Dug had only seconds to decide. He froze. That meant mat he did nothing. The sled rushed on down the trail. And off the drop-off. Dug heard a muttered "Sheesh!" from the rear.
Then out of the fog loomed a wall, and in the wall was a crevice, and the sled slammed into that crevice and zoomed on. The trail had jumped a gap in the slope; had the sled been moving slower, it would have crashed into the wall beneath the gap, flattening them and dropping them into whatever lay below. Had he steered it off the trail, he might have brought it to a stop, but they would have been stuck partway down the wall of the chasm. So he had made the right decision, by default.
They came to a fork. The sign said RIGHT, and it was on the right side, so Dug steered it that way. This path dropped, so that they sped up again, and again there was a bit of nervous choice. There seemed to be several tracks, all converging farther down, so it made no difference which one he followed. But some were more ragged than others. The sled struck a bump, and sailed into the air, and he almost lost control. It did make a difference, because they could capsize—or whatever it was that a bobsled did—if he managed it wrong. So he steered for the smoothest path, and corrected course as they bounced around, gaining proficiency. He managed to keep them upright and pointed forward.
The tracks converged. Then the main track suddenly curved up so sharply that it looped. "What is this, a roller-coaster ride?" Dug demanded rhetorically.
"No, a flume ride," Sherlock said, as the loop exited into a bank of snow that shook loose and slid down the slope. They were carried along in the flowing current of white powder; the snow had given up being Technicolor and was now plain vanilla white. Again they were falling, part of an avalanche. But it was not an easy ride; Dug had to keep steering by focusing, lest they turn over or turn sideways. This was like one of those purely mechanical computer games, requiring constant finger dexterity and spot judgment to avoid being dumped. Fortunately he had played a number of such games before getting bored with then- intellectual simplicity, and had a fairly steady hand.
"If this is the right trail," Dug puffed through the enveloping snow, "I'd hate to see the wrong one!"
This, too, leveled out at last. They came to another sign saying RIGHT, but they couldn't see me fork; it had been hidden by the fall of snow. Where could they steer?
Dug solved the problem by going right at the sign. The sled hit it and crashed on. The others understood the logic, he hoped: they had to go along the path marked by the sign, which meant that the sign itself would be beside it They might not be on the path, but it would be close to them.
Sure enough, the sled bumped, then dropped into a slight channel. It had found the path. Then the sides rose up, and they were cruising through a U-shaped valley. He had to steer with excruciating care, to keep them on course by banking on the turns. This was a really nervous workout! But was this the correct path? How could he be quite sure?
The valley curved, taking them around and around until they had completed a circle. But they were below the prior track. It was a corkscrew turn! The walls closed over the top, and they were plunging through darkness.
Dug heard water. Was there an underground river here? Then light came, and he saw that they had entered a cavern with a hole in the ceiling for a sunbeam. Ahead was a waterfall. The water came from the right side, and fell into the center of the cave, where it flowed on to the left. The sled bucked like a bronco as it traversed the slush by the river. They could still crash!
There was another sign. LEFT. But it was on the right side. "At least we're on the proper trail," Sherlock said, sounding relieved as Dug steered the sled directly toward the waterfall.
"How can you be sure!" Jenny demanded, seeing disaster looming.
"Because they wouldn't put another sign on a wrong trail; they'd just terminate it."
Then they plunged into the sheet of falling water. And through it there was space behind it, descending. Sparks flashed as the runners scraped against bare rock. They skidded onto sand, and on down through a round hole just large enough to let them through. They sailed out into space and bright light.
And landed with a plunk on a monster pillow bush. Pillows popped, sending fluff flying wide. But they had stopped, safely. They were at the base of the chasm.
They climbed out and looked around. Behind them was the steep slope of the chasm wall, with its tiny hole up just too high for a standing man to reach from the floor. Ahead of them was a flat, open expanse. Beyond it was the far wall of the chasm, rising vertically to a ledge, and thence to another ledge. To either side was the length of the great valley, curving out of sight It was actually a pleasant enough place. There was even a pie tree a short distance away.
Then they felt a shudder in the ground. It was followed by another. Whomp! Whomp!
"The Gap Dragon!" Jenny cried. "He's coming—and we can't escape him here!"
"If you have a plan," Sherlock said wryly, "It's about time to put it into effect"
"First I want to settle with that stupid cloud, what's-his-name, who couldn't put out enough snow to cover the slope,” Dug said.
There was an angry rumble from above. Fracto was listening and reacting to the criticism.
"But it's the dragon we have to settle with first" Jenny said, alarmed. The whomping was getting louder.
"No, it's that wimpish cloud," Dug insisted "If Fractal had the gumption God gave a turnip, he'd have laid snow all the way down to the floor so we could coast down properly, instead of having to shunt into a watery cave. But I guess that's what happens when you depend on airheads."
There was a louder rumble, but it was matched by the closer whomping. In a moment the Gap Dragon would round the turn and spy them. "Dug—" Sherlock said, looking pale around the gills, which was a good trick.
“I’m sorry," Dug said stoutly, "but I just can't let inadequacy pass. That pip-squeak cloud didn't do his job right and we had to land in a bed of pillows instead of a bed of snow, the way it should have been. I don't know why the demons chose such a malingerer! They should have known Flacto would botch it."
"You keep getting the name wrong," Jenny shouted over the double noise of rumbling and whomping. "You're just going to make Fracto even madder!"
"So who cares if Fatso gets mad?" Dug yelled. "It's about time someone called a wimp a wimp! He couldn't work up a decent blow down here. He's just a stupid washout."
The mist along the slope pulled itself into a furiously swilling cloud. Jags of lightning shot out from it. The baleful face of Fracto formed, staring down.
Jenny screamed. "The Gap Dragon!'*
"No, that's Crapto, the least of clouds. You can tell by his vacuous expression."
"I mean down on the ground. There!" She pointed.
Dug looked. Indeed it was the dragon. A serpentine, six-legged creature, with a long mouthful of teeth, puffing steam.
Dug stood his ground. "Don't worry," he shouted. "Framto wouldn't dare wet on the Gap Dragon, so the poopy cloud can't get at us."
Sherlock opened his mouth as if about to address an idiot. Then there was a little flash above his head, that wasn't lightning. He had caught on to what Dug was doing. "Yeah," he agreed. "Clouds are notorious cowards."
Fracto exploded. Pieces of cloud flew everywhere, each with the same furious face of the original. Toothpick-sized jags of lightning flew out from them, sticking into the ground. One mini-jag struck the charging dragon on the trail.
The dragon whirled, unhurt but stung by the barb. He sent a sizzling stream of steam at the main remaining body of the cloud. Unfortunately the hot vapor only gave the thing a jolt of extra energy. The central blob expanded rapidly, incorporating the surrounding cloudlets. More lightning flashed. Suddenly Fracto was formidable.
"Aw, it's all flash and no snow," Dug called. "The thing's too hot to make snow anyway."
The boiling cloud turned gray. Then snow began to fly. In a moment mere was a blizzard, obscuring the dragon.
Dug grabbed the hands of the others
. Silently he led them back to Roberta Sled, still amidst the pillow bush. They grabbed pillows to protect themselves from the sudden cold.
They heard the dragon casting about, searching for them. But the blizzard made visibility almost zero. As long as they were silent, they could not be found except by accident.
Sherlock squeezed Dug's hand appreciatively. The ploy had worked, and was hiding them from the dragon.
But Dug knew that this was only part of it. Before long the cloud would storm himself out, and the snow would melt, and the dragon would be waiting for them. So they had to act while the storm remained. In silence. Which meant that he couldn't explain the rest of his plan to the others; he would have to show them by action.
He tied pillows to his body by knotting their corners together. He got rope from his pack and strung it out so the others could hang on to it, not losing him. Then he set out across the floor of the Gap. He knew which way to go, because the sled pointed that way. If he veered a bit to the side, it didn't matter; he would find the wall soon enough.
He heard the dragon moving, still searching. There was a hiss as steam seared out to melt the snow, but more kept falling, as Fracto proved himself. The skirling snow blotted out both vision and smell. Dug angled his walk to steer well clear of the creature. Any little mistake could bring the steam, and then the dragon, and it would be over. If this weren't a fantasy game, he would have been almost too frightened to act. As it was, he was nervous enough.
Suddenly the wall loomed ahead. Good! He got down and silently scooped up a double handful of snow. He formed it into a ball, then rolled the ball, picking up more snow. When the ball was as large as he could conveniently handle, he rolled it to the base of the wall and left it there. Then he started another.
The others caught on. They made snowballs of their own, and rolled them big and added them to the first one. The pile grew rapidly, and expanded into a ramp, which they quietly packed firm. Then they rolled balls up it, to make it higher, wedging them into place and filling in the crevices with more snow.
By the time the storm began to ease, the ramp extended all the way up to the first ledge in the wall, well, above their heads. They rolled balls up to that ledge, forming a second, smaller ramp extending from that ledge to a higher one. Dug wasn't sure that the second ledge led where they needed to go, but there was no way to find out except to get there and see.
The snow stopped falling. The mist cleared up.
There was a snort. The dragon spied them!
"Get up to the ledge!" Dug cried.
They scrambled, leaving their last snowballs behind.
The dragon whomped toward them. But now there was a thick layer of snow on the ground, interfering with his navigation. He spun to the side and rolled tail over snoot. That gave the three of them time to make it to the ledge.
The dragon righted himself and blew out a thick stream of steam. The snow shrank nervously away from it. The dragon walked slowly toward the wall, melting snow before him. It was impressive.
Then Sherlock realized something. "The ramp! He can use it too!"
Oops! "We must knock it away, quickly," Dug said.
He and Sherlock sat on the edge of the ledge and kicked at the ramp, while Jenny hauled in the loose rope and coiled it. But the ramp was packed solid now, and gave way reluctantly. "We built too well," Sherlock said.
The dragon reached the base of the ramp. His steam melted the packed snow. He paused, considering. He was not all that stupid, it turned out. He aimed his steam upward, and started mounting the ramp.
Dug got out his club and whammed at the snow. But this too was ineffective, because he didn't dare swing hard enough to do real damage, for fear of hitting Sherlock. "Stand back," he cried. "I'll bash this out."
Sherlock got out of the way. Dug braced himself and swung a huge swing. The club bashed into the snow, caught—and jerked out of his hands.
"Oh, no!" Dug cried, diving for it. He got his hands on it, but overbalanced, falling onto the ramp himself. He scrambled to get back, but couldn't; instead he toppled off the ramp. He grabbed at it, but succeeded only in breaking his fall somewhat. He landed on his feet beside the ramp, holding the club.
Now he was in for it! One moment of carelessness had dumped him into the worst possible situation. He was pretty sure he couldn't fight the dragon; it would steam him before he got close enough to do any damage.
But maybe the dragon was too dull to realize what had happened. Maybe the creature would keep climbing the ramp and—
And what? Gobble up the other two people?
"Hey, steamsnoot!" Dug cried, waving his weapon.
The dragon spied him. He pondered again. Then he got smoothly off the ramp and advanced on Dug. He was not so dull as not to realize that the morsel on the ground was easier to nab than the two on the ledge.
Dug ran. In a moment he heard the dragon whomping after him. But again the snow interfered, and the dragon got fouled up in his own torso. It seemed that it required a delicate balance to whomp, and the snow prevented this. That gave Dug slightly more of a chance than otherwise.
Dug ran in a circle, pursued by the dragon, who had to melt a path ahead of him. Even so, he wasn't exactly slow. Dug looped back to the ramp and charged up it.
But the dragon whipped back on his tail, much faster. He had a cleared area where he had been. As Dug tried to cross to the ledge, the dragon whomped. His foresection sailed right up and came down across the ramp. His weight and mass knocked out a section of it.
Dug slid to a stop, almost falling on the dragon's back. The monster was already bringing his head sinuously back, ready to chomp him. Could he smite that snoot with his club? He lifted it in both hands—and the dragon sent a waft of steam and almost boiled him where he stood. Had he not still been protected by pillows, he could have been finished right then. Dug had to reverse and run back off the ramp.
Now the ramp was out, and he was trapped on the floor of the chasm. The dragon was getting steadily more savvy.
Well, could he fight after all? It seemed ridiculous to have the club and never even try to use it. If he timed the blasts of steam, so as to dodge them, then struck from the side—
He stood his ground as the dragon closed on him. He watched for the steam. The dragon inhaled, started to exhale, and Dug threw himself to the side.
But his foot slipped in the slushy snow, and he fell on his face. The blast of steam passed just over his back. The snow melted around him.
Dug scrambled up. He plunged to the side, trying to get into position for a strike. But the dragon's snoot was tracking him, and the dragon's torso was inhaling. Could he strike before the dragon's breath reversed and cooked him?
He tried. But the dragon's head dodged to the side and fired another hiss of steam at Dug's feet. Dug leaped clear, and the steam melted the snow where he had stood. He landed on his back in the snow, his club waving helplessly. Some hero he was turning out to be!
As he scrambled back to his feet, he saw that there was a hole in the ground where the snow had melted. It was just about big enough for a man to fall into. He was lucky he hadn't stepped there when it was covered by the snow.
He tried once more to bring his weapon into play. But this time the dragon's tail whipped around and stung his hand. He dropped the club and retreated, his hand smarting. He was having one close call after another!
It was no good trying to fight the dragon. He just wasn't cut out for it. He really didn't know how to use the club and was as likely to hurt himself as the enemy. He was probably better off without it. But the dragon was better coordinated than he was; he couldn't outmaneuver him. What could he do to escape?
Dug turned around and ran directly away from the dragon. But the dragon whomped after him with distressing vigor. Dug tried to dodge again, and slipped again. He sat up—and there was the dragon's snoot, right before his face.
The dragon's mouth slowly opened. Dug realized that he was done for. He had blundered all the
way, made a thorough ass of himself, and now would be dispatched. He was disgusted. Why hadn't he used his brain to figure out some effective strategy, instead of just scrambling aimlessly through the snow?
His brain. Suddenly, in this seemingly hopeless situation, it was perking onto high. This was the game. There was always a way through. Maybe several ways. That hole in the ground—he might have crawled into that and escaped the dragon. Of course there might have been danger down there, like biting insects, ferocious rats or goblins. Maybe it was an escape he could have used if he had chosen Goody Goblin as Companion; Goody would have related to the other goblins and gotten him through. If he had taken Horace Centaur as Companion, he might have ridden away from the dragon; he doubted that whomping could match the speed of a gallop. If he had stayed with Grundy, the golem might have talked with the plants down here and gotten information where there was a secret passage through the wall or something. Marrow Bones the walking skeleton might have—well, he wasn't sure what Marrow might have done but there was surely something. But he wasn't with any of those; he was with Jenny Elf, whose little cat had been unable to find a way out, and in any event, he was now stuck here alone. So there might be many ways out, but he had managed to avoid them all and make his situation worse. Because after provoking Fracto into hiding them with the blizzard, he had stopped using his mind and just slogged ahead physically.
He saw now that the dragon knew it was the game. Those near misses with the steam had been intentional. Maybe getting confused by the blizzard had been an act too. In real life he would have been chomped immediately. The dragon had been giving him a chance to get away, if he only had me wit to figure it out. Now the dragon was pausing, giving him one more chance. He had to take it
Demons Don't Dream Page 19
