Bacca and the Riddle of the Diamond Dragon

by Jerome ASF

  Then he started to hear a new sound. It was a low moan. Then another moan joined it, and another after that.

  Just as Bacca had feared, a ravenous horde of zombies began rising from the floor. A grisly hand poked its way up through the topsoil and grasped aggressively at the air. Then another. Then a gleaming zombie skull emerged. What flesh remained was covered with wriggling worms. Ew! This pattern repeated itself throughout the floor of the room. The zombies pushed aside the earth and popped out, ready to cause mayhem and eat people. Or, more specifically, to eat Bacca.

  He tried to count them. Fifty? A hundred? Two hundred? He’d never seen so many zombies. They just kept coming! Soon, the mob of walking dead was pressing hard against the outer walls of Bacca’s castle. It was a sea of moaning monsters, like something from his worst nightmares! The zombies looked up at Bacca hungrily, and pawed the wool in frustration.

  But they did not make any progress. The wool held firm.

  His plan was going to work!

  “Poor old zombies,” Bacca said. “They can’t read. They can’t cooperate. They can’t even get through wool. All they can do is try to eat your brains. Well, you’re not eating anybody’s brains today, zombies! Not if I have anything to do with it!”

  From down on the first floor of the wool castle, Bacca heard a loud “Baaaa.”

  “Oh, was that a ‘Thank you?’” Bacca said sarcastically. “You’re welcome, I guess. Silly sheep!”

  The zombies moaned and shrieked and pressed against the wall of the wool castle, but they couldn’t get inside. The well-crafted walls stood strong. After a while, the zombies started looking a little frustrated. Then Bacca saw something he’d never seen before; a zombie gave up! It lay its body back down on the ground and scooped the earth back over itself. Soon, the block that held the zombie looked as though it had never been disturbed in the first place. Then another zombie did the same thing. Another followed, and soon the rest of the horde began to catch on. One big zombie slumber party was happening right in front of Bacca’s eyes. One by one, the creatures left the walls of the wool castle and found their original places back underneath the soil.

  “This isn’t how zombies are supposed to act,” Bacca joked nervously, relieved that the danger had passed. “You guys are going to be in trouble if the head zombie finds out!”

  Bacca was pleased. His plan had worked. When the last of the zombies had buried itself back underground, and enough time had passed that it seemed safe to assume their retreat wasn’t a trick, Bacca hopped down to the first floor of the wool castle. He knocked down a few of the wool blocks and let the sheep back outside.

  “Silly sheep,” Bacca said a final time, because they really were quite silly.

  No sooner had Bacca done this, than the blocks on the far side of the giant room began to move, as if by magic. There was a loud grating noise, and a new pathway opened before him. He had solved the riddle!

  Bacca did not advance to the mysterious new opening, but instead walked back outside to where the dragons were waiting patiently.

  “It’s done,” Bacca told them. “I built a castle out of wool. Zombies came up, but I was safe. The zombies went away, and then a new door opened. But no orb. I don’t think we’re out of the woods yet.”

  The many varieties of dragon murmured to one another that this was extraordinary.

  “A castle out of wool?” said the Emerald Dragon. “How did you know to do that?”

  “I just did,” Bacca replied. “I’m Bacca. I figure stuff out.”

  The Emerald Dragon narrowed its eyes a little, but did not question Bacca’s expertise.

  “Let’s see what’s in the new room,” the Lapis Lazuli Dragon said.

  “Ooh, let’s!” said the Gold Dragon.

  Bacca crossed his arms.

  “Not so fast,” Bacca said. “I don’t know what we’re going to find going forward, but I’m the one doing all of the crafting. I need to work without being interrupted. So I think you need to let me do this alone.”

  The Emerald Dragon lifted his eyebrow suspiciously.

  “What makes you think we should trust you?” it said.

  “You guys, come on,” Bacca replied in frustration. “What am I going to do? Steal the Dragon Orb for myself? What would I use it for? I’m a crafter, not a dragon.”

  “I guess you have a point,” the Emerald Dragon relented.

  “Okay,” the Gold Dragon chimed in. “But please. Be really careful with it. It’s super important to us.”

  “Yeah, I got that much,” Bacca said. “But also, you really do need to tell me what it looks like. How will I know it when I see it?”

  “That’s easy,” the Diamond Dragon said. “It’s a big glowing ball with the letter ‘d’ on it.”

  “Capital, or lower case?” Bacca said.

  The dragons were clearly puzzled and did not reply.

  “Never mind,” Bacca said. “I’m sure I can wing it. And one more thing. Until I come back, I want you all to be nice to the Diamond Dragon. Apparently he was the only one who believed I was the right man for this job, and he went to a lot of trouble to bring me here. So the rest of you should be polite and show him some respect, okay?”

  The Diamond Dragon blushed, its sparkling cheeks taking on a rosy glow. It said nothing, but Bacca could tell the great beast appreciated his words.

  The other dragons mumbled something about being nicer to the Diamond Dragon in the future.

  “Good,” said Bacca. “Now with that settled, I’m headed back inside. When you see me again, I’ll have your dragon orb-thingy.”

  And with that, Bacca turned on his heels and bravely stormed back inside the fortress!

  Chapter Six

  Bacca strode through the large chamber where his wool castle still towered. He regarded it fondly as he passed. It wasn’t going to make the cover of Better Minecraft Homes and Gardens, but it had certainly served its purpose. Bacca slowed his pace, lit a torch, and then proceeded through the mysterious door that had opened in the far side of the chamber. The way ahead was dark and forbidding. Even the curious sheep had decided to stay away from it.

  Bacca walked through the door and down the corridor beyond. It was not very large.

  “Good thing I made those dragons stay behind,” Bacca said. “They’d never have fit in here.”

  The corridor stretched in a perfectly straight line, and suddenly terminated in a large door. The door was made of unassuming blocks of polished diorite, and had a golden handle. The border of the door was trimmed in redstones. Bacca listened, and found he could hear sounds coming from the other side of the door. It was running water (which had the unanticipated effect of making him wonder hungrily if this might mean the presence of fish!).

  Then, set into the wall beside the door, Bacca found the final item he was expecting. It was another mycelium block with writing carved into it. He approached it and began to read:

  The resident of this room doesn’t like to show his face.

  But you must paint it for him

  If you ever hope to succeed.

  Everything you need for this task, you will surely find within.

  “Hmm,” said Bacca. “That’s a weird one.”

  He gripped the golden handle and gave it a turn. The polished diorite door swung open. Through the doorway was a very strange room indeed. Its defining feature was a large, deep pool of crystal clear water. The borders of the pool were surrounded by ferns, lily pads, vines, and flowers of all shapes and sizes. There was a ring of sand surrounding the pool like a little beach. A waterfall cascaded down from the ceiling of the room and splashed into the pool. Instead of stone, the room’s floor featured tall grass and coarse dirt. The walls were wet mossy cobblestone. The room was illuminated by a series of torches.

  Bacca did not see any doors or passageways leading away from this room. He also did not see any people or creatures inside. But there was a wooden frame hanging on one of the walls. It was rectangular and very large. The
more Bacca looked at it, the more Bacca thought it looked just the right shape to hold a canvas for a painting.

  Bacca entered the room and shut the polished diorite door quietly. Nothing in the room looked particularly dangerous, but he wanted to tread carefully.

  He walked to the large pool with its waterfall cascading down from the heights above. Where was the water coming from? Bacca took a torch and threw it as high as he could. The room seemed to have no ceiling. The water streamed from an endless darkness rising above him.

  “Innnnnteresting,” Bacca said with a smile.

  Bacca looked down into the pool. Several fish were swimming in the clear blue water, and a mob of squid was silently bobbing up and down.

  Bacca stared at the fish, his stomach growling hungrily.

  “Maybe it’ll be okay if I eat just one . . .” he said.

  He reached down toward the water, ready to pluck out one of the shimmering fish and pop it into his mouth. But before his hand could touch the water, something made him stop. Bacca realized there was something at the bottom of the pool. He squinted through the rippling water and looked more closely. It was a cave. There, at the very bottom of the water, a dark, forbidding opening was waiting to be explored.

  Bacca backed away from the pool and walked around the rest of the room, looking for any sign of life. Nothing moved. There was only the flickering of the torches along the walls. Bacca certainly didn’t see the “resident” that the inscription on the mycelium block had referenced.

  He cupped his paws to his mouth to make a megaphone.

  “Hello!” Bacca shouted. “Is anybody here?”

  There was no response at first—only the splashing of the waterfall.

  Then Bacca heard a voice. It was low and sounded like stone grating on stone. It seemed to be coming from somewhere very far away.

  “Hello?” it said nervously.

  “Hi there!” Bacca said.

  There was another pause.

  “Who are you?” the voice said. It still sounded scared.

  “I’m Bacca,” Bacca said. “Don’t worry. I’m friendly. Generally.”

  Bacca remembered the wording of the riddle.

  “I’m here to paint your portrait,” Bacca said. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  “No,” the distant voice responded.

  Bacca twirled all around the room, but could not see who was addressing him. Did the voice come from the same place that the water did? The endless ceiling of darkness above?

  “Where are you?” Bacca asked. “And who are you?”

  “My name’s Bill,” the voice said. “I live in the cave at the bottom of the pool.”

  Aha, thought Bacca. Now we’re getting somewhere.

  “Look, Bill, why don’t you come out of the cave for just a second?” Bacca said. “I’m trying to solve this riddle. To do that, I need to see what you look like so I can paint a picture of you.”

  There was another very . . . long . . . pause.

  The voice said: “Are you joking? Did someone put you up to this? Because I don’t come out for anybody. Everybody knows that about me. I’m famous for it. I’m Bill, the hermit who stays in his cave.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know,” Bacca said. “I’m a visitor. I’m not even from this server plane.”

  “Perfectly all right,” the voice said. “No hard feelings. But I’m still not coming out.”

  Bacca sighed. He’d suspected there would be an unusual challenge to this riddle. Now it looked like he was right.

  “Can you describe what you look like?” Bacca pressed. “That way, I could paint your portrait, and you wouldn’t have to come out of your cave.”

  “No!” said Bill. “That would defeat the whole purpose of being a hermit.” Then, as an afterthought, the voice added: “But I assure you, I’m good looking. Very, very good looking.”

  Bacca frowned.

  “What if I gave you something in return?” Bacca asked. He rifled through his inventory. There had to be something this mysterious hermit wanted.

  “Nope,” the voice said. “Not interested. I’ve got everything I need already.”

  “Are you sure?” Bacca said. “I’ve got a bunch of really cool stuff! Swords, and axes, and pickaxes, and shovels . . .”

  “Been there, done that already,” the voice boomed back sternly. “You don’t have anything I want. Now go away!”

  Well that was rather rude, Bacca thought. Still, he was not about to give up. There had to be some way to get this mysterious “Bill” to come out of his cave just for a second. Bacca crept once again to the edge of the pool. He stared down at the cave beneath the water. Frustratingly, there was absolutely nothing to see. Bill was entirely hidden.

  Then a glint of light from the torches made Bacca notice his own reflection in the surface of the pool . . . and suddenly a solution occurred to him.

  Eureka, Bacca thought!

  He walked a few steps away from the pool, and picked up a handful of sand.

  Bacca let it run through his paws. Yes, he thought. This would do nicely.

  A smile came to his lips.

  It was time to start crafting.

  “Oooooh! What’s he doing? Let me see, let me see, let me see!”

  The creepers spying on Bacca from the darkness above jostled with one another to get the best view of the action.

  “He’s never going to get Bill to come out,” said one creeper confidently.

  “Yeah,” said another. “Bill never, ever comes out. I’ve been friends with Bill for ten years, and I’ve never seen him once!”

  “But then . . . if Bill’s not coming out . . . what’s Bacca trying to do?” asked another creeper.

  They all looked down at Bacca, curiosity spreading across their faces.

  “He’s really focused on the sand,” one observed. “It looks like he’s cooking it. Why? Is he going to eat it or something?”

  “Cooking sand?” said another. “That’s how you make glass.”

  “Why’s he making glass?” asked a third. “If Bill’s not coming out for something cool like a sword or a pickaxe, he’s sure not coming out for a piece of glass.”

  The creepers watched, equal parts confused and enthralled.

  “He’s sure making a lot of it,” one of the creepers said. “Why’s he making so much?”

  They watched as Bacca began to lift the sheets of glass and stack them in an ordered row against the wall.

  “Is he making a big window?” one of the creepers said.

  “That’s a horrible place for a window,” said another. “Just horrible.”

  “Yeah,” said a third. “Look through it, and all you’ll see is that mossy old wall. When I look out of windows, I like to see something pretty. Like a nice sunset. Or, ooh, a pretty forest.”

  “Wait!” another creeper interrupted, overtaken with excitement. “Now’s he’s adding blocks to the portrait frame!”

  The other creepers looked on, equally astounded. They had, of course, left the frame there as part of the riddle. It would be where Bacca would create his portrait of Bill. But how would Bacca do that without having seen him?

  As the creepers watched, Bacca mined for different blocks, and also took a liberal selection of the flowers and plants available throughout the mossy room. He took these materials and began to stack them into the wooden frame. Before long, a face began to take shape.

  “That doesn’t look like Bill at all!” one of the creepers said. “And I’ve actually seen him! Well, I mean, not personally. But someone told me what he looks like. I have it on very strong authority . . .”

  The face Bacca had constructed inside the frame looked very silly. It had a crooked nose of prismarine, a mouth made of coarse dirt that was uneven on one side, and eyes made from flowers. Large stone eyebrows gave it a stern expression. The ears were made of dead bushes, and the hair was made from bright green lily pads.

  As the creepers looked on, Bacca stepped back from the frame to admire his work
. He held up his thumb like a painter, and looked past it at what he had created on the canvas. His lips curled into a grin. Bacca appeared very pleased.

  “He can’t be finished,” one of the creepers sputtered. “That’s the worst painting I ever saw. And I once went to a zombie pigman art show!”

  “Yes, that looks truly awful,” another creeper agreed. “A complete failure, artistic or otherwise.”

  “Maybe we made this riddle too difficult,” said a third creeper. “That’s a pity. I thought for sure Bacca would be able to figure it out. Now it looks like he’s just guessing.”

  The creepers all agreed that Bacca’s approach to the riddle had taken a disappointing turn.

  But far beneath them, Bacca strode confidently back to the edge of the pool with the gait of a man who has the situation completely under control. He looked down into the water’s crystalline blue depths and smiled. He knew something the creepers did not: that everything was going according to plan.

  “Hello there!” Bacca called down into the pool. “I’m all finished. Do you want to take a look?”

  For a moment there was only the sound of the wooshing waterfall. Then Bill’s sonorous voice reverberated up through the water.

  “What are you talking about?” it said.

  “Your portrait, silly,” Bacca replied. “I’m done painting it. I don’t mean to boast, but I believe that I got you exactly right. I really captured your essence, so to speak.”

  “What?” Bill said, confused. “That’s impossible! You can’t have painted my picture. You don’t know what I look like. Nobody does. I’m Bill, the hermit. I live in a cave at the bottom of a pool inside the creeper fortress!!! How can you know what I look like???”

  “I saw you the other day when you weren’t looking,” Bacca said. “For just a split second. It was all I needed. I’ve got a photographic memory.”

  “No!” Bill cried, but from his voice, Bacca could tell that he was suddenly unsure. “That never happened!”

  “Just come up and see,” Bacca said sweetly.

  There was a long pause.

  “No,” the deep voice finally concluded. “If I come up, then you will see what I look like.”