The Game Masters of Garden Place

by Denis Markell

  Torgrim spoke up. “They talk of leaving us here. They will go to the authorities themselves and betray us.”

  Jandia rose to her feet. “This is all true. We have put our trust in children. I do not even trust you, Bram.”

  “Sit down, Barbarian,” Mirak said gently, turning to Persephone and smiling. It was still a bit unnerving to see her smile with those huge tusklike teeth, but they were getting used to it. “Persephone,” she went on, reaching out and taking the girl by the arm, “tell me the truth.”

  “You are asking that one the truth?” muttered Bram. “I am witness to her ability to lie as well as any rogue I have ever known.”

  “I wasn’t lying!” protested Persephone, looking mad. “I was acting. There’s a difference.”

  “Oh, enlighten me, young one!” said Bram. “What, pray tell, makes what you did different from lying?”

  “I don’t know. It was pretending. I wasn’t lying! I swear!” said Persephone.

  Mirak gazed into her eyes. “This one will not lie to me,” she said finally. “I would stake my life on it.”

  “And our lives as well,” muttered Torgrim, who regarded Persephone suspiciously.

  “We will not betray you,” Persephone promised. “We would never do that. You are…our friends.”

  Bram snorted. “If I had a copper for every friend I’ve betrayed!”

  “You have never betrayed us, Rogue,” Torgrim said meaningfully.

  “Because I would not rest until I had hunted him down and ripped his ears off his silly head,” Jandia said happily. “Is that not right, Halfling?”

  “Well, that’s part of it. I do have a sense of loyalty to those who have protected me, and with whom I have shared so much. But these younglings…”

  “We just need to get you disguises so you can sneak into the hotel without the authorities stopping you. What about this?” asked Ralph. “Only Jojo and I go. The others stay back with you.”

  “As hostages!” Jandia cried happily. “Yes! This is making sense.”

  “Not as hostages,” Persephone said. “As friends.”

  “That is fine and it is settled,” said Gerontius. “If you return with the articles of clothing, then all will be well.”

  Mirak bowed to them. “And if you bring anyone else with you—”

  “We will kill our hostages!” added Jandia.

  Noel and Cammi gasped.

  “She did not mean that,” Torgrim said quickly.

  “I am sorry,” Jandia said, putting her arm around Persephone. “I meant we will kill our friends.”

  With the help of Cammi’s expert eye, they were able to figure out the approximate sizes of the five visitors. At least with sweats they wouldn’t need to be too exact.

  Heading to Morrell’s, Ralph and Jojo decided that it was probably better not to tell Bram and Torgrim that they had shopped for them in the children’s section.

  “And what happens after we convince them to put these clothes on?” Jojo asked.

  “We get them to the Beveren hotel as quickly as possible, and hope at that point we can find someone who can help us find a Belgian rabbit, whatever that means,” Ralph said.

  “Maybe the last serpent swallowed a rabbit?” Jojo said.

  Ralph held the door to the sporting goods store open and shook his head. “Jeez, and I thought Noel had all the dumb ideas.”

  It wasn’t hard at all to find the clothing they needed, but as they waited to pay at the cashier, Ralph stopped short. “This isn’t going to work.”

  Jojo glared at him. “Why not?”

  “First off, how are we going to carry their weapons? The hotel has security guards. And who are we going to say they are when we check them in?”

  “Now you figure that out?” Jojo said, throwing the pile of clothes she was carrying on the floor.

  “Wait,” Ralph said, closing his eyes. “I can do this. It’s only a readjustment. Like when Cammi had those two dragons fall in love.”

  “Yeah, you handled that pretty well. But this isn’t the game, RPG.”

  “We just have to look at what resources we have. And the strengths of our characters,” explained Ralph. “Give me a minute.” He smiled. “Okay, I think I’ve got it. We need to make a few more stops.”

  “Cool. So what is it?” asked Jojo.

  “I’ll tell you when we get home,” Ralph said.

  “Why can’t you tell me now?”

  “It’s kind of complicated, and I need to make sure of a few things,” Ralph said as they paid for the merchandise and watched as it was bagged up.

  “You know, a couple of years ago I would have pushed you down and sat on you,” Jojo said. “I kind of miss those days.”

  “I don’t,” Ralph said. He motioned across the street. “That’s our next stop.”

  Morrell’s was in the section of downtown Brooklyn called Fulton Mall, where everyone from all over the borough came to shop. There were new fancy high-fashion stores coming in and elbowing out the older bargain stores, but thankfully quite a few still remained, like the one Ralph and Jojo headed into, which sold school uniforms of all kinds for parents whose sons and daughters attended Brooklyn Catholic schools.

  After making their purchases, Ralph looked relieved. “That wasn’t too expensive. Now all we need is a street vendor.” They were all over the place, selling knockoffs of designer bags, sunglasses, and scarves.

  “Right over there.” Jojo pointed. “I wish I knew what this was all about.”

  “You will,” said Ralph.

  “You know, I could still punch you in the stomach if I wanted,” Jojo suggested. “For old times’ sake.”

  “Okay! I’ll tell you on the way home!” Ralph said.

  Arms filled with shopping bags, Ralph and Jojo rushed back to Garden Place and up the steps to the parlor floor.

  Jojo hit the doorbell with her elbow. She was smiling. “You know, I have to hand it to you. That’s pretty ingenious.”

  “If it works,” Ralph said as Cammi opened the door. He looked worried, but that wasn’t unusual, as he looked worried most of the time.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Cammi said immediately.

  Inside, the adventurers looked dazed, staring into space.

  “It was Noel!” Persephone said with annoyance.

  “What was Noel?” asked Ralph. And then he saw the table and dropped the bags.

  “Hey, I just told them the truth,” Noel said, shrugging. “I had to say something.”

  Gerontius was holding the character sheets in his hands. The ones that described each of their characters, down to the color of their hair and their health points.

  “Okay, what happened?” Ralph asked.

  “Bram was poking around and saw the table with the minis on it and realized they were miniature versions of them,” Noel started. “He showed the character sheets to Gerontius, who asked me what they were, and I told them the truth.”

  “You keep saying that,” Ralph said. “What exactly is the truth?”

  “That they were characters in a game that we made up,” Noel said as if it was no big thing.

  Gerontius turned slowly and faced Ralph. “This is not so. We are real. We exist. What Noel has told us is some kind of joke, is it not?”

  Ralph took a deep breath. “It’s a little hard to explain. You see—”

  “My sword is real,” growled Jandia. “I can prove it.”

  Mirak raised her hand. “Stay your blade, Jandia. This is some sort of dark magic. We do not know what we are dealing with, and these children did say they were our friends. Did you not mean it?”

  “We did! We are! It’s not exactly magic. Well, or maybe it is. At least, it’s not our magic.”

  Torgrim approached Ralph with a stricken look on his face. “Please, young
ling, do not speak in riddles. Tell us what is happening.” He gestured to the tabletop, where the figures were arrayed on a map. “We see the temple, the Kreel. How is it possible that you know our adventures so well?”

  Ralph felt a prickling sensation on his skin. The others of his group had gathered behind him.

  Gerontius’s eyes bored into him. “Please explain the meaning of Noel’s words.”

  “I…I…I…can’t,” Ralph said. “All I can tell you is that we play a game where we make up heroes and give them attributes. We have been playing as you five for two years now. So I guess you could say, from our perspective at least, that we made you up.”

  “Two years!” cried Bram. “The boy lies. We all have memories. We have been on our world for tens of years. A century, in the case of Torgrim. They cannot have made that up. My childhood, my family, my past! I have a sister named—”

  “Gloriana,” Gerontius said.

  Bram turned white. “I have never uttered her name, in all our adventures.”

  Gerontius held up a sheet. It had the words Bram, Halfling Rogue scrawled on it. “It is written here. Along with the names of your parents, Dionne and Davoth.”

  “Who wrote this?” Bram demanded.

  Noel grinned. “I did. I like to be thorough, so I put in a lot of details that aren’t always used in the game.”

  Mirak picked up the papers Ralph had been using to plot their campaign. She read off the coversheet. “ ‘The Search for the Seven Serpents of the House of Cormorant.’ ” She looked up. “This is our story. You have been telling our story?”

  “How does it end?” asked Jandia.

  “We haven’t gotten there yet.”

  “They do not control our lives!” thundered Torgrim, shaking with rage. “Orach’T’char guides me.”

  “I cannot believe that we were created by you. That our lives have been controlled by a group of children. This is madness. We have had full lives and made all our own choices, not you.” Gerontius’s voice was calm, but there was something behind it. The wizard was trying to make sense of what they had been told.

  “Well, we don’t control everything,” Persephone said.

  “Ah!” said Mirak, “Gerontius, this is something. We are not mere puppets. Even if these children have somehow put us in our world, we have our free will. We make the choices that rule our destinies.”

  “Well, actually, the dice guide you,” Noel explained patiently, as if he were teaching Reign of Dragons to a dumb grown-up.

  “The dice?” said Bram, picking one up.

  “Noel, you’re not helping,” Jojo said. “Let RPG explain.”

  “It’s just that…well, when we get to certain places in the game and you have an opportunity to perform a given action, we roll the dice to see if you’ve succeeded or failed.”

  “Like breaking into a dungeon, trying to convince people of stuff, or, obviously, combat,” added Noel, which only made it worse.

  Jandia drew herself up to loom over Noel. “This is not so, child. I am the one who fights. I am the one who bleeds, or causes others to bleed. My skill is not based on chance or the whims of a child.”

  Jojo rushed over to her. “Yes, you do fight. And because of your high strength number, you usually succeed. You are a great warrior, Jandia Ravenhelm.”

  Jandia softened. Then her face showed confusion. “High number?”

  “When we roll the dice, you add your strength number,” Ralph said, “and that usually is enough to, um, vanquish the foe.”

  Gerontius held his head in his hands. He took a deep breath. He then laughed. A single dark croak with no humor in it. “Our lives are in the hands of children rolling dice. This is more than I can bear.”

  The adventurers gathered in a circle, looking at one another. Torgrim grabbed his amulet and shut his eyes tight. “I call upon you, Orach’T’char, to protect us, guide us. Give me the perception and wisdom to see the truth.”

  After a moment, he opened his eyes. “There is no answer. My god does not answer.” His shoulders sagged, and he began to sniffle.

  “This is not good,” said Persephone.

  “I don’t know how to fix it,” Ralph said. “But they need to be out of here in an hour or my parents are going to have a lot of questions.”

  “Hey, guys, I just had a crazy thought,” Noel said. “You want to hear it?”

  “Not really,” said Cammi.

  Noel went on, unfazed. “What if we’re characters in someone else’s game? You know, and we just don’t know it?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” said Jojo. “We’re real.”

  “They thought they were real,” Noel said, pointing to the adventurers.

  “You mean, someone somewhere could be rolling dice to determine our futures?” asked Cammi.

  “Sure. Wouldn’t that be crazy?” said Noel.

  “Yeah…crazy,” said Ralph, trying not to think about all that that meant.

  There was silence as the kids pondered this. It was ridiculous. And yet…that was what the adventurers had thought. And here they were.

  Ralph sat down on the floor and realized that the others had suddenly sat down too. No one knew what to say.

  It seemed to last forever. The moment of realization. The feelings were so intense, so ridiculous, and yet so possible at the same time. It was like nothing they had ever felt before.

  What was real? Was there a character sheet somewhere that said Ralph Peter Ginzberg in some kid’s handwriting? Was there a board of Brooklyn Heights with miniature versions of Noel, Persephone, Jojo, Cammi, and him on it? Who was the game master? It was all too much.

  Suddenly, out of the dead quiet, there was a sound.

  It was a beautiful single note plucked from a harp.

  It was joined by a second, and then a chord.

  There was another sound now, low and soothing.

  They let Mirak’s voice wash over them. The sound was both ancient and new, as if no one had ever sung that song before and yet they had known it their entire life.

  Ralph became aware that it had been joined by a younger, higher voice.

  He looked up to see that Persephone had moved over to Mirak and rested her head on the bard’s shoulder.

  They sang in perfect harmony, the two voices rising and falling together, creating something that healed and seemed to tell them that all was possible, that there was magic even in Brooklyn Heights.

  When the song was over, the last sweet notes hung in the air, filling the empty room.

  Persephone hugged Mirak, who grabbed the young girl in a firm embrace. “We have made music together,” she said simply. “And that is powerful.”

  Ralph got to his feet and took Gerontius’s hand. It was soft, yet had great strength in it. Ralph squeezed it.

  Gerontius met his gaze. He squeezed back.

  “You are real,” Ralph said. “We are real. There is still a quest to be fulfilled. And we must do it.”

  Gerontius nodded. “Wise words, Arpy. We are called here for a reason.”

  “You know, I still don’t think we’re the ones who summoned them,” said Noel slowly.

  “I think you’re right,” said Ralph. “Someone or something has put you here and used us to get you to the right place.”

  There was a horrible noise, a disgusting wet sound.

  Jojo had brought some tissues over to Torgrim, who was blowing his nose.

  “He was about to use the drapes,” Jojo said, shrugging.

  “We need a plan,” Bram said.

  “Ralph has a plan,” Jojo said, “and it’s a good one!”

  “If only we knew what the Belgian rabbit was that the beggar referred to,” Ralph said as he gathered their things. “I know that’s the key to getting us where we need to go.”

  Cammi was bus
y on his phone. He looked up with a big smile, the kind that said he knew something the others didn’t.

  Persephone’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, Cammi. What have you got?”

  “I just looked up Belgian rabbit on my phone to see the names of the breed.”

  “And?” asked Jojo.

  Cammi held out his phone. “You’ll never guess what the most common one is!”

  Noel rushed over and shook his head. “Yeah, of course.”

  The best-known Belgian rabbit was the Beveren.

  “RPG, what the heck are you doing?”

  Ralph turned from the computer screen in his room to yell downstairs back to Jojo. “I’m just finishing up.”

  He carefully printed out the receipt for the hotel reservation he’d made in the name of Reign Productions and headed downstairs. He couldn’t wait to see what Cammi had come up with.

  It wasn’t easy to explain to the adventurers what a photo shoot was or how they would pretend to be part of one.

  Persephone had shown them pictures in one of GG’s many fashion magazines.

  Jandia looked and said, “This is very sad. Are all these pictures of pale, starving women to get people to send them food?”

  “Um, they’re actually admired for their beauty,” Jojo said, sounding a little embarrassed.

  “They don’t look happy,” Mirak said, turning the pages and seeing face after pouting face staring back at her with huge, icy eyes. “I have seen expressions like that, but only on women who have been bewitched.”

  “Perhaps they are undead,” suggested Bram from across the room.

  “Hold still!” said Cammi through a mouthful of pins. They had found Ralph’s mother’s sewing kit, and he was busy adjusting the blazer Ralph had gotten at the uniform store. Before Cammi had gotten started, it had hung on Bram like a sack, but with a little pulling in at the waist, he almost looked like the self-important personal assistant he was going to play.

  “So I am a portrait painter?” Gerontius had asked.

  “Kind of,” Noel said, clicking the shutter of an old digital camera that belonged to Ralph’s parents. “But this, um, magic box is able to paint the portrait in a matter of seconds.”