I told you how much I hate clowns, right?
After tossing around for I don’t know how long, I gave up and paced the room. This had gone on long enough. I wanted to know what was in store for me. Was I a prisoner? Was I a guest? Who were Veego and LaBerge and what did they want with me? The waiting and wondering were making me nuts! I was tired of playing it their way. I wanted answers. So I walked over to the door and was all set to bang on it and start screaming for that Fourteen guy to come get me, when I had a thought. I reached down and tried the doorknob. It was open! I had assumed that once I was put in that room that I was locked in. What an idiot. I could have left anytime I wanted. Oops. I felt stupid and curious at the same time. Why didn’t they lock me in? Could I leave? Maybe I really was just a guest. With more questions now than before, I opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
I was surprised to see that a sign had been erected outside my door. It was a yellow card, about a foot square, with purple handwriting. It sat on a three-legged easel and was positioned so it would be seen as soon as I came out. How long had it been there? The sign read: challenger red got out of bed. Under the writing was an arrow that pointed to the right. Not knowing what else to do, I turned right and walked down the hallway. What kind of game were they playing? I walked to the end of the hallway to find another hallway that stretched out to either side. Dangling from a string that hung down from the ceiling was another sign. It read: and went to take a look. Beneath this writing was an arrow that pointed left. I followed the instructions and made the turn. This hallway stretched for almost as far as I could see. Man, the castle was huge! About twenty yards farther along, another yellow sign dangled from the ceiling. It read: he saw a door and went to explore. The arrow here pointed left again. I turned to see that, sure enough, there was a double-wide door right there, with another sign on it. I had the feeling that I was getting near the end of this mysterious treasure hunt. As big as the door was, the writing on this sign was so small I couldn’t see it from even a few steps away. I had to walk right up to the door and lean in so close that my nose nearly touched it. In tiny letters the sign read: and played a game called hook.
Hook? I said to myself. What’s Hook?
Instantly the door spun open. Yes, I said “spun.” The door twisted on a center axis, like a revolving door. I was so surprised, I didn’t have time to react and got swept inside. What kind of wicked fun house was this? I got thrown inside a room that was pitch dark. Limbo dark. My every sense went instantly on alert. I crouched down and closed my eyes, trying to feel if anyone or anything was in there with me. I wasn’t scared. I had been there before. It was like the ordeal that Loor and Alder put me through on Zadaa. I knew how to fight in the dark. Only back on Zadaa, it was for training. This was for real. I didn’t move. Whatever was going to happen, I was ready.
I heard a bright chime sound. In the distance a white light appeared in the shape of a door. Because the room was so dark, I had no sense of depth and couldn’t tell how far away it was. It could have been a small rectangle only a few feet away, or a large door on the far side of a long room. It seemed suspended in space, glowing brightly, beckoning me. I didn’t move. There was way too much mystery between here and there. A moment later another chime sounded, and a lighted number appeared over the rectangle: 70. Huh?
There was another chime. I was relieved to see a series of spotlights kick on and illuminate the room. Some were in the ceiling, casting sharp patterns of light to the floor; others were in the floor, pointing straight up. There must have been a hundred lights shooting beams in both directions. The room was big. Really big. The ceiling must have been twenty feet high. It was a long, narrow space that I realized ran the same length of the hallway where my clown room was. I could now see that the rectangle with the number 70 above it was indeed a door. I guessed it was fifty yards from me. Fifty long yards. As much as the spotlights gave me a sense of the room, they also created dark areas in between the brilliant light from their beams. Danger could be hiding in dark areas.
A bell rang. I jumped. Do you blame me? I looked at the number to see a countdown had begun: 70… 69… 68… With each tick there was a little blip sound. Swell. There was a time limit. But for what? What was I supposed to do? Go for the door? What if I didn’t go? What if the blipping number reached zero and I was still crouched on the floor next to the revolving door? What would happen to me? Would I have to go back into that clown room without supper? And if this was some kind of game, why was it called “Hook”?
The answer to that last question came a moment later, and it hurt.
I felt a sharp, stinging pain across my back and shoulders. A second later I was spun around like an unraveling yo-yo. The force came so fast and so hard I lost my balance and crashed down on my shoulder. I popped right up and spun around to see who had attacked me.
I was face-to-face with a dado. He stood with his legs apart over one of the up-facing spotlights. The bright light shining up on him from below made him look even more imposing. He was well over six feet tall, with wide shoulders and strong arms that looked ready to burst the seams of his sleeves. He wore the same dark uniform as the other dados I’d seen, but he didn’t wear a helmet or a gun. His weapon was a six-foot-long curved stick with a ball on the end. I guessed that was the “Hook.” It looked semirigid, like it was made out of soft plastic. It wasn’t as long as a whip, but he used it like one. I knew it had to be what he had slashed me with. It wasn’t a lethal weapon, but if he knew how to use it, he could control me.
I had no doubt he knew how to use it.
More frightening than anything was his face. It was like a mask, with a big sharp jaw and eyes that had no life. He was bald, too. It was at that moment that I finally remembered where I had seen dados before. I’m not talking about the arcade, or the city street. I mean in the flume. Remember the floating images I described? One of those images was of tall muscular guys running. Dados. They looked imposing then, and even more so in person.
The number blipped down: 64… 63… 62…
I jumped for the revolving door I had just come through. I didn’t want to play this game, no matter what it was. I hit the door hard. It didn’t budge. Why was I not surprised? If I wanted to get out of there, I was going to have to get past Franken-dado and run to the far side. Without a second more of hesitation, I sprinted for the rectangle of light. I figured if I was fast enough, I might catch this goon by surprise and beat him there before he hooked me again.
I was wrong. No sooner did I take off running, than the number blipped down to 60. The number over the door flashed red and a harsh horn sounded. That wasn’t the problem. That was the warning. When the horn sounded, several silver cylinders the size of telephone poles drove down from the ceiling, slamming into the floor like demonic pile drivers. I barely missed getting crushed by one, as they hammered the floor so hard the vibration almost knocked me off my feet.