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  YAZ

  Yaz listened as Arwin walked by the skeleton’s cell door a second time to go upstairs. The skeleton scowled. Well, the Drearian certainly seemed popur with their host. Probably wasn’t suffering too much in her hands. Arwin was probably eating it right up, too, loving every second of it. Give it another couple of nights, and he’d probably become the woman’s eager little puppet. The two of them would probably forget all about Yaz and leave him down here alone and collecting dust for a few hundred years. So much for their rescue mission and the ogre vilge. So much for finding Epheria anytime soon.

  The realization of just how negative he was being struck Yaz like a sp in the skull. He mentally kicked himself. Then he smacked the back of his skull against the stone wall for emphasis.

  There was nothing wrong with Arwin; it was only Yaz’s depression talking, and depression is something you should never, ever listen to. He should know better.

  He wasn’t being fair. Arwin didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who would abandon his friends. Sure, it was a little too early to tell, but something about the man just felt trustworthy. There was something good about him. Despite the fact that they were literally from two different worlds, Yaz and Arwin clicked. It was like they had been made to be friends.

  Hearing Arwin leaving his cell was probably triggering jealousy in Yaz. The Drearian was able to walk around. That presented opportunities. Opportunities Yaz would like to take advantage of so that they could escape. Or where he could run a nice steel bde through the witch upstairs and end that magical menace to Heartstone forever.

  Yaz sat up straighter. Moping and depression weren’t helping. Heroes didn’t win the day by pitying themselves or giving up. Success is, and always has been, defined by getting up one more time than we’ve been knocked down.

  Yaz had been knocked down as much by his failure to find Epheria as by the Dark Enchantress’s words. He needed to get up. He needed to escape, and, what’s more, Arwin would probably need his help at some point. The Dark Enchantress, by all accounts, was very smart and twisted. Whatever games she was pying with Arwin, she was no doubt toying with him, pretending to want his company before she would spring something horrible on him. He hoped that Arwin was keeping his wits about him and not falling under the dangerous woman’s spells.

  Yaz looked around. He had escaped a dungeon or two in his day. It was time to get out of here.

  He shook off as much of his negativity as he could for the moment and took stock. The cell was no doubt simple and straightforward enough. Not that he could see anything because there was no light source in here and none through the window in the door. But he’d been chained up in enough of these to know there wasn’t much he could do without outside help. He kicked out at the door.

  The response was immediate. A long spider leg shot through the window and nailed the stone floor next to Yaz’s leg. Yaz nodded to himself. Guard spider. Well, harry the guard enough, and maybe he’ll bring someone in charge.

  Yaz continued to kick at the door and received a flurry of stabbing leg each time. But he was in little danger as he had no flesh to penetrate. Eventually, the guard unleashed an angry torrent of incomprehensible chittering, then scampered off, doing the clickety spider version of stomping down the stone hallway.

  The guard returned a while ter and opened the door. He’d brought a cheerful bck gremlin who was wearing gsses and a tuxedo with a red bowtie and who was carrying a wooden torch.

  Voice deep and smooth, the little monster asked in a cultured and intelligent accent, “Yes? You incessantly kicked at your door earlier?”

  Yaz blinked, surprised at the unexpected nature of the gremlin. “I did. Who are you?”

  “Brainy. I am one of the mistress’s creations. Now, what do you want?”

  “I wish to talk.”

  “Ah! I’d love to. In fact, I’ve been eager for just this opportunity.” The gremlin straightened his gsses with a smile of anticipation. “Let’s talk about what’s in this room, and beyond, because I think there are some fascinating ramifications for the future.”

  If Yaz had eyelids, he would have blinked. “There are?”

  “Absolutely! Take a look up there, for instance.” Without looking in that direction, the intelligent gremlin pointed upwards.

  Yaz looked up and saw that he was not alone in this hole.

  Two slitted bck eyes opened and peered down. It was a bck gremlin, but not like the others. It stretched, and two wide, bat-like wings unfurled. The creature hissed down at Yaz.

  The intelligent gremlin continued, “See there? Another one of the mistress’s genetic experiments. Not nearly as impressive as myself, of course, but nonetheless a remarkable achievement in combining bck gremlin with vampire bat DNA.”

  The bat gremlin opened its mouth and fshed two prominent fangs at Yaz.

  Yaz asked, “How does this have ramifications for the future?” He wasn’t afraid of the vampire thing. As a skeleton, he was bloodless. It was what had allowed him to feel a lot more comfortable dating a vampire than he would have been in his earlier living form.

  “Well, let me show as I tell.” Brainy gestured, and two other gremlins appeared and freed Yaz, who was then led out of the cell and into other parts of the dungeon.

  Yaz eyed his unexpectedly sophisticated captors and made a note of the rge arachnids guarding the pce. It seemed unlikely that he’d be able to overpower them all and escape. So, for now, he went along with things. Admittedly, he was curious as to what this interesting little gremlin wanted to show him. What a fascinating creature it was!

  Brainy, it turned out, was giving him a grand tour of the dungeon. He spoke expansively, pride evident in his voice, and he was all smiles, his wide mouth full of sharp little teeth, “As you can see, we’ve done a very good job installing a certain kind of dark aesthetic to our dungeons. We’ve given it a real fre for the dramatic. I’ve visited other dungeons, and I have to tell you, I think ours outshines them all. The secret? It’s really all about having a dedicated, imaginative passion for your work. And if you don’t mind me being a little less than humble for a moment, I think I’ve really put my heart into this pce, with wonderful results. See here. We have creepy, bloodsucking mutations.” He gestured to a mottled red-and-white pnt under a shaft of artificial sunlight in one corner. The petals had teeth, and the flowers were rge enough to envelop a human arm or head.

  Yaz noticed a priceless gem the size of a man’s fist just sitting on a pile of dead leaves at the base of the rge pnt. Bait, apparently.

  They passed a short hallway that had succumbed a few meters along to a fallen roof.

  Brainy nodded at the hall and raised a torch to illuminate the area. “We have slippery, gooey slimes that can swallow a man whole and keep him alive and aware for days while they digest him.”

  Sitting in the corner was a rge, translucent, orange slime. The remains of its st victim could be seen digesting within, which was mostly bones and hair at this point. The victim’s armour, sword, and pack all floated in the orange ooze.

  Brainy led his guest to a heavy, iron-bound door and waved Yaz through first. They entered a room with many contraptions. “As you can see, we have a painfully adorable torture chamber with all the cssic devices, like iron maidens and racks and thumb screws, along with several inventions of my own unique designs.”

  Yaz took in the room. Yep, all the cssics and a few more besides. And it all looked to be in good working order. A female gremlin in a maid uniform kneeled next to a bucket of water while scrubbing the stone floor beneath one of the torture racks.

  The tuxedo-wearing gremlin pulled the skeleton back out of the room and carried on. “We have a pit of boiling oil, warmly scented with the strongest sulphur and, my own touch, with a hint of cloves. We have a stone golem protecting a secret doorway. Mysterious runes and glyphs, some of which do nothing, others that blow up in your face. Lots and lots of booby traps, some with real boobies, which male adventurers seem to have a real weakness for. And we have a dragon because, let’s face it, dungeons and dragons go so well together, am I right? At least when they aren’t mismanaged by greedy, corporate bum lickers.”

  Yaz reluctantly nodded.

  Brainy’s every-present smile was nearly infectious as they toured, pointing out the sights. “We’ve sprinkled some dead adventurers about the pce, carefully sprawled in the corners here and there, both for aesthetics and to act as lures. A couple of them are pin, rotting corpses, but some are revenants. Those are quite the surprise when looted. And I have never met an adventurer that didn’t loot whatever body it came across. It’s like those murder hobos can’t help themselves.” He chuckled with much amusement. “We have a hidden treasure room filled with items of antiquity and gold and rare books and fabulous magical weapons.” He put a hand to the side of his mouth and fake whispered, “Actually, it’s all just old junk that the mistress has thrown away, but they say one man’s garbage is another man’s treasure, right? You’d be amazed at what a bunch of useless yellow metal, shiny rocks, and enchanted pointy things will do to draw adventurers in here.” He ughed.

  Yaz ruefully admitted, “Yeah, adventurers aren’t known for their wisdom or caution.” He’d know; he was one. And he’d fallen prey to many of these same traps over the centuries.

  Brainy knowingly nodded. “There are, of course, countless spiders and their webs, which really scare people on a primal level. We have all the best sound effects: several moaning ghosts; prisoners who scream on cue; several actual prisoners who have gone insane and who rant nonsense and rattle their chains at all hours; creaky, rusted door hinges; and miscelneous things which go bump in the night. But,” and here he stopped and turned to Yaz, practically dancing with excitement, “the one thing I’ve always wanted was a talking, animated skeleton. I do think that that would really be the proverbial poisoned cherry on top of the desiccated cake. What do you say?”

  Yaz gaped at the gremlin. “Are you trying to sell me on a job scaring people in your dungeons?”

  “Sort of. I mean, it would be penal servitude, really, not a real job. You wouldn’t actually be paid anything. You’d still be a prisoner, of course. In chains. But think of it as a chance to really liven up your otherwise lonely decades here. It’s a chance to have purpose, to provide a certain sense of macabre beauty to the dungeons, to become a living piece of art and give your life here meaning. Like an actor on stage in a py that endlessly terrorizes.”

  “You want me to be an actor here?”

  “As some bard said, ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely pyers, they have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time pys many parts.’”

  Yaz was astounded. “You’ve read Shakespeare!”

  “My dear fellow, anyone who is anyone has read Shakespeare.”

  Yaz nodded. “True. Drearia may seem devoid of beauty and culture on the outside, but it does have its gems. You know, really, really well-hidden gems amongst the garbage it produces, of course.”

  “Agreed. I’m so gd that his works were imported before the st time the curtain closed. I wonder if Drearians have come up with anything as good since then?”

  Yaz ruminated about it. “Maybe. As long as stories are made to inspire and teach some of life’s many truths, then I think artists will continue to have meaningful things to say, and people will continue to be able to rete to deep, touching stories in ways that help them cope, grow and become wiser.”

  “Agreed.” The gremlin straightened his gsses. “Although there’s nothing wrong with showing a little leg sometimes.”

  “Sex sells for gremlins, too, does it?”

  “Oh, no.” The gremlin shook his head. “I’m just partial to human thigh meat.”

  Ah. “So, why me for this dungeon role? Can’t you use any old undead? There must be plenty of others around.”

  The gremlin shook his head, looking very disappointed. With a melodramatic wave of the hand, he despaired, “Oh, we’ve tried! Very few have the mental capacity for really creative work. I mean, if you want something to just stand there and moan and slobber and fall to pieces on you, any old zombie will do. We’ve used them. We still let a few shuffle around the halls at night. They keep guests up and instil skin-crawling fear as the zombies scratch away at the prisoner’s doors for hours on end, determined to get in. But dialogue abilities are so very limited, aren’t they? It’s terrible. It’s always ‘brains, brains brains’; that’s all they ever talk about. I’d really love to have someone with a greater range of emotions and speech and yet also someone who really embodies the ambiance of death like the undead do. My good skeleton, you’re perfect for the part.”

  Yaz scratched his head in puzzlement. “Hmm. This was definitely not how I pictured this encounter going.”

  The gremlin gave him a sympathetic look. “Ah, you were hoping to trick me into unshackling you and giving you some opportunity to escape?”

  Yaz shrugged. “Well, that was the general idea. You’re apparently something of a dungeon master; you know how these things go.”

  The bck gremlin appeared sympathetic. “Yes, and I do realize that this whole discussion is a little out of character. It does spoil the scene a bit, and for that, I sincerely apologize, but the opportunity was just too good to pass up. It took me quite a bit to work up the courage to ask the mistress if this would be all right.”

  “And she said it would be ok?”

  “Well, you may or may not know this, but she’s rather taken with your friend, I think, and looking to keep him around a good, long while. And I think she feels your friend would be much happier if you had some sembnce of autonomy and, well, if not freedom, exactly, then not being chained up in solitary confinement all the time. It’s a lovely dungeon, and we do get fairly frequent “unwanted” visitors, so you know you’ll have things to do and a real sense of purpose. I think that’s important in life, don’t you? And really, how many opportunities are there for a skeleton such as yourself where you could really fit in and thrive the way you could here? You could really belong, and I promise you would be appreciated.”

  Yaz took a few beats to think about that. “It’s a very nice offer. I admit, I was definitely not expecting this sort of thing. And I do appreciate the professionalism.”

  Brainy pulled himself up a bit, and his smile, if possible, widened even further. “You’re very welcome. I do try.”

  “I did have my heart set on escaping, though.” Yaz sighed.

  Brainy knowingly nodded and led the way back to Yaz’s cell, seemingly not put out. “I understand. Well, don’t feel bad. I can wait. You might change your mind. After all, no one ever escapes the Dark Enchantress. Your pn never would have worked anyway. It’s not just the traps and the yers and yers of spell wards. Too many spiders, really. The pce is crawling with them, both inside and outside of the castle. The swamps are under her total control. Even if you did temporarily make it outside the walls, my queen would quickly hunt you down and find some way to boil you alive. Probably make soup of your bones, and then where would you be? Delicious bone broth soup. That’s about it.”

  “Ok then. Um, well, thank you.” Yaz was polite. No reason to be rude when he’d be shown so much courtesy. “I think I need a little time to ponder the offer.” He didn’t, of course, but again, it was the polite thing to say.

  “Of course, of course.” The bck gremlin bowed his head and let Yaz back into the cell. “If you wish to chat, just incessantly harass the guards again at any time, day or night. Not that you can tell which is which in a windowless cell.” He chortled and departed.

  Yaz stared at the door. Escape might be more difficult than he thought.