Monty fell down into a webbing rope, which embraced him in its rough tangle. At least it slowed his fall, so that when he hit the floor he was not hurt. He was in complete darkness. He tried to unwrap himself, but he was held tight by the rope. Lying on his side, he breathed heavily and tried to recover his strength.
Something brushed against his hand, something small and furry. He jerked away, but something else brushed against his face. He stifled a scream and once more pressed at his bounds. He felt his sword tied against him, but he couldn’t move his hand one inch to grasp it.
Chittering came from the dark, there were many rats out there. Suddenly his net jerked, and he was dragged away. He heard rats scurrying around him, a whole host of them pulling him along into this foreboding underworld.
After a short distance they stopped and scurried away. He strained his ears. There came a terrifying sound of thunder. It rolled over him, making his stomach roil with its overpowering strength. Then came the whip crack sound of thunder, but still no light. He waited for rain to pelt down on him, but the air was bone dry.
Then came the sound of a duck quacking. That reduced his terror.
“Hello?” he ventured.
“So you fell prey to my wonderful will-o-wisps? Now you lay helpless in my hellish haven.”
“I say, who is speaking? I can't see a thing.”
“Forgive me. Allow me to shed some... light!”
There was a click and a single electric light bulb hummed into life. Grimy light spilled down and revealed the scene.
Monty was on his back, enmeshed in a net. He could see shelves, filled with props and costumes. There was the front end of a pantomime horse, costumes for dancing girls, fake arms and crowns and tiaras. Even the floor was stacked with theatrical items, along with ropes, sandbags, and huge metal sheets for thunder. He was backstage.
Amongst all of these theatrical devices was a man, looking down at Monty. A spindly fellow, crouched over with eagle-like features. His blonde hair was so slicked back and deeply grooved it looked like it had been plowed.
“It seems I've found another victim for my vicious schemes.” When he spoke his eyes glared with malice.
“I say you appear to be a somewhat normal person. Could you be a jolly fellow and unhook me here?”
“I'm afraid not. You see as I've been banished here to the underworld of the dungeon I've decided to make it my kingdom.” He stood and reached his hand out to a large cardboard sun. “No longer can I gaze upon the soft light of the morning sun” His fingers ran over the pointed edges of the cartoon sun. He dropped his head in sorrow.
“Nor will I ever see the mysterious light of a half moon bringing itself back to life.” He caressed the face of a pitted grey cardboard moon leaning next to the sun.
“Nor will I ever hear the delightful cries of ducks in Saint James's Park in the morning.”
He blew soulfully on a wooden duck call. Quack. Quack. It somewhat ruined the up to now quite moving speech.
The poor fellow had quite obviously lost it. Monty would have to be diplomatic.
“Well that's quite a sad state of affairs, old chap, I feel for you. But you know I'm with a Constable and we're searching for our friend. Why not join our jolly group?”
The man turned and pointed an accusing finger at Monty. His body went stiff with rage.
“You didn't listen to me! Nobody listens, they just strut out on stage always knowing that whatever they need- be it a dagger that spurt's blood or a fake head to be thrown across the stage- it will be there! Nobody ever thinks about the prop master who makes it happen. No, I just hurry in the wings like a god creating from nothing.” He blew angrily through his duck call. QUACK QUACK. That was quite terrifying.
“I have been made the boss of this level! I cannot leave.”
“That sounds like a quite terrible state of affairs but must be some way for you to-”
The prop master pointed to a picture on the wall, a seating diagram for the Alhambra, though it had been altered by those glowing green words.
Level 1 Stalls
Level 2 Dress Circle
Level 3 Royal Circle
Level 4 Gallery
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Level 5 Royal Box
There were faint green dots blinking in certain areas.
The prop master slammed his finger onto the diagram. “Level 1, the Stalls you came from there. But you see, you are not the only one to come down here.”
He dragged his finger down to a smaller area that Monty had not noticed. There was a faint glowing skull inside it.
“Dungeon Underworld. Everything that dies descends here.” He pointed to a pile of wood in one corner, lying at the bottom of a chute.
On looking, Monty realized it was the family of dolls he had defeated. Mud-soaked and inanimate they lay in the corner.
“It is my duty to repair and recycle all of the monsters and traps here. My anonymous toil continues.”
He rummaged through the costumes suddenly, searching for something. “You are clearly a gentleman, I should make something interesting of you.”
He pulled out fine renaissance clothing, a velvet vest and pantaloons, along with a rapier.
“I think you will make a marvelous swordsman doll. A little makeup and you’ll be primed for your performance.”
“I quite like that costume, wore something similar to a fancy dress party once. But come one man, I have a mission to complete.”
The prop master giggled and searched for some shoes.
Monty took the opportunity to angle his sword so the edge was against the rope. He shifted his leg and the blade cut into the rope. It was no use, it would take minutes to cut through like this, and the prop master was not going to wait for that.
Monty closed his eyes. Think man! He was alone with his own wits now, and they were not forthcoming company. Classical myths about the underworld were all about rescuing lovers, not much help here. But perhaps...
He cracked his eye open and peered at the prop master. The man was fully engaged in his search for matching costume pieces, he had to make sure everything was perfect.
“He’s obsessed with being in control. He thinks he's the most important part of the proceedings when in fact he's just a supporting member,” Monty thought to himself. Well one thing Monty did know from high society parties was how to flatter egos.
“I say prop myself I can't help but catch the glimpse of that fencing rapier. Looks like a bit of a mistake on your part.”
The prop master turned with bulging eyes. “I have never made a mistake in all twenty-three years working here. If any mistake was made it was by one of my asinine assistants.” He brandished the rapier menacingly.
“Well of course I don't mean to insult your professionalism, but that’s obviously not a prop sword. It looks exactly like the real thing.”
“Oh you think it’s real?”
“I have fenced myself, and studied the art. So I know the marking of an Angelo sword when I see one, the crest is right there on the guard.”
The prop master suddenly blushed coily and held the sword close to himself and chuckled. His high laughter sounded like the chittering of rats.
“Oh my sweet silly sacrifice. You really have mistaken this sword for the real thing. I must admit you do have quite an eye for detail. Yes, I modeled this on a real sword I saw myself. It took me ten hours to engrave this on the hilt.”
“I can’t believe you forged it that perfectly, it must be the real thing.”
The prop master poked the sword into a sandbag on the floor. The blade flexed and the bag was unpierced.
“Well, that’s impressive. So it can’t even cut through a rope?”
The prop master narrowed his eyes “You think you are so much more clever than me my co-operative captive you think that I will accidentally cut through a rope and drop a sandbag on myself? Please I've seen all of the famous farces, I have seen every sort of theatrical ploy to escape a villain. I know every trick of the hero.”
Monty was crestfallen. That had been his plan. Still he had one last angle of attack.
“So you accept you are a villain then?”
The prop master’s lips quivered and he tried to blurt out a response but all that came out was phlegm. The rats rushed around worriedly amongst the props.
“Who do you think you are!” The prop master raised the sword high and then slashed it down at Monty.
The prop sword stung as it hit, but most of the force hit the ropes. It was enough to loosen the cord that Monty had been cutting. His leg came free and he kicked the man stoutly in the shins. The prop master fell backwards, and Monty grasped his sword. With a fierce cut, the ropes flew free and exploded off him quite unlike a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. He rose up dramatically and held out his sword.
“I’m a hero, old chap. And quite a good fencer. Surrender now.”
“You are no hero!”
The prop master lunged with his rapier, but Monty deflected it with a flick of his wrist. The prop master stumbled sideways, he had never wielded a sword in combat and had no idea what to do. He tripped over a fake pineapple, and into a bookcase. There was a click, and the bookcase rotated around, taking the prop master with it.
“Exit stage left,” Monty said under his breath.
A flash of green mist emerged from the book case, and coagulated into a fine scabbard.
Boss Loot: Glamour Scabbard: disguises wearer in any costume.
Monty scooped it up and tied it to his belt. It fit quite nicely, and was made of supple leather with fine stitching. His sword fit perfectly into it.
He studied the seating plan, taking a closer look at the glowing dots. Diva 4, Casanova 4, Dancer 2. They all had names and numbers besides them. Then there was Peacekeeper 2. That was the Constable’s class! It must be all the adventurers in this dungeon. And Ramsey had somehow made it to the Royal Circle, his light was blinking on the map right there.
Monty tried to peel the plan from the wall, but it was stuck solid. Dash it, it could have been useful, he would have to try and remember it. He stared at it, willing the image to impress itself on his mind like a duck’s prints in mud. Something about the Gallery level stuck out at him. There was Newspaper Boy 2, in a certain section of the Gallery. Colin! Of course he was in the Peanut Gallery, where else would an elephant make its lair?
Time to ascend, there were five chutes in the wall, each one labeled with the floor. He clambered into the Royal Circle chute and braced himself for an upward climb. Hopefully nothing would come down as he made his way up into the darkness.
“No looking back now, Orpheus,” he whispered to himself.