The Game Masters of Garden Place Read online

  “Changes things how?” asked Jojo, her body tensing like Jandia ready for battle.

  Declan began to pace the room. “You kids…you know how I love to tell stories, right?” he began. They nodded and he continued. “And I’ve gotten as much out of these sessions as you have. But I don’t just make up stories for you. I also like to write stories for myself. That’s what I’m hoping to do for a long time.”

  “Cool!” said Noel. “Like fantasy stories for kids? You’d be perfect! We’d read them for sure.”

  “Actually, I’ve been kind of writing for grown-ups. About grown-up things.”

  “Hey, that’s totally fine,” said Ralph. “I bet your stories are great.”

  Declan ran his fingers through his hair. “They’re not great. I mean, not yet. I need help learning how to make them better. So I’m going back to school to do just that.”

  Persephone laughed. “School? But you graduated already! Why are you going back?”

  “To get a graduate degree,” Declan said, leaning forward. “I’ve been accepted to one of the best creative writing programs in the country.”

  “That’s amazing!” said Cammi.

  “So that’s why you were so distracted today?” Noel said.

  “Well, there’s a little more news,” said Declan. “Because, you see…the program is in Iowa.”

  Persephone backed away in horror. “That means…”

  Ralph glumly finished her thought. “…you’ll be moving away and won’t be able to run our game anymore.”

  The others fell into a stony silence.

  Declan looked around helplessly. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

  “How?” wailed Persephone. “It’s ruined. It’s over.”

  Jojo shook her head. “Enough, Persephone.” She looked at Declan suspiciously. “How is it going to be okay? You were the one running the game.”

  “Maybe Declan knows some other person who can come in and run it from here,” suggested Ralph.

  “I do know a few guys who could GM for you,” Declan said.

  “But it won’t be the same,” grumbled Cammi, crossing his arms. “They won’t know all our histories, all the things that have happened—”

  “I would give them my notes, but it’s true that no one knows this campaign the way I do,” Declan said. He then cast his eyes around the room. “And the way you guys do.”

  Noel brightened. “Do you mean one of us could be the game master? ’Cause I’ve been practicing at home, and I’d love to do it!”

  This set Persephone off on another crying jag; Jojo looked like she wanted to punch someone, anyone; Cammi just lay back looking at the ceiling; and Ralph groaned.

  “I didn’t mean just one of you should do it,” Declan explained. “I meant more that it could alternate. Each one of you brings something different to the story. I bet it would be amazing too.”

  Ralph made a face. “Yeah, but…it’s your story. You’re the one who made it up.”

  Declan looked sheepish. He pulled up the screen that separated his dice and sheets from the players. There was a laptop there as well. “Not completely. If you go online, you’ll see that there are campaigns that have been played by other players and put up on this site called GMstories.com.”

  There were dozens of entries on the page, with statistics showing how often the various stories had been downloaded. There was the Rose Queen, the Shadow of Morgorath, the Butterfly Sword. But at the top of the list was the Seven Serpent Scepter.

  “The SSS is one of the oldest campaigns ever waged. It was written by the creator of the game himself, Warwick Wycroft. Literally thousands of RoD’ers have played it through the years. Of course, it’s different each time, depending on the characters the players create and the story that they help to tell. But the puzzles are all in there. All you have to do is follow the basic text and bring your own imaginations into it and it will be incredible. Like it always has been.”

  Declan powered down his laptop and gathered up his things.

  Ralph asked a question, even though he knew the answer already. “Is this our last session with you?”

  Declan kept his back to them. “Yes, it looks like it. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure, or I would have told you sooner—”

  To no one’s surprise, the end of his sentence was cut off with Persephone’s mournful wail. Jojo glared at him. “I know it’s for the best and everything, but this totally stinks,” she growled. But she gave him a grudging hug as well.

  He turned, and it was clear that his eyes were wet. He rubbed them and sighed. “Yo, RPG! You have my email. Keep in touch and let me know how the game is going. You know I love you guys.”

  And just like that, he was gone.

  Ralph’s mom poked her head into the room. She surveyed the somber and depressed scene. “I guess Declan told you, huh?”

  Ralph stared at her. “You knew?”

  “He made your dad and me promise not to tell. He didn’t want anything to get in the way of the game.”

  “This is actually pretty neat,” Noel called. He had pulled up the website on Ralph’s laptop. “Maybe we could do this.”

  “I guess it’s worth a try,” Ralph said grimly.

  There were lots of changes that fall. Sixth grade meant more homework, and now that Declan had gone, Ralph’s big sister Gabrielle (who everyone called GG) was put in charge of hanging out with the kids on Saturday. She wasn’t happy about it, but it meant babysitting money, and all she had to do was sit in her room, where she could study, watch videos, or text her friends.

  At lunchtime at school, the group met to discuss exactly how the game would proceed. They had agreed that to make it fair, the GM was to read only far enough ahead to see what happened during his or her own GM session. Ralph had brought his d20, and suggested they roll it to determine the order of who would GM. Noel got the highest roll, followed by Jojo, Cammi, and Persephone. Ralph ended up in the last slot. He decided that wasn’t all bad. He could learn from the others’ mistakes.

  Noel arrived at their first session, his eyes glowing. “I’ve been working all week on this,” he said, opening his notes and unfolding the game mat. He had marked it up with a new island, and he plunked their minis on the water just offshore….

  THE REALM OF RATTUS

  Gerontius was studying the map as the boat approached the island of Kendzion. “Are you sure this is the right island?”

  Mirak, who had been strumming upon her harp and singing, paused. “Do you question my sisters?”

  It was Gerontius who had suggested that she call upon the merfolk who had raised her. Surely they would know if an island had mice and a crown. The last full moon she went out onto the foredeck and called out to them, and three mermaids swam alongside the ship, laughing and calling back. They sang one word to her: Kendzion.

  “I hope we reach land soon,” Bram said. “This trip is growing tiresome.”

  Torgrim pulled at his oar and gritted his teeth. Since the boat had been lowered off the side of their ship, he had done the lion’s share of rowing. Bram was idling at the prow, his fingers dangling lazily in the water. Torgrim glanced at him. “Halfling, I seem to recall that each of us was to take a turn at the oars.”

  Jandia, who was also hard at work, nodded. “We have all labored at this. It is your place now.”

  “We each have our job to do,” answered Bram. “Mirak, to sing songs that ease the burden; Gerontius, to interpret the signs and portents hidden in the charts and maps; and I, to use my keen eye to scan the horizon.”

  “Perhaps, Rogue, it would profit you better to keep your keen eye on your surroundings,” said Mirak, nocking an arrow in her bow and letting it fly.

  There was a nasty squeaking sound as the missile found its mark. Bram looked down to see a giant rat turn belly up next to th
e boat, and beyond it, dozens more. He quickly pulled his hand up, his face pale. “True words, Bard! We are besieged!”

  The water was fouled with the greasy fur of the huge, nasty creatures, each the size of a small dog. They swiftly brought the oars in and drew their swords.

  It was quick work, but the frenzy of the combat was such that the band had not realized how close to the island they had come until their skiff ran aground with a loud crunching noise.

  Torgrim was busy with the chore of healing everyone’s bites and scratches, and so got the worst of it, tumbling into Jandia, who in turn knocked Mirak over.

  Only Bram had noticed that they were not alone. On the shore was a greeting party: hundreds of rats dressed in armor. They were surrounded. Jandia managed to bring her sword down on one of the rat soldiers, but the blow glanced off, leaving no mark.

  “How is this so?” she asked. “This blade has cut through the skin of the toughest dragons and elf-made armor!”

  Mirak gaped in astonishment to see her arrow miss a target at point-blank range, veering off to the side before it could strike its target. “This island is bewitched!”

  Gerontius peered into his orb with a worried expression. “I fear my powers seem to have been diminished as well.”

  Quickly, they were overrun and disarmed. The filthy creatures dragged them inland to a crude structure, a castle of some sort. Inside was a throne room, and perched on the throne, sitting over them, was an awful sight.

  He was a three-headed rat, glorious in his grossness, wearing a silk blouse made for a man, his giant furred belly poking out between the buttons.

  There was a crown on each of the heads, and all three regarded them with equal contempt and scorn. The clue of the mouse and the crown clearly led here.

  One of the soldiers who brought them kicked Jandia in the back. “Kneel before King Rattus and show homage.”

  Jandia whirled to face her tormenter, but Gerontius touched her arm. “We are outnumbered and need answers. For now, we should do as ordered.”

  They all lowered themselves, and the middle head of the king spoke. “Ah, good to see that new guests have arrived. It has become so boring since the last party.”

  He clapped his massive paws. “No time like the present. What shall we do with these?”

  A small rat, dressed in what were probably the stolen clothes of some unhappy warrior who had come before them, cocked his head. “Make them fight against one another. To the death, Your Highness.”

  Rattus yawned. “We have done that far too often. I crave something new.”

  Bram’s sharp ears heard a familiar noise, which filled him with some small hope. It was the sound of dice being shaken in a cup. There, across the room, was a pair of soldiers, gambling.

  “Majesty,” Bram asked, gesturing toward the two. “May I inquire what they are doing?”

  Rattus gave the soldiers a bored look. “A stupid game. They play at dice, wagering over which will get that lovely bow after the half orc meets her death, I warrant.”

  Mirak instinctively reached for her weapon, then remembered they had been disarmed when they’d been captured. She lowered her head.

  “There are ways to make the game more interesting,” Bram suggested.

  All three of Rattus’s heads yawned. “Bah. That is a game for fools and children.”

  “Ah, but what makes it a game for kings is the stakes,” countered Bram.

  The pink eyes of the rat king focused on the halfling. He looked intrigued.

  “And what,” he hissed, “do you propose? I already have your lives.”

  “We each roll once. He who rolls the higher number is the victor. If I win, we go free, as do all who are imprisoned here, by magic or other means.”

  Two of Rattus’s heads laughed. The third regarded his captive with interest. “And if you lose?”

  “We forfeit our souls,” the halfling said simply.

  There was a gasp from his party.

  “You must not do this!” said Torgrim, clutching his amulet.

  “I will never renounce my soul, to my last breath,” declared Jandia.

  Bram calmly looked at the king. “How do you answer, Rat King?”

  Rattus’s three heads laughed, each in its own way. One was a deep rumble, another more of a hee-haw, and the third a high-pitched titter. It was most unpleasant. “For one roll of the dice? In my own kingdom, where your magic is useless? I agree to these rules!”

  Mirak grabbed Bram’s sleeve. “This is reckless and mad.”

  Bram pulled his arm away and turned to the others with a small smile. “Trust me.”

  Torgrim looked downcast. “All my life there have been two truths above all others: never eat the fish at the Crusty Bucket in Athanos, and never trust a halfling rogue.”

  Jandia turned to Gerontius. “Speak, Wizard.”

  Gerontius’s face was impassive. “We have no choice,” he said simply.

  The hideous king clapped his paws and gestured for the two soldiers to bring the dice and the cup forward.

  “No, Majesty, not those dice,” said Bram, reaching into his boot. “We play with mine.”

  Rattus bared his teeth. “What nonsense is this?”

  “We made no rule as to whose dice would be used,” said Bram, rolling the large twenty-sided die in his hand. “Or is the Great King Rattus afraid of being bested by a halfling rogue in this simple child’s game?”

  A murmur went through the court. The king looked about.

  “We play with your little trinket,” the king muttered. “Little difference it will make to you. I am the only magic here.”

  Bram bowed. “I offer to let the sovereign of these lands take the first roll.”

  Rattus took the die from Bram’s hand in his paw. Six sets of eyes examined it, until all three heads were satisfied it was not specially weighted in any way. “Very well, see if you can beat this.” He shook the die in his paws, closing his eyes as he did. “There!” he cried, and let it tumble onto the floor between them.

  Nineteen. A cheer went up from the court. That would be hard to beat.

  Bram took up the die and rubbed it on his shirt. Only Gerontius’s keen eye noticed the switching of the die. He looked at the others and winked. “We shall win the day yet,” he said.

  He kissed the die and said, “Lady Luck, she who watches over all rogues, cutpurses, and thieves, smile upon me this day!”

  He dropped the die on the floor, where it spun like a top on one of its edges. As it twirled, not a breath could be heard in the vast court.

  Then it dropped.

  Twenty.

  A scream of agony ripped through the air. The king rose, clawing at his fur. He seemed to be in a fevered frenzy to be rid of his very skin. The dreadful smell of sulfur and brimstone filled the room, and a cloud of acrid smoke billowed from the throne. The adventurers doubled over, coughing. There were screams and shrieks from all over the court, as if something terrible was attacking the other rats of the court.

  But as the smoke cleared, it was apparent that rather than being attacked, they were being released. The shades of demons large and small floated downward, back into the underworld from which they’d come. In their place they left humans—the rat forms were gone. Where the hideous king had loomed now sat a man with a dark red beard. He was clothed in a striking purple robe covered in golden stars. Upon his head was a velvet conical hat. He was a wizard.

  Gerontius knelt before him. “Ragus, my old teacher! How amazing to find you here!”

  Ragus smiled. “Rise, Gerontius. It is I who should kneel to you. Or to your small friend, who lifted the curse that has kept us captive these many years.”

  He beckoned to Bram. “Come forward, my brave little rogue. And take your reward.” Ragus held out his wand. “I meddled in things that no wiz
ard should. I lost not only myself to the demon Immodius, but all of my court as well. For freeing us from this life of misery, and to ensure I will not be tempted again, I give you my wand.”

  “You cannot!” Gerontius exclaimed. “A wizard’s wand is—”

  “I must,” Ragus insisted. “Please, take it and go.”

  Bram regarded the item in his hand. It was of the finest crystal and made in the shape of a serpent.

  “The third serpent!” Bram explained. “But where is the clue that is meant to come with it?”

  “There is something I was told,” Ragus said, “when I was given this wand. But it was a long time ago….”

  “Do try and remember,” Torgrim muttered. “It would be extremely helpful to us.”

  Ragus rubbed his temples and thought for a moment. “It is something to do with the sailor and his song. That is all I can recall. Forgive me.”

  “That does it,” Jojo said, pushing Noel off his chair and grabbing the pages from the campaign he had printed out.

  “What are you doing!” screeched Noel. “I’m the game master! You can’t look at those!”

  Jojo surveyed the pages calmly. “I can and I will. Look, guys, there’s nothing here that says our characters lose their powers. You made that up so your character would be the hero.”

  “I was just trying to make the game more interesting!” protested Noel.

  “That’s not what Declan would have done,” Cammi said. “He would have found a way for all of us to figure it out together and gain our powers back.”

  Noel picked up the rest of the papers and threw them at Jojo. “Fine. It’s your turn to be the GM. Everybody obviously thinks I’m doing a sucky job.” His lip was trembling.

  Ralph looked at his friends. He’d never seen them like this before. “Guys, we all need to take a step back and chill. It’s just a game.”

  Noel laughed. “That’s funny coming from you, RPG. You keep saying it’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you.”

  “I have to admit, Noel’s right,” Jojo said. “That’s why you’re probably the best person to run the game.”