“The Vampiropteryx have become more daring of late,” mused Lord Maddergrub. “I hear reports daily of their incursions into our magical dimension. It was only a matter of time before they launched such an outrageous attack.”
“This is terrible news.” Lady Maddergrub put a hand to her mouth, gazing at Edwin with watery eyes. “My dear Prince, you are most welcome to stay at Madderbrub Manor.”
Lord Maddergrub nodded solemnly. “For as long as it takes for your kingdom to be saved and your family returned to their rightful throne.”
Maddy’s siblings offered Edwin similar words of comfort. Except Alphonsus, who made another sneering remark about heron’s legs.
From the Maddergrubs’ reaction, Edwin could only assume that princes from dubious-sounding countries were always being deposed in this time period. He smiled his gratitude, and thought he should say something princely and noble in response, but remained silent under another warning glare from Maddy.
“We will treat you as one of the family.” Lord Maddergrub laid a sturdy hand on Edwin’s shoulder. “You shall consider Maddergrub Manor as your home, and are welcome to use all available lavatories. Except the one on the third floor, which is my own private lavatory.”
“It has a special padded seat,” Maddy told Edwin in a whisper. “With his name embroidered on it.”
“You shall be considered one of the family,” said Lady Maddergrub. “You shall dine with us, drink with us, and play with us as though you were our son.”
Edwin felt awkward. He wanted more than anything to reveal the truth about his presence, and didn’t like the notion of deceiving his gracious hosts. But Maddy continued to glare at him, so he nodded his thanks and smiled gratefully.
She had asked him to trust her. For his part, Edwin was prepared to go along with the plan. But he couldn’t rid himself of the nagging suspicion that Malady Maddergrub was up to something.
7 Just Scream
Bryony lay motionless; clinging to her holdall while the world around her heaved and gyrated. Gradually everything slowed. Fuzzy forms sharpened into focus. Streaks of whirling colour merged into solid shapes. The world settled into stillness.
It took a lot longer for Bryony’s stomach to do the same.
Eventually, when it stopped hurting just to look at things, she tried to make sense of her now more stable surroundings.
It was a room, dark and dingy. A musty scent hung in the chill dank air. There was a faint light, flickering and orange. The floor on which she lay was cold and hard, and from somewhere came the sound of dripping water.
Where on earth was she?
Bryony sat up, cradling her stomach whilst conducting a closer examination of the room. The stone walls and ceiling glistened with slime. There was no window, the only light cast by a flaming torch set on a wall beyond a row of rusty metal bars.
She had no idea where she was, or how she’d got there. One moment she’d been in the taxi, the next…
She looked at her wristwatch. Just an hour to catch the flight.
Confusion sharpened into panic. Bryony struggled to her feet, slipped the holdall over her shoulder, then grabbed the iron bars and screamed the first word that came into her head.
“Muuuuuuuuuum!”
Bryony listened as her echoing cry faded. She was about to start yelling again when she heard another sound in response: a distant clank reverberating in the silence.
She felt a surge of hope. Someone was coming!
There was another clank, louder this time, and then heavy stomping footsteps. And as the stomping feet came closer, Bryony heard yet another noise. Difficult to make out, but it sounded like snorting.
Bryony clung to the bars whilst the stomping and snorting got louder. A large lump of a shadow appeared on the wall outside the cell, and then the thing that caused all the stomping and snorting came lumbering into view.
And it was the ugliest thing Bryony had ever seen.
It was over seven feet tall, and almost as wide, with a huge fat body. It had no neck, its head seeming to sprout from its broad humpy shoulders. It wore a leather apron, smeared with a variety of nasty looking stains.
All that was hideous enough, but its face was even more disgusting. It resembled a warty pig, with a broad flat snout pierced by a rusty metal ring. A pair of yellow hooked fangs curved upwards from its flabby lower jaw. Its tiny dark eyes glinted evilly as it staggered to a halt outside the cell and peered through the bars at Bryony.
“I ain’t yer mum,” snorted the creature, its gruff voice thick with phlegm. “Do I look like yer mum?”
“No,” agreed Bryony, after taking a few seconds to recover her power of speech. “You’re way too ugly.”
“Ugly?” The pig monster snorted again. “You’re a fine one to talk. Just look at the state of yer face.”
Bryony looked where the pig monster’s podgy finger was pointing.
“That’s my knee,” she told him.
“Just goes to show how ugly you are if I can’t work out where yer face is.” There was another loud snort from the pig monster. “So did you want something? I ain’t got all day. Running this dungeon is a twenty four seven job, what with torture duty and on-going slime maintenance.”
“This is a dungeon?” Bryony’s jaw fell open.
“Course it is,” said the pig monster. “The deepest, dankest, dirtiest and darkest dungeon of them all. I’m Gluttoniuos Globb, Gaoler. I’m in charge, and have been for over five hundred years.”
Bryony continued to gawp. “That’s a long time.”
“Not down ‘ere it ain’t,” said Globb. “Some folks have been ‘ere a lot longer than that. And at least I get a day off every ninety seven years, plus a five minute tea break each weekday afternoon.”
Bryony wasn’t interested in leave quotas or tea breaks. “You’ve got to let me out,” she demanded. “I shouldn’t be here. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Globb chortled, runny snot spurting from his snout. “They all say that. But there’s no way out of ‘ere. This is where you’ll spend the rest of yer life, so get used to it.”
“But I’m innocent,” pleaded Bryony. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I ain’t interested in yer excuses,” grunted Globb. “You’re all guilty, that’s why you’re ‘ere. And that’s why I’m ‘ere, to make your life as unpleasant as possible. By the way, how am I doing? Feedback is always useful for evaluating performance.”
Bryony was quite happy to provide feedback; of the very loud shouty variety.
“I’m supposed to be flying to America to meet my mum,” she barked. “The plane takes off in an hour, so you’d better let me out right now.”
“No one gets out,” chortled Globb. “Not from this dungeon.”
“Then I want to see a lawyer,” insisted Bryony. “It’s my basic human right.”
“No lawyers allowed,” growled Globb. “And no one has any human rights in the Dungeon of Dreams.”
“The Dungeon of Dreams?” Bryony frowned. “What sort of dungeon is that?”
“The dungeon from which there is no escape, no reprieve.” Globb’s tiny eyes bored into Bryony, and streams of snot bubbled from his nostrils. “You are doomed to rot in the darkness, never again to feel the sun on your face. Your emaciated body will feed the ravenous rats, and your tortured soul will linger in these gloomy confines for all eternity.”
Bryony just stared at Globb, too shocked to utter a single word.
“On the plus side,” said Globb, hoisting a wooden bucket into view, “the food’s thrown in for free.”
Globb hurled the contents of the bucket through the bars, drenching Bryony in cold greasy stew.
“They always fall for that one.” Globb oinked and gurgled gleefully. “And it always makes me laugh. Now I suggest you make yourself comfortable. If you’re lucky you might find a dead rat to use as a pillow. And if you want anything else, just scream. No one will come, but I like the sound. All adds to the atmosphere.”
“Let me out,” shrieked Bryony, wiping greasy stew from her eyes. “I have a plane to catch. I have to see my mum! Let me out! Pleeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaase…”
The bulky form of the pig monster lumbered out of view. Bryony sank to her knees, her shriek fading to a despairing whimper as her hands slid down the rusty cell bars.
“Cheer up. It’s not so bad down here once you get used to it.”
“Huh?” Bryony’s head snapped up. “Who said that?”
“Your cellmate,” said the voice. “I would have introduced myself earlier, but it seemed rude to interrupt your yelling.”
“Cellmate?” Bryony looked around the cell, but couldn’t see anyone. “Where are you?”
“I’m here,” said the voice.
“But I can’t see you.” Bryony tracked the voice to an empty corner of the cell. “I can’t see anybody.”
The voice started laughing. “That’s because there’s no body here.”
Now Bryony was even more confused. “But you just said you were here.”
“I’m here,” said the voice. “But there’s no body.”
Bryony noticed a shape on the floor in the corner.
“Take a look.” The voice laughed again. “You’ll find there’s definitely no body here.”
Bryony didn’t want to look, but at the same time she had to know for sure. She shuffled gingerly into the corner, kneeling to examine the shape on the floor. To her relief she found the voice was right. It wasn’t a body, just a pile of old rags. So where was that laughing voice coming from?
Then she glimpsed something through the shredded rags: something pale, smooth and rounded.
Despite her growing sense of unease, Bryony found herself pulling the rags apart...
Only to recoil in horror when she saw what lay beneath.
It was a human skull, its bony jaw agape as the voice’s laughter warped into an insane cackle…
8 Two Heads Are Better Than One
“No body here,” laughed the skull. “Just a skull. Did you see what I did there? No body. Just a skull. I’m here all week. And the next couple of millennia, most probably.”
Bryony had retreated to the other side of the cell, where she stood cowering from the cackling skull.
“What’s the matter?” The skull seemed mystified by her reaction. “I didn’t think it was that bad, considering it was my first stab at a joke for several hundred years. Oh please, don’t say they’ve lumbered me with someone who’s got no sense of humour. You can pick your nose and talk in your sleep, but if you don’t like a laugh then we simply won’t get on.”
“Several hundred years?” Bryony’s fear gave way to curiosity. “Is that how long you’ve been here?”
“I forget the precise length of time,” admitted the skull. “But it’s been at least six and a half centuries since the last of my soft tissue rotted away. The rats didn’t help. The little blighters couldn’t wait to get stuck in once I’d popped my clogs.”
“You’re dead.” Bryony’s jaw fell open. “So… how come you’re talking?”
“My body may have been eaten away, but my soul remains. That’s what happens when you’re imprisoned for all eternity. The physical body may grow old and perish, but the spirit is doomed to remain here for ever.”
“That’s horrible.” Bryony felt sympathy for the skull. “My name’s Bryony.”
“Pleased to meet you. And my name is…”
Bryony waited for the skull to introduce himself. “Yes?”
“I apologise,” said the skull. “But I’ve been here so long that I’ve forgotten what my name is.”
“Never mind.” Bryony walked back to the skull. “I’ll call you… Boney.”
“Boney?” The skull chuckled. “I can see you have a sense of humour after all.”
“And I need it,” sighed Bryony, crouching next to the skull. “Today is my birthday. I’m supposed to be flying to my mum in America. I haven’t seen her for four years, so…”
“Flying?” Boney sounded suddenly excited. “So my suspicions are correct. You can do magic.”
“I meant flying in a plane.” Appreciating that Boney might be a little behind the times, Bryony tried to describe an aircraft in a way he might recognise. “It’s sort of like a boat, but with wings. They fly all around the world, and can fit hundreds of passengers inside.”
“That’s awful,” reflected Boney.
“Yeah. You have to pay extra for decent legroom nowadays. And the food…”
“No, I meant it’s awful that you can’t do magic. I had hoped you might have been a Wise One.”
“I never said that I couldn’t do magic.” Bryony leaned closer to the skull. “And how do you know about the Wise Ones?”
“I may have forgotten who I am, but I remember some things about the old times, about the Wise Ones and the Guardians of Wychetts.”
“That’s what I am!” Bryony nodded excitedly. “I’m a Guardian of Wychetts.”
“I knew it,” gasped Boney. “That’s why you can hear me. Only magically sensitive folks can detect a disembodied voice. Oh how I have waited for this special day. My saviour has arrived, and we shall soon be free from this horrid place!”
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up too high,” warned Bryony. “Globb won’t let me speak to a lawyer, so…”
“I was not relying on the dubious workings of our legal system. It is your magic that will set us free, Guardian.”
“Sorry, but it doesn’t work like that. I don’t have the Wychetts Key, so I can’t do any magic when I’m away from home.”
“You are more powerful than you think,” advised Boney. “Down here in the Dungeon of Dreams, anything is possible. You can use Wychetts’ magic without the Key to help you. Go on, give it a try. Test your powers on those iron bars.”
“It won’t work,” said Bryony.
“You must try,” urged Boney. “Or you’ll never see your mother again.”
“OK.” Bryony stood up. “Just to show you’re wrong.”
She pointed at the rusty bars, two of which bent apart with a loud graunching noise.
“You see?” said Boney. “You can do magic without the Wychetts Key.”
Bryony lowered her arm, staring open mouthed at the bent iron bars. “But that’s impossible.”
“As I said, anything is possible in the Dungeon of Dreams.”
Although confused, Bryony knew she didn’t have time to waste debating how she could use magic. There was a way out of here, and she had to take it.
“Thanks.” She nodded at Boney. “It’s been nice talking to you. But I’ve got a flight to catch.”
Bryony concentrated again, but this time on transporting herself to the airport. Except this time, nothing happened.
“I’m afraid that won’t work,” said Boney. “The Dungeon of Dreams is magically sealed from the outside world, so long range transportation spells are useless.”
Bryony was dismayed. “So how do I get out?”
“Your only chance is to proceed on foot. But many have tried in vain to escape this way, all victims to the horrors and traps that lurk in the dungeon’s dark domains. Even a Guardian of Wychetts cannot make that journey alone. But with a guide, you may stand a chance.”
“You mean a map? Like for tourists?”
“There is no map of the Dungeon of Dreams, but I have knowledge of the route you must take to win your freedom.”
Bryony was doubtful. “How?”
“Rats can be quite talkative between chewing, and I learned a great deal from them during my time here. There was one rat in particular who told me of a shaft that runs from the dungeon all the way to the upper levels. I would have given it a go myself, but unfortunately the same rat had gnawed both my legs off by the time he’d got round to telling me.”
Bryony found no reason to doubt Boney; after all, he’d been right about her being able to do magic.<
br />
“So how do I find this shaft? Can you remember the way?”
“I can. And will be happy to navigate as we go.”
Bryony realised what Boney meant. “You want me to take you with me?”
“It would be advantageous for us both. After all, two heads are better than one.”
“But I don’t have any room in my holdall.”
“I won’t be able to navigate from inside a sack, so you must carry me. And it would be best to leave your luggage here. We must travel light.”
Bryony was horrified. “I’m not leaving my stuff.”
“Surplus baggage will slow us down. Take only what you can fit in your pockets, no more.”
On reflection, Bryony supposed she’d have little need for hairbrushes and perfumed shampoo on her trek through the dungeon. But there was one thing she wasn’t going to leave behind.
She slipped the holdall from her shoulder and tipped its contents onto the floor. It took a few seconds rummaging before she found her mother’s letter, which she folded up and slipped into her trouser pocket.
“Is that everything?” asked Boney.
Bryony nodded, and then spotted the small package lying amongst her abandoned belongings.
Her birthday present.
It was probably nothing to get excited about, worth less than the paper it was wrapped in. But something made Bryony pick up the tiny parcel and cram it into her pocket with the letter.
“I’m good to go.” She scooped up the skull and tucked it under her arm. “Are you comfortable?”
“Luckily I have no need for leg room,” said Boney. “Now let us make haste. Think you can slip through those bars you just bent?”
“Sure.” Bryony tried, but found it more of a squeeze than a slip.
“Try breathing in,” suggested Boney.
“Are you saying I’m fat?” growled Bryony. “Because you’re not exactly a good advert for weight loss.”
A distant clang echoed through the dungeon, followed by the sound of stomping feet.
“It’s that rock troll Globb,” said Boney. “He must be doing a slime inspection.”
Wychetts and the Dungeon of Dreams Page 5