Bacca and the Riddle of the Diamond Dragon

by Jerome ASF

  “Yes!” said Gargantua, swiveling its skull to locate the blacksmith. “Yes, I Am.”

  The skeleton methodically drew arrow after arrow and sent them flying across the room. There was a great clamoring as the statue went tumbling to the floor. The impact sent blocks flying. A cloud of dust began to rise from the floor.

  “But wait,” Bacca cried. “You’re not done yet. There’s a little boy from the village. Look at him! He’s pointing at you. Are you going to let him get away with that?”

  “NO!” Gargantua cried, in a voice so loud it caused the ceiling to shake. “No I’m Not!”

  The skeleton swiveled around to face the statue of the boy. Being smaller, it took Gargantua only two arrows to knock it over. It hit the ground and broke apart with a loud, blocky Ker-Splat!

  “Nice work,” Bacca called from his perch. “You really showed those villagers. They’re going to think twice before they mess with skeletons again.”

  “They Will Think Twice,” agreed the giant.

  “But . . . uh-oh, what’s happening?” Bacca asked rhetorically as he began to light the second pile of torches. “It looks like night is over. The sun is starting to come back out. The awful, nasty, mean sun that likes to burn skeletons into little blackened crisps!”

  “Ack!” Gargantua said. “Oh No!”

  “Quick,” Bacca said. “Now is the time to go back under the ground. To rest and meditate on all the good shooting you just did. To anticipate all the exciting hunts that are yet to come.”

  “Good, Yes,” the giant agreed. “I Will Do That.”

  Remembering himself, Gargantua took several thunderous steps, rotating until he was once again facing the wall. The torches burned brightly, reflected in the enormous golden sun. Bacca turned and saw the real villagers watching from the doorway. The yellow haired boy smiled and gave Bacca a thumbs-up. Bacca gave him a thumbs-up back.

  Then he held his breath.

  Now was the moment of truth.

  In the dark ledges hidden in the shadowy corners of the ceiling, there was suddenly a great murmuration. (“Great” in this case meant it was heard by a few nearby sleeping bats who had really excellent, radar-like hearing.)

  “This is quite remarkable,” one of the creepers was saying. “There were several ways to approach this problem, granted, but I never would have expected him to do this.”

  “That looked like fun,” another creeper idly mused. “Sometimes I wish I was a skeleton. Shooting bows has to be very exciting!”

  “Perhaps, but it is certainly not better than sneaking up on people and exploding!” warned a senior creeper.

  The creepers nodded in unison, then turned their attention back to the scene unfolding below them.

  “Those statues Bacca built were the biggest I’ve ever seen,” a creeper said. “And they really and truly looked like villagers. That is, before Gargantua destroyed them.”

  “Do you think he’s going to buy it?” a different creeper asked. “I mean, all Bacca did was just sort of simulate what a skeleton could do.”

  “Maybe so,” said another creeper, “but it sure was a good simulation. When Gargantua was shooting arrows at those statues, I felt for a second like he was a regular-sized skeleton. Then I thought, if he’s regular-sized, then maybe I’m just a very small creeper. It really messed with my head!”

  “Probably, it’s better not to think about stuff like that,” an experienced creeper pointed out. “You could make yourself crazy.”

  There was much head shaking in agreement.

  Then a creeper said, “If Bacca passes this test . . . if Gargantua agrees he’s solved the riddle . . . then there’s only one riddle left. Only one until . . . Until . . .”

  The thought was so exciting that the creeper could not complete the sentence. None of the creepers could.

  Instead, they sat in rapt silence, watching to see what happened next.

  As the last of the torches began to burn out, Bacca descended the stone stairs from his platform. He reached the floor and walked back over to where the bony giant was still facing the wall. Although the skeleton was demonstrably without lungs, Bacca could have sworn he heard the giant breathing hard.

  Gargantua noticed Bacca and turned back around to face him.

  “That Was Good,” the great skeleton said, slowly and ponderously. “Very Good. I Never Thought I Would Be Able To Do What Other Skeletons Can. Thank You.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Bacca, hoping that all of this work was going to have a payoff.

  “The Creepers Said I Should Help You If You Gave Me What I Truly Desired,” said Gargantua. “That Is Exactly What You Have Done. Accordingly, I Will Show You The Way Forward.”

  “Thank you,” said Bacca. “I appreciate that.”

  “But . . .” the bony giant hesitated. “I Am Concerned. There Is Only One In That Direction. There Is Only . . . Her.”

  Bacca didn’t like the sound of that.

  “Her?” Bacca said.

  “I Suppose That You Will Meet Her Soon Enough,” the Skeleton said. “But People Are Always Upset When They Return From Seeing Her. They Are Often Sad. Sometimes, They Are Even Injured. I Think Seeing Her Must Be A Bad Idea. But The Creepers Said It Was Where You Would Desire To Go. I Will Not Keep You From Your Heart’s Desire, Especially When You Have Just Given Me Mine. Now Then, Are You Ready To Go To Her?”

  “Um, just a second,” Bacca said.

  He rushed over to the doorway where the villagers still lingered expectantly.

  “Guys, I have a big favor to ask,” Bacca said. “That sun up there made out of blocks of gold . . . it needs to go back to the haunted mine. Do you think you could do that for me? I made a promise to the ghost.”

  “A promise to the ghost?” said the farmer, as if such an idea was outrageous.

  “Why would you do something like that?” said the blacksmith.

  “It was the only way I could get the ghost to agree to let me leave with the gold,” Bacca said. “Otherwise, he would use his magic to take it out of my inventory and put it back in the ground.”

  But the yellow haired boy, who was clever enough to understand what had happened all along, said: “Sure. We’ll help you keep your promise, won’t we?”

  The other two villagers grudgingly agreed that they would also help.

  “And please tell the ghost I’m sorry I couldn’t come personally,” Bacca said. “Actually, scratch that. I think it would make him happiest if you just screamed when you saw him, dropped the gold, and ran away. He likes it when people are afraid. He won’t hurt you. Quite a nice chap, actually. Just don’t let on that you know.”

  Bidding the villagers farewell, Bacca returned to the foot of the giant.

  “Okay then,” Bacca called. “I’m ready to go.”

  “Good,” Gargantua said. “I Am Ready To Take You.”

  The giant bent down and held its bony hand flat against the floor. Bacca stepped onto the hand and held onto the gigantic thumb for balance.

  Gargantua lifted him up and began to take the first of several enormous steps across the room.

  “Where are we going, exactly?” Bacca asked.

  “Not Far,” the giant replied.

  The giant reached the far side of the room and lifted Bacca to a ledge near the ceiling. It was a small ledge, but big enough for Bacca to stand comfortably. The moment his foot touched it, the bricks in the wall beside the ledge magically parted, and a new passageway was revealed.

  “She Is Through There,” Gargantua said as Bacca peered into the gloom beyond. “I Have Never Met Her, But If I Were You . . . I Would Be Careful.”

  “Thanks,” said Bacca.

  “The Thanks Goes To You,” Gargantua said. “You Allowed Me To Know The World As Other Skeletons Know It, If Only For A Few Moments. If I Can Ever Repay Your Kindness, You Have Only To Ask.”

  With this, the behemoth turned its huge bulk around and stalked back across the room. Looking down from his spot on the ledge, Bacc
a saw the villagers beginning to disassemble the enormous gold sun, block by block. Satisfied that his work was finished here, he walked into the tunnel beside the ledge . . . and toward whatever—or whomever—might lie beyond.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bacca headed down the dark corridor. There was an old, musty smell. It was deathly quiet. Nothing stirred.

  As Bacca progressed, the pathway before him widened and eventually opened into a small clearing. On the far side of the clearing was a wall made out of quartz. In the center of the wall was a quartz door. And beside the door was a very tiny building, barely big enough for one person to stand inside. And yet that’s just what someone was doing!

  Bacca now realized it was a guardhouse with a guard. The guard looked like a typical villager, except he wore a fancy red-and-blue uniform with gold buttons and a high circular hat.

  As Bacca approached, the guard grew excited—but not in an unfriendly way—smiled, and took out a tray made of chiseled quartz, with a quartz dome covering it. He held this tray out to his new guest.

  “You must be Bacca!” the guard said in a friendly tone. “They told me you might get this far. Well, not so much told as whispered it so quietly I could hardly hear. But enough about them right? I’m supposed to give this to you.”

  And with that, the guard plucked the dome from off the chiseled quartz tray. Underneath was a single mycelium block with writing on it. The guard smiled brightly.

  “Thank you,” said Bacca. He leaned in to read the inscription.

  Through this door is the Tinkerer

  You will be pleased to know that she is relatively harmless.

  The same cannot be said for her creations.

  Some believe her workshop is filled with monstrosities.

  The Tinkerer would disagree.

  Who is right and who is wrong?

  When he finished reading, Bacca motioned to the guard that he could replace the dome.

  “It’s so exciting to finally have you here!” the guard said, covering the block back up. “There was no guarantee you’d come. But I’m so glad that you did! Makes my job much more interesting!”

  “What exactly am I in for?” Bacca asked. “Who is the Tinkerer?”

  “Search me,” the guard said.

  “Wait . . . you mean you don’t know?” Bacca asked. “The riddle on the block seems to say she’s just through this door.”

  “Ooh, it’s a she?” the guard said. “Now we are learning things, aren’t we?”

  “Huh?” Bacca said.

  “Hey, I’m just a guard,” said the guard. “I stand here and guard the place. That’s what I do. I don’t really keep tabs on what’s inside.”

  “Do you mean you don’t know anything about what I’m going to find on the other side of this door?” Bacca said, frustrated that a man in his position wasn’t more inquisitive about the work he was doing.

  Suddenly, the guard’s face grew very thoughtful and serious.

  “Very few people go through that door,” he said. “And they always come out in a bad mood, like they’ve really been let down. Or worse! Of course, I can’t think about that too much! Got to stay positive in a job like this. It’s too depressing to think you might be guarding a place that made people sad.”

  “I see,” Bacca said. “Thank you. I think.”

  “You’re welcome,” the guard said brightly.

  “One more question,” Bacca said. “How did you get this job? Why do you stay here guarding this door?”

  “I have to,” said the guard. “They want me to.”

  “Who is ‘they’?” asked Bacca.

  “The creepers, obviously,” said the guard. “I lost a bet with them. It was a long, long time ago. The moral of my story is: don’t make bets with creepers. Anyhow, they gave me two choices. And I chose this one. To be a guard until such time as somebody comes to relieve me. It’s no picnic standing here all day, but it certainly beats the alternative.”

  “Were they going to kill you?” Bacca asked.

  “Kill me!” the guard said in alarm, putting his hand over his mouth. “What said anything about killing!? No! How dreadful!”

  “Sorry,” Bacca said. “I just assumed . . .”

  “Goodness, no,” said the guard. “The other choice was to marry a creeper. Or maybe it was a creeper’s daughter. I forget. Anyway, they all look the same to me. All square and purple. Not my type, you know?”

  “In my biome, they’re green,” Bacca said. “But they’re still jerks.”

  “You can say that again,” agreed the guard.

  Bacca said goodbye to the guard and opened the door in the quartz wall. Beyond it were quartz stairs leading up.

  “It’s always stairs in this place,” Bacca said to himself with a sigh, and started climbing.

  As it turned out, he did not have far to go.

  After ascending only a few flights, the staircase ended in what was clearly a crafter’s workshop. It was filled with items that Bacca knew well. They were all things that he had crafted himself at one time or another. There were clocks and minecarts and rails and pressure plates. There were suits of armor and tools. There were bookshelves and chests and compasses.

  But all of them—each one of the objects inside of this room—were profoundly wrong. Bacca was sure of it . . . without really knowing how he knew. He just knew.

  Wrong.

  All of the items were somehow deeply incorrect. Bacca had never seen so many wrong things in one place before. It was a strange sensation, and one that he felt more with his gut than with his head.

  Bacca crept deeper into the workshop. After being inside so many ridiculously big rooms within the creeper fortress, it was refreshing to be in a place that was at least normally sized. There were torches burning in braziers on the walls, and there was also a skylight in the ceiling where the sun shone through. (Bacca realized he must now be near the very top of the creeper fortress.) In the back of the workshop were several doors, but all of them were closed.

  Bacca turned back to the items on the workshop tables, and tried to figure out where this strange feeling of wrongness was coming from.

  On the nearest table was a regular-looking detector rail. Bacca knew these items well, and had crafted them many times before. A complex but not overly-complex device, you could build them with six iron ingots, a redstone, and a stone pressure plate. And all of those elements seemed to be represented in the finished product on the table in front of him.

  And yet . . .

  Bacca picked the device up and examined it more closely. Detector rails were supposed to send signals whenever minecarts crossed them. But by examining the wiring, Bacca could tell that this one was going to send signals all the time for no reason. It wouldn’t work at all.

  Bacca set down the detector rail and picked up the item beside it. It was another rail. More specifically, it was a powered rail crafted from gold ingots, redstone, and a wooden stick. Bacca turned it over in his hands and held it up to the sunlight streaming through the skylight. The red and orange center of the rail shimmered in the light . . . but not quite in the normal way. Suddenly, a horrible realization struck Bacca, and he almost dropped the device. This thing in his hand could be deadly!

  Most powered rails sped up minecarts in a useful and helpful way. When you were moving around carts full of stuff, a little extra zip was just what you wanted. But this powered rail had been overpowered. It would send carts careening off at an unsafe speed. Maybe they would fly off the track entirely. And what would happen to the innocent people they crashed into?

  Bacca didn’t like to imagine it.

  Setting down the rail, Bacca moved to a different table of items. Here was a collection of fireworks. At first glance, they all looked to have been crafted in the normal way. But when he looked more closely, something about their construction was definitely off. Bacca picked one of them up and carefully unscrewed the top. Peering inside, he was shocked to see that someone had packed in ten times as much
gunpowder as was needed. This was not so much a firework as a missile. A missile that might explode and hurt somebody.

  Bacca moved to yet another table. This one was covered with material for making fishing rods—all kinds of sticks and strings—along with several finished rods. As a lifelong enthusiast of raw fish, Bacca knew a thing or two about fishing rods. He could tell right away that anybody who used these rods was going to end up with more than just wet pants and no fish. The weight on these rods was off-kilter. This meant if you weren’t careful when casting your line, you’d end up falling forward, probably falling into water. But not everybody could swim! (And even if you could swim, lakes and rivers on the Overworld could be filled with nasty, tentacle-y things with beaks and teeth.)

  Bacca continued from table to table, moving through the workshop. At every turn, he found another category of items that were bad, wrong, and dangerous.

  “Whoever this Tinkerer is, she’s got a lot to answer for . . .” Bacca said to himself.

  Suddenly, there was a noise at the back of the workshop. One of the doors opened, and through it walked one of the strangest people Bacca had ever seen.

  She was not much taller than Bacca, but was almost perfectly round. She wore a large flat hat made out of iron. From the brim of the hat dangled a series of long metal tubes with prisms at the ends. Were they microscopes? Kaleidoscopes? Some . . . other kind of scopes? Bacca had no idea. The strange woman also wore several tool belts, and a large backpack full of crafting materials. Whenever she took a step, she clanked loudly.

  “Ha!” she announced. “What do we have here?”

  She squinted through her tubes at Bacca—trying one tube after another—but never quite seeming to find the right one.

  “Another supplicant, I suppose?” she muttered to herself. “A hairy supplicant.”

  “What’s a supplicant?” Bacca asked.

  “Somebody who wants something from me,” the woman said. “They always want something. And I give them what they want, but they’re never pleased. And still they keep coming! And here you are! Another one!”

  “You must be the Tinkerer, right?” Bacca said, trying to size this strange lady up.