by Jerome ASF
While the witches were distracted with the wolf, Flappy flew in through the window at the rear of the hut. There he waited and listened to the conversation. At first, Flappy did not understand … there was something about plans for zombies. Flappy had heard the witches chatter on this topic before. The witches were jealous of the zombies. Not about the moaning and eating people raw, of course. Those were all things witches naturally considered themselves to be above. But the witches were envious of what the zombies had. Gravehome, specifically. A hut—even a hut that stood up high on really cool chicken legs—was still no match for a luxurious mountain fortress.
Then Flappy remembered he had heard the witches talk about a deal they would make one day. A deal that would let them have their own fortress. A place like Gravehome.
As Flappy continued to look back and forth between the gleeful witches and the enormous wolf (just one of his incisor teeth was bigger than all of Flappy!), another idea began to occur to him. A quite scary idea indeed. The more Flappy listened, the more certain he became.
Something was about to happen. Something very, very big. And it would change everything.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“MmmmI wonder what this place was originally,” Dug said. “Like, when it was built, and what was it built for? Those were things the Skeleton King either couldn’t tell us … or didn’t want to.”
Bacca and Dug slowly made their way down the dark hallway that led inside the Fortress of Confusion. The way ahead was lit only by the torches they carried, and the solitary sound they could hear was their own footsteps.
“mmmmI also wonder what kind of tools crafters used back in those days,” Dug continued. Bacca noticed with pride that the young crafter’s mind was always working, always questioning. A promising sign of good things to come.
“I bet they used the same ones we have today,” Bacca answered. “The trick to knowing what tools someone used is to look at what they crafted. I expect we’ll understand more when we see what’s up ahead. Whatever that is … ”
Dug nodded seriously. They proceeded further down the corridor.
Soon, the pathway ahead began to widen. The walls held sconces with torches in them. Bacca lit them with his own torch as they walked past. Soon, the tunnel was full of light.
The corridor widened even more and opened into a large room. At first, both Bacca and Dug were unsure what it might be. It was a very strange place.
The floor was made of blocks of standstone, and there were several rows of red standstone benches. Past the benches was a raised, flat area of grey andesite—like a large platform. Behind the platform on the far wall was what seemed to be a mural, made from many different blocks, including bright blue lapis lazuli, which made the room feel almost like it was underwater.
To the right and left of the platform were doors made of polished granite. The one on the left had not been opened in some time. It was covered with dust. The door on the right was another matter entirely. It looked as though someone had once cut through it with an axe, and it had been rebuilt many times. Disturbingly, there were bones scattered near it—whether from skeletons or other sources, Bacca could not immediately tell. It was clear that someone, or something, had hoped to keep anyone from passing through it. To Bacca’s trained eye, it looked like it had recently been crafted shut from the other side.
“Well this is a weird one,” Bacca said, holding his torch high to take it all in.
Dug walked over to the bones that littered the ground near the rebuilt door. He carefully picked them up and turned them over in his hands.
“mmmmNone of these are the Bonesword,” Dug said sadly. “Or any kind of sword.”
“I could have told you that,” Bacca said. “It looks like they’re the bones of folks who tried to get through that door. It’s probably trapped. I say we don’t go that way.”
“mmmmI agree,” Dug said.
“Something about this place feels familiar to me, but I can’t quite put my finger on it,” said Bacca. “Let’s look around for more clues.”
Bacca and Dug explored the room. Bacca approached the door to the left and ran his claws around its dusty edges. Then he pushed it. No dice. It seemed to be locked. Dug found a small stone staircase that led from the floor of the room up to the top of the platform. He climbed up, and, standing on the platform, realized something.
“mmmmThis is a stage!” he announced to Bacca.
Bacca took a look. Dug was right.
“It sure is a stage,” Bacca answered. “And all these rows of benches out front … they’re for an audience. You could put on a show here. Or a play. I thought something was familiar about this room. It’s a theater! Hmmm. I wonder what kind of plays ancient skeletons liked to watch. I bet they involved lots of arrow shooting.”
For a moment, both Bacca and Dug scanned the ornate, colorful backdrop at the back of the stage, looking for clues.
“mmmmIt looks like Zombies of the Coast,” Dug said, then added, “But that doesn’t make any sense. Must be a coincidence.”
“Zombies of the Coast?” Bacca asked. “What’s that?”
“mmmmIt’s a play,” Dug replied. “It’s by William De Kay, the most famous zombie playwright. We have to learn it in school. This backdrop with all the lapis lazuli blocks—it looks like the ocean backdrop for that play. The sandstone blocks along the bottom make a coastline, and those blocks of emerald look like potatoes growing. Zombies of the Coast is about some zombies who have their potatoes stolen by a very tricky sheep. They have to chase the sheep away.”
“Now, to me, that sounds an awfully lot like Skeletons of the Coast,” Bacca said.
“mmmmWhat?” said Dug suspiciously. “That’s not a thing. Is it?”
“Sure it is,” Bacca answered. “It’s a skeleton play. I don’t know it that well, but the plot involves everything you just described. Except instead of zombies, it’s skeletons. And instead of a sheep trying to steal potatoes, it’s a cow trying to steal carrots. The play is supposed to date from the origins of skeleton history.”
“mmmmMaybe it … influenced William De Kay,” Dug said.
“Maybe so,” Bacca said with a grin.
Bacca and Dug explored the backdrop of the stage with its coastline design. They searched for any hidden doors or openings that would allow them to move beyond the theater, but found nothing. Bacca noticed that his student was starting to look downtrodden. He realized that Dug had never faced a challenge like this.
“mmmmI’m beginning to feel frustrated,” Dug said, as if reading Bacca’s thoughts. “There are only two doors out of this room. The one to the right is crafted shut and looks booby-trapped, probably by the Skeleton King’s brother—or maybe even by the fortress itself. And the door to the left is locked and sealed, maybe magically. I don’t see a way forward.”
“Now now, don’t go getting discouraged just yet,” Bacca said. “I know. Maybe we should try looking at that tablet the Skeleton King gave us.”
“mmmmOkay,” Dug said. “Let’s give it a try.”
Bacca carefully took the Tablet of Mystery out of his inventory and placed it at the foot of the stage. Bacca and Dug crowded around the ancient prismarine block and looked for any clues it might contain. It was filled with confusing dots and squiggles. Bacca and Dug strained to make sense of them.
After a moment, Dug said, “mmmmWhat about those dots over there?”
He pointed his greenish zombie finger at a corner of the tablet.
“What about them?” Bacca asked.
“mmmmThere’s three small ones, and one big one,” Dug said. “The three small ones could be zombies, and the big one could be a sheep. And look at these little notches between them. Those could be potatoes.”
Bacca thought Dug might be onto something.
“Or it could also be showing us the positions of skeletons, a cow, and some carrots,” Bacca said. “Maybe it means we’re supposed to put on the play.”
Dug looked up at Bacca like he
couldn’t believe he was serious.
“Don’t worry about having stage fright,” Bacca said warmly. “It’s completely normal before a big show. Besides, there isn’t even an audience—not that I can see, anyway.”
“mmmmBut there are only two of us,” Dug objected. “For the play, we need three zombies and a sheep.”
“First of all, I think we ought to do the skeleton play, seeing as we’re in a skeleton venue,” Bacca gently suggested, careful not to accidentally offend Dug, who might have a sentimental attachment to the zombie version.
“mmmmFine,” Dug said. “Then three skeletons and a cow. It’s still two more characters than we have actors.”
“I think we can find a way around that,” Bacca said.
“mmmmHow?” asked Dug.
“I’m willing to bet that a couple of skilled crafters like us could make some skeletons and cows in a pinch,” Bacca said.
Dug’s expression changed. He clearly liked the sound of this. Being an actor was one thing, but crafting actors was quite another.
They got to work.
Bacca took out his favorite diamond pickaxe and started mining slabs of sandstone from the blocks that made up the theater’s floor. Then he chipped them down until they were almost sandstone sticks. After that he cut notches into the ends so that they would fit together like bones.
When he had a bigpile of these “bones” he took them up to the stage and began assembling them into figures that looked a whole lot like three large skeletons trying to guard some carrots.
Bacca glanced over and saw that Dug was also crafting something. After a moment, Bacca realized that it was not, as he’d assumed, a cow. Instead, Dug was taking iron ingots out of his inventory and combining them with wooden sticks. Before long, Dug had several feet of track stacked beside him. Then he took stacks of iron ingots and crafted them into minecarts.
“mmmmHere,” Dug said, positioning the tracks across the stage. “This way, our skeletons can move around. We can put them on minecarts and push them. They’ll need to start beside the water, then move across the stage to chase the sheep—I mean, cow—away from the potatoes—I mean, carrots.”
“Nice!” Bacca said. “I was thinking we would have to move the skeleton statues by hand. This will be much better!”
Bacca helped Dug lay the track across the stage, and then placed the skeletons in the minecarts.
“mmmmWhee!” Dug said, pushing one of the minecarts. The skeleton glided effortlessly across the stage.
“Not so fast,” said Bacca. “The play hasn’t even started yet! Our skeletons don’t even have bows. Everyone knows that a skeleton without a bow is like a … like a … um. Anyhow, it’s like something really lousy.”
They combined sticks and strings to make bows for the skeletons. When that was completed, they prepared to craft the cow.
“mmmmIt should be an evil-looking cow,” insisted Dug. “It’s trying to steal from the skeletons. It’s the bad guy.”
“Okay,” Bacca said. “We’ll give it big hairy eyebrows that are arched like it’s feeling mean.”
Dug thought this was a good idea.
Cows were basically black and white. Bacca took some more sandstone out of the floor, and used it to make the whiter parts of the animal. Then, he took a few blocks of coal out of his inventory and made the cow’s dark spots and mean-looking eyebrows. Dug and Bacca lifted the cow into a waiting minecart. Then they carefully placed the minecart onto the tracks.
“Let’s see how it looks from out there,” Bacca said. He jumped off the stage and dashed into the seats. He crept all around the theater, looking at their creations from every perspective. If he squinted his eyes just right, Bacca could believe he was really standing by a beach watching a cow sneak up on some skeletons.
Dug joined Bacca at the back of the theater.
“mmmmIt looks good to me,” Dug said. “But I don’t even know who our audience is. Like, who will be watching? There’s nobody here.”
Bacca headed back up to the stage.
“In my somewhat limited experience with magic, it’s a good idea to assume that someone is always watching,” Bacca replied. “Now let’s give the people—er, well, I suppose I mean, the magic—what it came to see.”
Bacca positioned himself behind the skeletons, and Dug stood so he could operate the evil cow. Together, they used the figures they had crafted to stage a production of Skeletons of the Coast.
Both Bacca and Dug were familiar with the basics of the story. First, the cow sneaks up on the skeletons and knocks them over when they’re not looking. To accomplish this, Dug rolled the cow statue on the minecart until it collided with the skeletons. Bacca ensured the skeletons bounced around dramatically and fell over. Dug maneuvered the cow so that it seemed to steal the emerald green carrot tops built into the background. Then the skeletons collected themselves—sometimes literally, as some bones had been dislodged during the collision—and proceeded to chase the cow around the stage for most of the rest of the play. Dug had built a circular track for this. Dug and Bacca had fun pushing the skeletons so that they never quite caught up to the cow.
“mmmmThis acting business is hard work,” the tiny zombie whispered as he huffed and puffed behind the cow statue.
“Shhhh,” Bacca whispered back. “Don’t break character. That’s the first rule of acting.”
“mmmmOh, right,” said Dug. “Sorry.”
They pushed the figures around the stage some more. Bacca knew that ancient skeleton plays were big on action and short on dialogue. Or really any plot development beyond one thing trying to catch, shoot, or eat another thing. (Seeing as how this was what most skeletons spent all their time thinking about, plays that had a lot of these things were usually crowd-pleasers.)
Eventually, Bacca decided they’d had enough action—even for a skeleton play—and got ready to wrap things up.
“Okay,” Bacca whispered to Dug. “It’s time for the denouement and happy ending.”
“mmmmThe day-new-what?” Dug whispered, scratching his head. “That sounds like something you’d accidentally step in.”
“It means the part of the play after the fun, chasing part,” Bacca answered.
“mmmmOh … you mean the boring part right before the end?” Dug said.
“Yes, exactly,” said Bacca.
Bacca and Dug manipulated their creations so that the cow suddenly stopped in its tracks. The skeletons in hot pursuit ran into the cow, then ran into each other, then fell down again. The cow used this as an opportunity to put the carrots back in the ground, and then run away offstage. The skeletons slowly got back up and found that their carrots had been returned. Then they celebrated and jumped around. Then the play was over.
“mmmmI don’t think skeletons even like carrots,” Dug whispered as he and Bacca walked to the center of the stage and took a bow.
“That’s called ‘artistic license,’” Bacca said. “It means you can do anything you want, if it’s for a play.”
“mmmmOh,” Dug said, taking a second bow. “That’s certainly convenient.”
It felt strange to take bows in an empty theater without anybody applauding, but Bacca felt like it might be an important part of the production. He smiled and pretended there was an audience of skeletons clapping their bony hands and stomping their bony feet for more.
After they had taken several rounds of bows, Bacca and Dug left the stage by the stone stairs on the side. For a moment, there was an eerie silence in the theater. Bacca and Dug both looked intently at the magically sealed door.
Nothing happened.
At first.
Then, just as Dug opened his mouth to say he thought it hadn’t worked (only getting as far as “mmmm”), there was a strange grating sound, like blocks of sandstone grinding hard against other blocks of sandstone. As the crafters looked on, the sealed door began to open by itself. Dust that had not moved for centuries was shaken away. The door swung wide, and a mysterious hallway was revealed
beyond. They had done it!
“mmmmI can’t believe that worked!” said Dug. “Wow. This is awesome!”
“When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you get good at telling which doors might open magically,” Bacca said. “That same experience also tells me that where you encounter one magical door, you’re likely to encounter more.”
“mmmmGee, what a crazy place,” Dug said.
“Let’s go down that corridor that just opened up,” Bacca said, heading for it. “I’m willing to bet this fortress is going to get a whole lot crazier.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Drooler hid behind the hill until the patrol of skeletons marched past. He had never been this deep into skeleton territory. Heck, he had never been this far from Gravehome. For all of his ambition and desire for power, Drooler was, fundamentally, a zombie who liked to stick close to home. He liked to be indoors. He didn’t enjoy going outside, even for very important things … like plotting with witches.
Plotting with witches …
That, Drooler reflected, was what had led to his current predicament. Now he was farther from home than he ever had been, dodging patrols of skeletons with dangerous-looking bows, and looking for a way out of the hole he’d dug himself into (and of all the holes a zombie could find oneself in, it had to be the one bad one!).
Why, wondered Drooler, did things never prove to be as easy as you thought they were going to be?
Drooler was a born coward. Since his earliest days, he had always run away from danger whenever possible. Even in his evil dealings as an adult, he had found that getting people to do dangerous things for him was always preferable to doing them personally. During his rise to power in the zombie court, Drooler had paid bribes to other zombies to carry out intrigues against his enemies. He never lifted a finger—his own, or someone else’s—when he could help it.
Other times, Drooler used tricks to undo his enemies that didn’t involve other zombies at all. These were the best because they were the least risky. Nobody could squeal. Once, he gave a frenemy a watch for his undead birthday that always lied about how much time there was before the sun came back up. Another time, he left a treasure map on another opponent’s desk, and let him “discover” that it led you to a pit from which you could never escape. Oh how Drooler loved these evil inventions!
