Thisby Thestoop and the Black Mountain

by Zac Gorman

  When Thisby returned, she brought Grunda several bags that were practically overflowing with rags and horns and antlers and teeth; all the various scraps she’d collected from around the dungeon over the past few months. They were the parts she’d intended to trade to Shabul, only now she gave them to Grunda, along with some illustrations from an old book that Grunda whispered about excitedly. Some hours later, when Grunda returned from the back of her hovel, she handed Thisby several strange-looking packages in return.

  Iphigenia meant to ask Thisby about the packages, but she was too anxious to think straight. There was no way to know when they might be back. Or if they even would be back. Even if they found Ingo, getting out could be as simple as throwing a blackdoor bead at the ground and stepping through a portal back into Thisby’s bedroom, or as impossible as being stuck on the wrong side of the Darkwell with no way home. That was the risk they would have to run.

  The problem was, there was no way of knowing where a blackdoor bead led for certain until you’d used it, and of course, once you did, you had only a short time—since it was impossible to know how long a blackdoor would hold. Grunda checked all the blackdoor beads, sniffing them over and over with a look of great consternation, and she was ultimately convinced that at least one of them would lead them back home safely. Unfortunately, it was impossible for her to say which one. Like all goblins, Grunda had the ability to discern certain magical properties by smell. However, the blackdoor beads had rubbed together so much in Gregory’s bag—not to mention the odor of the rock golem poop that they’d picked up—that it was difficult to tell one smell from the other. Of the three beads, Grunda was convinced that at least one of them smelled like the Black Mountain and the other two smelled like—something else.

  Thisby was less than confident about Grunda’s methods, but the first blackdoor bead that Grunda selected had indeed opened up a portal to the Deep Down, so she was one for one. At least, Thisby believed it was the Deep Down. She’d never been there, of course, but she knew that what she was looking at couldn’t possibly be anywhere else within the Black Mountain. She knew the Black Mountain better than her own reflection, and the place she was looking at now was like nothing she’d ever seen.

  Thisby, Mingus, Iphigenia, and Grunda stood before the blackdoor, which glowed brightly on the wall of Thisby’s bedroom. Inside the portal, an old waterwheel slowly creaked along, powered by a river of dank green sludge that apparently passed for water in the Deep Down. Near the water wheel was a sort of mill grinding up who only knows. There didn’t seem to be any sign of creatures moving about, but they’d been watching for several minutes, and Thisby was still working up the courage to step through to the other side.

  “I’m not sure how long the blackdoor will hold, dear,” said Grunda.

  Mingus had been beside himself since they’d decided to go to the Deep Down to bring back Prince Ingo. He’d simply refused to come at first, but Thisby had managed to convince him that if she could do it, there was no reason why he couldn’t. In the end, he’d relented, but now that Thisby was faced with the prospect of actually stepping through that portal herself, suddenly the assumption that “she could do it” didn’t seem so certain.

  Thisby stared at the blackdoor like an executioner’s stand. Her heart thumped against her rib cage, and it felt as if she’d forgotten how to move her feet. But then something strange happened. She felt a pulling in the pit of her stomach, and her feet began to move, almost on their own.

  She stepped forward.

  Slowly.

  One foot after the other.

  Everybody in the room watched as she edged closer to the doorway. Her face was vacant but determined.

  Thisby could smell the rank stench of the river, feel the hot air on her skin. She stood mere inches from the blackdoor, close enough to where it was all that she could see.

  The pulling grew stronger.

  And she jumped in.

  Thisby landed awkwardly on the other side, wobbling under the weight of her backpack, and clutching a terrified Mingus in her hand. He swayed in his jar. He’d changed to a purplish color so dark it was almost black and had pressed himself up against the wall of his jar as tightly as he could manage.

  “Thisby, oh, Thisby . . . ,” was all he could say.

  “Shhhhhhh,” she said. “It’s okay.”

  Moments later, Iphigenia joined them on the other side.

  Thisby turned back to see Grunda smiling at them from her bedroom. Thisby went to say good-bye, but before she could speak, the door blinked out of existence and the last trace of home vanished before her eyes.

  She knew that tens of thousands of feet above them, her room still existed, that her notebooks and her desk and her bed were in the exact same place as they’d been a moment ago, but the thought wasn’t any comfort now. The only thing that made her feel any better was reaching down her hand to feel the two other blackdoor beads nestled safely in her pocket. Those were her only way back home, her only lifeline in this terrible place. But for now, they were trapped. Trapped in the most horrible place on earth. Trapped in the Deep Down.

  Chapter 20

  Only one map of the Deep Down existed and unfortunately for Thisby, it was hundreds of miles away on the absolute opposite end of the kingdom, tucked away in one of the many libraries of Lyra Castelis. Strangely enough, its resting place was also only about a ten-minute walk from Iphigenia’s bedchamber, not that she, nor anybody, for that matter, even knew it existed. The map had ended up there in much the same manner as the other valuable, rare, and extraordinary things that ended up in the royal castle did, simply because there was no other place that made sense for it to be.

  The closest thing that Thisby had on hand to guide them were some drawings that had fallen loose from an old book. They were more like illustrations from a child’s storybook than proper maps. Assuming the drawings could be trusted at all, Thisby knew that the Deep Down was shaped like a funnel, or perhaps an upside-down mountain, and the farther you went down, the smaller it became. It also appeared as if at the center of the funnel, stretching all the way down to the bottom, was a city, built layer upon layer like a wide spiral staircase.

  They wandered through the outskirts of the city—or at least what Thisby hoped were the outskirts of the city. For all Thisby knew, they could be on the opposite end of the Deep Down, miles away from where Ingo was being kept. This was, of course, assuming he’d be kept in the city at all. Which, in turn, was assuming the supposed city even existed. Still, it was the only lead they had.

  Thisby was completely out of her element. There were no notebooks she could check for advice, no maps she could reference. It reminded her of her first few years in the dungeon. For those first few years, she’d struggled every day not to be eaten by a troll or mauled by gnolls. She’d mostly just fumbled around in the dark trying not to die a horrible death. She’d done it then. Somehow. Now she wasn’t so sure she could do it again.

  The Deep Down was different from anything she’d ever encountered in the Black Mountain. It was darker than she’d expected and there was chaos everywhere. Once, when hiding from a wandering group of monsters, she’d accidentally almost led Iphigenia into the mouth of a wall-sized creature she’d mistaken for a cave. And that was just in the first few minutes. By now, it’d been hours.

  To say they were lost might imply they had a plan to begin with. Thisby thought that her familiarity with the Black Mountain would be more help than was the case. In the Deep Down, tunnels led to nowhere, and the logic of how everything was arranged seemed designed to intentionally confuse travelers. Perhaps it was. Overwhelmed and frustrated, she’d already considered trying to use one of the blackdoors to return to the dungeon several times. If it hadn’t been for Iphigenia, she probably would have.

  Iphigenia wasn’t doing much better at not being scared, but her determination to rescue her brother seemed to blot out the hopelessness of their situation.

  “I think we’re getting close
r,” said Iphigenia, apropos of nothing.

  This was a markedly different girl than the one Thisby had met only three days prior, and one who she liked quite a bit better, honestly, only given the current situation, Iphigenia’s newfound optimism was beginning to rub her the wrong way.

  Thisby grunted dismissively.

  “It feels like it, at least,” said Iphigenia.

  “I guess you’re the expert,” said Thisby pointedly.

  Mingus stirred nervously in his jar. He’d barely said a word since they first entered the Deep Down, opting instead to curl up in his jar, barely glowing, shriveled and terrified.

  “We should just go back,” Thisby muttered under her breath.

  Iphigenia looked wounded.

  “It’s been hours! It’s not like we’re doing any good down here!” said Thisby. “Do you want to just wander around here forever? How does that help anyone? We could go back and regroup. Try to come up with a better plan.”

  “We tried to come up with a better plan and we failed. Besides, we don’t have time! For all we know, Ingo . . .”

  “I’m sorry, okay?” blurted Thisby. “I’m sorry! We tried and it didn’t work! What do you want me to say? We’re not any good to your brother dead.”

  “But . . . ,” said Iphigenia.

  “Maybe we should, um, try that way,” interjected a small voice.

  The girls stopped and looked at Mingus. He shifted anxiously in his jar.

  “Maybe we could just try it,” he said quietly.

  “We’ve already been that way,” scoffed Thisby.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Can—can, uh, we just try it, please?”

  Mingus had a strange tremble in his voice that made Thisby feel uneasy.

  “We can try it,” said Iphigenia reassuringly.

  They walked in silence for nearly an hour down a small winding path, until at last the path let out onto a thin ledge overlooking a sea of rooftops that stretched on as far as the eye could see. Strange machinery clanged and acrid smoke billowed from between the buildings. In the distance, a crooked tower stretched from the top of the cavern to the bottom, supported by thin bridges that connected it to other, smaller structures, jutting off the sides of it like the spokes of a wheel.

  “The city! How’d you know it was this way?” asked Thisby.

  If Mingus had shoulders, he would’ve shrugged.

  “Lucky guess,” he muttered.

  Thisby had read exactly one book about Deep Dwellers. Truth be told, it was more of a picture book intended to frighten children away from playing near the Darkwell than a textbook, but it was better than nothing. She’d found it on her first trip to the City of Night years ago and had kept it safe since then, despite the fact that the illustrations in the book had caused her more than a few sleepless nights—the book’s intended effect had worked like a charm. She was embarrassed to admit that she still kept the book on the very bottom of a very tall stack of very heavy tomes, on the off chance that the creatures from the illustrations sprang to life and came for her in her sleep. It was unlikely, sure, but why take the chance?

  The scant text in the book was written in Dünkeldwarvish, and the little bit she’d managed to translate wasn’t particularly helpful in their current situation. But among the tattered and browned pages it was only the frightening illustrations she’d really needed anyway. Before they left for the Deep Down, she’d given the book to Grunda, and with the help of her nimble goblin fingers—as well as Thisby’s ample supply of spare monster parts—Grunda had managed to cobble together two rather horrifying costumes, intended to allow Thisby and Iphigenia to pass undetected when and if they reached the city.

  Thisby’s costume was a tattered black shroud that covered her entire backpack and body beneath the same patchwork blanket, allowing only her head and arms to stick out. On her head she wore a grotesque mask with pointed ears and antlers. The seams of the mask were concealed by the hood of her cloak, which pulled double duty by providing even more shadowy spots to hide the flaws of her disguise. Overall, the effect was quite good. The costume made her look like an old hunchbacked monster, the likes of which she’d seen in one of her book’s illustrations. She didn’t have a dozen legs, of course, but she did her best to hide that with a floor-length cloak.

  Iphigenia was much harder to disguise, being one of those unfortunate people who can still somehow manage to look good even when dressed in a grotesque monster costume. After several failed attempts, Grunda had decided the best approach was to wrap her from head to toe like a mummy with yellowed gauze bandages. She’d then stuck on some various items like horns and whatnot to accent the fact that she was indeed a monster and definitely not a princess. The illusion had almost worked. But still, through the small gaps in the bandages that Grunda had been forced to leave open so Iphigenia could move and breathe, it was easy enough to catch a glimpse of her sparkling green eyes, or notice a lock of her thick, raven-colored hair sprouting through her wraps like a beautiful flower blooming through the cracked floor of a gulag, and the whole effect was ruined.

  The costumes were far from perfect. Thankfully, it was very dark in the Deep Down.

  The city was walled off, forcing them to enter through a tall stone-and-iron gate. Leading up to the gate was a long line of creatures of every imaginable shape and size, shuffling forward miserably in the darkness, one step at a time.

  The air here was hot and thick as they approached, and Thisby began to sweat profusely beneath her mask. Beads of sweat streamed down her forehead and stung her eyes, while her own breath was cruelly reflected back at her face, warm and damp. Through the constantly shifting eyeholes of her mask, she scanned the crowd as she walked.

  Each Deep Dweller was different. The thing that stood in front of her was black and oily, large globs of itself sloughing off as it craned its long neck around. It had no visible eyes, but Thisby felt as if it was watching her. Studying her. Maybe it could see through her costume. She could feel her heart thump in her ears.

  Beside her, Iphigenia clung tightly to her cloak like a child might hold on to her mother’s dress as they walked through a crowded market. There was something charming about it. In fact, there was more to like about the Princess than Thisby had expected. They had their differences, but somehow, the more time they spent together, the less important those differences seemed. She wondered if Iphigenia felt the same.

  Her train of thought was interrupted when a furry brown creature, round and fat, pushed past them in a hurry. Its stench caused Thisby to gag.

  They shuffled along, trying to stay inconspicuous as they approached the gate. The crowd up ahead came to a point as the Deep Dwellers forced their way into several tight tunnels leading into the city, the creatures’ horrible bodies mashing together as they attempted to squeeze through the narrow passages. Thisby felt Iphigenia tug on her cloak and looked over. Through her bandages, Iphigenia’s eyes were wide and frightened. Thisby tried to look comforting, but her nerves were frayed as well, and with a final glance that she hoped would communicate some sign of reassurance, the girls pushed into the tunnels.

  It was a waking nightmare. A churning sea of bodies mashed together, creating a teeming mass of hair and sweat and slime and warts and hooves crushing down on them from every direction. Iphigenia could barely breathe. She felt Thisby’s cloak pull from her grasp and suddenly, horribly, she was alone. Desperate and not thinking clearly, she called Thisby’s name but it was lost amid the cacophony of snorts and hisses and growls bouncing off the tight stone walls. In every direction she looked, in the faintest light by which she could still see, she would catch flashes of the monsters who surrounded her on all sides. Beaks snapped open and shut mere inches from her face. A clawed foot stepped on her heel. Something sharp jabbed into her side. And worst of all, she was alone.

  When the crowd finally broke through to the other side of the tunnel, Iphigenia wanted to cry. She ran from the stream of monsters and pressed her back against a col
d brick wall. When a hand touched her shoulder, she jumped.

  “Are you okay?” asked Thisby.

  Iphigenia waited for her pulse to return to normal before answering.

  “I’m fine.”

  Thisby waited for a real answer.

  Iphigenia tugged her bandages away from her mouth just as something hot and vile exploded out. She managed to turn her head away from Thisby just in time. Thisby waited as the Princess finished retching and wiped her mouth on her bandages.

  “Okay. Now I’m fine,” she said.

  As they walked the streets, Thisby was struck by how much the Deep Down felt like the City of Night as seen through a funhouse mirror. Stairways and roads led to nowhere, creatures lurked just outside the periphery of their vision, and unnatural voices gibbered at them from darkened alleys. It was eerily reminiscent of walking through a nightmare, so much so that at times Thisby felt certain that if she were to attempt to run, she very well might find her legs had turned to jelly.

  Aside from the bizarre arrangement of everything, the most striking difference between this place and the City of Night was that while the ruins of the City of Night had been abandoned long ago, these ruins were very much inhabited. Deep Dwellers scurried in and out of houses and alleys going about their business. Carts pulled by abominable warty toads the size of horses clattered along the road up ahead on their way to the market. This city wasn’t dead. It was very much alive.

  Yet squalor was everywhere. The monsters who lived in the Black Mountain had room to breathe; some even had chambers entirely to themselves. They had room to run and explore. Here the Deep Dwellers seemed to be hiding in every nook and cranny they could find. Rat-tailed lizards dashed from the sewers only to be grabbed at by several angry, hungry hands that followed it. Dozens of creatures piled into tiny standing-room-only sheds, huddled close together. Thisby watched, curious, through the holes in her mask as they moved down farther into the black heart of the city. She’d heard so many stories about the Deep Down growing up that she’d always known it would be awful, but she was beginning to suspect it may be that way for reasons she hadn’t quite expected.