Chapter 18

A Marrow Escape

The party awoke refreshed and in good spirits. Even Epic seemed happy – chuffed because she'd received an unexpected skill point in cooking from reading A Tale of Two Chickens. Fred had not received a skill point from his literary adventures but felt quite pleased with himself nonetheless. He was still stiff though, so he took some time to run through his ballet warm-up in a convenient bit of the inn. Hugo and Alice watched him for a while, hanging over the bannisters and making comments. Fred, however, was a consummate performer. He had danced for far rowdier audiences. He swept through his routine with grace and precision and resisted the urge to disembowel either of them. Eventually, the pair gave in to boredom. Drawn in by the sheer indomitable spirit of Fred's willpower, they were soon bobbing up and down doing awkward plies. Hiding a smile, Fred wandered about smacking their knees and yelled things like "straight backs!", "get that butt out of the air, Hugo," and "do you call that a toe or a fish Alice Whatever The Fuck Your Name Is?"

"Language," muttered Epic, who had wandered over to see what all the fuss was about. Fred could see her feet twitching.

"Join us, Epic?" he said.

"Maybe next time."

Fred bowed, grinned and wheeled around.

"I've seen wet spaghetti with more spunk!" he roared at Hugo.

"I'll show you spunk," muttered Hugo. "I've got enough spunk to fill a–"

"Toes!" barked Fred.

They worked at their exercises for another half hour and all three of them received +1 Discipline, much to the teenagers' surprise and Fred received +1 Charisma.

"What on earth does Discipline do?" demanded Alice.

"I don't know," said Fred. "But I'm sure it does something."

"Probably helps you learn skills faster," said Joan, who was leaning against a nearby fence watching. "Maybe we should all join in the morning."

Hugo and Alice groaned.

"Nobody made you," said Fred, wishing his hair was long enough to toss properly. But it wasn't so he settled for stamping back into the tavern in a display of fake bad temper. But he couldn't even fake it for more than two minutes because he was enjoying himself so much. And Rosy had made him a pot of tea. He beamed at her.

"You're in a good mood," said Joan, sliding onto the bench.

"Why not?" said Fred. "I've got tea. So. What's the plan today? Skeleton Gorge?"

"Breakfast first," said Joan. "Looks like the Gorge is out in the middle of nowhere, it will be a bit of a walk. Hmm... I need to find a spell. I'm level three and whacking people over the head with a wizard's staff."

"But so pretty," said Fred.

"Oh my god," said Hugo.

"At least you have the staff," said Epic.

Rosy arrived with steaming bowls of porridge. The food wasn't as fancy, or as contemporary as the stuff served at The Beer and Loathing, but it was hot and good.

"Where did you find your fireball scroll, Hugo?" asked Joan, frowning over her porridge. Hugo shrugged.

"In an old boot," he mumbled, around his spoon, "down by the river near Merry Plebbingtons. After I killed a really big toad."

"Hmm," said Joan.

"Damn Luck Bonus," said Alice, shovelling an inordinate amount of cinnamon and brown sugar over her bowl.

"But you don't have a proper instrument yet?" Hugo took out his triangle and pinged it woefully.

"I mean, it's very nice," said Epic. "In the right context."

"Sure," said Hugo. "But it would be nice to have something more romantic. Like a lute. Or a harp. Or a sitar!"

"Maybe we'll find a decent instrument in Skeleton Gorge," said Alice. She helped herself to Fred's tea milk and started blowing bubbles in it, despite his expressive side-eyes. "And a spell for Joan?"

"A healing spell," said Joan. "That's what we need if we are going to get anywhere."

"So we just waltz in there and extract the treasure," said Fred. He steepled his fingers. "Seems simple enough."

"Sure," said Joan. "It won't be booby-trapped, or guarded or any of that."

"No need to be snarky," said Fred, "Joan of Snark. Or I won't share my tea."

"I'm crushed," she said. Alice mimed vomiting into her cup.

"Let's see the map," she said, "before we all pass out in a sea of sexual tension." Joan spread it on the table, grinning, and they all leaned over to get a good look.

"Here's the crossroads," said Joan, tracing it with her finger, "there's Skeleton Gorge. Next to that weird shaped mountain."

"Skeleton Gorge?"

A wavering voice croaked from a corner next to the fire. They all whipped around to stare at the thin old man who sat there, wrapped in a threadbare cloak. Fred could have sworn he hadn't been there two minutes ago. He had a peg leg, sticking out from under his cloak. "Skeleton Gorge!" the old man repeated, struggling to get up, and waving his hand dramatically. "Did I hear someone say Skeleton Gorge?" He tottered over, trailing bits and pieces of his cloak. It was ancient and more patch than not. "You don't want to go there! It's a place of death! A place of madness!" he lowered his voice to a ghoulish whisper. "A place of lemons..."

"Lemons?" said Hugo.

"Oh, um," the old man checked something written on his wrist. "A PLACE OF DEMONS!"

"How do you know?" demanded Alice. "Have you been there?"

"Once, long ago, in my youth," the old man said in a hollow whisper. He lifted his hand, palm up, and drew it across the open air, staring intensely at nothing as he did so. "I heard of the treasure of Skeleton Gorge and tried my luck with the Ferryman."

"The Ferryman?" asked Joan.

"The Guide of Lost Souls. You must have heard of the Ferryman? Death, himself! He watches the dead! He transports the souls of the newly deceased across the river."

"Well it depends," said Epic, crossing her arms. "Are we talking Charon from Greek mythology? He was more of a psychopomp, not actually Death, although–"

"Death!" screamed the old man, checking his wrist again.

"What happened?" asked Hugo, wide-eyed. The old man rounded on him, brandishing his wooden leg.

"I lost my leg, is what happened!" he cried. "I barely escaped with my life! You would all be fools to try and get further! The skeletons have claimed many souls in their time!"

"He's right," said Rosie, leaning over to grab a cup, giving them all an eyeful of her cleavage as she did so. "Whoops! Sorry about that. Yes! Nasty place, Skeleton Gorge. No one ever escapes from that place and lives to tell the tale."

"I mean, he just told us he was there," said Hugo, logically.

"Ahhahah," said Rosie.

"Can you tell us anything useful?" asked Joan.

"Beware the Ferryman," said the old man. "Cunning bugger. Cheats at cards." He sat down and sipped at his tankard. They all stared at him. "What?" he said. "That's me all done. You lot are on your own now. Improv is good for the brain."

"And you Rosie?" Fred asked the barmaid.

"I'm just here to provide additional atmosphere," she said, walking away, balancing a tray on her hip.

"Great," said Hugo. But he looked excited. So did Alice. Probably looking forward to having cake and entrails explode all over them. Fred shook his head. But then he was excited too so he couldn't really blame them.

Five hours later he was feeling slightly less enthusiastic. They were lost. The party stood in a field arguing. And it was raining. Not a romantic, picturesque rain, but a damp, dripping, thoroughly unpleasant sort of rain. The kind that made your socks soggy. The kind that made maps impossible to read.

"That outcrop," said Alice, peering through the mist, "the one that looks like a big old nose? That's definitely the rock on the map."

"I don't know," said Hugo, squinting at it sideways, and then up at what was visible of the mountain. "I think you are looking at it upside down."

"I think it's that–"

"Spiders!" shouted Fred. They all whacked enthusiastically, earning +1 XP each and leaving a trail of little squished corpses.

"I think we went wrong at the stream," said Joan, when they were done. She stabbed a finger accusingly at the map. "We crossed this stream half an hour ago."

"How can you be sure?" murmured Epic, glancing around at the mist-covered landscape.

"How many rainbow water streams surrounded by mushroom fairy houses can there be?" asked Joan. They were all still covered in fairy bites. Fred suspected the little buggers had venom in their teeth. Everyone except Joan and Epic had lost HP, and the experience had made them rather grumpy.

"Oh, there it is," said Hugo. "Joan!"

"What? Are you sure?" asked Joan, her nose buried in the map.

"Yes," said Hugo. "One hundred percent sure." Joan looked up. The mists had parted.

"Oh."

"It's not exactly subtle, it is?" said Fred, turning his head from side to side as he admired the entrance to what could only be Skeleton Gorge. A giant human skull, at least fifteen metres high disgorged a black river from its gaping maw. The empty eye sockets, each one large enough to climb through, stared balefully over the pleasant and rather damp green of the valley below. The skull was built into the rocky granite of the mountainside. The interior was all eerie darkness. As they watched, some bats flew out of the right eye socket.

Nothing grew on the banks of the black river that spewed from the cave entrance. The air in that place was foul. It smelt of rot – not the wholesome, earthy rot of compost but the putrid stink of death. The water was still. Uncomfortably still.

"A few more metres and we would have fallen in the river," said Joan, folding the map and putting it away. "Ah, well." Her eyes brightened. "A proper dungeon at last."

"I thought all of this was dungeon," said Fred.

"Yes, well," she kicked at some sod. "You know what I mean. It's hard to think of it as a dungeon when there's a sky." They all squinted up at the low clouds that were gathered overhead.

"Anyway," said Fred.

"Come on," said Alice, stamping towards the giant skull. She looked at the river with some distaste. Fred wondered how deep it was. Or what was at the bottom. His eyes brightened as he considered the possibilities.

"Look!" said Epic. A giant wooden sign in the shape of an arrow declared: "This way Skeleton Gorge, please have your coins ready and stay within the velvet ropes". It was painted in a neat cursive hand. Black paint, of course.

"Coins?" said Joan. "Oh, right the Ferryman."

"Velvet ropes?" said Hugo.

"Well, we are lost souls," said Fred. "Come on, everyone, cough up."

Grumbling, they all fished in their bags for coins. Feeling rather silly Fred led the way to the entrance. There were indeed velvet ropes. Plush and black, they were placed so close together so that they had to proceed in single file. The pathway zigzagged back and forth with no apparent care for efficiency or for that matter, sanity. After a few minutes of trotting they were funnelled into a waiting area, a platform at the very edge of the water. The small dock jutted out of the smooth bone of the giant skull, like a flat, bone tumour.

A neatly written sign strung across the last ropes declared: "Wait Here". So they did. At least most of them did. Alice wandered about the ropes, then pushed Hugo towards the water, giggling. She caught him as he stumbled, perilously close to the river's ink-black ripples.

"Alice!" he complained, teetering on the edge. Then he turned pale, scrambling away. Bloated, blue-veined limbs rose from within the depths, grabbing at him, snatching at the air he had so recently vacated with rotting fingers. A few mouldering faces bobbed to the surface. Sightless eyes rolled towards them. Skeletal arms dripping flesh grasped at the living.

"Eww," said Alice. "What the hell happened to them?"

"They didn't stay behind the velvet ropes," said Joan, primly. She laughed at the expression on Alice's face. The party watched the bobbing corpses uneasily but they did not venture out of the water. Deprived of prey, they sank balefully into the murky depths. The river was restored once more to peace. But it was hard to look at it the same way. They all kept well back, and stood, twiddling their thumbs. Fortunately, they didn't have long to wait.

Deep within the earth, there was a rolling boom. Something shifted. The mist solidified, cloaking the world in stifling, hushed white. The sun was swallowed entirely by the clouds and the fog skittered in airy tumbles across the river's surface.

"What was that?" asked Epic, clutching the velvet rope. The ground was shaking gently.

"Something's coming!" said Hugo. Epic held the rope so hard her knuckles turned white.

"Just remember," said Fred, leaning over and speaking out of the corner of his mouth. "If it goes wrong you will just respawn in The Meadow of Beginnings. You've got piles of HP, and I've seen you respawn. Not a big deal." She nodded, her face tight. Then to his surprise, she looked up and flashed him a grin.

"Right you are," she said. "Dying's not difficult."

"A boat!" said Alice, hopping up and down. A black prow appeared in the darkness of the open cave. A skiff really. Although they did not usually come equipped with rows of seats. Did that make it a barge? Whatever it was it was poled along by a tall figure swathed in black robes. Their face was hidden by a black cowl. The hand that protruded from the sleeves was skeletal.

The vessel came to a halt, bumping lightly against the bank.

"Welcome," said the figure. "I am the Ferryman." His voice was hollow and booming, like a rock echoing off the bottom of a very deep pit. Fred suppressed a shiver. He had always been a sucker for theatrics. While the old man at the Wish You Were Beer had tried to make himself sound spooky, this ...person didn't need to try. The creep came naturally. Fred could feel the vibration in his very core.

"Do you have coin for passage?" the Ferryman asked. They all nodded. Not even Alice had anything to say as the ferryman stretched forth a bone-white hand. One by one they dropped their coins into his palm and stepped onto the boat. "Thank you," the ferryman said. "Please take your seats."

The boat was black, which Fred had expected. What he had not expected was the seat covers embroidered with "Welcome To Macabre". Black thread was embroidered black velvet, making it hard to pick out, but the logo was there if you looked closely. The boat had eight seats and a wheel at the front. Everyone kept a close eye on the water which was a little too close for comfort. It was as black as pitch as it swirled past in oily eddies. Every now and then Fred could see a ruined face rising to the surface. He shuddered and returned his gaze to the Ferryman.

"I will be your guide," intoned the Ferryman, taking the wheel. The small vessel swung out into the current. The current that was flowing the wrong way, but it didn't seem to matter, despite the apparent lack of engine. The Ferryman steered them directly into the open mouth of the cave which closed over them, plunging them into absolute darkness. There was an audible gasp from five throats. The cave was damp and much cooler than outside, and there was an eerie feeling of space that was present but could not be seen. A light flared. The Ferryman lit a match that burned green, and let off a metallic scent. He hung a guttering lamp from his pole where it bobbed and wobbled precariously. The light did little to illuminate their passage. It merely lit up the Ferryman's face, throwing his cowled skull into relief. The pits of his eyes had blue sparks, like twin stars instead of eyeballs. Fred couldn't help the smile that was spreading across his face.

Fred looked up at the Ferryman, his face expectant. Something had clicked in his brain. The reason he felt so at home here, in this strange place. It was a performance. All of it. He was a player, even if he didn't fully understand the rules. Right now he was in the audience, waiting for the show to start. The moment before the curtain went up, regardless of which side of the curtain he was on, was electric. There was nothing like it. Fred could sip from that cup for eternity. Macabre was the wildest interactive show he had ever experienced, surpassing even one memorable performance of the Rocky Horror Show when the fellow playing Dr Frank-N-Furter had had a little bit too much whiskey to drink before coming on stage.

There are two types of people in this world. The first are the kind that try to disappear under the seats as soon as a cast member sets foot on the stairs to the auditorium –the no eye contact and wishing for invisibility people. The second are those decked out in feather boas and glitter, bobbing up and down in their seats yelling "pick me". Fred was one of the latter.

"What?" asked the Ferryman, after Fred had beamed at him for five minutes straight. "Do I have spinach in my teeth?" He bared his teeth at Fred.

"Oh no," said Fred. "I was just hoping you were going to sing."

"Why," said the Ferryman, biting off each word with impressive clarity for someone who did not seem to be in possession of a tongue. "Why would you expect me to sing?"

Fred shrugged.

"I don't know," he said. "There's been a lot of random singing. We met a singing spider, can you believe? I was hoping this might be the sort of scenario where people would sing."

"I. Do. Not. Sing," said the Ferryman, with dignity. "I'm only here for a bit of fun at weekends. For old time's sake. The new management–"

He was cut off by a rolling crescendo of music.

"Aha!" said Fred.

The darkness to the left of the boat was suddenly illuminated. Tiers of skeletons lined rocky ledges, some of them wearing straw hats, some of them with bells tied around their ankles. Many of them were waving hankies. Some of them were sporting instruments. As they spotted the barge they started to sing and dance. They weren't very good, but they made up for lack of skill with enthusiasm. If they had had hearts they would be singing them out. Most, but not all, were human skeletons.

"I knew somebody was going to sing," said Fred. But his satisfaction was lost in the din. As was the Ferryman's quiet "gah" of frustration.

"The old skeloo, the old skeloo,

You shouldn't have a problem with a bone or two!

This one was a captain, this one a shrew,

If you aren't careful you'll be one too!"

The dancing intensified. Tambourines were smashed passionately against thighbones. The party watched mouths wide open as the skeletons grabbed bones from each other and started twirling them about in time to the music.

"The old skeloo, the old skeloo,

You shouldn't have a problem with a bone or two!"

There was a brief electric guitar solo. ("Where," said Epic, "does the electricity come from?") Followed by a solo from a skeleton in a top hat and sequined bow tie:

"Now flesh is overrated,

You don't need skin to dance,

All that hair and mucky stuff,

You don't need it to prance!

You cannot get no pimples,

It's unlikely you'll get fat,

So join us in our music

And don't worry about that."

"I don't find it humerus at all," said the Ferryman. If he had had lips, he would have pursed them.

"I see what you did there," said Fred. The Ferryman grinned at him.

"They are very good," said Hugo. "Do you think they are getting ready to try and kill us?"

"Almost certainly," said Joan. "Weapons at the ready!" The chorus resumed.

"And everyone says oh, yay!

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, hey!

The old skeloo, the old skeloo,

You shouldn't have a problem with a bone or two!

It's almost time to say adieu,

If you aren't careful you'll be dead too!"

The skeletons started to pelt the party in the boat with bones, rocks, and various instruments.

"Okay, add ranged weapons to the list," said Joan, ducking a femur. Hugo was the only one with a weapon that could reach the ledge. The rest of them had to do their best to duck and dive.

[Hugo Balls + 5XP]

"Get them, Hugo!" yelled Alice, dancing up and down as Hugo pelted the skeleton chorus with fireballs. She picked up a thigh bone and hurled it back.

[Alice69 +2XP]

"Nice blow!" said Fred. He picked up a tambourine and lobbed it at the closest skeleton, hitting it on the forehead.

[The Fredinator +1XP]

"Oi, keep the instruments," said Hugo.

"It was a tambourine."

"Okay, well if they throw the electric guitar. Keep that." They didn't.

The Ferryman sailed the barge serenely onwards, seemingly unbothered by the chaos. The party fought till the barge was knee deep in bones. The bones had an annoying habit of trying to reassemble but they made good projectiles, and chucking them overboard was easy enough. Everyone but Joan and Epic lost HP.

[The Fredinator -5HP; Alice69 -4HP; Hugo Balls -2HP]

After what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few lively minutes, the current of the black river carried them out of the cave and away from the remaining dancing skeletons.

The party sagged in their seats, battered, and sporting new bruises and at least one new pair of maracas.

"Bracing," said Hugo, rubbing at a purple spot on his arm.

The Ferryman hummed under his breath. Fred watched him with narrowed eyes. They were once more passing through dark caverns. Fred wondered whether the next threat would come from the shore, the water or their guide. Or all three. But the river's water was growing choppy. The boat bumped over a series of rapids, unseen in the dark and everyone grabbed their seats with both hands.

"Hold on," said the Ferryman, calmly. A jagged crack of light bloomed overhead. They were rushing along the bottom of a very narrow gorge. That was the sky, far above. Night had fallen and the moon was rising, sailing high above the mist. The light was ghostly, hardly piercing the shadows of the river running through the distant gorge, far below.

The boat jolted. Hard. Alice lost her grip and Fred managed to haul her back to safety with one hand. The river grew progressively wilder. Rocks zipped past on either side, barely noticed before they were gone. The noise of the water grew louder and louder. A white mist, haloed in a moonbow sped towards them.

"Is that–"

"Waterfall! Waterfall!"

"Oh my–"

"Hold on!" cried the Ferryman, with every evidence of enjoyment.

"Arrrrrghhhh!"

The boat shot out into empty air. It hung suspended for a sickening moment before crashing down. A cry was ripped from Fred's throat and he was lifted into the air as the barge dropped. They plunged down the waterfall, screaming.

The barge landed with an immense splash. Everyone went flying. Fred landed head first in the inky water and for a moment, as it closed over his head, everything was serene and quiet. The thunder in his veins quieted. He opened his eyes. A rotting face leered at him so close their noses would have touched, if the corpse had had a nose. Fred moved without thought, terror lending strength to his sodden limbs. He kicked for the surface, bursting out, gasping for breath. A moment to orientate himself and he struck out for the banks of the river. Just as he hauled himself onto the rocks he felt a cold, slimy hand fasten around his ankle. He kicked, and his foot made contact with soft, waxy flesh. The land loosened and he pulled himself away from the water's edge to lie panting.

"Such fun," said Epic, weakly. She was lying next to him. She crawled further up and collapsed in a heap, coughing up water.

"Everyone okay?" asked Fred, looking around. Joan was clobbering a corpse at the waterline [Joan of Snark +3XP], Alice was dripping in the shallows, looking around frantically.

"Hugo!" she cried. Fred saw him, fighting off two of the dead things. He struck out with Alice and together they pulled him to safety.

"How embarrassing," he mumbled, once they had towed him to shore.

"Why?" asked Alice.

"I was a lifeguard last summer," said Hugo, lying on his back to recover.

"So?" said Epic. "I doubt you had murderous corpses waiting in the waves to drag people under."

"True," said Hugo, with a weak smile.

The Ferryman who seemed to have survived the trip down the falls without a bone out of place steered the boat expertly to the edge of the water. Serene, austere and faintly smug, he stepped onto dry land. The luminous blue of his eyes flashed beneath the dark of his cowl.

"We stand at a crossroads," he boomed. "I offer you a choice."

"We're listening," said Joan.

"The treasure of Skeleton Gorge lies close at hand," he said. "There are many paths. Some are straight and direct. Some are twisting and treacherous. Which would you choose."

"The direct path," said Fred, "obviously. What's the catch?"

"No catch," said the Ferryman.

"A simple rule." A doorway bloomed in the darkness. As they watched it creaked open, revealing a well-lit passage lined with flaming sconces. "Follow the torches. Don't look back."

Immediately, Alice, Hugo and Epic all looked over their shoulders at the way they had come.

"I think," said Joan, carefully. "We had better hear about the twisting path."

"Since we clearly have the self-control of a rabid toddler," said Fred. "As a group. Don't look at me like that Alice, you know you're the worst."

"The twisting and treacherous paths..." mused the Ferryman. He plunged a bony hand deep into the pockets of his robe and pulled out some cards. He spread them out in a fan. "Pick a card," he said. "Choose wisely."