Shadowcroft Academy Year 2 - Chapter Fifteen

That night, Logan headed down the spiral staircase that led to the school’s library—he had his friends had a study session tonight. Originally, they’d planned on an extra training session in the arena, but after what had happened in the Mines of Madness Logan could hardly walk. It had taken Ned and Zed—the Treegee medics—hours to put his guardian form back together, and Logan still wasn’t one hundred percent. Lady Elesiel’s skeletal minions had definitely gone overboard in their butchery. It seemed they were disgruntled at taking an L to someone like Logan.

He paused on the way down, huffing and puffing thanks to his injuries. He leaned against the handrail and peered at his reflect in the far wall. This was the Stairwell of True Seeing and it was one of the most unsettling places in all of Arborea—at least as far as Logan was concerned. The mirror didn’t show what was, but rather revealed what had once been. Instead of seeing the yellow body of a Shroomian Acolyte, he saw his old human body. He inspected himself and took a minute to flex his five slender fingers and touch his nose and lips and hair.

That hair business now felt so strange. He hadn’t been human in a year. Not only did he save money on haircuts, but he also didn’t have to worry about styling the cap of rubbery mushroom flesh on his head. And he liked his yellow color. More than that, he had a true purpose in his life now—guard the Tree of Life and bring Apothos energy to Earth to make sure his home planet didn’t wither completely.

He also had some of the best friends of his life. Back on Earth, he’d never been as close to anyone as he was to Inga, Marko, and Treacle. During his Army years, he’d served and deployed with men who he considered brothers, but Inga, Marko, and Treacle had literally shared their souls together. Together, they’d overcome the impossible and were better for it. Honestly, not being human anymore wasn’t that big of a deal. Logan did occasionally miss his Uncle Bud, but for the most part, he felt incredibly lucky that he’d been devoured by a video game mimic.

Logan left the mirror and walked through the Undercroft Lobby, past the tasteful turtle fountain, and through the doors of the Codex Athenaeum. Across from the Library were the Tartarucha Cells, the virtual dungeon that allowed dungeon cores to run a variety of scenarios while expending far less Apothos. Thanks to a bargain he’d made with Professor Hellgazer, he had a standing appointment every Monday night. And all it had cost him was regular deliveries of rare Opal Truffle Mushrooms. The Professor couldn’t get enough of them but they were both costly and rare outside of Apothos rich world of Eritreus.

And Logan was more than happy to give Professor Hellgazer her fix. Practicing with Inga in the virtual dungeon had proved vital to their success.

Logan walked into the most dangerous library in existence.

His steps faltered when he saw a thirty-foot long bright red cobra sleeping amongst the bookshelves. That was new. Though not completely unexpected. The head librarian, Madame Orry Gammy, was an odd bird and stocked the library with almost as many monsters and traps as she did with books and periodicals.

And speaking of Madame Orry Gammy, the Papyrus Harpy descended like vengeful wraith the second Logan steeped foot into the library. She put a folded paper finger to her paper lips. “Shhhh. She’s sleeping.”

Logan nodded in reply, keeping his mouth shut. He had no idea what the crimson cobra was but clearing waking it up would be a bad idea. Quiet as a mouse, Logan wound his way to the back of the library, avoiding a rather simple electricity trap near the card catalogue. After dodging a set of poison pin darts and crossing an acid-filled moat, he was soon with his friends. The sun had already set, but a glow still reddened the waters of Loch Endless. Like their rooms in the Ladder Hole, the library was underground but had windows carved into the cliffs above the waterline.

As usual, Inga already had a pile of books around her. One of her arms was a sling, and she had a bandage on her neck. Logan wasn’t the only one who had taken a few licks from Lady Elesiel’s minions.

Marko was leaning back in his chair, sleeping, while Steve played cat’s cradle with some ribbons that looked suspiciously like they had come from the undead cheerleader’s sword pommels. Treacle chewed cud and fiddled with a little electronic bull about the size of a loaf of bread. The toy bull opened his riveted mouth and let out a sleepy moo. Electricity arced between the bull’s sharp horns.

Logan plopped down at the table next to the minotaur and across from Inga.

“Whatcha got there, Treac?” he asked.

The minotaur shrugged. “I was just doing some preliminary work for our Intermediate Crafting class. I have to find a way to make life interesting. Otherwise, I am crushed by the thought of my own existence. That, and I don’t like being bored.”

“Sounds rough,” Logan said.

“Current events are far from tedious,” Inga insisted. “We’ll get to the mysterious deaths of both Professor Thozz Grimemaw and poor Edward in a moment, but first…did you know that there is an entire school of origami for napkins on Eritreus? Not only do you have to consider the sizes, shapes, types, and configurations of your dinnerware, but the fold of your napkins are crucial to the dining experience. For example, you can’t use the swan fold for an Aldaleeran gambit.” She started breathing hard and her face lost all color.

It was clear that her elective cutlery class with Nekhbet was taxing her on every level.

“What is this Aldaleeran business?” Logan asked. “And you said gambit. Is this dinner or a chess game?”

Inga held up a finger, trying to catch her breath. She inhaled, held it, closed her eyes and finally calmed herself. “Did you know that a thousand years ago on Eritreus, if your dining strategies were not perfect, there was a chance you’d be beheaded? It’s both dinner and chess, Logan.”

“You know about chess?” Logan asked.

Treacle swallowed cud. “Everyone knows about chess. It’s only the most popular game ever invented. There are at least a thousand variants, too. I prefer Plimpkinny chocolate chess. You eat the pieces as you lose them. As for Aldaleera? That’s an interesting story. I remember as a boy, my mother—”

Inga cut him off. She was normally polite, but sometimes her brilliant mind couldn’t help but jump subjects, or ignore questions, or simply take a slash-and-burn approach to conversation. “We’ve no time for chess or delightful anecdotes! I’ve been doing some research on the sigils you saw on the floor of the Blasted Barrow’s inner sanctum, and I’ve found something rather disturbing. Or interesting. It’s hard to tell which. Here, have a look.”

She spun the big tome she’d been reading around to show Logan. He saw a single rune hand-drawn on the pages. The text under was printed in very precise letters. Whatever magic that had transferred Logan’s soul into his mushroom body also allowed him to read most of the languages of the various creatures in the Ashvattha Universe.

Inga was too excited to simply allow him to read it, though.

“That’s a rune from Bharoosh, and it means South,” she said, nearly bouncing in her seat. “This makes sense because the Blasted Barrows are the southernmost dungeon on Arborea. But that little cross-section?” She traced a finger over a slash in the rune. “It also means bird, as in the bird of the south. Stranger still? The little swoop at the top also refers to the color red, and not just any red, but the red of fire.”

“I think I know where you’re going with this.” Logan felt his fungal brow furrow. He was trying to think, but every time Steve adjusted the ribbon he had in his plaster fingers, his joints would squeak.

Marko, without opening his eyes, answered. “Yes, it’s the red bird of the fiery south coming to barbecue our souls.”

Inga grimaced and rubbed at the bridge of her nose with one slim hand. “No. Obviously that’s wrong and I suspect you know that, Marko. At least, I hope you do. If you don’t, it’s even worse.”

Logan turned the book to the side, to get a different perspective of the rune. “I’m thinking the southern dungeon must be special to the vermillion phoenix. I mean, that’s literally a red firebird.”

“Yes!” Inga said. Then, “Please, Steven, your squeaking is very distracted.”

Steven worked the ribbons harder until Marko opened his eyes and laid a hand on Steve’s arm. “Easy, guy. It’s just a game of Aldaleeran cat’s cradle. Don’t get so worked up—you know your heart can’t handle the stress.”

Did Steve even have a heart, Logan wonder. But either way, Steve folded the ribbon and sat unmoving. That was somehow the creepiest thing the mannequin could do—sit there like it wasn’t alive.

“Bharoosh is where Sir Rosencrantz Brandybutter was originally from, right?” Logan paused. “And that’s also where Nightfall University is. Our buddy Melvin transferred from there.”

“Speaking of, gods above but his pastries are amazing,” Marko said. “I can forgive a guy a lot if he can feed the goat. And Melvin? That guy can feed the goat.”

Inga waved the nonsense away. “What are you saying, Logan? Do you think Melvin might be behind the murders here? I checked with the school’s records, and Melvin R. Chevalier had signed into student housing the week before Thozz Grimemaw was killed. I suppose it could be him, based solely on the timeline.” She tapped at her bottom lip thoughtfully.

“That first death took place in the westernmost dungeon, correct?” Logan asked. “I wonder which dungeon that was special to.”

Marko blinked and then spoke in a monotone voice. “The Crystal Tiger of the West is for the headstrong and brave. They are the proud mavericks, determined to carve a different path. Their colors are white and orange.”

The satyr then smiled. “See? I can be zombie student regurgitating facts. Boom. Mystery solved. Now we know exactly what’s going on.” He paused, lips scrunched. “What’s going on?”

“We don’t know,” Logan said. “Only I can’t believe Melvin would be behind the murders. If anything, I would think it would be Chadrigoth. He’s been so on edge lately. And acting weird. I mean even weirder than usual.”

“And having your minions put the beatdown on his girlfriend isn’t going to pull him back from that edge, friend-o,” Marko said. “In other news, I nabbed some minion ribbon for Steve.”

Steve didn’t move a single squeaky joint.

Logan stroked his chin with his fingers. “I’m not too concerned about Chadrigoth. Tet warned us that his summer didn’t go well. I’m wondering if he’d come back to Arborea at some point. If he wasn’t around during the Grimemaw incident, then he might be innocent of both murders.”

Inga had another thought. “I also need to study more on what Professor Grimemaw was doing at the Cruelwood. He was set to teach Ritual Revival and Reincarnation this year. From the little I know, Grimemaw was fascinated with the energy transfer from broken cores… as in how our dungeon cores interact with the Tree of Souls once they are cracked. He also was very interested in the history of Arborea. Rumor has it, he was surpassingly frustrated that Bart was our teacher and not him. I mean Professor Nekhbet. Lastly? Grimemaw was very good at knitting. Exceptional by all accounts.”

Marko snapped his fingers. “That’s it. This Grimemaw character is knitting tea cozies while Melvin is baking scones for a tea party of unimaginable evil. It’s all about the tea party, my friends. Diabolical.”

Inga shook her head. “Must you always be joking?”

“Who’s joking?” Marko asked, feigning hurt.

Treacle spoke up. “Don’t think just because Melvin can cook that he can’t be a killer. In Plimpkinny, there are many stories of gnomish serial killer bakers.”

“Death has never been so sweet,” Mark announced in an ominous voice

Logan had to give his friend a fist bump. That had been epic.

Still, Treacle did have a point. Maybe they shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the kitchen Ghast. The fact was, Melvin had been at the Blasted Barrows selling pastries and he’d been on campus before Grimemaw’s untimely demise. He made the opportunity, even if he didn’t seem like the cold blooded killer type. Had he created the Bharooshian sigils on the floor? Maybe. But why? What could his motive possibly be? What was the end game? There were just too many questions.

Treacle’s toy bull wiggled across the table and started to eat Steve’s stolen ribbon, one bite at a time.

“Uh, Treac, is that bad for your cow?” Logan asked.

The minotaur shrugged. “I’ll take it out of his stomach once he’s done. He’s happy. I’m glad someone is.”

“I’m happy.” Marko beamed. “I mean, we’re alive while Ed has joined the Tree. And Logan and Inga schooled Lady Elesiel today, which was amazing by the way. And while Inga’s cutlery class with Professor Boring Feathers might kill her, I think a part of her is enjoying the unnecessary complexity of deadly dining. Things are going swimmingly this year.”

“Except for Ed dying,” Logan pointed out.

“Except for Ed dying,” the goat man had to concede.

Inga’s antennae twitched on her head as she took the book back from Logan. “Now that we know a little about the sigils, I can delve into more ancient Bharooshian texts. This rune is at least ten thousand years old, if not older, and if I’m not mistaken, Headmaster Shadowcroft was from Bharoosh originally. He might know more. We should take the information to him.”

Treacle grunted laughter. “Good luck. Skip is never around, and when he is, he’s very distracted. Our best bet is Professor Arketa.”

Marko nodded. “I’ll talk to the Hellgazer. She has a crush on me I’ll have you know, and I’m not scared of her terrifying gaze.”

“She’s with Rockheart,” Logan was quick to point out.

The satyr blew air through his lips. “Like that’s a thing. No, Arketa and I have a destiny. She wants me. But I’m too much of a goat to ever settle down. It’s tragic, really.”

Inga rolled her eyes and sighed deeply—is this really what my life has become, that expression said.

“I’ll tell Professor Arketa what we know,” she insisted, this time more firmly. “For now, we need to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

Logan grabbed a book on the Arborean dungeons, flipped open the cover, and found a map of the realm. “We have the Bloodrock in the north, in the Heckish Hills. And we have the Submerged Hell to the east, in the middle of Loch Endless.”

Inga took up his line of thought. “And if each dungeon matches the Four Celestial Ancestor—the Bloodrock would have a connection to the Onyx Tortoise of the North, while the Submerged Hell would be special to our clan, the Azure Dragon.”

Marko laughed. “Looks like we’ll have to pay special attention to Mr. Boring Feathers because I would think this would all be covered in our history class this year.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t call him that,” Inga muttered, stealing a hurt look at Marko. “Bert really is a very accomplishment and intriguing bird, if you would only take the time to get to know him.”

Then they got to studying in earnest, while Steve sat motionless and Treacle’s toy bull wandered about the table, his joints moved with the buzz of blue electricity.

On their way out, they made sure not to wake up the crimson cobra. They whispered goodnight to Madam Gammy and plodded back up the steps. All their old bodies were on display for the world. Inga was a tall owlish-creature with perfect feathers and a very sharp beak—she’d won a fair share of beauty contests back on Toriopa. Instead of a minotaur, Treacle was the glummest of bearded gnomes—barely even three feet tall—and not even his little red coned cap could make him look jolly. Marko was human with dark hair, dark eyes, and the same easy smirk. And then there was Logan, also human, but missing a leg.

No, despite the mysteries and dangers of Shadowcroft, Logan wouldn’t want to go back to his old life. His new life was far too interesting to ever leave behind.