As they tumbled through the darkness, Trashscarf felt a sickening lurch in his stomach. He was used to jumping through portals to other worlds, but this was different. This was uncontrolled, chaotic, the death throes of powerful magic. And he wasn't alone; these people were caught up with him, and it was his duty to guide them to safety.

He yanked the tattered remains of his power around himself and threw out wild loops of scarf, tangling the others as they whirled around him like cows in a tornado. Offswitch was snarling, the Watchman was screaming, and the Woodstrider gave a sort of annoyed sigh.

"The Old Road," Trashscarf panted, closing his eyes. "Old Road. Old Road. Old Road--"

A series of crashing thuds marked their arrival, somewhere large, enclosed, wooden-- but the wardrobe had been destroyed, so where were they?

For a moment they just sat there in the dark, panting to get their breath back from screaming so much. There was a loud, ominous, random but steady patter all around them.

Then, "Do we have everyone?" Trashscarf's cheerful voice asked. A light began to brighten, from a light bulb Trashscarf was holding up in one hand, like an Edison Mazda Maxfield Parrish painting only much less naked. The warm golden light of civilization grew around them, and they could see each other, and their surroundings.

They found themselves in a huge hall, with a high ceiling of dark wood, and a floor of polished oak planks, and a soft green carpet on the floor. The light came from a light bulb on a very long brass cord, which extended up into the dark vaultlike space above, hanging along with dozens of others, of different lengths.

There were also lots of grandfather clocks, lining the walls, and they were all ticking away, and making noises like grandfather clocks do. There were so many clocks that they were not so much lining the walls as they were making up the walls. It was very weird.

"Fucking wardrobes," growled Offswitch, flat on his back as the adrenaline rush of assassination wore off.

"I agreed to woodstriding, not clocks," said the Woodstrider. "And who the hell is this guy?" She held up the sloppy-drunk town guard by his collar, like a half-drowned puppy.

"I wanna go onna avenchur," the guard slurred. "Wanna be a hero!"

"You're a guard. An NPC," Trashscarf told him sternly. "You don't go on adventures!"

"I do now," hiccuped the guard smugly, and Trashscarf had to admit he had a point.

"What's your name, lad?"

"Garbleday," said the guard.

"That your first or last name?" Offswitch asked.

"Yesh."

"Good enough," Trashscarf said briskly. "Garbleday? Offswitch. Woodstrider. And Trashscarf," he said, introducing them and giving a special little flourishy bow for himself.

"But where are we?" the Woodstrider asked, looking around. "I thought we were going on a road."

"It looks like a nice place, though," Offswitch commented. "I like the clocks."

"The carpet is nice," admitted Garbleday, despite his misgivings.

"I'm not sure how this connects to why the road is dangerous," Trashscarf admitted, turning loose of the lightbulb now that the other lights were illuminating in response, "But I'd wager we're about to find out." He looked up expectantly.

"Oh," said a voice in a deep, booming, grandfatherly tone, "You have all been doing exceptionally well in your quest. I have been watching you, and have been impressed by your bravery, and by your accomplishments. I have been especially impressed by the way you have been so methodical about employing your equipment, and about making sure you have all your powers available to you at all times, and about making sure you used them when they were needed, and about each of you taking a small portion of the work in our quest, and about all of you working together, and about how you have been able to pick yourselves up when you have been pushed back, and about how you have been able to learn from your mistakes, and about how you have been able to make good decisions. As a reward to you, I will--"

"Er, hang on a moment," Trashscarf said, raising a hand as politely as he could. "I think you might have us mixed up with someone else."

His companions nodded, looking around in a puzzled sort of way. Offswitch tried a casual shrug.

".... Oh," said the voice, sounding a bit sad.

"You see," Trashscarf said, "We don't really deserve to be rewarded for doing things that we shouldn't really be blamed for not having done in the first place."

"What?" asked the voice, sounding confused.

"It was all your fault," Offswitch said, nodding.

"All our fault?" the voice said.

"Yes," said Trashscarf, firmly but not unkindly. "It was your fault we didn't do what we were supposed to do."

"I'm sorry," said the voice, sounding like it meant it this time.

"It's okay," Trashscarf said very patiently. "We're not angry with you. I mean, not that we're not angry, we're just not angry with you."

"I'm sorry," the voice said again.

"Thanks," Trashscarf said.

"But," said Offswitch, "Could we get back to the point here?"

"What point?" asked Trashscarf and the mysterious voice simultaneously.

"It's just that there was a mention of a reward," Offswitch said hopefully. "And I for one am quite willing to take payment for not doing something."

"Look, it's quite simple," Trashscarf sighed. "We've skipped to the end."

"End of what?" Garbleday asked, as the Woodstrider dropped him to the carpet with the soggy thud.

"Of the story, of course, where we get a reward and everything gets explained. Or at least, one end of one story. Not necessarily ours. Could be someone else's."

"Oh, I see," said the mysterious voice, sounding relieved. "So I'm not wrong, just early?"

"Hopefully, yes, exactly," Trashscarf nodded.

"Oh, well then!" said the voice, with some of its majestic boom back. "Then begone with you, and take your ridiculous monster with you!"

The clocks began to strike, all at once, a great carillon chorus of bongs and chimes and clangs, deafening them.

They clapped their hands to their ears, and Trashscarf saw Garbleday's puzzled lips shape the word "Monster?"

The clocks and walls and carpet all dissolved around them, leaving them standing on the edge of the Old Road. It was still morning, and the day seemed ripe for traveling, except for a bit of shadow--

They looked up, slowly, as the sun was blotted out by an enormous furry head, on a long furry neck, leaning over them. A muzzle big enough to swallow one of them (provided they helped a little, and maybe had something slippery coating them) dropped open, revealing an array of gleaming sharp teeth, and the pupils in the wide eyes dialated in predatory interest as the beast inhaled their scent.

"MRRRRRRP?"