THOMAS SCREAMED AND SPUN toward the door, banging his shin on one of the bookshelves and tripping. Something landed on him in the blackness, something slippery and brittle that was all over him. Scrambling backwards, he pulled himself out from under whatever it was. With his back against the wall, he crouched, hands held out, ready to defend against what he couldn’t see.
The light came back on. Blinking in the sudden brightness, Thomas stood up. The thing that had landed on him was a Halloween skeleton made of plastic, and it was coated with something that looked a lot like blood. The door was ajar, and he heard fading laughter out in the tunnel.
He shook his head. Apparently the joke was on him.
Some joke. I almost shit in my pants.
Feeling both ashamed and angry, he began retracing his steps. His shin hurt, and he kept replaying his moments of panic over in his mind, wishing he’d acted differently. How could he be so stupid?
All I can say is my ten bucks better still be there.
At one of the tunnel branches, a figure loomed suddenly in front of him, wearing a garish costume fashioned to look like a cyrroth from The Gem Sword of Seryth. A cyrroth was a fierce, shaggy mercenary with great strength but a tendency to double-cross anyone foolish enough or desperate enough to employ him.
As much in turmoil as Thomas was, he couldn’t help admiring the authenticity of the costume, down to the sword that was permanently welded to a cyrroth’s arm in a rite that marked its passage from welph to adult.
“Nice costume, dude,” he said. “Don’t think much of your joke, though.”
“No passage without payment,” the cyrroth said. His voice was deep and mechanical, like Darth Vader’s. The costume must have a voice-morpher.
“I’d really just like to get out of here now,” Thomas said in annoyance.
“No passage without payment.”
“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Get out of my way, man.” He gave the cyrroth a shove, but the creature stood his ground.
“Fuck you, asshole, get out of my way now!” Thomas advanced on the cyrroth again, the anger he felt when he discovered he’d been tricked in the storage room boiling over. “Now!”
The cyrroth raised his sword. Thomas was steamed, and if he could get hold of the guy in the costume, he was going to pummel him. He’d never been so riled up before. Normally he would have avoided confrontation, but this time he kept going, and made a grab for the shaggy chest.
The sword cut through Thomas’s jacket and traced a hot line of pain across his left forearm.
Shit! This is for real!
The panic he’d felt in the storage room when the light went out returned tenfold. The sword was moving upward in a wide sweep, and when it came down, it would be heading for his neck. He looked around frantically for anything he could use to defend himself. Jamming his left hand in his pocket, he came out with the fake gem. He threw it as hard as he could, aiming right for the creature’s face. It bounced off with no effect. Thomas raised his right arm to fend off the sword. It came whistling down and bit deeper this time. For a moment, pain immobilized him. Blood flowed down his arm inside what was left of his coat sleeve. He felt the wet warmth of it running down his side and smelled his own fear. His arm dropped to his side uselessly.
His other hand pulled out his cellphone.
Trying to shove his panic down, he flipped open the phone, making it chirp a few notes. The familiar blue glow of the numbers gave him an idea. Straightening himself up, he summoned his voice and began shouting.
“Yeah, I’m calling the police, you weirdo! You stay away from me. Get the hell out of here!” It was all bluff. His phone had no reception in the tunnel. “I’m taking your fucking picture, too.” Snap, snap. He clicked a series of pictures. “The cops are gonna find you, freak!”
The distraction worked long enough for Thomas to dive to the side of the tunnel, roll, and come up on the other side of the creature. Then he ran like all the demons of Seryth were after him.