The Carnival of Lost Souls : A Handcuff Kid Novel (13 page)

“But the hinges are in the ground. And there’s a frame to it. No, this isn’t a random piece of junk that fell off a wagon. I think this is a real door.” Jack looked up at Jabber. “You gonna tell us about this?”

Jabber dug his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “You’re right. It’s a door.”

“Where does it go to?” T-Ray asked.

“Down, of course. It goes down.”

“Down where? We’re in the underworld, how much farther can we go, without getting a pitchfork in the butt?” Jack said.

“It’s the labyrinth.” A smirk spread across Jabber’s face.

“The what?” Jack said. He was starting to notice that Jabber had an annoying habit of keeping them on a need-to-know basis.

“What’s a labyrinth?” Runt asked.

“The labyrinth is an underground maze. It’s the domain of the Death Wranglers. It’s how they are everywhere and yet nowhere at the same time.” Jabber motioned to the ground. “The Death Wranglers are always around. You just can’t see them because they are beneath you. Probably right this very second.” Jabber motioned to a thick metal stand with a charred head. “The trapdoors are marked by torches at night, so they can be seen in the dark.”

Jack ran his fingers along the frame of the huge wooden door. “Let’s open it.”

“Absolutely not. Do I have to state the obvious? If you open the hatch, the beasts will figure out that we’re here. They’ll come after us.”

Jack turned his back on Jabber, more determined than ever to get a look into the labyrinth, especially since Jabber didn’t want him to. “Come on. Boxer, think you can get this hatch open?” Jack asked.

Boxer crossed his massive arms over his chest. “Sure, easy.”

“Then let’s see what’s down there,” Jack said.

Boxer wrapped his hands around the thick metal latch and heaved. The stiff metal groaned and Boxer grunted. Suddenly the hatch gave way, and the door lifted from the forest floor, revealing a secret passageway deep into the gut of the underworld. A gust of stale air flooded upward from the black pit. Jack kneeled close to the opening, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the underground tunnel. The walls of the labyrinth were lined with stone that met a hard-packed dirt floor. Black metal rungs welded into the slick stone wall beckoned Jack downward. He glanced up at the others.

“So, who’s interested in doing a little exploring?”

“Are you mad?” Jabber asked. “Now that you’ve had your look, it’s time to shut the trapdoor and get back to camp.”

“Come on. We can’t open up the hatch and not go down and take a look around.”

Jack’s heart beat like a bird caught in the cage of his chest, fear restless inside him. The cold, dank air that drifted up from the hole in the ground caused a flurry of goose bumps to race up his arms. But if he was going to escape the underworld, then he needed to get as much intel on his obstacles as possible, and getting this close to the Death Wrangler camp was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. If Mussini made a deal with the Death Wranglers to pass through the gate at the North Wall, then so could he—now he just had to figure out what the deal was.

“You’re crazy.” Runt peered down into the dark abyss. “They’ll rip you limb from limb and feast on your bones.”

“I’m not moving in down there. I just want to see what it’s like, take a look around, and get out. Easy.”

“This is ridiculous! Did you three sleep through Mussini’s story?” Jabber pointed down into the pit. “They live down there. They patrol down there. That is the hornet’s nest. You don’t want to go strolling around in the endless miles of tunnels. Do you have any idea what they are going to do to you if they catch you trespassing in their domain?”

“So we won’t get caught. We just want to take a quick look around. And if there are miles of tunnels, then there are more places to hide. They won’t even know we’re down there.”

“Look, you might have an early death wish, but they don’t.” Jabber poked Jack in the middle of the chest.

“We all die, so what’s the big deal, right? I’m gonna die here anyway, so I might as well go out big!” Jack yelled. T-Ray stepped forward, his eyes peering down into the labyrinth. Jack sensed an opportunity.

“I bet Boxer and T-Ray will go. They’re not chicken.”

Boxer shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Yeah, I’ll go. I’m not scared of the Death Wranglers.”

“Me too. I’ll go down.” T-Ray’s eyes darted around. “I mean, if Boxer’s going down, then I’ll do it.”

“Fine.” Jabber smirked. “Descend into the den of your greatest foe. I’ll wait here and listen for your screams.”

“I’ll wait here, too,” Runt said. “I’m not going to be a Death Wrangler appetizer.”

Jack went first. He clasped the cold metal rungs and climbed down. Immediately his foot slipped and he banged his knee hard on one of the lower rungs. He winced. It was hard to act the tough hero when his knee was throbbing. He dodged Jabber’s smug look and climbed deeper, the darkness of the pit enveloping him. His feet hit the dirt-packed floor, and when he looked ahead, torch-lit tunnels instantly absorbed the light like gaping, yawning mouths. Whichever way he looked, the tunnels offered the same threat.

The slick, seven-foot-tall stone walls were veined
with black, spidery mold. Pale gangly roots shoved their way through the cracks in the ceiling, reaching blindly like fingers. That’s when Jack noticed that the cracks in the ceiling weren’t cracks at all but gouges dug out by something sharp, like an ax or blade or
horns
. The heaviness of the earth pressed on his shoulders. A damp, musky smell filled the tunnel. The cold, thin air knifed through his lungs, and he coughed hard.

T-Ray jumped down, zipped his jacket, and pulled the hood up. An involuntary shudder jerked through him. Boxer landed next to him and gave him a nod. They seemed to have a silent agreement that made Jack wonder why they came down with him. Something was up, pushing them past their fear of the Death Wranglers and Mussini. But he could wait to find out until they were out of the monsters’ cave.

“All right, smart guy, what do we do now?” Boxer asked.

“We pick a direction and go.” Jack glanced down both sides of the tunnel. “I want to get a basic idea of what’s down here.”

“What are we looking for?” T-Ray asked. He fell into line behind Jack, with Boxer pulling up the rear.

“Anything that gives us clues about the Death Wranglers and how Mussini got on their good side.”

“I don’t think they have a good side. Mussini used his
magic to bribe them. He gave them something wondrous of unbelievable beauty.” Boxer looked embarrassed for a second. “At least that’s what I heard Jabber say one day when we were in town. The Death Wranglers are part human, and he figured out how to play to their egos.”

“That’s good to know.” Jack turned to T-Ray and Boxer. “As I see it, we’re a team. We’re still alive. If we stick together, we can escape the Forest of the Dead and get home.”

“What makes you think the Death Wranglers will talk to you? No offense, but you’re no Mussini.” T-Ray looked him up and down and shrugged.

Jack stood under a torch, rolled up his sleeve, and showed them his wrist. “Because I’ve got this.” The fine-lined compass, etched into his skin, looked like an old-time navigational device in the flickering light. “And I’m going to use it to find my way out of here.”

Boxer examined Jack’s mark under the torchlight. “The mark of Mussini. News flash: We’ve all got one. And no one but Jabber can figure it out. It’s worthless.” Boxer rubbed the dull mark on the back of his wrist.

“It doesn’t matter that it doesn’t work. I figure if we run into any of the Death Wranglers, at least I can show them that I’m in league with Mussini, and maybe they’ll make a deal with me to cross over the wall and get out of here.”

Boxer’s expression changed, and his uncertainty faded. “Either you’re really brave or really crazy.”

T-Ray rubbed his arms for warmth. “Let’s get going. I’m freezing.”

“Keep looking around. Come on.” Jack waved them farther into the maze.

Torches flickered, giving off little in the way of heat. Jack pressed his ear to the wall and listened—nothing, no vibrations or sounds at all. Almost immediately they came to the first fork in the labyrinth, and they had to decide which way to go.

Jack stopped short. “I think we should go right, left, right, left. That way we can retrace our steps on the way back.”

“Good idea. But I think we should mark the walls, too.” Boxer pulled out a Swiss Army knife and carved a crude-looking arrow in the wall to show which direction they were going.

The dank corridors grew tighter the farther they crept along, narrowing with quick turns and then longer stretches. Jack dragged his hand along the cold stone, vibrations causing his hand to tremble. He glanced back, but both T-Ray and Boxer had already felt it and heard it. Something was up ahead. The tiny squeaks of rodents cried up from cracks and burrows in the stony walls, and their small shadows raced along the seam where the wall met the floor. Jack’s shoes scraped against the stone
floor as he walked down the corridors, but the sounds he followed were not the cries of minute creatures (like him), but the sounds of beasts.

Jack placed his hand on the wall and felt another shudder. “Something big is up ahead.”

“Stay low,” Boxer said.

“We should turn back.” T-Ray felt the wall with his hand. “Takes a lot of Death Wranglers to make the ground move like that.”

“We can’t turn back now. Just a little farther.”

Jack swallowed his panic about coming face-to-face with a Death Wrangler. He crouched down, taking the next turn in the tunnel. The tunnel opened up below them into a cavernous room, which must be the lair of the infamous guards. A crumbling wall provided cover for them as they peered over a high ledge down into the big pit. The gamey smell of wet dog and burned wood hit Jack’s nose. The rough and tumbling voices of the Death Wranglers filled the cavern like water raging over sharp rocks. Jack peered down into the abyss.

The huge lair was divided into sections. Half of the lair was used for what looked like sleeping quarters, with bunk beds made of crude slabs of rock lining a wall. The other half of the lair was a working and training area with a fighting pit and a burning wall. That wall was scorched brick caked with soot and charred debris. Jack’s stomach turned over as he realized that this was where the Death
Wranglers actually practiced hand-to-hand combat and igniting things.

The guards varied in size and shape, but most were over seven feet tall. They covered the human parts of their muscular bodies with thick leathery vests, wrist guards, and armored chest plates. But nothing could prepare Jack for what made the Death Wranglers so fearsome—their enormous bull-shaped heads covered in thick black fur, with two curved horns spiraling out of the top. A raucous crew, they yelled and slapped each other on the backs with their huge hands. The contrast of man and beast, human and animal was striking. These were monsters.

Two of the guards circled each other in the enormous fighting pit. One was noticeably smaller than the others, probably no taller than six feet: a runt by Death Wrangler standards. A cheering crowd surrounded the pit as the fight escalated. The larger Death Wrangler pummeled the smaller guard with blow after blow. The smaller guard tripped and bashed his head against the wall. A roar of laughter erupted from the crowd of guards who had gathered to watch. It was clear they were laughing at the loser. The pit was not a place for a fair fight.

The two fighters went round and round. The smaller guard took the brunt of the blows but, refusing to give up, he rose to his feet again and again. Blood soaked his shirt and splattered on the ground around him.

He took a wild swipe at the larger guard and threw
him off balance. The smaller guard in the ring capitalized on the larger guard’s stumble and leaped upon his back in a bold attempt to take the larger guard down. Going low, the smaller guard took out the other’s leg with a swipe of his sword and brought him down to one knee. An anguished howl filled the cavern as the guard clutched his wounded leg.

The smaller guard crawled out of the pit, victorious. He was covered in blood and soot, and the look in his eyes was not of joy, but of satisfaction. Jack knew that look; it was the look of a man long underestimated who finally proved his worth. And he proved it the hard way.

T-Ray pulled on the back of Jack’s shirt. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here before they decide to throw us down in that pit.”

“Shh. Just a few more minutes.” Jack couldn’t take his eyes off the Death Wranglers. He inched forward and leaned against the ledge to get a better look. A cascade of broken rock tumbled over the edge and rained down on the Death Wranglers below them. Jack ducked, and the three boys froze.

The action stopped. An eerie silence filled the cavern. Jack peered through a crack in the ledge and saw a Death Wrangler pointing to their location and mouthing instructions to another Death Wrangler, who immediately took off in their direction. He was coming for them.

Boxer grabbed the back of Jack’s shirt and yanked
him through the narrow archway. Once in the tunnel, they raced back through the quick turns of the labyrinth. Jack was thankful to see the arrows that Boxer had carved in the walls to lead them out, but then again, the Death Wranglers would see the arrows, too, and know which way they went. But he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting out and as far away from them as possible.