by Ken Brosky
“We thought it was too dangerous to get onboard,” I said. “Airport security and all.”
Grayle raised an eyebrow. “And so you’re without your assistant? Interesting.”
“He’s meeting us in Europe. He’s just taking a … different transport.”
“Can I ask what we’re really doing in Europe?” Seth asked, raising his hand. “What’s the plan?”
“Yes, Mister Grayle, sir, what is the plan?” I asked.
As usual he ignored my sarcasm, leaning forward and sliding a piece of paper across the circular table. I grabbed it, reading it twice to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. It looked like a big classified ad, complete with the headline “Wanted” in bold, black letters.
“Able-bodied adventurers interested in searching for treasure,” I read aloud. “Must bring your own equipment. Must be ready to experience danger. Please understand that this is a risky endeavor with potential for exponential reward.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Grayle waved away the fine print. “The important point is the location.”
My eyes scrolled to the bottom. “Arefu, Romania.”
“A small village near where you and your friends will be staying,” Grayle explained, “but to the north lie the mountains that make up the Southern Carpathians, otherwise known as the Transylvanian Alps.”
“Ooooooh.” Seth pursed his lips. “I’m picturing vampires right now.”
Almost as if on cue, the plane jolted violently. Grayle clutched the armrests, the knuckles of his fingers turning white. He shut his eyes a moment, taking a ragged breath.
“Turbulence,” I said. “That’s all.”
He opened his eyes and continued as if nothing had happened: “There are ruins of a castle at the base of these mountains. I’ve explored it more than a few times, hoping to find the treasure rumored to be within. I had no luck. But this particular fellow,” he reached out, tapping the paper on the desk, “seems to have succeeded where I failed. You will join his team and recover the treasure.”
“And then?” Seth asked.
“And then I will pull up a chair and stare at the treasure,” Grayle answered in a low voice. “For hours and hours. And hours.”
“Fine,” I said. “And how exactly are you going to get rid of the rest of the team?”
His dark eyes narrowed.
“Oh come on, Grayle. Do you really expect me to believe you’re going to share this treasure with other people? How stupid do you think I am?”
“You’re not stupid,” he said, snarling. “That is why I hate you so. Very well, I’ll be honest. I don’t expect the others to live.”
“Oh that’s such a bummer,” Seth said, collapsing in his seat.
“Unfortunately for the brave explorers planning this trip, the treasure they seek is guarded by Corrupted. And I don’t suspect these Corrupted will give away their precious trinkets.”
“And what if they do survive?” I asked.
Grayle stared at me, saying nothing.
A cold feeling spread through my body, numbing the tips of my fingers. Agnim’s haunting prophecy echoed in my head:
I see a journey … I see you trapped in a dark cavern … I see the death of your loved ones …
“And what are you going to be doing in Europe?” Seth asked.
Grayle leaned back, folding his hands. “If you must know, I recently purchased a horror film company. I’ll be distributing the movies throughout the United States.”
“Cool!” Seth said.
Grayle nodded. “I also purchased a nightlight company. I expect profits to increase very, very soon.”
Seth’s face was blank. I nudged him with my elbow. “He’s putting out monster movies … get it?”
Still a blank face.
“Scary movies … nightlights …”
“Ohhhhhh.” His eyes widened. “Yeah, you’re definitely a dark Jedi, dude.”
Grayle seemed to take the comment as a compliment.
“Well,” Seth said, clasping his hands together. He gave me a reassuring, goofy smile. “At least you’ll be able to kick some butt in fencing.”
“Oh don’t count on that,” Grayle said. “The European fencing circuit has the most brutal players on the planet. If you do survive this treasure hunting adventure, you’ll have certain humiliation to look forward to in the tournament. I would strongly recommend keeping your hopes low.”
“I think we’re done here,” I said, getting up. I grabbed Seth by his Metallica t-shirt, tugging him along. “Let’s leave the Corrupted in peace.”
“Enjoy the flight,” Grayle called out. “And do try to stay positive, dear hero!”
I looked at Seth. His reassuring smile had disappeared.
Chapter 2: Briar
A different transport indeed! I tell you, sometimes I wonder if my creator didn’t sneakily write my suffering into my story. Something like … And Br’er Rabbit helped the hero, and was also quite unlucky when it came to transportation.
So it happened about two weeks prior I boarded The Argyle, a merchant shipping vessel leaving Milwaukee’s port and making its way to Spain. The ship was big, old, and smelled like someone had painted it with seaweed and fish guts. The sturdy-looking sailors seemed unable to smell it. Apparently they’d gotten used to the smell. That, or they had chosen at some point to stuff cotton up their nostrils.
Given the circumstances, I had no choice as to which vessel to procure. There were only a few ships making their way east during the course of the week, and only The Argyle was heading to Europe.
But oh, to return to Europe! That wonderful land of ancient civilization, splendid food and exotic landscapes that can take your breath away. Ancient structures! Beautiful paintings! Exotic locales! The very opportunity to experience Europe once again was nearly enough to make me forget about the smell altogether.
For a few moments, at least.
I snuck aboard easily enough. The sailors—tall, strapping men who wore gray caps and seemed generally dispossessed of social skills—kept to themselves, either smoking cigarettes and hacking up their lungs on the dock or making final adjustments to the red metal crates that were being stored on the deck of the massive vessel.
Regardless of their skills, they had relatively no chance of catching me in any case. My invisibility was totally under control, and my backpack full of snacks—thank you, Alice’s mother—was guaranteed to keep me in good spirits for the duration of the trip.
Or so I thought.
Oh, lament! Things never go like we expect, do they? I suppose that is one of the only guarantees in life. One minute, you’re sleeping on a pile of comfortable rags, the next you’re running for your life from a pack of angry monsters.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start instead at the beginning. Beginning-ish. I can’t waste all my time telling you about the incredibly boring first half of the trip, now can I?
Let’s start instead on day ten. Yes, day ten. Ten days at sea, passing my time with my new friend Nibbles the rat, playing a variety of games such as I, spy and hide-and-seek. As far as rats go, he was quite all right. I’ve known a few rats with serious attitude problems, to say nothing of their desire to spend every waking moment searching for garbage. But Nibbles was different. Nibbles enjoyed a good philosophical discussion now and again, provided we not delve into politics. We had many arguments over existential quandaries like what species has the softest fur and which is the tastiest cheese, with me preferring Gouda and Nibbles preferring … er, rotten Swiss.
I digress. The point is Nibbles and I had become quite a duo. We kept out of sight inside the main cargo hold, surrounded by rows and rows of crates of varying sizes, all of them headed to Europe. We couldn’t tell much about where we were—Nibbles snuck up to the deck and reported back that we were surrounded by water—but given the time that had passed, I put us about two days away from Spain’s coast.
Nibbles disagreed.
“I find your math quite perplexing,�
� I admitted. “I have a hard time believing this ship is capable of traveling more than twenty miles per hour.” My rat friend responded rather tersely. “Knots? What do I know about knots? Oh, forget it.” I checked my backpack and gasped. “Dear friend, it appears we didn’t quite ration our snacks as well as we thought.”
Nibbles suggested we leave the cargo hold. There were sailors on duty above, keeping an eye on the shipping containers.
“Why?” I asked.
Apparently, there was quite a storm brewing. Don’t you feel it, he asked me?
“Well, the ship is lurching a bit.” I waved it off. “This reminds me of the sad tale of Theodore the Unlucky, you know. He was a hero during the 1800’s who—sadly—was not the luckiest fellow. He took the magic pen to the United States, fully intending to do battle with Corrupted monsters like every good hero. First, he missed the boat he was supposed to take. Then, while wandering the London docks for another ship, he dropped his money purse in the ocean when he tripped on a cracked wooden plank.”
Nibbles shook his head sadly.
“Indeed!” said I. “As if that weren’t bad enough, when he did finally catch a break on a small sailing ship, he was put to work doing the most dangerous jobs. All it took was one misplaced step and splash! He went overboard. Thankfully, he’d stored the magic pen in a safe box below deck. What now? Yes, of course he drowned. That’s why his nickname was Theodore the Unlucky. Poor fool. One can imagine even if he’d stayed belowdecks for his voyage, he’d have found himself in another predicament soon enough.”
It was at this point that Nibbles mentioned the other cargo hold.
“A second cargo hold? … A secret, you say? And you waited this long before telling me?”
He angrily squeaked a response I shan’t repeat. Too vulgar for my tastes, but that’s how rats are, you know.
“Nibbles, we could have been having an adventure!” I exclaimed. “Well, come now! Where is it? Lead the way!”
And so he did, weaving his way around the various crates and metal containers expertly arranged in the large cargo hold. I tell you, I was quite happy about the potential change of scenery. The cargo hold was a dreadful place, with rows and rows of containers that groaned in their stays as the ship listed. Old fluorescent lights hung from chains high above, slowly swinging as the storm battered the ship.
I felt the floor shift ever so slightly under my weight. One smaller box that hadn’t been securely stored slipped off a much larger wooden crate, splitting open upon hitting the floor. Energy bars spilled out.
“How fortuitous! Don’t mind if I do,” I said, grabbing one and then hopping my way into the next aisle.
Nibbles was waiting patiently for me. We were at the front end of the ship—the aft? The stern? I can never remember—staring at a very simple-looking wall. The nearest light cast long shadows over this section of the ship, but even with my keen eyes, I could see nothing out of the ordinary.
“Well? Where’s this door?”
Nibbles pointed to the wall. I hopped closer. And gasped.
There: the outline of a door, so razor-thin that I would never have thought it so. It corresponded perfectly with the vertical rows of rivets that held the ship together.
I pushed. The door opened.
“Are you sure this is safe?” I asked. Nibbles murmured a negative. “Right. Well, I said I wanted an adventure, didn’t I?”
I hopped inside, then used my toes to give Nibbles a little push. He fell forward, then turned and barked obscenities at me. “Oh, quiet now,” I told him. “It was just an instinct, I swear it! And if a terrifying monster had jumped out to attack us, who would have had a better chance of dodging him? You.”
He was hardly convinced. OK, so I nudged him. Who wouldn’t do the same thing?
“What is this?” I asked, hopping around a massive wooden crate. This second cargo hold was small, cramped, and full of crates packed so tight that there was only one long aisle down the middle of the room. Two solitary lights hung from the ceiling, leaving patches of frightening darkness between them. I inspected the tag on one of the crates and came back more confused than when I started.
“Agnosara, Romania?” I asked. “That’s quite a jaunt. And it just so happens to be the same destination as Alice.”
Nibbles gave me a look.
“Indeed!” said I, hopping onto the top of the large crate. The wood groaned under my weight. “It would be foolish not to look inside. Help me with this, will you?”
Together, we pulled back a plank, taking a spill as the old wood snapped in two. I wrinkled my nose. “Yes, I smell it, too. Let’s have a closer look.”
We inched closer to the hole in the crate, sure that our noses were deceiving us. But—like most animal noses—ours were spot on.
Dirt.
I reached in, grabbing a pawful. “Curious. This …” I tasted it with my tongue to be sure. “Yes! This is certainly Illinois soil, some of the best soil in the world. How do I know? Why, my dear friend, I’ll have you know I’m full of knowledge.”
Nibbles suggested I was full of something else.
“Well, that helps soil, too.” I crouched, spreading the dirt on the top of the crate. “This soil is rich because it was covered by a glacier for fifteen thousand years, protecting it. Then, prairie grasses spread and fed the soil even more nutrients over time. Excellent for growing carrots.”
He gestured to another crate sitting beside the one we were currently standing atop.
“More soil? But whatever for?”
Nibbles squeaked a sharp warning. We ducked low, watching two sailors step inside.
“I told you I heard something,” said one. He craned his neck, peering up in our direction. Instinct told me to hide even though I was quite sure I was invisible. I had a sneaking suspicion there was more to these fellows than meets the eye.
“We’ll give it a look,” said the other. “You know what the master would say if we didn’t check.”
“I know what he would do,” said the first, scratching his gray cap with a nervous sort of energy.
They walked past us, farther down the aisle. I peered over the crate, watching as they walked under the first hanging light. Then something strange happened. As they moved farther down the aisle, they began to change. Into what I cannot say with certainty, only that they were most assuredly not human. The darkness obscured details. As they stepped deeper into the shadows, they dropped to all fours, now quite animal-like in their movements.
“Corrupted,” I whispered. I turned to Nibbles to tell him we should skeedaddle, but he was gone! I turned to the door just in time to see Nibbles’ tail slip out. “Curses,” I muttered, hopping off the crate. I tip-toed my way to the door.
Then came the growl.
My fur stood on end. I looked over my shoulder. They were there, in the darkness beyond where the hanging light’s rays could reach. Their hungry eyes seemed to glow. Definitely not human.
“Er, heh heh.” I gave a little wave. “Terribly sorry to spoil things like this.”
They leapt at me, snarling. And here’s the most frightening part of all: as they landed under the light, they changed back into the human beings! I hopped backward, through the doorway, shutting the door. “Drats!” I hissed. “No lock!”
From above me came Nibbles’ call. He’d already climbed up the stacks of shipping boxes and crates and was frantically waving me up.
“Right!” I said, hopping up with all my might and landing precariously on a rather unstable box. I kept climbing up the stacks of various packages, looking down only once in time to see the creatures—now men once again—climbing up after us. I threw whatever I could at them with heroic precision, twice knocking them back to the floor of the cargo hold. Oh, how that must have hurt, landing on the hard steel!
But they were Corrupted. They would not be so easily triumphed over.
“Come now,” I told Nibbles, trying to be the calm one. I swear my rat friend was on the verge of a full-bl
own panic attack; not an uncommon response when faced with monstrous predators, I suppose. “Let’s make for those air vents on the other side of the room. Oh, you didn’t notice them? Well! That, my friend, is why yours truly is so invaluable.”
Nibbles squealed again. I looked over my shoulder. One of the sailors was climbing after us with an inhuman sort of speed, and baring some distinctly inhuman-looking teeth. I hurried Nibbles along, using my long feet to traverse the vast assortment of different-sized shipping containers. We were near the ceiling of the hold now, jumping from box to box like they were rooftops. It was all quite exciting, save for the possibility-of-imminent-death part.
“Ah-ha!” I said, spotting the perfect trap up ahead. “Quick, now! I have a plan.”
There was a smallish wooden crate perched atop the next container. When I reached it, I positioned myself just behind it and ducked low, waiting. I heard the sailor’s approaching footsteps, and as he got closer he shouted, “I know you’re there, foolish rabbit!” When the footsteps suddenly stopped I knew the sailor had jumped over the last gap. I kicked the crate with all the strength of my very strong hindquarters. The crate collided in midair with one very surprised sailor. Both tumbled the fifty or so feet to the floor, landing with a satisfying crash.
Nibbles squeaked a mixture of worry and delight.
“Oh, he’s hardly hurt,” I said. “Corrupted are a nefariously tough bunch. Let’s just worry about ourselves, shall we?”
We hopped over the last of the packages, stopping in front of the large heating grate. I fished a quarter from my pocket, using it to loosen the screws holding the vent in place. Both sailors were climbing the shipping containers now, creeping ever closer, the look on their faces a mixture of anger and something much more animal, as if some feral creature was hiding underneath just waiting to be released.
But they were too late! “In you go,” I told Nibbles, opening the vent and pushing him inside. I followed, crawling on all fours and feeling my trousers bunch up.
