The Game of Sunken Places Read online

  “Oh. But who’s the Speculant?”

  “You’d know him if you saw him. Whoo. About eight feet tall, very skinny, wears a black cape and wide hat, has sort of a beaky nose like mine? Verrrrry ugly?”

  “I’ve seen him! I just saw him last night! He was talking to Mr. Grendle!”

  “That’s him, I betcha. He gets around. He’s in charge of coordinating the Game. A sort of ‘man in the field.’”

  “What we don’t understand, though,” said Brian, “is what the Game is all about, or what it’s for. Or even what the rules are. There’s something about a vanished civilization that used to be near here.”

  The troll scratched behind his ear vigorously. “Uh, I can’t really help you there. I don’t know much. The Speculant doesn’t exactly drown you in information. I think he’s embarrassed about his voice or something. Doesn’t talk much. Usually just says things like, ‘The Sands of Time dribble through the darkened hourglass.’ ‘There shall come a time when the Rules bind fast the players in bonds of Game.’ That kind of thing. He’s sort of strange, actually. Not the kind of guy I’d like to meet on a dark night.”

  Brian glanced quickly at the troll, who stared, preoccupied, off into the distance.

  Brian asked, “Do you—hey—do you know the way through that labyrinth of mounds?”

  “Sure. Yeah. The way through to what?”

  “To something other than the Haunted Hunting Grounds and Fundridge’s Folly? Some other route we might take. We’re stuck, because to go farther in the direction we’ve started, we need a propeller.”

  “I don’t know a thing about propellers. But I can take you to the Hill of Shadow and the Crooked Steeple.”

  “That would be great.”

  Kalgrash walked into the labyrinth and proceeded to scramble up onto one bank and then another, peering over the crests to get his bearings, then leaping down the slopes to direct Brian. After several minutes, they reached the Ceremonial Mound.

  Brian noticed that Kalgrash got quieter as they neared it. Just as they were about to walk out into the clearing with the burnt Ski-doo, Kalgrash ordered, “Wait. Just a second.” He snatched a thick stick from the ground and, clutching it with his knees, proceeded to wrap his scarf tightly around his eyes. Then he took the stick and began to work his way out into the clearing, beating the ground in front of him.

  “What are you doing?” Brian asked.

  “I can’t look at the Ceremonial Mound. It’s a bit painful. Tell me if I’m going the right way.”

  “Uh, I don’t know which way is right,” Brian apologized.

  “Aha! That’s so. Three paths to the right!”

  Brian guided the troll out of the clearing. “What’s wrong with the mound?”

  “I don’t know. A lot of the magic in these woods is all knotted and roped around it. It just hurts.” He pulled the scarf off from around his head and re-looped it on his shoulders. As they walked through the maze, Brian asked, “So where does this path go, after the steeple you mentioned?”

  “I don’t know. I never made it all the way up the Hill of Shadow. It’s quite a climb. And I was afraid of running into humans.”

  “Have you ever been seen by a human accidentally?”

  “Nope. The only other humans I’ve ever seen at all have been Mr. Grendle, who occasionally crossed the bridge with that daughter of his to have picnics on the other side…and I’ve seen a poacher. There are a few others—hikers, hunters—but usually they become the hunted after a while. If they stay in too long. Things are firmer now, because of the Game, but usually there are holes all over the place. Big things moving from place to place. People falling sideways at night. You hear a shriek, and whooom! they go past you. I’ll tell you, it’s dangerous. A few years ago, there was a pair of hunters who stayed out…at one of the places that isn’t safe. Clock Corner. I, um, I found them the next morning. It looked like a deli counter.” The troll made a face and walked on. “There wasn’t even much meat left on them. They really were only good as a soup base.”

  “You ate them?”

  “I hate to see meat go to waste.”

  “You ate human beings?”

  “Hey, no one else was using those remains.”

  For a minute, the two walked in silence.

  “Sorry,” said Kalgrash.

  “What was it that killed them?”

  “It could have been lots of things. There are all kinds of things living in here. And I wouldn’t put it over the Speculant himself. If someone was interfering with the Game.”

  Brian scowled as they emerged from the Tangled Knolls and started up a slope. Black trunks of pine jutted out of a sweet-smelling carpet of lurid, red-orange needles. “This must be the Hill of Shadow,” Brian said. The path was steep, and Brian found himself pushing off with his palms on his knees to force himself up the hill. The troll skipped along as lightly as ever, his scarf trailing and picking up pine needles. As they walked, Kalgrash, whose television reception was poor, asked questions about the outside world. He was fascinated by airplanes and condensed milk and mail service. “Airplanes. Wow. It’s hard to believe that some people take them for granted,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to fly. I used to dream I was a bird all the time. That would be great, except it was always a penguin.”

  They wandered upward, talking in this vein, until they reached what appeared to be the peak of the hill. Large chunks of rock were sticking out of the garish pine needles, gripped by tree roots. And, on the highest point of the hill, where dim vistas could be seen to all sides, sat the Crooked Steeple. A large, uneven monolith rose from a clump of scabby bushes, peering over the top of the pines.

  Brian exclaimed, “It must be forty or fifty feet tall!”

  “Mmm,” agreed Kalgrash.

  “Is it natural?”

  Kalgrash squinted upward and said, “Oooo, I should think so. Or maybe not. I don’t know. Hey, if you look at it one-eyed, though, it looks as if it’s falling toward you.”

  Brian shielded an eye with one hand and swiveled around. Then he dropped his hand and said, “Look. There’s a house down there.”

  “So there is,” said Kalgrash. “You’re not supposed to go off the paths, though.”

  “It’s just down there,” said Brian.

  “Hookay,” said the troll. “But if something bad happens to you, remember I get your flank steaks.”

  Brian shot him a dirty look.

  “Joking,” said Kalgrash.

  They headed down toward the house. The descent on the far side of the Hill of Shadow was rather steep. Several times, Brian found to his dismay that his attempts to dig his shoes into the soft dirt merely resulted in him scuffing the surface, sending him, supportless, bumping down the slope for several feet.

  They were in an overgrown yard. The house was a dilapidated 1960s ranch, one level above ground. It was pink and blue. The vinyl siding hung loosely on the walls. Black rot was creeping from underneath the siding. The house’s windows were grimy. Its sliding glass doors had been broken by rocks.

  The rocks had been thrown from the inside.

  Brian and Kalgrash crept around to the front of the house. A dirt road went by the drive. The bushes were growing wild. The front door was open.

  Brian went to the driveway, where an early 90s–model Toyota was parked, its windows down, its seats white with mildew. He looked around the overgrown yard. The grasses were growing tall.

  Kalgrash was pointing to the foil letters stuck on the mailbox. He whispered, “I can’t read. What’s that say?”

  Brian sighed.

  He answered, “Grendle.”

  At the mansion, it was time for a cup of medicinal tea. Gregory was lying in the nursery, half-reading a book, half-considering where he could get a propeller. In The Primrose Void, Pobb’s old school chum returned from Africa, gripped with a strange flu he’d caught from eating carrion; Lucinda heard the Selbys talking about it in the hall—she rose slowly from the pianoforte, her face still a
nd strained. She moved to the French doors, walked like some gliding phantom across the lawn, and silently passed into the green shadows of the topiary garden. She always liked to cry under the griffin. Gregory looked up. Something was bothering him. Something he had been looking at.

  He couldn’t quite…

  Aha.

  There it was.

  The propeller. The thing they needed for the next step toward the hidden kingdom.

  It had been in front of them all along.

  He dropped the book without marking his page.

  He ran down the stairs. “Uncle Max,” he said. “Uncle Max!”

  The old man was sitting in the library, drawing diagrams in pencil.

  “Tomorrow, Brian and I are going exploring underground. We’re going to need provisions. We might not come back for a while.”

  Uncle Max stared at him.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry, but we have to.”

  Uncle Max rose.

  Gregory tried to stop shifting from leg to leg. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I didn’t.”

  Uncle Max said, “I like this. I like this a great deal. You’re not some little whimpering starveling like your friend there. No, sir. No, Gregory. When you get ill, your first thought—spelunking. Camping out. Breathing in the good, frigid air.” Uncle Max strode over and hit Gregory on the shoulder. Gregory stumbled and started coughing as Uncle Max exclaimed, “No hothouse flower, you! You, boy, are a testament to our sex. I like that. I like that very much. Bully. Bully for you.” He hit Gregory on the back this time. Gregory stumbled in the other direction and started coughing again.

  “Burk!” hollered Uncle Max over the hacking. “Burk! Daffodil! I want packs made up! My tent! Bedrolls! Sandwiches! Water! Lanterns!” He clapped his hands once. “By goodness, bring out my old campaign chairs! You will adore these chairs, boy. Very light. Just twenty or thirty pounds each, and you can sit in peace anywhere and smoke while you survey the field of battle and watch your Johnny Rebel enemies cut down like wheat before your very eyes.”

  Great, thought Gregory to himself. This is starting to sound like just the kind of picnic I want to miss.

  Brian and Kalgrash hardly dared to enter the house.

  Over the whole place, there was the smell of decay. It was the wall-to-wall carpeting. It had sprouted mushrooms in the living room. They were black now, and dead with the cold. Their fragile heads were bowed down, mulching on the shag.

  There was almost no furniture left. Brian and Kalgrash stared down the hallway past the living room. There were display shelves built into the wall. Something had been left on one of them and had melted, leaving thick yellow strands that drooped to the floor.

  The two walked down the hall, their heels grinding on the dirt. It echoed through the empty rooms. Cables trailed out of the walls, connected to nothing. In some places, near the heaters, there were streaks of black, the outlines of easy chairs picked out in negative.

  In the kitchen, the refrigerator was open, both the cooler and the freezer sides. The refrigerator’s plastic shelves were spotted with orange. It no longer hummed. Brian pushed the doors closed gently, like someone closing the eyes of the dead.

  The stove had been dismantled with an ax. Huge black slices cut into the metal.

  The dining room still had a table in it. Whitened by the weather, it stood near the broken sliding glass doors. Pine needles and leaves had blown in, leaving sticky white trails of sap.

  The door to the basement was open. It looked like, at one point, the basement had been finished. There was old wallboard on the stairs. Kalgrash’s breath was uneasy. He was sniffing the air.

  They walked carefully down the steps. The basement was a mess. There was broken furniture, broken glass.

  “What happened here?” Kalgrash whispered.

  “I don’t know,” said Brian.

  Their voices echoed and whispered about the rooms as they talked. Their footsteps crackled and clunked loudly on the rubbish, sending worrying sounds through all of the abandoned rooms, the closets brown with mildew, the vacant bedrooms.

  Brian peered in through a doorway. The floor was carpeted. There were windows high on the wall, just above ground level. The wallpaper had big sunflowers. It looked like a girl’s room.

  There were smears of old blood on the rug.

  “Blood,” said Kalgrash.

  He sniffed. “Human,” he added.

  That was when they heard someone walking upstairs.

  Slowly and deliberately, someone was pacing from room to room.

  Brian was breathing so quickly, he started to see spots. He could not stop staring at the dried puddles and swipes of gore on the rug. Kalgrash rushed to the window. He tried to force it open.

  The footfalls were in the kitchen. Slowly, steadily, they approached the basement door.

  Brian realized he would be fully in sight of someone on the stairs. He slipped into the bedroom behind Kalgrash. The troll was struggling with the window. It rattled in its frame, but would not budge.

  The footsteps were coming down the stairs.

  Brian couldn’t breathe. He held his chest. He was so frightened, he couldn’t even draw a breath. He sagged back against the wall.

  Jack Stimple stepped in.

  Brian gasped. “You’re dead.”

  Jack pointed to the stains on the carpet. “That was where he died.” Jack walked to that corner of the room and crouched down, and put his hands on the stains. “The real estate developer. Last summer. This is where they found him. The state police found him after a long search. His bones, wet and clean; his hair, of no use to anyone, clumped next to his skull; his shorts and T-shirt wrapped around them all like it was Christmas.” Jack smiled. “It was not a deliberate death. He saw things he should not have seen. He went insane. He ran through the woods. It’s my understanding that he found this house and hid here. He wouldn’t come out and show himself. He starved. Over days. He died. Then things found him.”

  Brian gasped again. “You’re dead.”

  “See,” said Jack, “if I were dead, I’d be moving less. That’s the funny way people are, when they’re dead.”

  “What are you?” Brian asked.

  “Well done. The ‘what,’ not ‘who.’ I’m a Thusser. That won’t mean anything to you. We live in mountains. But that doesn’t matter right now.”

  “We know you’re playing against us,” said Brian. “In the Game.”

  Jack twitched his arched eyebrows. “Mr. Thatz, you should not be here. That’s the point I’m trying to make. I’ve tried to make it clear several times. Now you see the place where the real estate developer died. This might make my argument stronger. I would recommend that you leave.”

  “Why? Why do you want me to leave?”

  “Because I care deeply about your safety.”

  “You don’t—”

  “Also, if you leave, you forfeit. The Game is over and my people win. Everybody wins. You live, we win.” He dug into his pocket. “Look. I have something for you. If you’ve decided to reject my offer of help, at least take this.” He drew out a small glass globe. It had two chambers in it. In one, there was a yellow liquid. In the other, a blue liquid. There was writing etched all over its surface. “I am going to give you the chance to quit. If you are ever in real trouble—if it ever comes down to a life-or-death situation—throw this on the ground. The chambers will break, there will be smoke, and I’ll come. I’ll remove you from the Game. You’ll forfeit automatically when you leave. I’ll win. But you’ll live.”

  “How does the globe work?” Brian asked suspiciously.

  “Magic,” said Jack. “Spells. Hocus-pocus. Alacazam.”

  Brian took it. “What are the Thusser Hordes?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what you’ve heard,” said Jack, glaring at the troll. “Your little potbellied friend should remember that if he tells you too much, he’s tampering. And if he tampers, the Speculant will get involved.
Remember that, little trollkin. Any cheating, and you’ll be even more mythological than you already are.

  “So look at the blood,” Jack continued. “Remember the danger. And run along.” He waved his hands. “Run along home. Leave Maximilian Grendle’s land. This isn’t an adventure story for boys. Lassie is not coming to the rescue. He’s not barking out instructions to the grown-ups. The grown-ups are involved in unforgivable things, and are making you their pawns.

  “Think about that.”

  Gregory was playing chess with Prudence in the sitting room when Brian returned. A fire burned in the hearth; Brian had seen its hazy smoke trailing above the brittle leaves from a ways off. He had run toward the house and burst in, short of breath.

  “Did you have a nice walk?” asked Prudence.

  “It was surprising,” said Brian. “Gregory, could I talk to you?”

  “It sounds nice,” said Prudence as she moved her queen nimbly out of the way of Gregory’s impatient bishop.

  “What did you find?” asked Gregory.

  “A house,” said Brian, looking carefully at Prudence. “A house near a steeple of stone.”

  “What?” said Gregory, turning back to the board.

  Brian was impatient. He started to go upstairs.

  “Will you excuse me?” Gregory said to his cousin. “It looks like someone has his underwear in a twist.”

  Brian was up on the landing. Gregory followed, gloating, “You’ll never guess what I found today.”

  “Listen—”

  “No, you listen. Guess what I found!” They entered the nursery.

  “What?”

  “I realized it earlier today, as I was sitting in here…well, trying to get a particularly big chunk out of my nostril or whatever.”

  “What?”

  “Look around, my friend! See a propeller appear before your very eyes!”

  Brian surveyed the room eagerly. China dolls were slumped on shelves. Teddy bears dangled threadbare arms. A hand-knit clown drooped onto a red-lipped sock monkey. Suddenly, the dark-haired boy cried softly, “The iron pinwheel!”