Keys to the Demon Prison

"Why are you looting the manor?" Seth asked.

"Go ask your mentor," the troll replied, his tone reasonable despite his edgy posture. "Graulas ended the treaty. You can’t blame an old trader for seizing an obvious opportunity."

"Graulas left me in charge," Seth said, inventing as he went. "He had to undo the treaty in order to leave Fablehaven. But he’ll be back. And he wants the manor as his residence."

Baring rows of needle teeth, Nero glared at Seth suspiciously. "You openly serve him?"

Seth displayed no uncertainty. "My family abandoned Fablehaven. I stayed behind. I have much to learn. Graulas sent me to make sure his future home remained secure."

Nero became fidgety. "I had no way of knowing …"

"I don’t blame you," Seth said. "You’ve helped me in the past. Help both of us tonight. Spread the word that nothing in or around the manor is to be touched. Same with the main house at Fablehaven, especially the dungeon. Graulas knows every item in both houses, and he will show no mercy to any who claim his prizes."

"Knew it was too good to be true," Nero mumbled.

"Excuse me?" Seth asked, a hint of warning in his voice.

"It will be as you say, young master Sorenson," the troll answered obsequiously, inclining his head. "Naturally, for your sake, these words had best be proven faithful when Graulas returns."

"Was that a threat?" Seth bristled. If he was going to bluff like this, he needed to play the role convincingly. "Maybe a conversation with a shade would relieve your doubts."

Raising his webbed hands, the cliff troll finally looked truly intimidated. "No need for unpleasantness."

"You’re the one causing unpleasantness," Seth snapped. "I was going easy on you. I guess you vermin only speak one language. Hugo, let’s see if trolls can fly as far as goblins."

The golem grasped Nero by his torso, turned, and flung him out into the yard like a football. Seth used the flashlight to follow the trajectory of the troll as he soared in a long arc. The cliff troll righted himself in the air, spreading his arms and legs like a flying squirrel. Extendable fins fanned out to help him glide. When he landed over fifty yards away, Nero rolled adroitly and ended up on his feet.

"Don’t let me see you again," Seth barked, turning his back on the troll and entering the house. Not far from the door lay a bulging sack crammed with candlesticks, silverware, and other household treasures. Behind Seth, Hugo squeezed through the doorway.

"Is he leaving?" Seth whispered after a moment. "Yes," Hugo confirmed quietly.

Seth sagged. "Good. I’m glad he landed all right. I didn’t want to be mean. I wanted to protect our property and keep dark creatures away from us. Thanks for backing me up."

"Hugo help."

"You sure did." Seth shouldered the heavy sack and lugged it to the pantry, where it would be slightly more hidden. Regardless of the message he had shared with Nero, there would probably be more looters. No need to make their job easier. "Let’s find the stairs to the cellar."

Hugo leaned his head back searchingly. "Come."

Flashlight brightening the way, Seth followed Hugo to a locked door. A nudge from Hugo broke it open, and they descended the stairway beyond. Barrels, crates, and boxes cluttered the webby basement. The flashlight beam revealed an iron door on a nearby wall. Seth wondered if it led to a dungeon.

They located the fireplace without much effort. Hugo swiftly brushed some large barrels aside to clear a path for Seth, stirring up dust and making sheets of cobweb flap and tear. Seth ducked into the fireplace and recited, "Everybody loves a show-off."

Immediately the back of the fireplace turned to dust. Seth walked through the insubstantial barrier, particles swirling in his wake, and passed into a tunnel with rock walls braced by wooden beams. The air in the man-made tunnel was noticeably cooler. Hugo followed on hands and knees.

They proceeded along the passage, the ground sloping constantly downward. After some distance, the tunnel widened into a spacious natural cavern. A gentle stream trickled across the lowest part of the room, appearing from under one wall and vanishing beneath another. The flashlight illuminated several chests, a bed, a desk, a safe, camping gear, stacked crates, a few barrels, and a large table covered with maps.

A green, corked bottle on the table caught Seth’s eye due to the large white label on it with SETH written in bold letters. He crossed to the table and picked up the bottle, then unfolded the note he found underneath, scanning the succinct message.

The contents of this bottle are meant only for Seth Sorenson.

Seth worked at the cork with his thumbs but could not get it to budge. Digging into his emergency kit, he got out his pocketknife, selected the corkscrew attachment, and twisted it into the cork. After a good tug, the cork came unplugged with a hollow pop, and colored gas started gushing out of the bottle.

Seth set the bottle on the table and backed away, briefly concerned that a saboteur had turned the message from Patton into a poisonous trap. But a moment later, as the gas finished flowing from the mouth of the bottle, it gathered into the form of Patton–old, wrinkled, and semitransparent.

"Patton," Hugo rumbled.

"If this is Seth," the Patton cloud said, "try to touch me." Seth strode forward and passed a hand through the gaseous figure, creating a temporary disturbance in his midsection.

"Very good," Patton said. "I’m glad we managed to connect. Our friend Coulter delivered a most disturbing message earlier tonight. Based on the scant available evidence, we managed to deduce what had transpired. We assume the group sent to rescue you failed, losing the Translocator, which was then somehow entrusted to you along with the Sands of Sanctity. Meaning well, you went and healed Graulas, who stole your artifacts and then went on to steal the Chronometer. Forgive me if our deductions were incorrect, but it was the only way we could reconcile the sudden wellness and freedom of Graulas with your unexpected presence at the edge of the yard."

"Can you hear me?" Seth asked hopefully.

The gaseous Patton continued speaking as if no question had been asked. "Coulter expected to lose his life upon his return to your time. He took it like a man. I expect if you’re listening to this message, you’re dealing with his recent demise. You’re feeling alone and desperate, and you could use some advice. I’m sorry there can’t be any actual communication between us. I’m not much more than a talking letter. I could have simply written this message, but I figured you could use the company, even if it was just an illusion. In addition, candidly, I have too much time on my hands these days. Creating this gaseous monologue was an engaging proposition.