After narrowly escaping the sleep-of-fire, we slipped into the machine room beneath the courtyard to avoid the guards. It wasn’t the most comfortable spot to spend the night, but I’d slept on ice for the past few weeks, so anything that wasn’t frozen felt like a feather bed.
I slept like a newborn grimmie and woke with a feeling of purpose. We’d slipped into the castle unnoticed. I couldn’t help but feel a hint of triumph, the spirit-of-the-dragon or something like that. I’d told Storey my plan would work, and I was right. So I decided to make my way back to Gorey’s place. It was time for the general to join our team. I’d learned that a grim ruler needed allies, henchmen, servants, and people who just generally did what they were told. Gorey had a lot of those.
Unfortunately, his tower was at the far side of the courtyard, and we were in the machine rooms beneath the drawbridge. The Grimhold’s thirteen caverns could take us to the tower, but we’d need to be careful if we wanted to keep out of sight. I still didn’t want to run into any of the grimmies, not until we’d busted Wormfinger.
So whenever we reached a bridge, I bribed the trolls with false promises. I made them swear not to tell anyone that we’d passed this way. In return, I pledged to one day make them lords of my kingdom or something like that, but since I forgot to write down their names, I don’t really see that happening.
I avoided the dark alley of the witches and warlocks and the grottoes where the goblins hid in their shimmering caverns. I steered clear of the ogres’ caves and the leasable lairs we provided for visiting dragons. I was looking for a special stair, a secret one that only Gorey and I knew about. It led straight to the general’s tower, but it was pretty well hidden. I hadn’t used it (I’d never really had a reason to before), so I wasn’t exactly sure how to find it.
We spent most of the day searching for the steps. I’m generally averse to hard work, so it was a chore—“the-toil-of-beggars”—and definitely not something the son of the Dark Lord ought to be doing. So I asked Storey to lend a hand.
“I think it’s part of your job,” I said.
She once more narrowed those giant goblin eyes, which really didn’t make them any smaller. “I work for Gorey,” she said. “I’m a soldier, not a tour guide.”
I WAS a tour guide. I tried to come up with a witty reply, but it’s pretty hard to defend anything as lame as my job. So I let it go. Storey sat down, lit her candle, and opened her sketchbook again. I shrugged and went back to work. Oggy and I overturned colossal tombstones and pushed aside mushrooms as tall as men. I dodged beetles the size of boulders and boulders the size of . . . well, beetles. It was dark down there, so who knows.
I was yawning when I stumbled onto a stack of skulls, four giant mushrooms, and a pile of dirty laundry. It looked like another dead end, but once I slipped behind the clothes, I found a pleasant surprise: the stair.
We climbed the steps and slipped unseen into the general’s tower. We passed the table where Gorey and I ate our eel soup, my room and the feather-covered bed where I slept.
“Nice feathers, Mr. Dark Lord—must be REALLY comfy, kinda like a princess’s bed,” Storey said.
“Those feathers?” I asked. “Nope. Not mine. Gorey must have murdered a flock of geese or something, probably made a big mess.”
“Sure,” she said. “And they all just happened to land on your bed.”
“It’s not mine—”
“Your name’s written on it.”
I’d forgotten about that. Gorey painted my name on the bed when I was REALLY young.
“I haven’t used that bed since I was a toddler,” I said, chuckling. “But yeah, that would be funny. Dark Lord sleeps on a bed of feathers! Fat chance. No, I’ve got a massive bed hewn from lava stone and bewitched with great and terrible spells.”
“Sure,” she said, nodding, white teeth glistening in that broad smile of hers.
I ushered her toward the stair that led up to Gorey’s chamber before she had a chance to see the dog’s bowl with my name on it. I knew I’d never live that one down.
We climbed to the top of the spire, straight up to Gorey’s room. I knocked, but there was no answer. Oggy tapped my shoulder. About an inch above my head, a note was nailed to the door.
Wick,
I went out to check on you. So if you get back first, send the orcs to find me. Hope you’re well. If you’ve caused any trouble I’ll have your toes seared off by fire ants or your head dipped in orc dung.
Best Regards,
Gorey
The letter sounded rather touching to my ear, but both Storey and Oggy shivered when they read it. I HAD caused some trouble, quite a bit of it, when I broke into the castle. And Storey had promised to keep me OUT of trouble, so that last line must have worried the goblin. She cried out in kennings, spouting what sounded like “holy-cursed-sword-mother-battle-barf.” Not sure what she meant by that.
Gorey was gone, which explained why it had been so easy to break into the castle. The general and most of his army weren’t even there. I was once more on my own, but I was still confident.
“Everything’ll be fine if we catch the thief and set things right.” I thought a little pep talk would boost Storey’s mood, but I couldn’t tell if it worked. Her face never changed.
Oggy tapped my shoulder again. The letter had a postscript.
PS. I left Wormfinger in charge of the castle.
Ouch. The guy who’d stolen the scepter was in command, and the only orc with the power to stop him had gone out to check on me! This changed everything. With Wormfinger in charge, it would make busting him a lot more difficult. I tried to weigh my options. I could go to Garandash and try to explain things, but he didn’t like me very much. The high warlock might not believe me.
I asked Storey if she had any “military advice.” She rubbed her chin and pretended like she was thinking about it, but I’m guessing it was all just an act. She was probably worried about her ranking or what punishment she’d suffer if we failed. Oggy had dozed off, which probably explained why Wormfinger’s thugs were able to sneak up on us.
All of a sudden, three angry warlocks were storming the hall, hands raised, mouths whispering a spell. Before Storey could unsheathe her sword, they cast Bland’s Spell of Immobilization on us. It was powerful magic, MG-45 (I think), and it froze us in place. We were statues, just like the ones in the lake. They’d even caught me in an embarrassing pose. I was scratching my head and looked pretty dumbfounded. Storey had just dropped her jaw and was reaching for her sword. Oggy was still asleep, so his eyes were shut. He had no idea what was happening, which wasn’t a first for Oggy.
We were busted. And I couldn’t help but feel like I was back in my ice cell. I’d failed yet again. Just when I thought my luck had changed, things had gone wrong. I was beginning to lose all that confidence I’d gained from my parents’ visit. Even after everything we’d accomplished, I’d still let them down and wasted the effort my friends had put into helping me. Oggy had defied his parents. The ogres had worked nonstop all night. We’d risked our lives in the lava moat. And it was all for nothing. We were discovered, and I still hadn’t found the thief.
I was completely at the mercy of Wormfinger. I didn’t know what he’d do with us. That last thought left a lump in my throat. Would Wormfinger take me out just so HE could attempt to claim the dark throne? Was he that ruthless? And would the grim folk accept him as their ruler if he walked through that wall of flame? I didn’t know. If the elves made it past Hadrian’s Hedge, anything was possible. The grim folk were a divided people, so maybe they would be willing to overlook the fact that a failed warlock turned cryptogeometry professor had replaced the Dark Lord’s son and rightful heir.
I had a lot of questions and not much in the way of answers, but I knew one thing for certain: There was only one Dark Lord. If Wormfinger wanted to gather up his followers and claim the throne, he’d need to get rid of me first.