Snared: Voyage on the Eversteel Sea

by Adam Jay Epstein

  It was dark inside this secret tunnel. He could hear his father running away. Wily gave chase. His feet pounded against the floor. He had no time to worry about where he was heading and what might lie beneath his feet or before him. All he knew was that he had to stop his father, once and for all.

  Suddenly the hall opened up into a large square room that was as wide as four dining halls and equally as long. Square tiles covered the floor in a checkerboard pattern of green and gold. Magical torches dimly illuminated the space. The walls and ceilings were dotted with holes and slits through which Wily could only imagine what might pop out. Looking across, Wily could see that Kestrel was already at the other side of the room.

  “You know what this is?” Kestrel said with an eerie calm. “My masterpiece. The ultimate trap room. A room that is impossible to pass for anyone without the knowledge buried in my head.”

  Wily looked hesitantly at the floor ahead. Kestrel stood smiling and gloating.

  “I’ve been through this room hundreds if not thousands of times. I know every step by heart. You … not so much. Swinging hammers, darts, dropping spikes, even a bottomless pit. This room has them all.”

  Wily’s eyes darted around the huge space. He could see where the attacks would come from, but he had no idea what would trigger them.

  “I see you looking, but there are no maintenance tunnels here to sneak through. Good luck making it even a few steps. You’ll perish like everyone else who has ever tried.”

  “You can’t scare me,” Wily said, pulling Kestrel’s sword from its sheath, but inside, he was despairing. Without knowing the pattern, it would take him hours to traverse the floor if he didn’t want to get himself killed.

  Then he noticed that the floor was filthy. This was good. Cleaning was an essential part of good trapsmithing. From a dirty floor, valuable information could be inferred. He eyed the room for footprints, and sure enough, a path led through the room.

  “With nobody to clean up,” Wily said, “traps are much less effective. You left the safe path for me to see.”

  He started to bounce from stone to stone in the same pattern as Kestrel. He skipped past the holes in the wall that would shoot the poison blowgun darts. He moved past the hidden turrets caked with ashy residue that would blast fire and he slipped under the spikes that would drop from above without a single one triggering. Each step was carefully made on one of the tiles with a footprint already on it.

  Then Wily placed his left foot on a tile with one of Kestrel’s shoe marks, and he heard a click and a whoosh from above. A sharp spike thrust downward. Wily dodged to the left, but the serrated tip jabbed into his shoulder, knocking him to the floor and leaving a nasty gash.

  “Come, now,” Kestrel said. “You didn’t think I’d leave you a completely safe trail, did you? I knew what kind of tricks you would be up to. I know how you think.”

  “You are more evil than I ever could have imagined,” Wily said.

  “Foolish boy,” Kestrel said. “I was the Infernal King. And I still am. It’s time to finish you. You’ve proven to be more of a threat than I thought. But I thank you for helping me defeat Stalag. He was always waiting to take my place.”

  Kestrel leaped from tile to tile, pouncing on Wily before he was able to stand. He grabbed Wily by the shoulder, digging his thumb into the open gash and knocking his weapon away.

  “I really wish you had stayed in the tomb just like Stalag,” he said as he lifted up his sword. “You were so much safer there, and I wouldn’t have had to kill you.”

  Wily reached out, but not to grab his weapon, which was too far away to reach. Instead, he slammed his fist down on a nearby tile, sending another spike dropping. Kestrel had to dodge backward to avoid being smashed by it.

  “What are you doing?” Wily’s father said. “You’ll kill yourself.”

  “And you in the process,” Wily replied. “I’m not giving up without a fight.”

  Wily slid backward, elbowing hard another pressure plate. A jet of fire shot forth, singeing the arm of his father. Another roll backward sent darts flying and large stones falling from the ceiling. Wily dodged to the side, hitting the button that sent half the floor falling into the abyss of a bottomless hole.

  Kestrel was now balancing on the edge of the pit, just like Wily. Kestrel tried to regain his footing, careful not to step on a green pressure plate near his foot.

  “Move again, and you will die to regret it,” Kestrel said.

  Wily eyed the green pressure plate his father was trying to avoid. He knew that meant he had to do whatever he could do to press down on that stone.

  “Reconsider your choices, son,” Kestrel said. “We are family, whether you like it or not.”

  “I chose my own family. And you’re not part of it.”

  Wily rolled across the floor, setting off blasts of icy air and dropping toxic slime onto the tiles. He reached the spot where one of the fallen stones had landed. He picked it up and tossed it toward the green pressure plate.

  “No!” Kestrel shouted as he searched for a place to hide.

  With a thump, the stone landed on the pressure plate that Kestrel had been making sure to avoid. A swinging hammer dropped from the ceiling. The head of the hammer hit Kestrel in the chest and knocked him off his feet and toward the bottomless abyss. The Infernal King flailed in midair as he tried to catch onto something before dropping into the hole. His fingers caught hold of the rocky edge of the pit.

  “Help me,” Kestrel said.

  Wily had only a moment to consider. Should I let my father die the way he would let me die? Or am I better than that?

  Wily ran for his father, following in his dusty footprints. He jumped from tile to tile. He was about to step on a shiny gold plate when—

  “No,” Kestrel cried. “Don’t step there! That was another trap I had set for you!”

  But it was too late: Wily’s momentum carried him onto the gold plate before he could stop himself. As he did so, an enormous rolling boulder dropped from the ceiling. Wily was able to fall backward just before it struck him. But the boulder kept rolling—straight for his father. The Infernal King tried to move to the side, but there was nowhere to go. It struck him in the chest and sent him tumbling into the abyss.

  21

  TRAPLESS TREASURE

  The Recluself’s ship glided swiftly across the ocean, passing Oris Rock, its large stone head sticking out from the water. Stalag sat on deck, bound in enchanted shackles, peering fearfully at the Salt Isle in the distance.

  “You can’t do this to me,” Stalag pleaded. “I’m not the true villain in all this. Kestrel was. Let me stay in the prisonaut instead.”

  “You had us dumped out here,” Wily said as he paced along the railing. “Now it’s your turn to see what that’s like. You can make friends with the salt boars.”

  Valor was leaning up against Stalkeer with a satisfied grin on her face.

  “You deserve much worse,” she said.

  Lumina steered the ship closer to the island. As they passed near the beach, the trees began to wail.

  “Even from all the way out here,” Odette said, “that sounds awful. Just wait until you get right next to them.”

  “Take these off,” Stalag wailed, his eyes quivering inside his pale skull. “I’m defenseless without my magic.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure out some way to survive,” Wily retorted. “Just like I had to all those years in Carrion Tomb. Word of advice: stay away from the horsetrap plants.”

  “Please…” Stalag begged. “Spare me. I burn so easily in the sun. And I can’t swim.”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Odette asked Wily.

  “So much,” Wily replied.

  The amphibious ship pulled up onto the shore of one of the Salt Isles, the metal bow grinding against the bottom of the salt crystal beach.

  “You can’t leave me here alone!”

  “Okay,” Wily said. “If you insist. We won’t.”

&
nbsp; Pryvyd came out of the hold leading Sceely and Agorop, also bound in enchanted chains.

  “You got shavtibured too?” Sceely asked. (Shavtibur is one the many words that oglodytes have for “ambush.” This particular word means “to be captured with no hope of ever escaping.”)

  “I think it won’t be all bad,” Agorop said. “We can make a little fungus farm and I will sing you to sleep every night.”

  If Stalag was upset before, now he was practically crying. The cavern mage clutched at Wily’s ankle. “I’d rather be alone. Put them on a different island.”

  “That’s insul-ter-ating,” Agorop said.

  Moshul lifted Stalag up by the back of his cloak and tossed him into the shallow water. Then Moshul tossed Agorop and Sceely as well. Wily reversed the oars as Stalag held his shackled hands up in the air.

  “No! Come back!” Stalag called as the two fish-headed oglodytes paddled to shore with their ankles bound.

  Wily didn’t even look back. If he never saw Stalag again, he would have no regrets. Pryvyd walked up beside him.

  “Stalag’s been caught,” the knight said. “Kestrel is gone forever. What now?”

  “We return the ubergearfolk to the keeper of the Eversteel Forge,” Wily said. “I thought he could make something else in place of these mechanical warriors.”

  “You have something particular in mind?” Pryvyd asked.

  “I was wondering if he could make a mechanical flying machine,” Wily said. “Just like the one we built ourselves, only much bigger and much stronger.”

  “So we could all take a ride?” Roveeka asked. “Just like a birk!”

  “Or steel aqueducts. Or a forest of eversteel trees. Anything but weapons and shields.”

  Lumina walked up to Pryvyd’s side.

  “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Lumina said.

  “If this is about letting Wily jump out the window,” Pryvyd said, “I just wanted to say I will never let it happen again.”

  “It wasn’t going to be about that … but it is now. When did this happen?”

  Pryvyd seemed to regret opening his mouth about that last bit. He quickly changed the subject.

  “So what did you actually want to talk to me about?” he said swiftly.

  “Before going into battle,” Wily’s mother said, “you told me how you felt about me.”

  “It might have been the panic of the situation…,” Pryvyd said awkwardly, “or the almost certain death.”

  Lumina was not listening to Pryvyd’s nervous rambling. She was bending down on a single knee.

  “Pryvyd, by the light of the Golden Sun and the arms that reach from it, would you accept a life of adventure with me?”

  The Knight of the Golden Sun seemed dumbfounded, not prepared for this.

  Lumina continued, “Would you marry me?”

  The words got lost in his mouth. Then he turned to Wily.

  “If it would be okay with you…” Pryvyd asked.

  A huge smiled formed on Wily’s face. “You would be the best dad I ever had. Although, considering my previous fathers, it’s not much of a competition.”

  Pryvyd bent down on one knee too and pressed his cheek against the back of Lumina’s hand.

  “There is nothing that I could want more in the Above, the Below, or anywhere in between,” Pryvyd said.

  She lifted him to his feet and wrapped her arms around him tightly. Wily walked over to Odette, who stood near the railing, her blue hair fluttering in the wind.

  “You know all this is because of you,” Wily said.

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “If you hadn’t led Moshul and Pryvyd into Carrion Tomb, I’d still be there. You changed the world. And changed my life for the better.”

  “Being awesome is my job,” Odette said. “I’m used to it. But thanks.”

  Wily and Odette looked over to see Moshul petting his hugtopus. He noticed that the eight-armed creature had certainly gotten bigger in the last few days.

  “I wonder how large that thing gets?” Wily asked.

  “I’ve heard some can grow to the size of a small dragon,” Odette said.

  “Should we tell Moshul?”

  “Nah. Let him worry about that later.”

  “So what’s next for you?” Wily asked Odette.

  “I know I promised I would teach you how to read, but there is something else I would like to do. Search for treasure.”

  “But you have no need for money,” Wily said. “The palace treasury is overflowing with gold.”

  “It’s not that. I miss the adventure.”

  “I understand,” Wily said. And he did.

  Wily walked over and sat down next to Roveeka, who was back to carving. As he took a seat next to her, she handed him a piece of driftwood. It looked remarkably like a bird.

  “Wow,” Wily said. “This is great.”

  “I keep getting better.”

  “Roveeka, I don’t tell you often enough how glad I am that you left the tomb with me.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” she said. “But I still like to hear it.”

  Roveeka gave Wily a playful nudge in the ribs as the Recluself’s ship cut across the sea.

  “Turn the ship!” Odette started to yell with excitement. “Turn it!”

  Odette was pointing at a spot in the sea. Sticking out of the water was the top of a marble temple with a giant golden conch shell on top.

  “It’s the Lost Temple of the Brine Queen!” she exclaimed. “It only comes out of the sea once every thirty years. We need to sail there now! This is a once-in-a-lifetime find. The Sacred Eye of the Seahorse lies waiting in the final chamber.”

  “Is that the one that can control the winds?” Pryvyd asked.

  Odette nodded enthusiastically.

  “Let’s really think about this,” Wily said to Odette and Pryvyd. “Where there’s treasure, there are traps. I’m done with all that.”

  Wily looked at the dungeon rising up from the sea. The pearly marble gate glistened in the sun. Beyond it was the entrance to a dark corridor. Even from this distance, he could hear strange sounds gurgling from within. It was scary and spooky … and enticing.

  “One more dungeon,” Wily said. “Then I’m done.”

  “Yes,” Odette said. “Just one more. And maybe one more after that.”

  Wily adjusted his new trapsmith belt, running his fingers along the tools that were dangling from it.

  “Pryvyd, change direction,” he said. “Our greatest adventure awaits!”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  AS WILY SAILS off into the distance, it’s time to say goodbye to the Snared trilogy and all those who have accompanied me on this amazing journey. Before thanking the non-fiction folk, I would like express my gratitude to the characters of Panthasos who have become real over the course of the last four years. I will deeply miss the company of Odette, Roveeka, Moshul, Pryvyd, and Righteous and the dark evenings we all spent together in my office. Without the lies and cruelty of Stalag and the Infernal King, these three books would have been truly dull. And a huge shout-out to Wily, who pushed me through those long writing sessions when sleep often felt like an easier path.

  Now I must thank the flesh-and-blood folk without whom I would still be lost in the very first dungeon. My editors, John Morgan and Nicole Otto, have traveled with me side by side as I explored Panthasos, guiding me through the wilds of publishing. Iacopo Bruno’s stunning covers are works of art that deserve to be hung in museums. Natalie C. Sousa’s elegant design has not gone unnoticed by myself, librarians, and booksellers alike. Madison Furr and Mary Van Akin have helped to spread the word about the trilogy. To the copy editors who pulled out their magnifying glasses and fine-tuned every detail. Thanks to the Macmillan Squarefish team for printing and marketing the paperbacks. And a huge thank-you to Erin Stein, editor-in-chief of Imprint. Erin, your imprint is filled with caring and supportive people because of your leadership.

  Wily’
s adventures may have come to an end on the page, but it’s looking like the trapsmith of Carrion Tomb will have a new place to shine. A giant thanks to Sheila Stepanek and Allison Milgard of Happy Street Entertainment for leading the charge to bring Snared to the small screen. I am so thankful for your vision and passion. Together, we will be making something truly special.

  I want to thank Markus Hoffmann, my agent of twelve (!) years, without whom I would not have a single book to my name, let alone the shelf of hardcovers and paperbacks that I have now. You have changed my life profoundly, and for that I am forever indebted.

  To Olive, who was just a kindergartener when this adventure began and doesn’t remember a time before Snared. As crafty as Wily is, you are far more so!

  To Penny, I will always treasure the evenings I read these three books to you. As my first listener, you gave me both advice and encouragement from the beginning.

  And to Jane, I love you more than a trapsmith loves his tool belt. While the very best may not have come yet, now is pretty darn amazing.

  PRAISE FOR

  “A fast-paced, refreshingly creative adventure that will thrill readers from the very first page.”

  —Shannon Messenger, New York Times–bestselling author of the Keeper of the Lost Cities series and the Sky Fall series

  “Fabulous characters and a unique mythology combine to create something really wonderful. Snared will ensnare you.”

  —Michael Scott, New York Times–bestselling author of The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel series

  “Pure dungeon-crawling fun. Witty and page-turning, I never knew what cheerful mayhem was waiting just around the bend. I can’t recommend it enough.”

  —Zack Loran Clark, coauthor of The Adventurers Guild