Midnight Monster Club

by Gerhard Gehrke

  “A tie?” the heckler said. “Come on! Fight!”

  He was shouted down.

  Once the crowd quieted, the game caller continued. “The portcullis, with the master slave’s token, opens easily.”

  The gate began to wind upward by unseen mechanisms. The dark hallway beyond had torches that ignited with amber flames, illuminating a long corridor of white stone. Paulus helped Digger as they exited the chamber of secrets.

  A chime rang.

  “Is it a victory?” the caller asked. “A reprieve? The slaves retreat into the deeper chambers. With the round over, the adventurers have time to regroup. Perhaps a call for new comrades will bolster their numbers. Because their greatest challenge lies ahead of them. And what of our monsters? Will their mistress be pleased they escaped with their lives? Tomorrow’s catacomb games will reveal all.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  APPLAUSE FOLLOWED DIGGER and Paulus as they hobbled down the corridor. The portcullis slammed shut behind them. Whispers could be heard around them and then a metallic scraping sound. Bright lanterns shone in Digger’s eyes. They were confronted by crossbow-wielding guards and seized by attendants who pulled the weapons from their hands.

  Paulus held up his hand and showed the tokens. “Freedom. I buy my freedom!”

  An attendant examined the tokens. “Save them for the game master. She’ll decide.”

  A guard pushed them towards a section of wall that stood open. “If you would have tried that gate before fighting, we would have had to shoot you. Sounds like you made your fellow monsters improvise, though. Impressive. The crowd likes you.”

  Digger limped along, his hand clutching his bleeding side. He wasn’t having any problems breathing and guessed Angel’s knife hadn’t punctured too deeply, but the pain was almost overwhelming. His jaw and cheek ached where Angel had struck him.

  The back corridors of the catacombs were narrow and at times they walked single file. But Digger saw no chance of escape. Finally they were placed back in the waiting room. The queen stood inside with a single attendant, a man in orange and blue dressed like a clown. His face was stern and he kept his eyes low and his head bowed. The queen, however, wore a broad smile as she gave both of them a hug.

  Digger had crossbows pointing at him the whole time.

  The queen snapped her fingers. “You men, leave us.”

  The clown cleared his throat. “My queen, is that wise? These fel are dangerous.”

  “You can stay, Rochus. I’m sure you’ll protect me if I need it.”

  Digger could hardly believe it when the guards obeyed, leaving them alone with her. The queen of Diregloom. The noblewoman who could have stopped the murder of his parents with a word.

  “What a show! An upset! Two monster victories! I can scarcely contain myself, I’m so pleased. And this time you didn’t start executing the contestants. That was distasteful, I must say. But this round more than made up for that unpleasantness.”

  “We’ve earned our tokens,” Digger said. “Those other condemned fel who fought with us—we have enough to free them too.”

  “Not quite. You lost more than a few tokens when you distracted poor Lord Baldros. However, I’ll allow you to buy off as many as you’d like. Yourselves as well. But I want you to consider staying.”

  “Why?”

  “Money. Gold. Rank, if you survive. There are those of your kind in my service who bow to no one but me. Ask your queen and she might grant it.”

  “There’s nothing you have that I want. I don’t speak for Paulus here, but I’ll take freedom.”

  “How much gold?” Paulus asked.

  The queen’s eyes shone as she nodded at him. Digger didn’t believe for a moment they weren’t being watched. Could he break her neck before a crossbow bolt struck him? But there remained a chance his brother could be freed. With the tokens in his pocket and the queen’s blessing, he could get out and spring him from the stockade.

  Using a frilly handkerchief, she dabbed sweat from Digger’s face. “Take your rest, brave monsters. Have your hurts cared for. Eat. You can decide in the morning.”

  Rochus fell in behind her as the cell door was opened. They watched her leave through the bars. The door opened again and attendants with pitchers, fresh food trays, and other items entered. Digger was encouraged to sit. His wounds and bruises were washed. A salve was placed on his side, which stung momentarily before a welcome numbness made the pain vanish. He received more stitches.

  The medic checked the rest of his body. “It’s a deep cut but the bleeding will stop. No broken bones. Nothing to stop you if you decide to play on.”

  Digger was offered wine and this time he accepted it. He was famished. Thirsty. His aching body yearned for sleep. The medic was helping set one of Paulus’s fingers that appeared to have been broken.

  “You seriously considering it?” Digger asked.

  Paulus waited for the medic to step away to his doctor’s bag. “One more fight? I think I can survive it. It won’t take much gold to keep me and mine from working another day in the factory. Stay with me. Think of what we can do with our wealth.”

  “You’d still be a fel in Diregloom. And less than nothing if you leave the island no matter how much gold lines your pocket.”

  Paulus grunted as a splint was fixed to his left hand.

  “Is that your fighting hand?” A spectator had appeared on the opposite side of the bars. “Any other injuries?”

  Paulus showed his right hand and flexed it. “That’s my fighting hand.”

  The spectator made notes in a book. Others arrived to peer at the pampered monsters. Some held flutes of wine while a few smoked. A trio of women were laughing and making hushed comments. One of them whispered to a guard.

  “Ask him yourself,” the guard said. “But he’s not leaving the cell.”

  Whatever request the women had in mind never came. They tittered some more before leaving, only to be replaced by a new group of gawkers.

  The medic packed his bag and the attendants finished up. The scent of flowery perfumed water lingered on Digger’s skin. He looked at his fingernails and saw them perfectly clean and buffed to a shine. He was tired. It was late. Nothing else was happening, so he got comfortable on one of the couches and tuned out the tourists.

  Some time passed and he drifted, and then his eyes popped open at the sound of jingling chains. The spectators were gone. Guards were marching a new group of prisoners past. The fel were dressed in elaborate costume armor. They kept their heads down and looked miserable.

  Digger rose and pressed his face against the bars to watch. How had the queen managed to get so many new fighters for her game?

  Lord Angel trailed along behind the procession, his face puffy and his eyes black. “Hold up, sergeant.”

  The guard stopped the prisoners. Angel went to the front of the line and plucked off a helmet. It was Monty. Digger’s brother looked shaken and worn and kept his head bowed. Angel smacked him.

  “Hey!” Digger called. “I’m right here if you want a fight.”

  “And so you are. But it’s hands off the monsters, by rules of the game and order of the queen. How simple it would be to come in there and kill you. But you’ve made a name for yourself, not that it’ll last past tomorrow. So much grief could have been avoided.”

  He again slapped Monty, this time across the back of the head.

  Digger clenched his jaw but said nothing.

  “This chef tells me he’s your brother. Imagine that. It explains so much. And when I made it clear to Monty here what was about to happen to him, he looked like he was going to start crying. Isn’t it pitiful having a weak brother like that? I feel your pain, gravedigger. Monty also had a hard time believing all his misfortunes could just go away, except for the fact you won’t give me a piece of paper. I would have gotten it from you today but you ran. Tomorrow there will be no escape. I’ll take what’s mine and make you watch as I spill your brother’s guts out on the floor to the
applause of the queen’s guests. My aunt agreed to my little idea of plopping a few extra monsters into the final encounter. How do you think that’ll play out?”

  “Cut him loose. You get your page, right here, right now.”

  “It’s too late for that. My aunt won’t allow it. Besides, I want to win my treasures, fair and square. Unless, of course, you buy out in the morning. Nothing I can do to stop that. But I don’t see any among this lot of sorry fel who won’t piss themselves scared once the curtain rises.”

  Angel walked along the line of prisoners and stopped at the rearmost monster, a woman dressed in a seashell gown, her hands manacled. Wearing a mask that looked like an octopus’s tentacles and with her hair braided and wound through with green ribbons, Digger almost didn’t recognize Isabel.

  She spat at Angel.

  He punched her stomach, doubling her over. He then grabbed her by the hair.

  “And look who else I found? Seems the sheriff had her tucked away and didn’t tell me. But my Marisol found her for me, and not a moment too soon. Seems my little Sprite almost slipped out of the stockade. But she has nothing else I need. So I imagine this will make tomorrow’s final round so much sweeter. The queen has even given her a special place in the fight. It’ll be such a shame if you miss it.”

  A guard stepped in. “I have to ask you to step back, Lord Angel. In fact you can’t come past this point. It’s—”

  “I know, I know. Game rules.” He shoved Isabel away. “This will only end one way tomorrow. There’ll be no more retreating, no more hiding. I’ll see all of you in the morning.”

  The guards got the prisoners moving. Angel offered a final wave before heading back up the corridor.

  “Monty!” Digger called. “It’s going to be okay. We beat them today. And tomorrow we’re going to do the same.”

  His brother made no indication he’d heard as they vanished down the corridor. Digger stood by the bars until the sounds of footsteps faded. At least Monty was alive. Isabel, too. But for how long? The game would only get more lethal. The odds would stack ever higher.

  Paulus grunted. “You actually believe what you say?”

  “I’m not sure what to believe, except I hate that man.”

  “Good. Does this mean you’re staying? Because I could use the help and that lot of fresh meat didn’t have a straight spine among them. I suppose it’s not too late to buy ourselves out.”

  Digger didn’t answer. He returned to his couch and propped his feet up and waited for morning.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  THE NEXT DAY’S CATACOMB run was a breeze compared to yesterday’s fiasco.

  Angel and a new group of contestants had little trouble with the weak resistance offered by the six fel in the chamber of secrets. The grid and its darts had been reset, but the contestants had hurried across it and surprised the defenders and it had been a slaughter. Only two of his fellow contestants had been hurt. They’d bow out once the round ended.

  Digger and the old fel weren’t among them. His queen was saving them for later. Angel hadn’t heard that they’d bought out their freedom, so he knew they were up ahead at what had to be the final encounter.

  Only Marisol had continued on from yesterday. Her cracked ribs hadn’t stopped her. Meanwhile his brother Jamie was laid up somewhere in the castle, but Angel had been too busy to ask about him. At the moment, Angel waited as his fellow contestants squabbled over a token and who got to insert the medallion to open the portcullis to the last room.

  Marisol grabbed Angel’s arm. They hadn’t spoken except during the fight. She had remained sullen all morning as they got ready for the game. He thought she might quit on him but she hadn’t. But he could guess what was on her mind and he didn’t want to hear it.

  “Talk to me, Angel. What’s our plan here?”

  He threw her hand off. Tried not to let his anger show. “What do you mean?”

  “I hope it’s not lost on you that this place is dangerous. Gavin died of his wounds. Hector’s not looking good, and you couldn’t be bothered to see him last night. What’s our play here?”

  “Simple, dear cousin. We win. We beat my aunt’s game and we’ll be set up. We’ll never have to worry about borrowing from scum like Red Eye ever again.”

  “This last room was child’s play compared to yesterday and we still lost two. None of these people listen, and some have never held a sword before.”

  Loath as he was to admit it, she was right. After a smooth initial encounter with no armed opponents and swinging spiked weights fortified with easily avoided spring-loaded blades, the chamber of secrets had been a cakewalk. Angel’s arm still ached where the previous day’s dart had struck him. Even a weak dose of the drug had taken hours to wear off. But today he had barely broken a sweat.

  The half-dozen defenders had fallen in rapid succession. Angel and Marisol had killed one apiece and he had dispatched two more as they’d dropped their weapons and begged for their lives. Sure, the gallery had booed, but Angel didn’t care. The catacombs would pay out whether the crowd loved him or not. He had four tokens and was certain he could collect enough to purchase his prize.

  Whatever ignominy came his way from stabbing the nobleman contestant would be eclipsed by the glory of Angel’s victory. And Marisol would eventually forgive him. Girls like her needed a brighter star to hang on to.

  He forced himself to smile. “We can’t lose. Gavin will be mourned. We’ll see Hector gets the best care, and we’ll find Cy and Philip. But right now you need to focus. That gravedigger is the last thing standing between us and our reward.”

  “He’s not what concerns me. Your aunt wasn’t pulling any punches yesterday. We both could have died, and we have no way of knowing what’s next.”

  “We’ll beat it.”

  “You’re willing to risk yourself and me.”

  “Yeah, I am. Nothing’s stopping you from quitting. I’ve never been able to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

  It wasn’t like her to hold her tongue, but she paused as if choosing her words. “You never asked the cook about Cy and Philip. You could have pressured him to tell us where that ogre might have taken them. And then when I told you about Isabel, you threw both of them into the game.”

  One of their fellow contestants, some third-born baron’s son with a ruddy face and shining locks of black hair, emerged from the alcove where the portcullis stood raised. “Hey! You guys coming?”

  Angel ignored him. “I did what I had to, Marisol. That fel might have bought himself out. Now he’ll be there in the final round. We go kill him now. Then we worry about the others.”

  “They’re your friends.”

  “They’d understand.”

  “If I was one of the ones left behind at that bar, would you risk my life like you have theirs?”

  “Don’t waste our time with dreaming up a situation different than the one we’re facing. You didn’t get left behind. You’re too good of a warrior. You’re here with me, and I’m glad for it. You’re the best of us with your sword. Soon we’ll be done with this game. Hector will get better. We’ll hunt the ogre down and save the others. But in the meantime, if you’re staying in, then I need your full attention.”

  He could only hope the flattery would work. He moved past her and shepherded the baron’s son with the fancy hair towards the others, who were waiting in the hallway just beyond the portcullis.

  The gallery above began to empty. The crowd was moving to where it could watch the next stage of the action. Game attendants emerged to help the two contestants who were quitting. Marisol caught up with Angel, her foil and dirk held ready.

  Good.

  But Angel was worried too. No season of the games had ever claimed so many pureblood lives. Even with so many casualties, his aunt hadn’t called it off. Rather, her enthusiasm had doubled. The crowd’s zeal hadn’t diminished much either, and he’d had a stack of messages waiting for him that morning from spectators and bookmakers eager to
know if he was going to keep playing.

  Of course he was.

  The catacombs would continue into the final round. With his aunt’s wild imagination, anything was possible. What he hadn’t told Marisol was that he’d gladly sacrifice all his companions if it meant he could win.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  THE BREAKFAST OF SAUSAGE-and-peppers the catacomb attendants had served them was giving Digger heartburn. He tried his best to ignore the acidy belches, along with all his other misgivings.

  He could buy himself free.

  What chance was there he could save Monty or Isabel from the game? Somehow he needed to take out Lord Angel, and that would have to happen during the upcoming final round. But the game was rigged. That he and Paulus had survived and had been victorious was a fluke. In an even fight, one on one, he knew he could stand his own against most men. He was trained and experienced in armed combat. The contestants he had faced weren’t prepared for his raw strength. But the last encounter would favor the purebloods. Digger and the other prisoners were part of a narrative and no one liked an unhappy ending.

  He and Paulus had been dressed in new costumes more elaborate than the prior day’s outfits. Paulus was given a polished white breastplate and a helm that looked like a giant conch shell. His weapon was a battle axe, also oversized and poorly balanced with a dull edge. Paulus tested its heft and appeared pleased enough.

  Digger had received a fresh whale bone. It was studded with flecks of shining crystal. The dangling plume from his own ridiculous helmet kept getting in his eyes, until he took it off.

  “Hey! Put that back on!” an attendant hissed from the other side of one of the walls.

  “I can’t see with this stupid thing. Plus this way the audience can see me. Isn’t that what you want?”

  The attendant dropped the matter.

  The two of them waited in a wide, plain corridor with barn-sized doors leading out in opposite directions. Was it to be just him and Paulus in the final round? The sounds of busy preparation came from every corner. Workers grunted, tools banged, and machinery clicked.