Shadowcroft Academy For Dungeons: Year Two, page 37
The walls of Cruelwood’s inner sanctum were covered in twisting, gnarled roots, with little pools of brackish water caught in holes in the stone. It had changed since Logan had first come here with Professor Arketa. But they were always changing around the dungeons for one class or another.
Inga stood with a basket of cherry turnovers hanging from the crook of one arm. Books were piled on the sanctum’s pedestal, but the biggest and strangest was Melvin’s cookbook, cracked open and stuffed with bookmarks. The cover had an array of dazzling jewels set into the leather. Who bedazzled a cookbook?
Inga’s core gem spun lazily in midair over the tomes.
Her guardian form’s eyes gleamed like moonlight on a pond. “Logan, good, you’re here. Marko, Steve, and Treacle will be here any minute. There is a great deal of Apothos energy in this dungeon, but there should be, since this is one of the Cardinal Dungeons. Once we’re done, perhaps I’ll write my own book on Cardinal Dungeons Theory—one that will not be so dry.”
Steve came lumbering in on squeaking joints. The mannequin bent over, hands on his rusted metal knee joints, creaking as if he were gasping for breath.
He turned his head, clearly confused by something, and then went squeaking back out of the room.
It was like he’d never shown up at all.
Inga went on. “The Apothos signature of the crime scene is still here, though you’d need to know how to calibrate the energy to unlock the mystery. Luckily, that was in the fourth appendix of The Stone Hermeneutic. That was the paragraph that put you to sleep.”
Logan winced. “Fourth appendix. Right.”
Inga’s gem flashed, and a gleam of true excitement glimmered in her eyes. “Pluck my back feathers! This is so exciting! Watch now.”
Ethereal silver light danced and swirled around the room; straight ahead the ghostly figure of an undead guardian form manifested. It was like watching a memory. The guardian was lying facedown in the middle of the floor, right in the center of a runic circle pulsing with glowing red sigils. The pools reflected the light.
Steven came running back in a moment later. This time, Marko and Treacle were with him.
Marko wasn’t in very good shape, and he’d been sprinting, so he went staggering across the floor. He fell onto his back right next to the glowing corpse of the undead core. “Oh, that was a run. I napped to save my energy for partying, not running. Totally different muscle groups.”
Treacle’s horn lights flickered off as he surveyed the inner sanctum. “Thanks for waiting for us,” he grunted. “I suppose if you both had been killed, we could’ve avenged you. Or helped, you know, save you so you didn’t die in the first place. That’s the better plan. But what do I know?”
“Dear Treacle, you are such a sweetheart, but never fear, we aren’t going to die!” Inga insisted.
Marko turned to his side to gaze into the rubbery gray flesh, hollow cheeks, and deep-set eyes of the necro-ghoul dungeon core. “Hey, that’s Ozzy! Hey, Oz, is it me, or do you look more dead than usual?”
Of course, Thozz Grimemaw’s corpse didn’t say a word. His gem was shattered, and the ghostly memory of Apothos leaked out and dripped onto a certain rune on the floor. Or at least it had when the professor had been killed the previous summer.
Marko sat up and leaned back on his arms. “Hey, why is my buddy Ozzy glowing?”
Logan marched over. “I’m sorry, I feel like I’m missing something. That’s the dead professor,” he said, pointing at the glowing corpse. “You’re saying you knew him?”
Marko reached out a hand, and Logan drew up. “Ozzy’s not a professor. Wait...” He trailed off. “Actually, that would explain a lot. He talked about unlocking doors. Or cages. Something. He wasn’t that much fun when he wasn’t singing. Luckily, he mostly came to the Wayfarer Inn to sing happy drinking songs and to complain about elf stuff. He was an elf before he died. His name had three—count ’em, three—y’s. And he talked about all these stupid spells and incantations. He was working on some sort of massive ritual revival spell thing.”
Treacle covered his cow face with both hands.
Inga marched over and smacked Marko’s head. “And you’re just now telling us?”
Steve squeaked over and also smacked Marko.
The satyr raised his furry hands to protect himself. “Hey, whoa. Uncalled for. How was I supposed to know that my drinking buddy Ozzy was the same dude who died in this dungeon? I mean, it wasn’t like we were that close. For example, if Treacle died... wait... bad example. If Logan died, I would totally know. Or Inga. Or the guy who makes the cherry turnovers. If that guy bit the dust, I would totally get a dustpan.”
Treacle shook his head sadly. “If I died, no one would notice. You have Steve. He’s really the fourth member of the cohort.”
Inga raised a defiant finger. “That is not true, Treacle. We tolerate Steve. We love you.”
“Sure you do.” Morose sighs followed.
Marko playfully punched the minotaur’s arm. “I was kidding, Treac. If you died, I’d totally know in three to four business days. If you died on a weekend, I’d know by like Wednesday. Thursday at the very latest.”
Logan drew the satyr and the minotaur over to the pedestal.
Inga joined them and motioned to the book with her basket of pastries. “We’re still missing a few pieces, but this is definitely starting to make more sense. Melvin had a recipe for Spicy Eastern Dragon Balls, and the Apothos signatures here are for the Azure Dragon. The symbols here match the symbols in his book. And did you know that the Azure Dragon, also known as Vilhelm Audax, was originally from Bharoosh? So was William of the Scales.”
“What other recipes are there?” Logan asked.
It was like Inga hadn’t heard the question. “Spicy Eastern Dragon Balls are from a continent east of Nightfall University. You need actual dragon meat for them, so it’s not like you could just take chicken and add peppers.”
“Other recipes, Inga?” Logan pressed.
Even though Inga’s consciousness was in her gem, her guardian form nodded. “Right. Melvin also had a Southern Fried Phoenix recipe. The Blasted Barrows, the southern dungeon where Ed was killed, matches the Vermillion Phoenix. And under Melvin’s desserts, where I found the cherry turnovers, he had a recipe for Western Sugar Crystals—that matches the Submerged Hell, and it’s special to the Crystal Tiger. Lastly, Northern Turtle Soup, which, you guessed it, is the northernmost dungeon, the Bloodrock, which is sacred to the Onyx Tortoise. Supposedly, the recipes are all based on the continents of Bharoosh, but each of them is starred.”
Marko made a face. “I’ve had turtle soup. Not a fan. I like turtles too much. This guy is sick.”
Inga quickly leafed through the pages. “Oh, it gets better. Melvin put his heart and soul into this book. He literally wrote that in the introduction. He also included all these notes in his cookbook, but they were encrypted. It took me a bit to break the code, but I eventually did because of my extensive knowledge of codes and runes. I know why he encrypted the notes—he wouldn’t want people reading them. For example, under the Spicy Eastern Dragon Balls he wrote, ‘Young dragon tenderloins work best—I could kill Verminaxx on Tull. I hate him. He made fun of me. They say revenge is best served cold, but I will serve up my vengeance hot and greasy, with a spicy chili sauce.’”
Treacle snorted. “Let me guess. Verminaxx on Tull disappeared.”
“Yes!” Inga nearly shouted. “There is no one named Verminaxx running a dragon’s lair anywhere. And if you read through these recipes, he has all these enemies. I confirmed some were killed, but others I’m not sure about. I couldn’t find information on some of these, but his cookbook is a list of the people he wanted to kill and eat. He also mentioned something about a chef achieving immortality if a recipe caught on, something about enduring gastronomic energies. It could be he thought if he cooked and ate these people, he would live forever. He’s insane. Completely insane. And I’m telling you, there is no such thing as strangle cherries.”
Inga put the basket down on the book. “Here. All of you. I made some of his cherry turnovers, and they’re close, but they’re still not right. I made them with choke cherries, but they were all I could find.”
They all tasted the pastries. Logan thought they were fine, but Marko got angry. “This villain. Using fictitious cherries. Does his madness have no end?”
“We’re going to end it,” Inga said fiercely. “But I confirmed that the Apothine energies in the Cardinal Dungeons match the four Celestial Ancestors. Which match his starred recipes.”
She pushed aside the basket, and it nearly fell, but Logan caught it.
Inga laid The Stone Hermeneutic on top of Melvin’s cookbook. “We all know that Shadowcroft Academy for Dungeons was the first of its kind, but that isn’t the only reason it’s so unique. Shadowcroft is also the only dungeon academy that exists inside its own pocket dimension. The Stone Hermeneutic suggests it is actually one massive dungeon, which would make the headmaster the dungeon core. More interesting still, there was a little detail I missed early on.” She flipped to the very back of the book. She tapped on the page with one slender finger.
Logan’s eyes widened as he read what was there. “The author dedicated the book to Thozz Grimemaw?” he said, equal parts statement and question.
“Who’s that?” Marko asked.
Steven smacked his head again.
Logan was glad.
Inga’s guardian core was shaking with excitement. “Yes indeed. The dedication wasn’t in the front, which is why I didn’t think to look for it initially, but there was a whole page at the back, after the fourth appendix. I also checked, and the last person to check the book out, before me, was Professor Grimemaw.”
“Makes sense,” Marko said, bobbing his head. “Ozzy could make friends fast.”
Inga waved his jokes away. “I also found a piece of parchment tucked away in the back of the book. Ozzy’s notes. I mean, Professor Grimemaw—may he find an eternal home in the Tree of Souls. He thought that the entire realm, all the dungeons but especially the Cardinal Dungeons, was guarding a tremendously powerful but potentially dangerous source of Apothos. Could it be the explosion of energy from when the Four Celestial Ancestors killed William of the Scales? That would make sense. Regardless, Ozzy believed that there were Four Cardinal Seals that acted as a locking mechanism to keep this power contained. He believed he could unlock those seals. I think Grimemaw was working on a book—Madam Gammy thought he was, at any rate.”
Marko nodded. “Sure. Write a book. Make a fortune. Become famous. Retire to Eritrea and buy silverware for every season.”
Treacle tried to put the brakes on that conversation. “Inga, don’t get distracted. Forget that he mentioned silverware.”
“Thanks, Treac.” Logan finished off the mediocre pastry. “Okay, so why was this professor going to unlock the four cages? Or break the seals. Or break open the doors. To what end?”
Inga touched the pages of the book. “Presumably to consume the power for himself. But it seems things went terribly awry when he activated the seal, and it somehow resulted in his death. He must have shared his research with someone who turned on him. But it couldn’t have been Chadrigoth—he was off world when the first murder happened. And while Chadrigoth is certainly capable of this, I don’t think he’s behind any of it. But Melvin? Not only do we have his cookbook, which shows he’s a vengeful psychopath, but he also knew about the Cardinal Dungeons. Professor Nekhbet just mentioned that when we talked to them after the field trip. And people smelled the cherry pastries. Also, Melvin transferred during the summer. He would’ve been here. It all adds up.”
Inga must’ve seen the look on Logan’s face.
Her antennae twisted toward him. “Yes, Melvin saved you. Fine. But should I go into detail about his satyr kabobs? Or his stuffed fungaloid mushrooms? And he has a minotaur tartare recipe, which he claims is a joke, but the notes definitively point to some guy named Barry Goldenhorns, a minotaur, who Melvin wants to eat.”
“And eat them raw apparently,” Treacle said gloomily.
Marko clopped back and forth on his hooves, thinking, while Steven squeaked after him, mirroring his restless pacing. “If Melvin is our murderer, I find it just this side of heartbreaking. I was really starting to like that weirdo. So what do we do now?”
Inga swept her gem back into her guardian form. The runes on the floor, the body of the dead professor, all vanished. For a second, the room was dark, or at least Logan had the impression it was dark. He could see just fine.
Treacle’s horn lights flashed on.
Inga began pulling her books back into the Ring of Pockets. The tomes disappeared, one at a time. “Well, Melvin has broken the seals on two of the dungeons—this dungeon and the southern dungeon. To open the seals, you need to shatter a dungeon core’s soul gem. You can’t see the evidence, but I assure you, two of the locks are broken. Professor Arketa must’ve picked through this place with a fine-tooth comb. She wouldn’t have found anything out of place. Why would she? Whoever created the Cardinal Dungeons wouldn’t want their true nature known. They wanted to keep the Apothos trapped for some reason.”
Logan knew what they had to do. “Melvin failed with the Submerged Hell. Tet survived.”
“That’s right.” Inga stuffed the last book into the ring. “One more thing about Melvin’s starred recipes. In a traditional Bharooshian feast, you have the spicy dragon balls first, then the southern fried phoenix, and the crystal candies act as a palate cleanser. You eat the delicacy last, and that would be the Turtle Soup Dungeon in the north.”
“Please, Inga.” Marko exhaled in fake frustration. “Can we just call things by their real names?”
“Fine. It’s the Bloodrock.”
The Bloodrock was a mountain dungeon in the Heckish Hills of the World Forge Wastes. They’d walked by it a hundred times on their way to Professor Crucible’s crafting class.
Inga continued. “I think the spell is called the Evocation of the Golden Chains. He would need to break the third and fourth seals to free the power source.”
Logan wasn’t going to let that happen. “Maybe we can stop it before it ever gets that far. We need to lure Melvin into the Submerged Hell and try to get him to break the third seal. If we can do that, we’ll have proof that he’s behind it and then we’ll be able to go to Rockheart and lay out our theory. Here’s what I’m thinking...”
While he told them his plan, Logan’s mind wandered to all their unanswered questions. Who had created the seals in the Cardinal Dungeons, why had no one known about them, and what was this mysterious power source? Lastly, while Inga’s research was excellent, it hadn’t explained that strange chanting that Tet heard—Will yum yum yum ghan. That had to be what Melvin thought of his own food—yum, yum, yum.
Or was it Will Yum as in William of the Scales?
Logan wasn’t sure about that, but he was certain that Melvin deserved an Academy Award for his performance in the Dry Desert on his homeworld of Bharoosh. And to think, Logan had felt bad for hurting Melvin’s feelings. It had been a ruse the entire time. Melvin wasn’t there to be friends with Logan and the Terrible Twelfth.
Hard to be friends with someone who wanted to kill you, marinate you, and serve you up with a nice chianti.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
By the next night, Logan and the Terrible Twelfth had created the perfect trap for Melvin in the Submerged Hell.
Logan had bonded with the rest of his cohort so that they would be able to communicate instantaneously and at a distance. He and Inga had taken over the dungeon. Both their gems floated above the inner sanctum’s pedestal. They’d reduced the number of water features dramatically, and now little murky streams flowed where there were once torrents. They kept a few thin waterfalls of brackish water to liven up the place.
Logan hadn’t packed the place with mushrooms, but he’d added a few patches here and there, as if they were just getting started. They’d also removed the yellow ribbon blocking the entrance and extended a staircase up to the surface, creating a little dock to make it even easier for the kitchen ghast.
Treacle created a boat that ran on his AFS Core Improvement. Treacle would keep his distance and follow Melvin into the Submerged Hell, alerting them the second the ghast got into range. From there, the minotaur would trail at a safe distance, ready to unleash mechanized hell if the ghast so much as twitched a finger wrong or tried to retreat before they ambushed him. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Unlike most dungeons, they hadn’t loaded this one with a thousand rooms or endless traps—they wanted him to make it to the inner sanctum, and they’d practically rolled out the red carpet for him.
Logan and Inga hid behind a little trickle of water in one of the mushroom patches.
As for Marko... well, he was the bait. Out of all the Terrible Twelfth, he seemed the most ridiculous and the most vulnerable. Marko had jumped on the idea of being a goatish damsel in distress. He’d even put on a silk dress with ample petticoats—Marko insisted he was a method actor, and he needed to be in the right “headspace” to play the role. But petticoats and corset aside, Marko was ready to tangle. He’d decorated the sanctum walls with living artwork and set up ambient lightning, which cast deep pools of shadow—shadows he could draw deadly, Lovecraftian horrors from. Plus, he had Steve just in case everything else fell to pieces.
They’d drafted a carefully worded message to Melvin, asking him to come and help Marko with a few things, including a bad batch of cherry turnovers some lesser cook had baked. They’d also dropped more than a few hints that Marko would be alone.
The trap was all set, and it wasn’t long before the ghast came waddling straight into it like rabbit headed for a snare.
Logan used the power of the dungeon to watch the ghast from overhead; Melvin didn’t seem remotely concerned and never even bothered with a backward glance toward Treacle. Melvin was awfully oblivious for a diabolical killer. He also didn’t look the part, in his oversized shoes and chef’s whites, his black fedora topping off the ensemble. But that just went to show that you couldn’t judge a book by its cover.
