by Bill Allen
He grabbed her hand as he passed and helped her run faster than she’d ever run in her life. Fueled by jealousy, Melvin ran even faster. He managed to catch up and took Kristin’s other hand in his own.
“Come on,” Greg cried, and Melvin, one arm now looped about Kristin’s waist, struggled to keep up.
“Let go of me.”
Soon they emerged into a clearing. Greg could just make out Priscilla running a few steps ahead.
A faint movement beyond her, Lucky led the pack. “Hurry,” he called without slowing down.
When a huge black wall rushed up to meet them, Greg nearly called for the others to stop, but then Lucky reached the wall and ran straight into it, disappearing in an instant, so Greg continued to run, with less enthusiasm, toward the same fate.
To his relief, the “wall” turned out to be nothing more than dense woods, the far side of the clearing. Again they were running blindly between the trees. Suddenly more concerned about the danger ahead than behind, Greg called the group to a halt.
Kristin broke free of Melvin’s grasp. The two were shuffling around, panting and wheezing, when Lucky approached Greg, not the least bit winded. He raised his voice above the noise. “You think we lost them?”
“I think so,” Greg gasped, “but we should probably keep moving, just in case.”
“Moving where?” Priscilla asked. “We don’t know which way to go.”
Greg looked to the sky to guide him, but the trees were too thick to see more than the occasional star, and Greg knew he’d have had no idea which way to go even with a clearer view.
Lucky pointed in the direction they had been running. “I say we go that way.”
Greg shrugged. “I’m willing to go with one of Lucky’s hunches.”
“Not a hunch,” said Lucky. “Those organ hunters may still be chasing us.”
The others agreed and started off into the dark. Eventually they reached another clearing and stopped to rest. They decided against lighting a fire. Why provide a beacon to guide every organ hunter within miles straight to their camp?
The night passed slowly. Every time a twig snapped or a bush rustled, Greg was sure he was about to lose a kidney. He knew nothing about the forests of the Netherworld, but he desperately hoped they were teeming with harmless monkeydogs, just like those in the kingdom.
“What do we do now?” Kristin asked the next morning. “We still don’t know which way to go.”
Lucky pointed again. “We go that way.”
Greg realized that was the direction they had been going the night before. “You think those organ hunters are still chasing us?”
“No, look,” said Lucky. “That peak in the distance. See how the one section looks like two dragon horns jutting up into the sky? Bob said Old Haven was just the other side of Dragon Horns Pass.”
Kristin studied the mountains in the distance. “You don’t think they are, do you? Dragon’s horns, I mean?”
“Not unless the dragon’s a half mile long,” quipped Melvin. No one laughed. For all they knew, running afoul of a half-mile-long dragon was perfectly normal in the Netherworld.
“Okay, we head for the peak,” said Priscilla. “Do you think we’ll run into Tom or Bob again?”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” said Greg. “Tom won’t exactly want to be found, and Bob could be anywhere by now.”
“Well, not anywhere,” said Melvin. “He’s not here.”
“Thanks, Melvin. That’s helpful.”
The group marched all morning. When the sun was high in the sky, they took their first break.
Greg’s stomach growled. “I’m starving.”
“Uh-oh,” said Lucky.
Greg winced. “What now?”
“It’s just, Tom and Bob have been providing our meals. Now that we don’t have any monsters ‘accidentally’ crossing our path, what are we going to do for food?”
“Well, we didn’t always have regular meals,” Kristin reminded them. “Remember those roots they fed us?”
Melvin grimaced. “Who could forget?”
Certainly not Greg. But even if they did taste like the leather sole of a worn-out sandal fished from a landfill, roots were better than nothing. He only wished he’d paid closer attention when the two insurance agents were collecting them. None of the group could identify which plants had edible roots and which did not.
“What about this one?” Melvin asked. He held up a yellow-orange root that resembled a twisted voodoo doll.
The root suddenly opened its eyes, spotted Melvin holding it up by its ears, and clawed Melvin’s arm. With a howl, Melvin dropped it and watched the root scurry away on four of its points.
“I’m guessing no,” said Lucky.
“I found one,” said Kristin. She held up a tan root that she’d plucked from an area where Rake had been digging, and while to Greg it looked in no way different from any other, she seemed deliriously happy.
“How do you know?” Greg asked.
“What do you mean? Don’t you remember Bob giving us some like this?”
Not surprisingly, Melvin had been digging just a few feet away. He took the root from Kristin and shrugged. “They all look the same to me.”
“Let me see,” said Lucky, but Melvin pulled it out of reach. He wiped it off with his dirty hands, inspected it carefully from every angle, sniffed it, and finally took a bite. The others leaned in close to observe his reaction.
“Auuugh!” Melvin screamed, and began thrashing about on the ground, clenching his throat.
“What’s wrong?” Greg shouted. “What’s happening?”
Melvin stopped thrashing and smiled. “Nothing. Tastes just as bad as the ones Bob fed us.”
“That’s not funny,” Greg said, emphasizing the fact with a punch to Melvin’s shoulder.
Melvin’s natural dragon-slaying abilities allowed him to escape the blow unharmed. “I know,” he said, grimacing as he took another bite of the root. “It’s just plain awful.”
In spite of Melvin’s warning, Lucky and Greg dug up a dozen more roots and distributed them to the others. That night after dinner they debated starting a fire, but since they didn’t know what bandits might be lurking about, and since here they were with all their organs after sleeping the previous night in the dark, they decided against it.
“You think Nathan’s okay?” Priscilla asked through the darkness.
Greg was trying to lure Rake up onto his chest so he could get some sleep. “I hope so. I mean, I’m sure he is.”
“Do you think he’ll have all his organs?” came Melvin’s voice.
“Nathan can take care of himself,” Lucky reassured them. “He’s a powerful magician, remember?”
“But what about Dolzowt Deth?” said Kristin. “Mordred said he was powerful too. What if he’s cast some spell that keeps Nathan from being able to use his powers?”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Greg lied.
“But then why didn’t he return to the kingdom?” Priscilla asked, voicing Greg’s silent concern.
“Maybe he doesn’t know how,” said Lucky. “Remember Bob told us that nobody but Dolzowt Deth could leave the Netherworld. What if Nathan came down here not knowing he couldn’t get back again?”
“That’s crazy,” said Melvin. “Dad said he came here and back, and he doesn’t know the first thing about magic.”
“But your dad lied about slaying Tehrer,” Lucky reminded him. “Maybe he lied about his whole trip down here.”
Melvin dropped into silence. Despite the fact the boy had been annoying her ever since they met, Kristin spoke up on his behalf.
“Not necessarily. If Melvin’s dad did make a deal with this dragon, then the dragon could have taken him back to the Styx. After all, we already know it can go in and out of here. That’s why Mr. Greatheart said he got called in to help in the first place.”
Melvin smiled at her, and even though he always grinned whenever she was near, this time the expression looked different. �
�Thanks.”
“Well, then there’s no problem,” said Lucky. “If your dad did make a deal with Tehrer, then we just need to make a deal with him too.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Greg muttered. “After we rescue Nathan from a legendary master of the Dark Arts, we just need to find a dragon that hates all of mankind and could be living anywhere in the Netherworld, and talk him into giving us a ride out of this inescapable world. Oh, and all so we can, assuming Nathan is alive and actually has the Amulet of Ruuan with him, battle an evil witch who’s bent on destroying us and all of the kingdom. Why would there be a problem?”
Non-Troll Bridge
Shortly after noon the following day, the group crossed a small rise that permitted a clear view of the mountains ahead. Encouraged by the sight, they shuffled down a sandy slope that led about a mile to a bridge spanning a narrow river.
“Odd place for a bridge, here in the middle of nowhere,” Lucky observed.
“After you,” said Melvin, motioning for him to cross.
The bridge looked plenty sturdy, and even if it didn’t, Lucky probably wouldn’t have hesitated. The others followed just as confidently, until a hairy man, covered from head to toe with black dirt, crawled up from under the bridge and vaulted over the rail. He landed in the center of the span, blocking their way.
“Halt. Who goes there?”
“Troll!” screamed Kristin. No one who’d ever seen a troll could have possibly made the same mistake.
“Who you calling a troll?” the man shouted. “Why, do I look like a troll to you?”
Kristin studied him a good while.
“No, I don’t,” the man answered for her. “Why, I’ve never been so insulted in all my . . . hey, you lot don’t have none of them nasty insurance agents with you, do you?”
“Insurance agents?” said Greg. “No, why?”
The man scowled. “I don’t take too kindly to insurance agents.” He motioned sideways with his head, as if one glance to the right would make everything perfectly clear.
Greg peered over the railing and felt his stomach churn.
A half-dozen men in crumpled business suits hung upside down by ropes tied to the rail, swinging with their heads hovering just inches above the water. Greg couldn’t tell if any were alive or not, nor if Bob or Tom was among them, as all insurance agents tended to look pretty much the same from this angle.
“No, I don’t care much for salesmen at all,” the man elaborated. “Are they . . . dead?” Greg asked.
“Ah, heavens no,” said the man. “If they was, do you think they’d still be hanging there? Nope, soon as one of them dies, they pops off to who knows where to bother some other fella, and then I don’t need to worry about them no more. Until then, well, this is fun too, don’t you think?”
“But what did they ever do to you?” Priscilla asked.
“They didn’t need to do nothin’. They’re salesmen. That’s bad enough.” His eyes darted about. The wild look behind them would have proved he was mad, even if the sight of six swinging insurance agents hadn’t already done the trick.
“My daddy was a salesman,” he told them. “Always on the trail. Never had time for Mum or me at all. Well, I showed him now, didn’t I?” His wild eyes nearly bore into Greg. “I said, didn’t I?”
“Okay . . . sure.”
Kristin looked over the rail. “That’s horrible . . .”
“Yeah, I know,” said the man. “You can’t get a decent view at all from up here, but there’s nothing higher up I could tie ’em to.”
“No, I mean—oh, never mind. Let’s get out of here,” she whispered to Greg.
The man stepped into her way, his look of madness increasing. “Not so fast, little lady. I can’t let you pass. No, no, that wouldn’t do at all. What then would I eat for supper?”
Kristin flinched back. “I thought you said you weren’t a troll.”
“’Course. Do I look like a troll?”
“Then why would you want to eat us?” Greg asked, hoping to reason with the man.
“Well, I’ve got to eat something. These insurance agents don’t get it. Soon’s you roast one, he up and disappears on you.”
Priscilla stepped bravely forward. “Okay, look. We’re perfectly willing to pay to cross your bridge.”
“Pay?” he said, incredulous. “I don’t have no use for organs. Unless they’s tasty, of course.”
Greg noticed Priscilla’s legs shaking—or maybe it was just his vision, as his own legs were trembling plenty.
“I was referring to . . . hair,” said Priscilla. “Red hair.”
The man grimaced as if she’d suggested they pay with insurance agents. “You can’t eat hair. It just balls up in your stomach and makes you all sick. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“No,” Lucky said, “you don’t eat it. You trade it for the things you need.”
“Like food?” said the man.
“Exactly.”
“You see anybody around here to trade with?”
A muffled groan emanated up from below the bridge.
“Ah, no.”
“’Course not,” said the man. “If there was, I’d’ve eaten ’em.” He raised his eyes to the sky and shook his head, as if tired of dealing with fools. “Okay, let’s get to it. It ain’t getting any less hungry around here, is it?”
“Wait, aren’t you going to ask us a riddle or something?” asked Kristin.
“Shh,” said Melvin. “Trolls don’t do that.”
“But he said he wasn’t a troll.”
“Quiet.” The man studied her curiously. “Why would I ask you a riddle?”
“It’s just something non-trolls do,” said Lucky, and then, being someone who’d spent his entire life beating the odds, he added, “It gives us a fighting chance of getting across the bridge alive.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because it will prove to us you’re not a troll,” Greg said quickly.
“But I’m not,” the man insisted.
“Yes, and this will prove it.”
The man thought about this a while, raking his fingers through his matted hair, a pained expression across his face. “I don’t know any riddles.”
“I could give you one,” suggested Kristin.
The man thought a moment longer, then spun toward her, enraged. “What do I look like, an idiot?”
Kristin, who’d judged incorrectly on him looking like a troll, apparently knew to remain silent.
“Well, then we’ll ask you one,” said Melvin. “If you answer right, you can eat us. If not, you let us pass.”
“Melvin!” shouted the others.
“Don’t worry,” Melvin whispered behind his hand. “This guy’s obviously out of his mind.”
While the man was distracted, Priscilla tried to sidle past him, but he jumped into her way. “You didn’t ask me no riddle,” he reminded her.
“Okay,” said Melvin, “how did the dragonslayer lose his job?”
“He got fired,” said the man without a moment’s thought. “I guess I’ll just be eating you now, then.”
“No wait,” said Melvin. “That was just practice. How about this? Why did the dragon lose his taste for young maidens?”
This time the man considered for a full second. “I suppose because his food kept disagreeing with him.”
Melvin’s face blanched.
“These are too easy,” said the man, licking his beard.
“Yeah, but here comes the real one, all right?”
“Melvin,” Priscilla scolded. “This is serious. You’re gambling with our lives.”
“Yeah, well, he’s just been lucky so far. Wait till he hears this next one.”
“No, hold on,” said Priscilla. “Ask me first.”
Melvin scowled, but before he said anything out loud again he whispered something into Priscilla’s ear.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” the princess said, frowning. “He used his scales.”
Melvin frowned too, and whispered something else.
Priscilla rolled her eyes. “Because he’d never live to tell the tail. Come on, Melvin. This is important.”
“You think you could do better?”
“No, I’m not the one who goes around asking stupid riddles every five minutes. Greg, what about you? Do you know any good Earth riddles?”
Greg frowned. “No. The only one I know is, ‘Why did the chicken cross the road?’”
“Why did the chicken cross the road?” the man repeated. “Yes, why indeed, why indeed?”
“What? No, that wasn’t the riddle. We were just discussing . . .”
But the man started pacing back and forth determinedly, his eyes cast to the ground, trying to think. “This one doesn’t involve dragons at all, does it? No, I should think not. Chickens, of all things. Who ever heard of a riddle involving chickens?”
“Do you give up then?” asked Melvin.
“Hold on, give me time to think. There must be an answer.”
“Okay, now do you give up?”
The man stopped abruptly and looked to Greg. “How about a hint?”
“We’re talking about our lives here.”
“But, can’t you just . . . ?” He tugged on his hair and looked around, as if the others might help. “Not even one hint . . . any of you?”
Silence.
“Tell you what,” he finally said. “I’ll let you pass whether I get it or not. Just give me the hint.”
“Promise?” said Kristin.
“What do you take me for—some sort of troll?”
“No, of course not,” she said quickly. “So you’ll let us go then?”
“Yes, yes, just give me the hint.”
She glanced at Greg, who nodded to let her know it was okay.
“All right. It might have been asked, ‘Why did we cross the bridge?’”
The man thought a moment longer, raking his fingers through his hair again. “Still nothing to do with dragons. How should I know why you want to cross this bridge? I suppose to get to the other side. Why else?”
“That’s it exactly,” said Kristin. “To get to the other side.”
“You’re kidding?” he said, slapping his knee. “Really? You mean I got it? No, wait, what was it again?”