D. J. MacHale
The Quillan Games
It was a castle.
I did a double take, that’s how stunned I was by seeing something so whimsical on a territory that was pretty much devoid of character. The structure was huge. There were several soaring towers with pointed spires and circular battlements. There were so many levels and balconies that I imagined the inhabitants needed a map to get around the place. Though I had no idea who the inhabitants were. Bright yellow flags with purple stripes flew from every spire, snapping in the breeze. The color of the castle itself was a pale pink. In a word, it was dazzling.
We had to drive another few minutes to actually get to the castle, that’s how massive it was. As we approached, I saw that a wide water-filled moat ringed the giant structure. The waterway looked more like decoration than protection. The whole place was immaculate, as if they had a thousand gardeners working night and day. (Again, whoever “they” were.) But I didn’t see anyone working. I didn’t see anyone at all. That felt odd, but who was I to say what was odd and what wasn’t on Quillan? As we drew closer, I saw that the front entrance was a giant wooden door. You guessed it, it lowered and became a bridge that spanned the moat. We didn’t even have to slow down. It was as if they knew we were coming. They. I really wanted to know who “they” were. The car drove onto the wooden drawbridge and rattled across the boards, and we rolled into a vast, open courtyard around which the castle was built. There were fountains everywhere and hedges that were carved to look like animals. I didn’t recognize any of the sculptures, though. Either they were abstract designs, or there were some pretty odd-looking animals on Quillan. My vote went for the abstract designs. I didn’t want to run across any twisted-looking animals.
The car rolled to a stop at the bottom of marble stairs that led up to wooden doors ornately trimmed with gold. The car had barely come to a stop when these doors opened. Somebody was coming out to greet us. I hoped I was about to find out who “they” were. Whoever “they” were, “they” had gone through a lot of trouble to get me here. I felt pretty sure that once I found out who “they” were, “they” would tell me why these goons had chased me down like a criminal and shot me. The doors opened wide, and “they” stepped out onto the top of the stairs.
“Welcome, my friend, welcome!” shouted a jovial man wearing what looked like a long red and black bathrobe. I recognized him instantly. “LaBerge is my name, though I’m sure you already know that. Everyone does, of course. Please, let me shake your hand.”
Yeah, it was LaBerge. The guy from the video screen who ran the Tato contest. The guy who sent me the invitation. He looked even nuttier in person. His blond hair was a mass of long, tight curls that bounced when he walked. His eyes were alive with excitement, or insanity. I wasn’t sure which. He opened the car door and I tentatively got out.
“I trust your trip was a pleasant one,” he said sincerely, holding out his hand to shake mine.
I didn’t shake his hand. I didn’t know this guy, but I didn’t like him. Not only was he making my life miserable, he had something to do with the death of a Traveler. What was to like?
“They shot me” was all I said.
LaBerge frowned, leaned into the rear door, and barked angrily at the dados, “Cretins! Go away!”
The dado hit the gas, or whatever it was that made those cars go. The car shot forward so fast that LaBerge had to pull himself out quickly or he would have been dragged along. I wouldn’t have minded seeing that. LaBerge glared at the departing car as it sped out of the gateway, then collected himself and turned to me with a smile.
“I don’t like having those vulgarians anywhere near me, but they are useful. Now,” he said brightly. “Let’s get you settled.”
The guy was playing the part of a flamboyant, charming host. I wasn’t having any part of it. He turned to scurry back up the stairs. I didn’t move.
He said, “I’m sure you will be comfortable in the-” He saw that I wasn’t following him, and turned back to me. “Is there something wrong, my friend?”
“I’m not your friend,” I said flatly. “I don’t know who you are, and I definitely don’t know why you had those thugs hunt me down to bring me here.”
LaBerge looked confused. He walked back down the steps toward me, saying, “Didn’t you get our invitation?”
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the paper that had come in the gift box that Saint Dane sent through the flume to Zadaa.
“Yeah, I got it,” I said.
“Then why did you run from the dados?” he asked.
“Because I don’t jump when Saint Dane snaps his fingers.”
LaBerge looked at me quizzically. “Who?” he asked.
I realized that Saint Dane probably didn’t call himself that here. He must have taken on some other identity that fit into this territory. Finding out what that identity was and what his plans were for Quillan were the real reasons I was there.
I said, “Who told you to send me this invitation?”
LaBerge took the invitation from me and looked at it. “‘Riggedy, riggedy white,’” he said, reading. He chuckled and added, “Has quite a ring to it, no?”
“No,” I said.
The smile fell from LaBerge’s face.
“Oh,” he said, sounding hurt. “I think it’s quite melodic.”
“Who told you to send me that?” I asked again, more emphatically. I took a step toward him to emphasize the point. LaBerge took a step back. I intimidated him. Good.
“I never divulge my sources, young man,” he said. “That would be bad for business.”
“Business?” I said, backing the guy off. “I don’t care about your business; I don’t care about you. I want to know what I’m doing here!”
“I thought that would be obvious,” LaBerge said nervously. “You’re about to be treated like royalty!”
Huh? Royalty. I didn’t know what I expected the guy to say, but it wasn’t that.
“LaBerge! Why haven’t you brought our guest inside?” came a stern voice from above.
I shot a look up the stairs to the doorway into the castle and saw a tall thin woman wearing a purple jumpsuit that was so dark it looked almost black. She stood flagpole straight with her arms at her sides, staring at me. Unblinking. It was Veego, the woman from the video screen.
LaBerge said, “Challenger Red is concerned as to why we asked him here. I’m trying to explain how-“
“I’m not a challenger,” I said to the woman.
“No,” she said. “You are not.”
Good, at least somebody was listening to me.
She added, “But you will be.”
Oh. Swell. I took a step up toward the woman, looking her right in the eye. I wanted her to know I was as serious as she was. I have to admit, she gave me the creeps. We stared each other down for a moment, then she twisted her lips into a crooked smile.
“Yes?” she asked.
I took a shot and said, “Saint Dane?”
She gave me a strange look and said, “I beg your pardon?”
Either she wasn’t Saint Dane in disguise, or the demon was playing it very cool. My guess was that it wasn’t Saint Dane.
“You should be honored,” she continued. “Your life is about to change in ways you could never imagine.”
Hah! Obviously she had no idea who I really was. I had to make a decision. I was there to find out how Saint Dane was trying to destroy the territory. He definitely sent me that invitation through the flume, which meant he wanted me at that castle with those two oddballs. Was it a trap? Probably. The question was, should I play along and learn what I could, or take off and start from scratch? As scary as it was to go along with what Saint Dane wanted, I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know anybody here, the Traveler from Q was dead, and I had a freakin’ loop stuck on my arm that would lead those dado dummies to me again anyway.
“All right,” I said. “What do you want me to do?”
Th
e woman smiled. But it wasn’t a happy smile. It was a smile of smug victory. I hated that.
“Wonderful!” exclaimed LaBerge as he bounded up the stairs next to me. “Let’s get you settled first. You are going to love this!”
Somehow I doubted that.
Veego entered the door first. I followed her, and LaBerge followed me. I felt as if I were about to enter the lion’s den. With a quick breath and a shrug that was totally for my own benefit, I stepped through the doorway…
Into a spectacular entrance hall. The ceiling soared up several stories. Light came in through massive stained-glass windows near the arched ceiling. The scenes in these windows reminded me of a church, but I didn’t think they depicted anything religious. Instead they showed scenes of people playing games. There were elaborate images of people running, or throwing balls, or wrestling. I happened to notice that all the competitors wore brightly colored long-sleeved shirts with diagonal stripes across the front. This entryway was like a cathedral dedicated to the “challengers,” as they called them. Believe me, it didn’t make me feel special. It made me a little nauseous.
The place wasn’t some old, musty castle from the Dark Ages. (Assuming Quillan had Dark Ages, that is.) Just the opposite. This place looked as if it had just been built. The floor was marble, with elaborate mosaic patterns. It was so clean, it looked like I could eat off it. (I hate that saying. Why would anyone even consider eating off a floor? No matter how clean it was.) There was a wide, curved staircase of stone that led up to a balcony high overhead. Colorful flags hung down from every level, making the place feel like it was decked out for a festival. Several hallways on the ground floor led off to other parts of the castle. I tried to memorize the layout. I feared it would be easy to get turned around and lost in this mammoth palace.
“Nice place you have here,” I said casually. Big understatement. “Who does it belong to?”
“Why, it belongs to us of course!” LaBerge said quickly, as if insulted. “Who else would it-“
“LaBerge!” Veego chastised. She was treating him like an annoying kid. He was annoying. But she was scary. I wasn’t sure which was worse. “Challenger Red has never been here,” she said slowly, as if he were too stupid to understand. “He is our guest and must be treated with respect.”
“I wasn’t being disrespectful!” LaBerge argued. “I simply thought that since we are who we are, it would follow that our living arrangement was suitable to our position and-“
“But I don’t know who you are,” I interrupted.
LaBerge looked stunned. He grabbed his chest like he was having a surprise heart attack. “Don’t you watch the games?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “I’m not from around here.”
“What difference does that make?” LaBerge shot back. “Everyone knows who we are and-“
“LaBerge!” Veego snapped again. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”
LaBerge didn’t argue this time. He looked down like a pouting scolded child.
I said, “You two married or what?”
Both LaBerge and Veego burst out laughing.
“Married?” LaBerge chuckled. “No, we’re business partners, and very successful I might add, as anyone can tell simply by looking around.”
I had to give him that. If these two lived in this incredible
96 105 castle in the forest, they had to be doing really well at whatever it was they did.
“What is it exactly that you do?” I asked.
“What?” LaBerge blurted out, more shocked than before. “We’re famous! How could you not know-“
“Enough questions,” Veego said, cutting him off again. “There will be time for that at the evening meal.” She turned to me and said, “You will be our guest, won’t you?”
“This is your show,” I said. “You tell me.”
She gave me that smile again that said, “Yes, I will tell you… and you’ll do exactly as I say.” Or maybe I was reading too much into it. But I knew I was going to have to be very careful with Veego. I didn’t know what to think of LaBerge. He was kind of a goof. But Veego-she could be trouble.
“Fourteen!” Veego called out.
I had no idea what that meant, so I stood there looking stupid. A moment later a guy appeared on the curved staircase.
“Yes?” he said formally. Fourteen wasn’t a number, it was the name of a guy. Or the name of this guy was a number. Or… something. He couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. He was dressed totally in white, with a long-sleeved shirt, white pants, white gloves, and white shoes. Hanging around his neck was a wide two-colored necktie. One side was bright purple, the other bright yellow. Those two colors were everywhere. They must have been the signature colors of Veego and LaBerge. The other thing about this little guy that stood out was that he was totally bald. We’re talking cue-ball shiny. It made it hard to figure out how old he was. I couldn’t tell from his voice, either. He could have been anywhere from twenty to forty years old. He walked up to us, stopped, and bowed.
“At your command,” he said formally.
“Please bring Challenger Red to his room,” Veego said. “He’ll be joining us for the evening meal.”
“Very good,” Fourteen said, and motioned for me to walk to the stairs.
I looked at Veego, who said, “You’ve had a busy day. Take some time to rest. Fourteen will come get you before the meal.”
I didn’t know what to do. I had been kidnapped. There’s no other way to put it. They were being nice to me, but so what? I was kidnapped! They kept calling me Challenger Red, like one of those guys who battled to the death in that Tato match. And just to confuse things further, LaBerge said I was there to be treated like royalty. None of this added up. The only thing I had to keep in mind was that the real reason I was there, the only reason that mattered, was because Saint Dane sent me an invitation. There was no mistaking that. I was there to stop Saint Dane. If I was going to find him, I had to play along. At least for a little while.
“You’re going to love the meal this evening!” LaBerge said giddily.
I looked to him and said, “Just as long as there’s no tribbun.” I had no idea what tribbun was, other than a label on some food at the food store. I just wanted to mess with the guy. LaBerge’s eyes went wide.
“Tribbun!” he exclaimed. “Tribbun is delicious!”
“Yeah, well, I hate it,” I said.
“Well,” he said in a huff. “We’ll have to take it off the menu.” He turned and stormed off. I know, it was a dumb thing to do, but it made me feel as if I had a tiny bit of control.
“This way, please,” Fourteen said.
“Enjoy your rest,” said Veego.
“I will, ” I replied, and went for the stairs. Before climbing, I glanced back to see that Veego hadn’t moved. She waswatching me. It was a creepy feeling, like she was sizing me up.
“Take a right at the top of the stairs,” Fourteen said. He was following me closely.
“What’s your real name?” I asked. “Mine’s Bobby.”
“My name is Fourteen,” he replied.
“No, it’s not, ” I shot back. “And my name isn’t Red. You don’t name people numbers or colors.”
“Whatever you say, sir,” Fourteen said.
“Who do you hang out with?” I asked jokingly. “Thirteen and Fifteen?”
I chuckled. He didn’t.
“Yes, I do” was his answer.
Oh.
The guy wasn’t about to joke with me. I’ll bet he was afraid of what Veego might do to him. I decided not to give him a hard time. Reaching the top of the stairs, he directed me down a long, wide corridor that had closed wooden doors every few feet.
“What’s behind those doors?” I asked.
“This is where some of the challengers live,” he replied.
I noticed that each door had a different colored rectangular plate on it. White, black, orange, blue. It was like the challenger dorm. We must have walked fifty yards d
own the long hallway before stopping at a door with a red rectangle. Fourteen opened the door and said, “This is where you will be staying.”
I stepped past him into the room that I described to you in my last journal. It was like something out of a little kid’s imagination. A twisted little kid. It was a big room, with plenty of area to walk around. The walls were purple and yellow striped, no big surprise. The ceiling was covered with balloons of all colors. The bed was in the very middle. It seemed to be floating in space. The blanket on it was yellow, the pillows purple. There was a desk that looked like a giant hand, palm up. As ridiculous as all that sounds, the worst part was the extra decorations. There were shelves everywhere that were loaded with dolls. Clown dolls. I hate clowns. Have I mentioned that? In my opinion there are two kinds of people: those who fear and hate clowns… and clowns.
“I’m not staying here,” I said to Fourteen. “Is this room not to your liking?” he asked. “Are you kidding?” I shot back. “It’s full of clowns! Who decorates a room with clowns?”
“That would be LaBerge,” he answered. Figured.
“Well, I’m not staying here,” I said. “I am sorry, sir,” he replied calmly. “There are no other rooms.”
I was going to argue, but decided that I wasn’t going to be staying very long anyway, so I’d deal with the clowns. At least I’d try to deal with the clowns. I hate clowns. I wasn’t: so fond of Quillan, either.
This is where I’m going to end this journal and send it off. I’m lucky they left me alone long enough to write two whole journals and get you guys up to speed. Of course, now my hand is cramped from having written so much, but I’ll live.
The Quillan Games tpa-7 Page 9
