The man stumbled and slipped, falling within the monster’s reach. He was clutching his side and his hand was red with blood. He shrieked as the troll grabbed him. The creature began to tear the man apart in front of his companions, none of whom did anything to help.
The crowd went crazy.
So did the heckler. “Player killer! Player killer! Whooo!”
While the troll was preoccupied, Angel rushed along the wall, heading their way. Two of the others hurried to follow.
Digger’s inattention almost cost him a torch to the face. He smacked it aside, but Marisol closed in and nearly knocked the whale bone from his hand with a hard parry. The torch made a surprisingly solid club, but the blow extinguished it. Paulus interceded. He caught her across the back with the flat of his axe. It sent her reeling and she sprawled onto the floor. But she was up in an instant, abandoning the torches and drawing her foil and dirk.
The game caller was talking, narrating the action through the din of the gallery crowd, but Digger tuned it out. He focused on Marisol. She set her feet and blew a loose strand of hair from her mouth.
One of the contestants, a man with black locks and holding a sword, caught up with Angel. He slammed him into a wall. They were shouting at each other. That wouldn’t last, but for the moment they were distracted.
“Keep her off me,” Digger said to Paulus.
He flung his bone at Marisol and grabbed up the burning torch. It still guttered, and the flame brightened once he held it upright. He couldn’t believe what he was doing even as he raced past the squabbling contestants and launched himself at the troll.
Chapter Forty-One
THE PREOCCUPIED CREATURE didn’t see Digger coming. He landed on the troll’s back and flung the torch forward. The tumbling torch landed in front of the monster. The troll reared up, repelled by the fire. He abandoned his meal and loped backward. A dull moan erupted from his throat. Even as he retreated he swatted at Digger.
Clinging to the creature was like grappling a slimy rock. Digger seized a handful of the monster’s hair and hung on. The troll turned and turned, threatening anyone in his path with trampling. Digger managed to take hold of the collar. Trying to get it open would take too long. The tokens were on a solid metal loop, but the medallion was tied on with its own leather cord. He bit down and tore at the cord with his teeth even as a massive hand clamped down on his back.
The troll tore him away. The giant hand squeezed and the creature yowled.
But the cord ripped free, leaving the medallion dangling from Digger’s teeth. He had no time to react as the troll flung him against a wall. The monster was on top of him in no time, mouth wide, black teeth and thick tongue looming.
Then the troll shrieked.
Paulus stood behind it, having just smacked the troll in the rear with the burning torch. The troll spun and snapped his teeth and swatted the air as Paulus backed away. Digger wasted no time in moving out of range of the creature.
The other contestants had grouped around Angel. They had their weapons ready and looked like they were about to kill him. They pushed at Angel and he pushed them back.
Marisol was the only one standing in Digger’s way. She limped a few steps back as Digger reclaimed his bone. Paulus’s earlier blow must have done some damage. But Digger knew how quick she could be and watched her every move. He had to get past her to the wall and the slot. If she didn’t know what he was after, she would have no reason to stand her ground.
Meanwhile, Angel was shouting. “Do any of you want to win this thing? Then listen to me!”
“What were you thinking?” one of the contestants asked.
“We’re on the same team!” said another.
But the contestant with the black hair pointed the tip of his sword at Angel’s throat. “He’s a coward. He killed a nobleman yesterday.”
Angel slapped the sword aside with a gloved hand. “I only wounded him. That’s what needed to be done. Don’t you see? None of us get anything if we don’t get through these monsters.”
“That man you just backstabbed was my cousin!”
“None of you came here because you thought this was going to be easy. If you want to win, you’ll need my help.”
They all began shouting at once. But the troll appeared content to once again scrape splattered fish parts from the floor. Digger hurried to the wall while trying to untie the cord from the medallion. A series of tiny knots wound around the metal disk. It wouldn’t fit into the slot with the cord attached, but he only had his teeth to sever the leather.
Marisol loomed nearby but Paulus kept her at bay. She kept calling Angel’s name.
The crowd above them sounded more agitated.
“The monsters are getting away!” a woman shouted.
“Hurry,” Paulus said.
Digger spat part of the leather cord out. “Working on it.”
A clock bell tolled.
“Time!” the game caller cried. “The nymph has decided her champion defenders are taking too long in dealing with the intruders. Casting a spell, she calls down aid from one of her sisters, who commands the stinging insects of the forest!”
A dart zipped through the air. What triggered it and where it came from was impossible to tell. It struck one of the squabbling adventurers. He screamed and pulled it free. More darts flew, coming from every direction. The swarm of missiles threatened monster and pureblood alike. Paulus yelped. He plucked a dart from his leg before taking cover on the ground.
Marisol, Angel, and the arguing adventurers followed suit.
Digger crouched by the wall and worked the last segment of cord free.
“Got it.”
He shoved it into the slot in the wall. His action was immediately rewarded as something beneath the floor clinked and rattled. The wall began to swing outward. He had to scramble back to avoid getting knocked over. The darts stopped flying. He and Paulus got out of the way as the door revealed a new corridor lit with pink lanterns.
“Let’s go!”
Paulus screamed. Marisol had appeared from nowhere and had driven her offhand blade into his forearm, causing him to drop his axe. She shoved Paulus so he stood between her and Digger. Digger grabbed the whale bone but there was no opening. The other contestants were recovering from the dart attack and seemed to have forgotten their argument.
Marisol slipped the blade free and brought it up to Paulus’s neck.
Digger raised a hand. “End of the round! I buy his freedom!” He fished a token from his pocket and held it up. “This fel is free of the game.”
The other contestants paused and looked up at the gallery.
“Congratulations!” the queen called. “He’s free. But the next round continues immediately. Off you go. Best hurry.”
A clock chimed and a tick-tick-tick echoed around them.
Digger nodded and began to head for the doorway.
“Fel!” Angel called.
Digger turned in time to see Angel run his rapier through Paulus. He pulled the weapon free. Paulus fell, his hand clutching a gushing wound.
Angel flicked blood off his blade. “Seems like this is the language you understand. Face me now. Let’s get this over with.”
Digger watched helplessly as the life left Paulus’s face. He sagged and lay still.
He tried to control his breathing. No one running the game did anything. The token in his hand had just proven worthless. Whatever rules they were playing by were gone.
The crowd gasped. Even the heckler was stunned to silence.
Digger backed away into the hallway. Angel moved to follow, as did Marisol and the other remaining contestants.
He heard their footsteps coming after him as he ran, heading towards what had to be the final encounter in the catacombs, one he hadn’t expected to ever see. The entire place was a death trap. At that moment he realized there was only one way he or his friends would ever make it out. He would have to kill every pureblood down there.
Chapter Forty-Two
TO GET DOWN ONE OF the passageways, Hellard had to inhale and suck in his gut.
The interior of the castle beyond the door became more confusing as he proceeded. There were dead ends and obvious last-minute wall demolitions revealing new construction and fresh masonry, plaster, and even a few wooden walls. But this was where those who ran the catacombs would operate. If he was going to have any chance at a rescue, this was it.
The space was so narrow, he had to pull the guard off his shoulder and drag him behind.
This particular tiny passage was also crammed with mechanical devices fixed to the walls. There were knobs and switches and even a few fixed crossbows on swivels with tiny viewing slits, presumably to shoot at whatever was going on in the game room.
The lighting was poor. Some sort of fight was going on. Things in the walls beyond his own crawlspace snapped and clicked. He could hear a clock or similar mechanism ticking.
One of the wooden walls shuddered as he brushed against it trying to squeeze past. He discovered hinges and locking pins with his fingers. The entire section of wall appeared capable of opening. He trod carefully around a fire-lighting stick and a long-spouted oil can. Above him were extinguished lanterns on hooks.
His soft, creeping footsteps were easily masked by the sounds of the crowd outside. Every time he peeked, though, he couldn’t see them or much of anything else. He just knew the audience was above him somewhere.
Finally he found a peek hole with a metal cover, which he slid aside.
He realized the other vantage points had been blocked by scenery fixed to the wall. Now he could see everything in the game room. A clock gonged. An announcer was speaking.
He watched as a fel contestant with a beard was murdered, to the shock of the audience. And there was Digger, fleeing from a group of noblemen through a large door on the opposite side of the room.
Hellard couldn’t tell if his friend was injured. But he recognized Lord Angel and Marisol from the Dragon and Rose.
He hunched down at one of the crossbows. It had a box built around it with a complex spring-loaded actuator. Pulling a pin disconnected the firing mechanism, leaving the trigger free to be operated manually. He managed to swivel the crossbow somewhat, despite its mounting frame. He sighted on Lord Angel. Didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
Nothing.
He checked and saw there was no bolt or dart loaded. This was also the case with the next two. He was dragging the guard along further when he heard someone ahead of him whispering.
“It’s okay, Tonto. You’re going to be okay. Shhh. Shhh.”
Hellard stopped and listened as the man continued to soothe whoever he was talking to. The action outside was moving away. The crowd above was also on the move, judging by the hollow footsteps. He’d have to hurry if he wanted to help Digger and the others.
“Who’s there?” the voice asked.
Hellard cleared his throat. “Uh, body cleanup.”
“Get back, you fool. Not until I clear Tonto out of the room.”
“Tonto?”
A skinny man stood from where he was kneeling on the floor and stood to face Hellard. “What are you doing in here? You don’t belong. The final round is about to start. The bodies are to be—”
Hellard dropped a fist on top of his head and the skinny man went down. A long club clattered to the floor. Hellard stooped to pick it up. It stank of fish. He then went through the man’s pockets for anything useful. He found a set of keys and a wad of scrip. He took it all and kept dragging the guard along the corridor until he reached a dead end. He sighed with frustration. He began to probe the walls and discovered a door that would slide once a pair of latches were thrown open. Before he could, a clatter and echoing whispers made him freeze. Then came bootsteps.
He located another peek hole. A group of ten armed guards trotted past, emerging from a hidden door on the opposite wall of the game room. Attendants followed. They blocked the door through which Digger and the others had gone. Then, after clearing away the fallen fel and a few other contestants, the door was sealed.
This was no good. There would be no easy opportunity to free his new friends, at least not by following so many guards.
And the guards remained vigilant.
If the action had moved past this room, why were they holding weapons?
Moments later they marched out, appearing to be in a hurry.
He returned to the unconscious skinny man. Who had he been talking to? He couldn’t find a peek hole near him but did find a small hatch in the wall that could be crawled through, if the one doing the crawling was a goblin or a starved, greased-up toddler. He opened it and stuck his head out into the game room.
A large figure hunkered nearby. It grunted and uttered a few nonsensical sounds before lazily reaching for Hellard.
Hellard jerked back but had nowhere to move as a giant troll hand pushed through the hatchway opening. Hellard bounced from foot to foot as long fingers ending in black fingernails swiped at him. But the troll couldn’t reach far. Then the creature hooked a finger in the shroud around the knocked-out guard.
The guard was murmuring. “W-w-what?”
The hapless man was pulled through the tiny hatch. He didn’t go easily through, but after a few hard yanks the guard vanished. A series of wet smacks followed and a thud. The guard made no more sounds. The troll’s shadow eclipsed the hatchway. He began sniffing. A nose appeared at the hatch and the creature’s nostrils flared. Reaching through, the troll caught the skinny man by the legs and pulled him out of sight. Then the troll reappeared.
“Just ogre meat here, my friend, and you won’t be getting me through that opening.”
Hellard wedged himself near the hatch. At any second the guards outside would reappear. Now at least he knew what they were watching out for. The creature kept reaching and scratching. If the monster caught him, it would be like getting hauled through a tiny funnel by a team of horses.
The troll inverted his hand and hooked upward with his fingers. Hellard had to raise a leg and then another. The monster next pulled at the wall. It buckled, threatening Hellard’s already precarious purchase.
“Tonto?” Hellard asked. “Is your name Tonto?”
The wall cracked. A moment more and the monster would tear the hatch frame apart and have room to reach inside. Hellard would have to jump for it, but the tight space made it impossible. He wouldn’t be fast enough.
Desperate, he fumbled for the skinny man’s smelly club. He used it to smack the troll’s fingers. The troll jerked but kept probing. The hand vanished and now the troll had his mouth to the hatchway. A tongue the size of a tree branch began rolling back and forth. The thing was snorting and sniffling. When Hellard moved the club, the tongue followed.
“Is that what you want?”
Hellard dropped down and was about to shove the club through the hatch when he paused. The troll was sucking at the opening. Hellard shoved the club into the troll’s mouth. The troll clacked his teeth down on the wood and moved away from the wall. Chewing sounds followed.
The club wasn’t a club at all, he realized. It was a fish-scented troll treat.
He scoured the narrow hallway. Among the things he had stepped over was a bag containing more of the sticks. It reeked of fermented fish.
A cheer went up from the distant audience. Finding his way out of the present set of corridors and past so many guards in time to help his friends wasn’t going to work. If this was the final round, it was already starting. Getting out was the only option. He felt confident he could make it back outside and with a little luck clear the castle.
But something about the troll made him linger.
The brute wasn’t much more than a dumb animal. But perhaps he deserved a chance at life as much as anyone else. And what if the creature could cause a little chaos that might distract the purebloods from their celebration of murder?
He felt along the wall until his fingers found the latches. A large panel slid, open
ing a way into the game room. The troll was sitting on his haunches and appeared content with the stick in his mouth. The guard looked like he’d had all his limbs broken from being pulled through the hatchway. The skinny troll handler lay next to him and likewise wasn’t moving. But they hadn’t been eaten. Perhaps the rumors of troll appetites were exaggerations.
Hellard waved another stick to and fro. He steeled his nerves as he stepped out into the game room.
The troll perked up. He had the first stick in his mouth like a piece of candy but was mesmerized by the new offering.
Surely the creature hadn’t entered the chamber via the tiny corridors. The chamber had a slope to it. The higher side was where most of the action had occurred. The lower side featured large closed doors that looked to have burned.
The troll’s eyes continued to follow the moving stick.
“Come on, Tonto,” he said softly.
Hellard led and the troll followed as they descended the slope to the bottom of the chamber. The doors didn’t budge. But a keyhole at foot level accepted one of the keys on the keyring. A lock clicked and the doors swung free. The troll, obedient and calm, shuffled along behind him, his full attention on the stick. A wall of bars confronted them. A guard opened a long sliding gate and stepped back. Perhaps he thought Hellard was the troll handler. The man’s eyes went wide as Hellard came into view.
Hellard threw him the stick. The troll lunged and landed on top of the guard. The creature grabbed the stick and threw it in his mouth and happily munched as the guard groaned beneath the monster’s weight.
Hellard relieved the man of a sword worn on his belt. The weapon was tiny in the ogre’s hand. He smacked the guard a few times until he stopped squirming. Too many sounds carried from the several ramps and stairways beyond the sliding gate. There’d be no more hiding in the shadows going forward. And from behind began a muffled shout of alarm. Perhaps it was the game, but at any rate the castle would soon know the catacombs had been infiltrated.
One particularly wide ramp was lined with scattered hay. A large ring with a thick chain was set in the stone floor. A few chewed-up wads of pulped wood marked where the troll had been kept preceding the game.
Midnight Monster Club Page 20