“Frederic, are you okay?” Liam asked. He pressed his face up to the bars of his cell door, trying to get a better look at his friend across the way. “What are you doing?”
“. . . fourteen, fifteen—shhh!—seventeen, eighteen . . .”
“Frederic, we haven’t even been here for six hours,” Liam said. “Have you gone stir-crazy already?”
Liam wouldn’t have been surprised if Frederic had lost his mind. And it would be my fault, he thought. I can’t believe the mess I’ve gotten us into, storming the Bandit King’s castle with such a half-baked plan. It all went wrong because I couldn’t give up trying to be a hero. Because I couldn’t admit the truth about myself. Because I couldn’t—”
“. . . forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven . . .”
“Frederic, I’m sorry, but I’m not in the best place right now, mentally, and I think your counting is going to push me over the edge.”
“. . . fifty-eight, fifty-nine—ten!”
With a click, a door opened down the hall. They’d been hearing that sound on and off ever since they were locked in the dungeon, and they knew what it meant: Wrathgar was back.
The enormous man lumbered into their cellblock, walked over to Frederic’s cell, and gave the door a kick. Frederic curled up into a tiny ball. Wrathgar stepped across to Liam, who looked down to avoid eye contact.
The dungeon master smiled, revealing a mouth full of green, stained teeth. He spat into Liam’s cell, then turned and marched back out of the cellblock. When the prisoners heard the sound of the door closing, they started breathing again. Frederic leapt up.
“Ten minutes!” he said. “Exactly ten minutes!”
“What?” Liam asked.
“Our jailer is incredibly punctual,” Frederic explained. “Over the course of the day, it began to feel to me that there was a very regular interval of time between Wrathgar’s check-ins. So I counted them out. It’s always exactly ten minutes every time.”
Liam sighed. “Congratulations, Frederic. You can tell time.”
“If we know how long he’ll be gone,” said Frederic, “we know how long we’ll have to escape.”
“That’s incredibly optimistic of you,” Liam muttered. “But knowing the timeframe doesn’t matter much if there’s no way out of these cells.”
“The keys are right there on the wall!” Frederic said, pointing to the key ring hanging on a nearby hook. “It’s like he’s daring us to take them.”
“Maybe he is,” Liam said soberly. “I don’t think we should try anything we’ll regret.”
“Nonsense,” said Frederic. “We just need to figure out how to get them.”
“There’s no way,” Liam said. “It’s pointless.”
“What’s wrong with you, Liam?” Frederic asked. “You’re acting like you don’t want to escape.”
Liam sighed. “I want you to escape, Frederic,” he said. “But I don’t know about me. Maybe I deserve to be locked up.”
“Look, Liam, you’re being too hard on yourself,” Frederic said. “So your plan didn’t come off exactly as you’d hoped. That still doesn’t mean—”
“That’s not it, Frederic,” Liam said, his voice heavy. “I’ve . . . I’ve done a horrible thing.”
“‘Horrible’ is a strong word,” Frederic said. “I’m sure that whatever you’ve done doesn’t rise to that level.”
“I knowingly left two innocent men in jail,” Liam said.
“Okay, yes, that’s horrible,” Frederic said. “But I’m sure you had a good reason.”
“I didn’t want them to tell people I’m not a real hero.”
“Mm-hmm, yeah—not a good reason,” Frederic said. “Care to elaborate?”
“In Avondell’s dungeon, I met two actors who revealed to me that my rescue of Briar’s parents back when I was a kid—the incident that first made the world think of me as a hero—was all a hoax,” Liam said. He leaned his forehead against the cold iron bars. “They’ve been rotting in there for ages, and I should have freed them immediately; but I was too scared to have people find out I’m a fraud. I thought about all the mistakes and blunders I’ve made, and I wondered if I was even capable of being a hero anymore. But when I discovered Briar’s plot, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to test myself. I bet all my friends’ lives on it. And I failed.”
“Wow. And I thought I had issues,” Frederic said, rubbing his hands against his temples. “You seriously believe that you’re not a real hero just because you didn’t save the lives of a king and queen when you were three? You think that one false story negates all the good deeds you’ve done over the course of your life? I’ve never met—or even heard about—anyone who has performed more heroic deeds than you. But maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re not a hero anymore. If that’s the case, though, it’s not because of some silliness that was faked back when you were a toddler. It’s because you abandoned those two innocent men last week.”
Liam was silent.
“No one is defined by a single act,” Frederic said. “Whether it was years ago or weeks ago. We’re all given chances to change, to make up for things we’ve done wrong. It’s how we handle those opportunities that really matters. For most of my life, I ran and hid from anything remotely dangerous. Does that make me a coward now? No. If I’m a coward now, it’s because I was just curled in a ball, crying, when a scary man looked at me wrong. But you know what? The next time we see Wrathgar, I could stand up to him. I’m not saying I’m going to—I’ll probably just cry again—but I could stand up to him. And so could you. And you’d be a hero again.”
Liam nodded. “You’re right: This isn’t just about me. I have people counting on me,” he said softly.
“And you’re not going to let them down,” Frederic said.
“No,” Liam said, straightening up a bit. “Not without a fight.”
“There you go!” Frederic said, unable to suppress a grin. “That’s the Liam I’m looking for!”
“That’s right.” Liam stood and puffed out his chest. “I’m Liam of Erinthia! Getting out of tough situations is what I do best!”
“Huzzah!” Frederic thrust his fist in the air. He was smiling like a crazy person.
“We still have a few minutes before Wrathgar comes back. Let’s get out of here,” Liam said. He gripped the bars of his cell and looked Frederic in the eye. “But I don’t think I can do this alone. Frederic, I need your help.”
If Liam had wanted to pump Frederic up, he couldn’t have said anything more effective than those last five words. Frederic rubbed his hands together and did what he always did when he found himself in a puzzling predicament—he asked himself, What would Sir Bertram the Dainty do? They would need to use some sort of tool to reach the keys. But the bandits had taken away everything they had, leaving them with only the clothes on their backs. Aha! That was it!
“My clothes!” Frederic said excitedly. “In Sir Bertram the Dainty and the Case of the Loathsome Laundress, he ties together a string of silk neckties to help him reach a flask of magical fabric softener. If he isn’t able to get it in time, all the noblemen’s suits will be coarse and uncomfortable. But luckily—”
“What’s your idea, Frederic?” Liam asked.
“The gold braiding on my jacket—if I can rip it off and unravel it, I’m sure it will be long enough reach that key ring.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Liam. “Get ripping.”
Frederic took off his jacket and tried tearing the gold braiding that ran up and down the sleeves. “Urgh, the stitching is really tough,” he said. He yanked and pulled with all his might, even trying to stand on the jacket for leverage. “You know who would be really helpful to have down here right now? Little Taylor.”
Fig. 32
Frederic RIPPING
Then they heard the clicking of the door down the hall.
“Stop ripping,” hissed Liam. “It’s Wrathgar.”
Frederic hastily stashed his crumpled jacket behind his back and h
ummed as the dungeon master stomped into the cellblock.
“What are you hiding?” Wrathgar asked.
“It’s just my jacket. I was hot,” Frederic said. He dabbed his forehead with his shirtsleeve. “I mean, whew.”
Wrathgar marched over to Frederic’s cell and, like a human eclipse, blocked all light from entering. “I don’t believe you,” he said.
“Why?” Frederic asked. “Just because we’re in a cold, clammy dungeon? Haven’t you heard of nervous sweat?”
Wrathgar glared at Frederic until the prince’s legs went wobbly. “Give it to me.”
Thoroughly cowed, Frederic squeezed his jacket through the bars and handed it off. Wrathgar checked it inside and out, squeezing it and sniffing it. When he was satisfied there was nothing out of the ordinary about it, he wiped his mouth on the garment and tossed it into a corner, far out of reach of Frederic’s and Liam’s cells. Then he turned and left again.
As soon as they heard the door click shut, Frederic said, “We can still do this, Liam, but I have to ask you to sacrifice your cape.”
Liam unclipped the long blue cape from his neck and gave it a bittersweet caress. “You’ve served me well, old friend.”
“Ten minutes, Liam,” Frederic said. “I’ll keep count. Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three . . .”
Liam ripped his cape into three long strips of fabric, which he twisted and tied together to form one long, makeshift rope.
Upstairs, Falco was scouting the halls on guard duty. “Get me out of here!” he heard a voice cry. He turned a corner to see Jezek wedged into an open window with a stuffed grizzly. With some effort, he pulled the bodyguard free and managed to pry him from the bear. He raised a quizzical eyebrow at Jezek.
“Something’s going on here,” Jezek said. “There’s a mad clown on the loose. It could be part of that invasion the Phantom warned us about. We have to tell the Warlord.”
They sped for the amphitheater but stopped short when they saw a group of Rauber’s men racing toward the castle’s entryway.
“What’s happening?” Jezek asked as the bandits ran by.
“A troll and a giant are having a fight!” one called as he disappeared over the drawbridge. “It’s way better than the circus!”
“I’ll check it out,” Jezek said to Falco. “You tell the Warlord about the clown.” Falco nodded. They dashed off in opposite directions.
Reaching his arm out between the bars of his cell, Liam flicked his cape-rope at the keys on the wall—for the fiftieth time. And once again, it missed.
“Crud,” he grumbled.
“That’s six minutes, Liam,” Frederic said. “Come on—you can do this.”
“Yes, I can,” Liam said, and flicked again. This time the heavy knot he’d tied at the end knocked into the key ring and bumped it off its hook. The keys hit the stony floor with an echoing clatter.
“. . . forty-four, forty-five—excellent!—forty-seven . . .”
“Okay, now to bring them over to me,” Liam said. He whipped his cape-rope outward and, miraculously, landed the knot right through the center of the key ring. Frederic bounced with joy.
Liam slowly and carefully began reeling in the keys.
“Three minutes left,” Frederic said. “Two, three, four, fi—”
The familiar click of the door sounded from down the hall, followed by approaching footsteps.
“No,” Frederic said. “He’s early!”
“Early?” Little Taylor asked as he stepped into the cellblock. “You were expecting me?”
At the mere sight of the man, Liam’s hands curled into fists.
“Oh-ho! What’s this?” Taylor said, grabbing the key ring off the floor and yanking the cape-rope away from Liam. “Were you two naughty boys trying to escape? The Bandit King is going to love me even more when I tell him about this.”
“You’re despicable,” Liam hissed. “You’ve already sentenced us to death with your betrayal; why are you down here now? To rub our faces in it?”
“Yes, actually,” Taylor said. He twirled the key ring on his index finger. “You see, I was sitting there at the circus, right next to the Bandit King. I’d gotten exactly what I’d always wanted. I should have been completely content. But I wasn’t. Something was still eating at me. And then I saw Deeb Rauber throw a teapot at a sword swallower. It broke the man’s nose, and Rauber just cracked up. He laughed with more glee than anyone I’ve ever seen. And it hit me that that’s what I was missing: I hadn’t gotten the chance to laugh in the faces of my victims. So I’m here to do it.”
He burst into a bout of heaving, horsey guffaws.
“You’re completely insane,” Liam said.
“Ha! You’re the ones who are insane,” Taylor said. “I played you guys perfectly. You know, when I first spotted you all camping out by that tower in Sturmhagen, I almost did you all in right then and there. But then I heard you talking about your plan to rob the Bandit King and how you were going to hire an accomplice to help you do it. I raced straight to the Stumpy Boarhound and made sure I was the one you chose. Part of me can’t believe it really worked. You fools honestly thought that I would betray the Bandit King—the most amazing villain who has ever lived—so I could help a couple of Prince Charmings?”
“You know, when you showed up just now, I was still kind of hoping you might have come to help us,” Frederic said sadly.
“Oh, yes, that’s going to happen,” Taylor drawled sarcastically. “I, Little Taylor, the Gray Phantom, have come down here to set you free, just like we’d planned. I’m going to unlock your cages and then the three of us can go rob Deeb Rauber’s treasure vault together.”
He was so enjoying his little performance that he didn’t notice Wrathgar enter the cellblock behind him (right on time, by the way). And unfortunately for Taylor, the dungeon master had only heard the last couple of things he’d said.
“So, you’re a traitor,” Wrathgar said. “I knew there was something I didn’t like about you.”
“Ah, no, wait, you don’t understand,” Taylor stammered. “I wasn’t really going to let them out.”
“The keys are in your hand,” Wrathgar said.
Instinctively, Taylor dropped the key ring and pulled out his spool of thread, rapidly reeling off a piece to use as a weapon. Wrathgar reached out, picked Taylor up by the face, and hurled him into a nearby stone wall. The wall collapsed and crushed him completely. All that was left of Little Taylor was a tiny spool of thread that rolled from the rubble and came to a rest against Wrathgar’s heavy black boot.
“Hmm, guess I threw him kinda hard, huh?” Wrathgar said with a shrug. “Oh, well.”
Both Liam and Frederic turned a pale shade of green.
Fig. 33
SPOOL, ownerless
Wrathgar picked up the key ring and clipped it onto his belt. He grabbed a stool from the corner, brought it to the center of the cellblock, and sat down. “Now I stay here,” he said. “No one is leaving these cells.”
24
A HERO SMELLS A RAT
The element of surprise can offer a hero great advantage in battle. The element of oxygen—also important.
—THE HERO’S GUIDE TO BEING A HERO
Deeb Rauber strongly believed that rooftops were for recreation. The roof of his very first hideout hosted a regular thumb-wrestling tournament; the roof of his last castle held a combination dueling arena/suntan deck; and now that he was a genuine king, his rooftop could have passed for a carnival midway. Dozens of small shacks rose up from the wood-and-stone roof, some of which were used for official bandit business like dagger storage and loot sorting, while others—like the dunk tank and the face-painting booth—not so much. Walkways ran between these mini-buildings like a grid of streets, all leading to the large, central, carved-ivory dome (stolen from the legendary Our Lady of Fancy Domes Cathedral in Hithershire), which housed the main stairwells.
Ella, Gustav, Lila, and Duncan slinked through a narrow passage between a facility for
the de-fingering of gloves and a shack with a sign for “spitball moistening.”
“I can’t believe how much stuff is up here,” Lila whispered.
“I think I saw a place that makes funnel cake back there,” Duncan said. “I was very tempted.”
“Just keep looking for the snake handler,” Ella said.
“Yeah,” Gustav added. “No matter what, we should still be able to find a thirty-foot snake. It’s not like you can hide an animal that big.”
“Hold up,” Ella whispered urgently as she paused outside the corner of a workshop dedicated to mending torn loot sacks. Just around the bend was the big dome, and before it stood a man whom they instantly guessed to be the snake handler (the sixty-three snake tattoos covering Madu’s body kind of gave it away). The Darian opened a small wooden door in the wall of the dome and, pulling on a rope inside, reeled up a large basket.
“What’s he doing?” Gustav asked.
“It’s a dumbwaiter,” Lila whispered. “We have them at the palace back in Erinthia. There’s a long shaft they use to send food and messages up and down between floors.”
“And rats apparently,” Gustav said as they watched Madu lift a squirming brown rat from the basket by its tail. He held the wriggling rodent up to his nose and sniffed it.
“King Moonracer,” Duncan said.
“Don’t get too attached,” Ella warned. “My guess is that King Moonracer is going to be lunch for the snake.”
Duncan shrugged. “Circle of life,” he said.
“Where is the snake?” Gustav asked. He was growing agitated as they watched Madu walk around, toying with the struggling rat—swatting at it and poking it with his finger. After a minute or two, the tattooed man stuck out his tongue and took a big, long lick across the rodent’s matted fur.
Fig. 34
FEEDING TIME
“I’ve seen enough,” Gustav said. “I’m taking this wacko down now. Stuuuuuurm-haaayyyy-gennnnn!”