RUSTY

Chul and Rusty stepped into the expansive escape room, pausing to take in their surroundings. The massive scale loomed before them, its arms laden with an assortment of junkyard blocks and boxes. Beyond it stood the brass puzzle machine, a maze of pipes, gears, and silent vents that glinted in the sunlight. Scorch marks marred the stone walls, evidence of Sparkfizz's explosive trial run. Above it all, the oversized clock face ticked away the minutes, an ever-present reminder of their limited time.

Rusty's material sense filled his head with impressions, and he found himself drawn to a variety of objects scattered around the space. He took a few steps off to one side and triggered a pressure plate. A thick fishing net sprung out of the ground beside him, propelled by a catapult, thoroughly entangling him.

Chul hummed to himself, his straw hat set jauntily atop his head, unperturbed.

“What did you find there, buddy?” He crouched beside Rusty, who was hopelessly ensnared, and sawed through the net with his trusty spoon.

“I’m sorry,” Rusty said, his long neck bent around to his back. “That was stupid.”

“S’okay,” Chul assured him, “just be more careful.”

As the net loosened, Rusty wormed his way out, listening to the laughter of the crowd. He could make out the gang in the stands above, who were watching intently. Jiho looked amused, while Sooji and Jiwoo were bent in conversation. It was only the beginning of the trial, and Rusty didn’t feel good about their odds so far.

"What should we do?" He asked Chul. "How does this work?"

“Dunno,” Chul said, looking at the scales. “But, you know, puzzle the puzzles, I guess.”

The scale was an obvious starting point, so they headed toward it, Rusty allowing Chul to lead. A web of chains connected the central beam to various suspended baskets and dishes holding an assortment of blocks, jugs, and other materials. Rusty studied the setup curiously. The balance was off, and rearranging the weights appeared key to solving it, but the potential combinations seemed endless.

Chul picked up and set down a few blocks, testing their heft. "These little bricks sure have some weight to them," he remarked. "What do you think, Rusty? How should we stack them up?"

Rusty suggested they empty the dishes first and begin from nothing. The baskets held extra materials but didn’t seem to affect the balance of the beam. Chul was happy to comply, and once the dishes were clear, tried placing just a few of the different weights back on to see how they compared. The scale shuddered, then tipped to one side, the balance still uneven.

Chul laughed good-naturedly. "This is silly,” he said. "How are we supposed to know what to put on?”

“Trial and error,” Rusty said.

They reset the components and attempted a new configuration, which proved even more unbalanced than it had been at the start. Over and over, they rearranged the weights, Rusty handling the smaller objects with his mouth, never quite finding the right lineup. The clock's hands ticked inexorably onward, counting away the minutes until the end of the trial.

Finally, Chul sat back with a huff. "There must be a trick to this we're missing. Let's just pile on the heaviest stuff and see what happens."

That didn’t seem like much of a trick to Rusty, but he had no better ideas, so he watched Chul give it one more go. By sheer chance, as Chul was hardly going about the process in a measured manner, the scales came level when he was about halfway done. He didn’t notice how close it was, and Rusty had to shout at him to stop before he put on another piece and interrupted the adjustment of the beam. As Chul paused in mid placement, gears whirred, and a hidden drawer popped open, revealing a tarnished key.

“What do you know?” Chul said. “We’re pretty good at this.”

Rusty chuffed, pleased to have cracked the puzzle, even if by accident, and unwilling to contradict his friend. Chul patted his snout affectionately before unlocking the first clue box by the entrance. Inside was a clear set of partial instructions for solving the door exit, along with a cryptic hint as to the location of another key.

"A pearl…is found…with…within…an oyster's brace." Chul slowly sounded out the clue.

“Embrace,” Rusty corrected him. “A pearl is found within an oyster’s embrace.”

Chul adjusted his hat. "That’s weird. None of the oysters I ever ate had pearl’s in them. But let's keep it up!"

They turned their attention to the brass machine, which loomed forebodingly in its corner. As they drew near, Rusty realized the device was incomplete; gears, pipes, and valves were missing from its framework. He pointed this out to Chul, who didn’t look happy to hear it.

Chul circled the machine, frowning. "You're right, this gizmo's got more holes than a rat's nest. How are we supposed to put it back together? This isn’t fair.” He gave the chassis a half-hearted kick.

Rusty nudged him gently with his snout, shaking his head. They could figure this out, he was certain of it. His material sense thrummed, detecting sources of copper, iron and brass scattered about the room. The missing components had to be among them.

Letting his sixth sense guide him, he relied on Chul to avoid any more pressure plates. They avoided a trapdoor and several tripwires to collect the missing parts: a gear, a copper pipe, and an iron valve. Chul then attempted to install them by hand, but quickly became flustered by the machine's complexity.

"It's no use," he sighed. "This thingamajig has got me beat."

“You didn’t even try using the tools,” Rusty said, eyeing the wrench and hammer that lay discarded beside the machine.

“What good will they do?” Chul complained. “I can wrench with my hands, and hammer with my fists as good as anybody.”

Rusty continued examining the device, filled with an odd feeling of familiarity. Though the machine appeared complex, he instinctively knew that most of its structure was an over-complication. A phrase, “Rube Goldberg machine,” came to mind, though he couldn’t explain why he knew what that was, or how the solution of the missing pieces had come so easily to him. The point was, it was a relatively straightforward contraption, relying on simple mechanics to function. The sections in need of repair were all exposed, and if they could just place the pipe, the valve, and the gear correctly, the whole thing would come together.

“Chul,” he said, “if I tell you what to do, can you follow my instructions exactly?”

“Sure, buddy,” Chul perked up. “What are you thinking?”

Rusty pointed out where to place the pipe, telling him to pay attention to the threads as it had to be twisted into place, and the wrench was required to get the necessary grip. The gear slotted in over a dowel among a nest of similar components, and there was an obvious spot for the missing valve, which had to be hammered in to get it tight. As soon as Chul had done so, steam poured from a vent atop the machine as it heated up. Rusty had no idea why the mere fact of being completed would turn the thing on, but it was already in motion, and a moment later, as the gears spun and the chassis vibrated with the machine’s inner workings, it spit out a key from a dispenser near the bottom.

Rusty’s [System] beeped like it had the morning he’d gained a new level, and he quickly summoned his screen.

Attribute reassessment…

Translation error detected…

New Rank assigned.

Russel “Rusty” Garfield

Trash Dragon

Level 2

Attributes:

Wits: E5

Vigor: D1

Agility: E1

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Spirit: E4

Might: D1

Health: D1

Mana: E6

Recovery: E8

“Whoa,” Chul said, looking at the highlighted section of the screen. “Did you just get smarter?”

“I don’t think so,” Rusty said. “I have no idea.”

“How’d you know how to fix it?” Chul asked, picking up the key.

“It just…” Rusty struggled to explain. “Made sense.”

"Atta boy, Rusty!” Chul proclaimed. “I knew you'd sort this thingamajig out."

“You did?”

Chul shrugged. “Maybe. Sure. Why not?”

That wasn’t enough of an explanation for Rusty, but further inquiry could wait until after the trial. Chul opened the second clue box, and sounded out the hint at the bottom, his reading skills shaky at best.

He showed it to Rusty.

“What dragons covet is often buried,” he read aloud, “or hidden in tunnels beneath the earth.”

“Do you think they’re talking about you?” Chul asked, wonderingly.

“No,” Rusty said. Despite what he’d told Chul, his head felt clearer than it had in days. “The last clue was about pearls being in oysters. This one’s about treasure in general, I think. But we’re looking for a key for the last box, and there isn’t another obvious puzzle in here except for the door at the end. This could be telling us where to find it.” Rusty looked across the arena, which was easily fifty paces from end to end, and all that seemed left for them was more traps hidden among the garbage.

Chul gasped. “Do you think the clues are a riddle? And the riddle tells us how to find the key?”

Rusty blinked. “That’s…yes. That’s exactly what I think, Chul.”

“Aha!” Chul exclaimed. “Geniuses! We’re geniuses!”

Rusty continued to survey the room. The first clue suggested the key would be hidden in a container, like another box, or given the nature of Midden, possibly a literal shell. The hint about being buried might just mean it was under a pile of garbage. He had seen no shovels, and he hoped they weren’t expected to dig holes, given that the halfway bell had already rung while they were working on repairing the second puzzle.

He closed his eyes to better focus on his material sense, as he was still getting lots of impressions from the area. The keys did have a particular flavor to them, and he thought he should have been able to pick out the third if it was nearby, but he wasn’t getting anything.

"What about that trapdoor?" Chul suggested, tugging at his hat. "That’s something underground, right?"

Rusty didn’t have another option for them, so the pair wended their way back to the pit trap they had avoided while looking for missing parts. Chul picked up a rock and tossed it onto the trapdoor, which had been disguised by a loose scrim of miscellaneous junk. Springs creaked, and it snapped open, revealing a sheer drop.

They peered down into the pit, which was about ten feet deep, with a pile of sharp looking shells at the bottom. Chul clambered down before Rusty could tell him not to, using the trapdoor itself to lower himself halfway before dropping the rest of the distance down.

“Ow,” he cried, “pointy!” And shortly thereafter, began tossing up handfuls of shells. Most of them were only halves, or fragments, but a few were complete specimens, sealed as if an oyster still lived within. Rusty examined them, and instantly sensed another key.

“Come up,” he shouted down, “it’s here.”

“Uh,” Chul said a moment later, “I can’t reach.”

Rusty scanned the area, his gaze settling on a loose length of chain, which he grabbed with his mouth and dragged over to the pit. Clamping his jaws tight on one end, he jerked his head so that the other would fall in, and Chul used it to climb back up.

“Teamwork!” Chul announced, waving his arms at the crowd. Rusty had mostly forgotten that they were being watched by a host of goblin spectators, but the noise of the response to Chul’s antics was impossible to ignore. There were a few catcalls, but most of the crowd was urging them on. He had to wonder if there really was a chance that Chul could be elected the Great Goblin. It was a scary prospect.

His friend pried open the oyster he’d selected with his spoon, and they soon had the last clue at their disposal. They made their way across the expanse of the arena, careful to avoid any remaining pitfalls, and found themselves face to face with the most sophisticated apparatus yet. The door was barred and locked, surrounded by mechanisms that had to be manipulated to grant access.

Chul puzzled over the clues, at a loss for how to continue.

“Set them down in front of me,” Rusty said, “and I’ll walk you through it.”

The clues really were just instructions. The door was sealed like a safe, and only one combination would allow them to pass. Someone with one or two clues might have been able to figure out the rest, Rusty thought, but it would probably take them more than the allotted hour to attempt to all the possible combinations of the levers and dials if they only knew a few of the setting to begin with.

“First lever up,” he said, “second lever down. No, not that first one, the first one on the left. Twist the red dial halfway, then put the yellow one back to start.” The process required a little back and forth between the pair, and Chul misunderstood the instructions more than once, but he refused to be discouraged. When the last component clicked into place, chains released, dropping the bars as the lock clicked open.

“We did it!” Chul screamed, again waving his arms for the spectators, and Rusty ducked his head against the sudden onslaught of noise. Overall, it could have gone a lot worse.

Not long after, they were back on the victor’s stand, and this time, Jiho was with them as more goblins ascended to give their pledges. An outpouring of support again overwhelmed Chul and Rusty as goblin after goblin showered them with praise and encouragement. Jiho struggled to hide his dissatisfaction with their reception compared to his own. While he gained a few followers, he also suffered more insults. A few goblins even spat at his feet before giving their pledges to Grizzletooth or the others.

Seok wasn’t entirely left out, though he had been positioned on the lower stand. Some goblins simply seemed to like him; his straightforward approach, and his willingness to strive even when the odds were plainly against him. Slink, despite her indisputable competence, received very few pledges. Rusty noted that [Sneakstabber]s weren’t much better thought of than [Songstealer]’s, though the girl goblin didn’t in any way mirror Jiho’s indignation when she was snubbed. She stood apart from the other victors, as if uninterested in the ceremony, but he did catch her staring at Chul more than once.

The moon was high in the sky when the gang was finally all together again, huddled around a small campfire to ward off the chill. The rain was long gone, but the Creaking Forest was still wet, and the night was cold.

"Amazing," Sooji remarked, her eyes wide with admiration for her entire family. “You were all amazing today.”

“Even me?” Seok asked hopefully.

“Well, not really you,” Sooji said, “sorry. But Chul and Rusty and Jiho, you did it! I’m starting to think the tribe might really come around.”

“They will,” Jiho said, “when I am the Great Goblin.”

“Not what I meant,” Sooji said quickly. “Today was fun, but you shouldn’t fool yourself into thinking you would survive the melee. Have you even gained any levels?”

Jiho turned away from her, but Seok got excited.

“I have,” he said, taking his arm out of its sling. “Look, it’s nearly better.”

The arm was still swollen, and the hound’s bite had resulted in some nasty-looking scabs, but he was holding it out like it didn’t hurt anymore.

“Does gaining a level heal you?” Rusty asked.

“Not exactly,” Sooji said, “but sometimes you get an attribute boost. Is that what happened, Seok?”

“That’s right,” Seok grinned, before hopping up and shaking his bare bottom at the rest of the gang. “I put it in [Might]. That makes me the strongest again!”

“Ugh,” Sooji shielded her face from the bloodcurdling sight of her cousin’s jiggling backside. “No, it doesn’t. There’s no way your attribute jumped up two letter grades.”

“Whatever,” Seok said, continuing to dance. “I mean, I’m the strongest, except for Rusty. He doesn’t count because he’s a dragon.”

“Nice moves,” Jiwoo said, “keep it up.”

“I think I will,” Seok increased the rate of his gyration, “You know I like to dance. I could keep this up all night.”

The flickering of the low fire cast eerie shadows amid the poles and planks of the Creaking Forest. The gang was in good spirits, and soon, Seok had sat back down to recount an embellished version of some of his own past exploits.

"…and then, with a single mighty swing of my club, I cleaved the beast in twain!" he boasted, puffing out his chest. "Its head flew clean off its shoulders and landed at the feet of the gobbos watching in awe."

Jiho snorted. "Seok, we were there. It was a rat. And in any case, you don’t cleave anything in twain with a club. Do you even know what that means?”

"I remember," Chul chimed in, grinning. "You cleaved it real good, Seok. How many rats have you cleaved with a club, Jiho?"

"None," Jiho admitted, rolling his eyes. "But that’s because it doesn’t make any sense."

Sooji, perched on an old barrel, couldn't help but smile. "You two are doing a lot better than I thought," she told her brother. “Especially considering what happened on day one.”

“I’m a quick learner," Seok said proudly. “Never doubt my courage again."

"Recklessness and courage are often confused," Jiho muttered.

"Regardless," Sooji continued, ignoring the banter, "I'm impressed by both of you. Now would be a good time to quit while you’re ahead."

"I told you not to underestimate me," Jiho chided her. "After the community hears me make my case for leadership, we won’t be so unpopular anymore."

"Unpopular?" Seok scoffed. "Speak for yourself, Jiho. I've got a whole fan club already."

"If you get a few more fans," Jiho smirked, "you could ask one of them to lend you some pants."

"Freedom of movement!" Seok protested, gesturing to his naked legs. “I need total freedom of movement!”

As the laughter died down, they settled into a comfortable camaraderie, sharing stories more from their time in Midden. Having Rusty around gave them all an excuse to rehash adventures they’d already talked about a thousand times before, though he was too preoccupied to listen. His experience in the second challenge had confused him. Trash Dragon might well have a natural affinity for broken down machines, so it wasn’t too far of a stretch to imagine he had a racial instinct for such things. There was no note in his [System] screens about it, and when he took a few minutes to question CWChat about the incident, he came away with no new answers. It still refused to acknowledge that [Trash Dragon] was a legitimate class, but it had given him examples of how other types of dragons manipulated their materials in unique ways, and he supposed this wasn’t too different from that. But he knew that wasn’t the only thing going on.

Jiho’s potions had been clouding his mind, but he hadn’t had one since they came to the Creaking Forest, and that cloud had lifted. He didn’t know whether to hate Jiho or be grateful to him now that the effect was fading. Being reborn in a body as unfamiliar as the one he now occupied was traumatic in its own right, and the drug had helped him move past the crippling disassociation he had experienced in his first moments. He still couldn’t remember who he had been, but he knew that the dreams were not dreams. That was his old life, surfacing out of the darkness of what must have been his death, and a part of him was relieved that he didn’t remember more. As incredible as it was to imagine that he was living a second life, the concept was not unfamiliar to him. Why and how this had happened were certainly mysteries he wanted explained, but he doubted any of the goblins would be able to do so.

In the warm glow of their fire, with Chul and the others, Rusty felt more comfortable pretending that he was only a dragon hatchling, that he had never been anything else, than trying to confront the truth. In part, he had been pretending that all along, and the dankroot tincture had simply made it easier. He edged closer to Chul, finding solace in his steady presence. Then he shivered, something was wrong.