Volumes 5 and 6 - Blood Beast/Demon Apocalypse

“Carefully,” Loch agrees.

“If there are other traps, they’re probably slow-burners too,” Bill-E argues.

“But I doubt if there are more,” Loch says. “What would be the point? One’s enough. If it was set off, old Sheftree could have simply cleaned up the remains of the bodies, then set the trap again.”

In the end, despite the dangers, they decide to proceed. Since they can’t be swayed and there’s no profit in cutting myself off from them, I reluctantly grab a shovel and all three of us climb down into the hole.

For an hour we work doggedly and fearfully—me fearful of faces appearing in the rocks, Bill-E and Loch fearful of running afoul of the dead Lord Sheftree.

We pause every time there’s a rustling in the trees overhead, or when a heavy stream of earth trickles down into the hole, me anticipating whispers, Bill-E and Loch thinking it might be the grinding gears of Lord Sheftree’s next weapon of mass destruction. But gradually we adjust to the natural sounds of the forest and stop flinching at every minor disturbance.

Bill-E and Loch are more convinced than ever that we’ve unearthed the final resting place of Lord Sheftree’s buried treasure. Not me. There’s something magical about this hole. It drew me to it last night, sang out to the moon-affected beast I’d become and lured it here, turning me into a conspirator, using me to clear the way for… what?

I don’t know. I haven’t the slightest idea what we might be digging our way down to. But I’m pretty certain it’s not a rich miser’s hidden treasure.

Loch and I work paired, chipping away at the hard-packed earth around the large rocks, prising them out slowly, often painfully, rolling and dragging them up the slope. Bill-E cleans up after us, removing the smaller rocks, pebbles and dirt. We’re an effective team, although as Loch tires from the hard work, he starts cursing and teasing Bill-E, taking out his irritation on him. At first I ignore it, but he keeps on and on, Spleenio this, fat boy that, dodgy eye the other, and eventually I snap.

“Why don’t you lay off him?” I snarl after an especially brutal remark about Bill-E’s dead mother.

“Make me,” Loch retorts.

I square up to him. “Maybe I will.”

Loch holds his shovel in both hands and raises it warningly. I grab the handle and we glare at each other. Then Bill-E slips behind me and whispers, “Do him, Grubbs!” It’s so flat, so vicious, so un-Bill-E, that I turn around, startled, releasing the shovel.

“What did you say?”

Bill-E looks confused, but angry too. “I meant… I just…”

“I heard him,” Loch growls. “He told you to bump me off.”

“What if I did?” Bill-E bristles, and now he tries to get round me, so that he can go toe-to-toe with Loch.

“Stop,” I say firmly. I lay my left palm against the nearest rock wall and concentrate. After a few seconds I feel or sense the vibrations of a very faint throbbing. A non-human throbbing. “We all need to chill.”

“Who made you the leader?” Loch barks.

“We’re being manipulated.” His forehead creases and I start to tell him there’s magic at work, affecting our tempers. But then I realise how crazy that would sound. “The soil,” I say instead, inventing quickly. “There must be some sort of chemical in it. Put there by Lord Sheftree. It’s making us feel and say things we shouldn’t. If we don’t stop, we’ll be at each other’s throats soon.”

Loch’s frown deepens, then clears. “I’ll be damned,” he sighs.

“The sly old buzzard,” Bill-E hoots. “Chemicals to alter our dispositions and turn us against one another. Coolio!”

“I thought you were my enemy,” Loch says wonderingly, staring at me. “It came so suddenly, without warning. I believed you were out to kill me. The shovel…” He looks down at the sharp, grey head, then drops it and clambers out of the pit. Bill-E and I follow. We find Loch sitting by the edge of the hole, shivering.

“Are you OK?” I ask.

“I don’t think we should carry on,” Loch whispers. “You were right. We should turn this over to someone who knows what they’re doing. Chemicals… That’s out of our league.”

“No way!” Bill-E protests. “We’re close, I know it. You can’t back out now. That would be real madness.”

“But –” Loch begins.

“There might be no chemicals,” Bill-E interrupts. “Maybe we’re just tired and edgy. It’s been a long day, we’re hungry, we’ve been working hard, it’s late… Combine all those and you get three sore-headed bears.”

“It was more than grumpiness,” Loch says.

“Probably,” Bill-E agrees. “But let’s say there are chemicals down there. It’s been so long since they were planted, their strength must have dwindled by now. I bet, if we’d dug fifty years ago, they would have blinded or killed us. Now all they can do is make our hackles rise. We should take a short break, clear our heads, then get back to work. If we find ourselves getting short-tempered again, we come up for another rest.”

“I’m not sure,” I mutter. If we were alone, I’d tell Bill-E about my fears—that this place is part of the world of magic. I’m sure he’d take more notice of my warnings then. But I can’t speak about such matters in front of Loch. “Why don’t we leave it for today. It’s getting late. Let’s go home and sleep on it.”

“Not yet,” Bill-E pleads. “Give it until dusk, like we planned. Since we’re here, we might as well make the most of the daylight.”

“Spleenio’s right,” Loch says. Now that the influence of the hole has passed, he’s his old self again, intent on getting his hands on the treasure, quickly forgetting his fears. “Let’s do what we came to, then go home and relax. It might be weeks before we dig all the way to the bottom. We can’t get cold feet every time we run into an obstacle.”

I don’t like it but their minds are set, so after a brief rest, we up tools and edge down the hole again.

→We remove one of the biggest rocks yet and haul it to the top. Standing by the edge of the hole. Sweating, shaking, flexing our fingers. “This is torture,” Loch groans.

“Think the treasure will be worth it?” I ask.

“It better be.”

“What if there’s nothing there, if it’s just a hole?”

Loch smiles. “It isn’t. We’re on to something big. I can feel it in my bones.”

“You’re just feeling what you want to feel.”

Loch scowls. “Stop being such a –”

Bill-E screams.

Loch and I bolt down the hole. We find Bill-E submerged in earth to his waist, clinging to the rocks around him, face bright with terror. “There’s nothing underneath!” he shouts. “My legs are dangling! I’m going to fall! I’m going to fall! I’m going to –”

I grab his right hand. Loch grabs his left.

“We won’t drop you!” I yell.

“Not unless you give us reason to,” Loch jokes.

“I was digging,” Bill-E gasps, fingernails gouging my flesh. “Rooting up stones. The floor gave way. My shovel fell. I heard it clanging all the way down—a long way. I thought… I dropped this far… I managed to grab the edge. If I hadn’t…” He starts to cry.

“Look at the chubster,” Loch howls with delight. “Booing like a baba!”

“Can’t you shut up just once in your stupid bloody life!” I roar—then catch myself. “The chemicals,” I hiss. “Loch… Bill-E… take it easy. No outbursts. No insults. Relax. Think nice thoughts. Tell me when you feel normal.”

“How can I be normal when I’m stuck down a –” Bill-E shrieks.