by Zac Gorman
Iphigenia managed to get her head above the water just long enough to see that Thisby was nowhere to be found before the current washed over her again. The water was moving too fast to keep her head above for more than a second, so with each precious opportunity, she gulped as much air as her lungs could hold, not knowing how long it would be until she surfaced again.
Beneath the water, Thisby struggled to pull herself free of her backpack, but every time she came close, the current tugged in opposite directions and twisted her all around. Once she caught a glimpse of Mingus. His jar had completely filled with water—apparently coming in through the crack the arrow had put in its side. His fake button eyes had popped out and were floating lifelessly around the jar—as he himself was—so it was impossible to tell which way he was looking, but Thisby just knew it was at her. Mingus didn’t need to breathe, so she knew he was still alive. It didn’t take a best friend to know that whatever he was thinking wasn’t good. Thisby held his gaze, or what she hoped was his gaze, for as long as she could, but in another moment she banged off a large boulder and was turned around yet again. Her ankle became more twisted in her bag, and to top it all off, it felt as if they were speeding up. Because they were.
It was Iphigenia who realized it first. On her next trip to the surface for air, she managed to catch a fleeting look down the river only to discover that there was only so much river left. She was pulled under again, and the next time she came up, there was even less river. Then even less. Then even less. The pattern continued for longer than she cared to admit before the realization sunk in.
Thisby, meanwhile, from her vantage point underwater, hadn’t realized where they were headed at all until she was hurled, quite blue in the face and almost nearly unconscious, off a cliff and out into a large void, where she immediately began to plummet. The fresh air was actually quite a nice change of pace from drowning—you know, except for the plummeting.
It was hard for her to tell how long she fell. She felt her stomach drop, and there was enough time to realize that she was falling before it was over.
When she hit, the air went from her lungs, and she felt something slimy and cold and wet burst all around her. For a moment she lay completely still, too frightened to move, convinced that what she was feeling were her insides splattered all over the ground. Only it seemed a bit strange that she could feel them at all, seeing as how if her insides really were splattered all around, she assumed she would be dead. And she didn’t feel dead.
Thisby coughed a bit and felt around, turning her head away from the water that she realized was still raining down on her from above. She grabbed something cold and wet beneath her and held it up in front of her face.
A fish gawped back at her, opening and closing its mouth. It looked almost as stunned as she was. Beside her, somebody groaned.
Thisby looked over to see Iphigenia. She was resting in a pile of fish. They both were, in fact, suspended in a sort of net that hung above a large hole, into which the river drained. Apparently, it was there to catch fish that otherwise would’ve been wasted when they fell to their splattered graves several floors below. Thisby couldn’t help but lean over to look down into the void. There was no end in sight. Soon she was laughing despite herself, despite the dirty looks from a frazzled and sopping-wet Iphigenia, who didn’t seem to get what was so funny.
She didn’t stop laughing until the imps hauled them out. Fortunately, by then the chief had joined the hunters. Fortunately for Thisby, he was more skilled at languages than she was. It turned out the hunting party had been a group of young forest imps who weren’t yet familiar with the ways of the dungeon, and the entire thing had really been just a big misunderstanding. The chief apologized profusely and even offered them some food and a chance to dry off, but Thisby thought it best to hurry on if they had any hopes of making it back to the top before nightfall. Iphigenia agreed.
As they walked away from the imps, cold feet squishing in their boots, absolutely reeking of fish, Iphigenia looked over at the mousy girl pulling notebooks from her backpack and fanning out the pages in a feeble attempt to dry them and realized something she hadn’t considered before: she might be the first human Thisby had ever spoken more than a couple words to.
Thisby looked over to see Iphigenia. She was resting in a pile of fish.
Thisby dangled a wet notebook in front of her face, holding it delicately by the corner. Her brow was furrowed deeply. The pages hung limp and wet, the writing on them smudged.
“Oh, here! I think I figured it out,” said Thisby. “‘Krroooo- krr-krrrrkrkrrr’ means ‘We are your friends.’ ‘Krroooo-koo-krrrrkrkrrr’ means ‘We ate your friends.’”
Now it was Iphigenia’s turn to laugh.
Thisby glowered at her, but only for a moment before her resolve broke as well.
The only one who wasn’t laughing was Mingus, who was distractedly prodding at the tape Thisby had used to seal the crack in his jar and wondering how long it would hold.
Chapter 17.5
By the time Iphigenia and Thisby finally reached the skystair at the center of the Escape, the pterodactyls had dispersed. During their trip the rest of the way through the forest, Iphigenia had to pull Thisby away several times when she stopped to take notes—mostly on her arms because her notebooks were still damp—about peculiar plants, but other than that, the remainder of their journey had gone smoothly.
The skystair, a spiral staircase, invisible from the outside, that rose up from the center of the woods, was the only way out of Elphond’s Escape. From the inside, it looked like any other worked-stone stairwell in the dungeon: plain gray bricks, decaying from moss and age, lit by flickering torches. Iphigenia wondered if it was Thisby’s job to keep all those torches lit. There were so many of them. She thought about Thisby, working alone, putting in long, thankless hours to keep the dungeon running, and for what? So some adventurers could come here and risk their lives for a little bit of treasure?
As far as Iphigenia was concerned, the whole dungeon should be shut down. She could always find Thisby a job in the castle, maybe in the stables. Her father would never allow it, though. He thought the dungeon gave commoners hope, that it distracted them from war and disease and—most important—poverty. He feared that without the hope of risking their lives to win fame and fortune in the dungeon, the commoners might rebel. And besides, he argued, who was it hurting?
Thisby walked ahead of Iphigenia with more bounce in her step than she’d had since they first met in the City of Night.
“It’s great, isn’t it?” Thisby called back to her.
Thisby sounded just like her brother. Always optimistic and jovial, perpetually fascinated by everything. Only somehow, she sounded more genuine than Ingo ever did. Ingo was great at fooling everyone, but his sister saw through him. She knew him better than anyone else.
Iphigenia looked out one of the skystair’s windows and had to admit that it was a pretty nice view. Elphond’s Escape was quite beautiful, when you weren’t drowning or plummeting to your death, and from the skystair you could see pretty much all of it. Iphigenia had to struggle to maintain the bad mood she’d carried since the moment she set foot on the Black Mountain, and found herself slipping occasionally and accidentally enjoying herself. Soon enough, though, they were back in the bleak, stinky dungeon, and the spell of the Escape was quickly forgotten.
It took the better part of the day, but by late afternoon, the girls had made it almost all the way back to the castle. Despite her better judgment, upon seeing the end draw near, Iphigenia’s optimism had returned. She’d begun to tell Thisby excitedly about all the food she was going to eat when she made it back home. She went through a long, mental list, reciting each delicacy one by one to Thisby, who nodded along even though she hadn’t heard of over half the things Iphigenia mentioned.
“My father’s probably waiting in the castle,” said Iphigenia. “They probably already sent in a search party. I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure my brot
her’s fine and that horrible Roquat will get what he deserves, if he hasn’t already.”
Thisby nodded in agreement, but she wasn’t so sure. She would’ve noticed if a party had come through the dungeon. There were always signs of intruders—even if it was often just their remains. Still, she didn’t want to upset Iphigenia, who seemed much more pleasant than she’d been in the last two days, so she simply nodded along and smiled.
“Don’t worry,” said Iphigenia, sensing the consternation on Thisby’s face. “I’ve decided to pardon you. You won’t be held accountable for what happened. I can’t say the same for your Master, though. It’s likely that blame will go much higher than that Roquat fellow.”
Iphigenia had been thinking about this all day and decided now was the time to break her silence. Thisby wasn’t to blame for what had happened, after all—Roquat was—and what’s more, Iphigenia had begun to grow a bit fond of her. Sure, she was kind of gross and unmannered, and she seemed to sweat an awful lot, and more than once she’d outright insulted her, but despite all that she was good at her job, and she’d saved her life on multiple occasions. It simply wasn’t fair to have her stand trial, to risk execution merely for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. To Iphigenia, this was the highest compliment she’d ever paid someone.
Thisby looked sideways at her.
“That’s, uh, nice of you? Thanks,” she said.
As they drew closer to the castle, the gray bricks and exposed caverns of the dungeon were slowly phased out in exchange for the shiny black stone walls of Castle Grimstone. Eventually, they turned into a tunnel that was entirely black stones, and they could clearly see the door to the castle up ahead. It was a large door, easily a dozen Thisbys high and adorned with a strange assortment of skulls, much like all the doors into the castle. In front of the gate were two guards, ghouls, from the looks of them.
That was a bad sign. Thisby knew that normally only one lone goblin guarded this door. Since the Inspection, security had been heightened.
As the girls approached, the ghouls pointed their long barbed spears in their direction menacingly. The larger one spoke.
“Don’t come no closer!” he barked.
The guards instead approached them, their weapons lowered and ready.
“What do you think you’re doing!” snapped Iphigenia. “Don’t you know who I am?”
“It doesn’t matter who you are!” said the small one. His eyes were quick and jumpy. It made Thisby nervous. “Nobody gets into the castle! Master’s orders!”
Iphigenia’s face turned bright red. She wasn’t used to being denied access anywhere, let alone by a pair of two-bit guards.
“NOW, SEE HERE—” she fumed, but Thisby cut her off.
“I’m the gamekeeper of the dungeon. I have urgent news for the Master,” said Thisby. “Prince Ingo Larkspur has been taken captive. We need to speak to the Master right away.”
The guards looked at each other.
“We’ll pass it along,” said the big one.
Iphigenia shoved her way past Thisby and stomped toward the guards.
“I am the Crown Princess of Nth, the rightful heir to the throne! My father, the King of Nth, YOUR KING, is up there right now looking for me! I DEMAND TO SPEAK WITH HIM . . . NOW!” Iphigenia said through gritted teeth. It looked as if her eyeballs might pop right out of her skull.
“There ain’t no King here, girly,” said the small one, grinning.
“And even if they was, we’d tell ’em to take a hike, same as you! Orders is orders!” said the big one. “And our orders is to turn away anybody an’ everybody that tries to get through this door, ya got that?”
The guards stood upright, as tall as they could manage, making the Princess feel suddenly quite small. Even the small one was more than twice her size. Iphigenia deflated. She was at a complete loss for what to do next. Never in her life had anybody simply turned her down like that. Who would? With a snap of her fingers she could have them thrown in jail, or worse! But down here, she was beginning to realize that snapping her fingers might not have the same effect as it did back in the castle. For the first time in her life, she felt . . . vulnerable.
Iphigenia slunk back a few steps. The guards grinned broadened, sensing their victory.
Thisby stepped up.
“Look,” she said calmly, “we’re in a bit of a bind here. I know you have your orders, but I think this might be a special exception. This is the Princess of Nth. Her brother has been taken captive. If she doesn’t get back to her family, we’re all going to be in way more trouble than what the Master can dish out. Can you help us?”
The big one’s face softened, ever so slightly. He leaned over toward Thisby and spoke directly to her, even though he spoke loudly enough for them both to hear.
“I know you, Thisby. I heard all ’bout you. But this is over your head, ’kay? Jus’ turn around an’ walk away. There ain’t no King up there. Ain’t no King comin’. An’ no matter what you say or what you do right now, ain’t no way you’re gettin’ through this door. Jus’ turn around an’ walk away.”
His face hardened again. “That’s the only warnin’ you’re gettin’. Walk away.”
Thisby nodded to him and walked back to Iphigenia, who looked as if she’d been hollowed out.
“Come on,” said Thisby taking her hand. For the first time since they’d met, Iphigenia didn’t shrink away from her touch.
Together they walked back to Thisby’s bedroom, climbed up the ladder, and passed over the gangways all without speaking a single word.
Despite her frustration with the guards, approaching her bedroom door made Thisby’s heart sing. It had been three days since she’d seen the thick oak door, since she’d pulled it open and smelled the familiar fragrance of her room, the only room in the entire dungeon that belonged to her.
Suddenly, her heart raced for a different reason. She thought of how much her room meant to her and how surely meager it would seem to the Princess. She thought of Iphigenia mocking the few things she had, her tiny bookcase full of worn notebooks, her desk that she’d built herself from scraps of wood she’d found lying around the dungeon, and she felt as if her heart couldn’t take it. It was all she had in the whole world, and if the Princess didn’t like it, it would gnaw at her guts in a way she might never forget.
Thisby’s hand hesitated on the iron ring before pulling it to open the door.
“It’s not much,” she said defensively.
It didn’t seem like Iphigenia was listening.
At once Thisby was overcome with emotion. It was all there, just like she’d left it. Quickly, however, the panic set back in, and Thisby began to rush around, tidying up, much like Grunda had done the night Thisby found Roquat waiting in her room. The thought of Roquat being in her room now made her stomach feel all twisted up.
Iphigenia placidly sat down on Thisby’s bed and stared at the wall. For some time, Thisby just watched her as she went about tidying up, not knowing what to say.
“Look, they don’t know what—” Thisby began.
“My father isn’t coming,” said Iphigenia. “I never actually thought he would. I just . . . hoped.”
Thisby stared at her.
“He knew the dangers of us coming here, and he wouldn’t risk an open confrontation with the dungeon. It’s too dangerous. The Kingdom comes first.”
“But—”
“Whatever you’re going to say, don’t bother. He’s making the right call. The right call for the Kingdom. For his people . . . ,” she trailed off.
Thisby wiggled her pinky toe over her toe-which-comes-next-to-her-pinky-toe and stared at the floor, avoiding eye contact with Iphigenia at all costs. It would’ve been a nice time to see a bug or something. She looked around desperately for a spider to focus her attention on, but for once in her life, her room seemed painfully devoid of them. There’s never a spider around when you need one.
“Thisby?” said Iphigenia.
Great, she tho
ught, now she had to look up.
“Yes?” said Thisby, forcing herself to look at the Princess sitting on her bed like she was looking at a lamb carcass after the wyverns had feasted on it.
To her surprise, Iphigenia wasn’t teary-eyed like she’d expected her to be. Instead, she sat upright on the edge of the bed with her hands folded neatly across her lap, looking as regal as Thisby had ever seen her.
“It’s up to us to save my brother.”
Thisby’s heart sank.
“Also, I like your bedspread.”
And then soared.
Chapter 18
It didn’t take long to figure out that the Master had sealed off every possible entrance into the castle. Thisby went through the motions and checked them all anyway, but she was inevitably forced to give up and return to her room with the bad news. Apparently, the Master had gotten wind of what happened with the tarasque and the royals and had chosen the path of least resistance, barring himself up inside his castle and waiting out the storm. It was a cowardly move, but not an altogether surprising one.
The current Master of the Black Mountain took over the mantle when his predecessor, Hepsbeth the Horrible, slipped and fell while in her alchemy lab, landing on a knife. She landed on it several dozen times, to be precise. Coincidentally, the knife belonged to the man who would become the dungeon’s current Master.
It wasn’t an uncommon fate for a Master of the Black Mountain, as they quite often met similarly gruesome deaths after just several years—or if they were particularly unlucky, weeks—of service. Which was why, as a rule, the current Master didn’t allow anyone to get too close to him. It was also why, as a rule, he refused to ever go into his own dungeon.