do it!” George blurted out at the same time before shooting a poisonous glance at Gill. “What do you mean you’ll pass?”

  “Just what I said, George. I have no hankering to go exploring dark caves in the middle of the night. You know I don’t take well to being locked up in little spaces. Besides, I got my lovely wife to think about.”

  “As if she’d miss you for a night!”

  “Maybe...” Gill trailed off, helping himself to more gin.

  Mune locked eyes with George. “Now’s your chance to double the reward. Do you go it alone, sir, or will your fears get the best of you, too?”

  “I’m no coward!” George said,
refilling his glass and drinking it down in a single swallow. He grinned bitterly at his challenger and slammed the glass on the table. “I’ll show you, Mr. Mune. Let’s go!” He stood on a pair of wobbly legs and managed to slide behind Gill to get out of the corner, slapping him on the shoulders as he passed by. “See you in the morning, friend. Maybe have an egg breakfast with you at the eatery. My treat!”

  Gill nodded gloomily as Mune plucked the pouch of coins off the table, watching through bleary red eyes as he and George exited the tavern.

  They walked east along River Road, with Mune balancing a torch in one hand while holding up a staggering George Bane in the other. A cool breeze blew at their backs, carrying George’s gin-marinated babblings across barren farm fields and through nearby woods. Mune patiently endured his stale breath and flailing limbs, though several times wanted to abandon the drunken mess on the side of the road and be done with him. That meant, however, completing the assigned task ahead himself, and Mune refused to do it no matter who gave the orders, so he continued on. Far above, a large crow circled, gliding over the shifting air currents, its sleek black wings blending invisibly with the sky.

  “How ‘bout we stop for another drink!” George blurted out deliriously.

  Mune rolled his eyes. “Yes, it’s been a whole twenty minutes since you’ve had your last drop.”

  “Are we going to meet with those ghostly fellows?” George asked, tugging at Mune’s collar.

  “Stop choking me! Who?”

  “Those creatures in the Spirit Caves.”

  “That’s just a ridiculous legend you heard as a child, my friend. I assure you, nothing lives in those caves.”

  “Glad to hear you say that, umm... What’s your name again?”

  “George Bane.” Mune paused for a moment to prop up his rubbery burden.

  “Oh, that’s right. I...” George thought for a moment before snorting with laughter. “No, that’s my name!” He playfully slapped Mune on the face. “You’re trying to trick me, but I know who I am. What I really wanted was... Uh, can’t remember what I wanted, but I think I could use a nap.”

  “Just a little farther, George, and you’ll have a bagful of money for your troubles. Tomorrow you can take all the naps you want. How would you like that?”

  George rubbed his eyes and sniffed. “That’s an awful nice gesture, mister.”

  “Indeed it is, George. Indeed it is.”

  Mune hustled George along the remainder of the way, encountering no other soul during their travels. Freshly fallen leaves cluttered sections of the dirt road, rustling like harsh whispers as the men swished through them. Their awkward steps over the vast countryside were illuminated only by the glow from the single torch. Occasionally light from a distant farmhouse was visible over blackened fields or peeked through a grove of trees, seeming to blink as they passed silently by.

  At last the caves appeared in view, looming off to the left like yawning stone faces chiseled into the cliffs. A handful of tall pines stood scattered about, their boughs bobbing in cool currents like the arms of slender giants. Thick grass and weeds, now dry, brittle and lifeless, littered the base of the rocky formation. On the opposite side of the road, directly across from the caves, stood the dilapidated remains of a two-room wooden guardhouse. An army of weeds and saplings had slowly consumed it over the years. Mune hastily studied the caves from the road while trying to keep George Bane on his feet.

  “Time to see exactly what you’re made of, George. Your tales of derring-do have come home to roost. Do you have what it takes to live up to them?” He shook George by the shoulders to boost his confidence. “Or are you merely a drunken fraud like your friend?”

  “Gill’s not here?” George asked, craning his neck for a look.

  “We left that mess back at the tavern. All the money goes to you–after you fulfill the terms of my dare.”

  George gazed at Mune, his face wrinkled as if he had just awakened from a deep sleep. “Dare? What dare? Why are we here?”

  “Apparently you put away too much gin into that fat head of yours, my dear friend.” Mune held up the pouch of coins in the torchlight so that George could see it. “Remember our bet? Don’t go to sleep on me now.” He hastily poured a few coins into George’s hands. “Take these with you into the cave to boost your confidence.”

  “I can have these?”

  “Sure! Sure! And to earn the rest, all you have to do is walk far into those caves for an hour or two and you’ll be golden.” Mune planted the torch into George’s hand. “Take this to find your way around. Oh, and I have another little incentive for you. My good-luck piece!” He reached into a pocket and removed a small glass sphere slightly larger than an acorn. It glowed with a bluish-white color in the fire light, capturing George’s fascinated attention.

  “That’s such a beautiful, uh–what is it?”

  “An old bauble I like to carry around,” Mune said, massaging his whiskers. “Here. Take it.” He handed the sphere to George, watching his eyes pop open.

  “I couldn’t!”

  “Please do. It’ll bring you good luck when you’re inside the caves. Guaranteed to drive away any fears you bring along.”

  “That’d be a good thing,” George mumbled, still unsteady on his feet.

  Mune sported a toothy grin. “Yes, it truly would. So are you ready?”

  George snapped to attention, a dimwitted smile pasted on his face. “I believe I am. Just point me in the right direction!”

  “My pleasure,” Mune whispered.

  He gingerly led George across the road to the small patch of land in front of the caves. The scent of pine needles soaked the air. After stomping a path though the weeds, they approached one of the openings in the cliffs. Inside it appeared darker than the night.

  “I’ll wait for you out here,” Mune said, backing off.

  George stood like a child before the mouth of the cave, eerily lit in the glow of the torch. He glanced at Mune. “You want me to go in here?”

  “Yes! Yes! That’s the dare.” Mune hastily removed the pouch of coins and held it up, shaking the bag so the silver and copper half-pieces jingled. “This is the reward that awaits you. Now in you go!”

  George scratched his swimming head, a part of him wondering if this wasn’t some weary and complicated dream. “Well, all right then. If that’s what I’m supposed to do.” He took a deep breath and placed a foot inside the cave, ducking slightly as he stepped through the entrance before disappearing within. Mune darted across the road at that point, hiding behind the corner of the abandoned guardhouse. High above, a black crow descended in a graceful spiral, quietly landing on top of the cliffs.

  George Bane held the torch aloft, its flame softly dancing and projecting wild shadows against the stone walls. The cave was cold and dry with hardly enough room to stand. George inched along through the narrow passage with unsteady steps, catching himself on the wall now and then to keep from falling. The gin that had turned his legs into rubber now played tricks with his mind, making the walls transform into nothingness before suddenly reappearing as solid rock. He clutched tightly onto the glass sphere that Mune had given him, telling himself everything would be all right. The bluish-white color of the sphere seemed to intensify.

  “What am I doing here?” he whispered. “George Bane, you’re a fool!”

  After several minutes, the narrow passage opened into a larger section where the air felt cooler. He stood to his full height. The light of the torch illuminated bleak surroundings, a depressing blandness that made him uneasy. He yearned to turn around and race home, but the lure of the money sang to him during brief moments of lucid thought, pushing him onward.

  This section of the cave branched out in several directions. George picked the easiest passage to maneuver through and moved on. Twenty minutes later he began to wonder how far he should go. Had Mune given him any specific instructions? Though moving was preferable to standing in one spot, he thought it best to retrace his steps a
nd find the entrance. He could wait near the opening until Mune signaled his time was up, then exit this horrible place, collect his prize and leave.

  When he turned around, the sides of the cave appeared wavy. The smoke from the torch smelled acrid. George felt sick to his stomach but kept shuffling forward. At one point he forgot where he was and why he was here, but it came back to him after turning into another passage. Though difficult to tell one section of the cave from the next, he thought this area looked especially unfamiliar. Had he taken a wrong turn? He stepped cautiously forward, hoping to spot a recognizable landmark. The air felt damp now. Steady plops of dripping water echoed along the walls. The gurgle of an underground stream was audible. He tried to think where he had made a wrong turn but couldn’t concentrate as a sense of dizziness overwhelmed him. His heart pounded. He thought he could hear the blood pumping through his veins.

  George nearly tripped over a scattering of large rocks littering the floor and maneuvered around them. The air felt particularly colder in this section. An icy shiver shot up his spine. He realized he was lost, so he stopped and turned full circle to get a fix on his surroundings. The torch illuminated a vast cavern strewn with rocks half his size, many covered with dried lichen that resembled pale, peeling skin. Pointed stone formations extended down from the ceiling like sharp teeth. George thought he heard a whisper, but reasoned it away as the wind calling through fissures in the rock. Then he heard it again.

  “Is that you, Mr. Mune? Trying to sneak in here and scare me back outside?” He looked this way and that, waving the torch in front of him like a sword. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “A bet is a bet. I’m not leaving a minute before I can collect my winnings! You hear?”

  He heard the noises again. Definitely whispers–sharp, hushed tones that filled the air like the buzz of insects. He backed into a wall and almost dropped the torch. “Show yourself!” He slashed the air with the torch, trying to beat away an invisible enemy. “Get out of here!”