Rockheart’s mood didn’t improve. This was the minotaur’s doing, working in concert with that buffoon Marko.
Once all four of the adventurers were inside the room, the entry door slammed shut, which was no surprise. The iron room had slits as well as round holes in the walls. From his time working with Treacle Glimmerhappy, Rockheart knew deadly saws could come buzzing out of the slits at any minute. Those holes were no doubt for spears or spikes. A keyboard stood on a metal stand in the far corner, with a series of panpipes nearby, also welded onto a platform. Trumpets, a brass pipe organ, a flute, a steel lute, and a variety of other instruments were spread across the room.
A single note, from the metal piano, rang out, reverberating in the air like a struck gong.
“The luckiest piper calls the unluckiest of tunes,” Rockheart murmured to himself. It was a clue, but it wasn’t much of one.
For a moment, nothing happened, and then the entire room rumbled and shifted to the right with the groan of gears and the rattle of chains—the floor abruptly becoming a wall, one of the walls now the floor. Razor-tipped spikes erupted from beneath their feet. Corry executed a flawless handspring to a flip, grabbing hold of a brassy trumpet welded to a stand. The dwarf would’ve fallen on the spikes if Lyndagg hadn’t grabbed him by an armor strap. She herself clutched one of the pipes of the organ, formidable biceps bulging. As for Rockheart, he had anticipated the whole room turning, and so he simply walked onto the new floor.
After a few seconds, the spikes retreated, leaving the party unscathed. Definitely needed improvement, Rockheart thought.
The panpipes flashed, playing a low, sad note in a minor key. This time, Rockheart knew what to do. He jumped, caught hold of the pipes, and blew through the largest tube, echoing the note.
The room reverted, righting itself.
“The piper calls the tune,” Rockheart said. “We merely have to repeat whatever note and instrument is played.”
The next note sounded as he finished.
And so it went.
An instrument would flash, they would have to mimic the tune or else the room would turn again. Or saws would come roaring out of the walls. Or spears shot out to clatter onto the metal. Or a cloud of spores that left everyone, except Rockheart, sniffling and sneezing.
Luckily, no one was killed... or even hurt. The puzzle was cunning in its way, but not especially dangerous. It was a bit of a disappointment really, after all of the other clever things his students had done so far.
Too simple, really.
As the instruments flashed faster, the four divided up the work, to make sure they didn’t miss a note. Two notes became four became eight, and Rockheart knew there would be thirteen notes in all—the unluckiest of tunes. By the time the last run of notes sounded, the four remaining raiders all waited in separate corners, ready to play their notes on cue.
Rockheart took the large brass organ, pressing keys that lit up. Down the wall from him, Corry strummed the steel lute. Across the room, Orem blew on the trumpet, while Lyndagg used an obsidian dagger hilt to strike a xylophone made of yellow human bone or blew through the twisted panpipes.
They were going to beat the room.
As Rockheart played the thirteenth note, the door on the far side of the room to swing open. He grinned in victory. Too easy. But that grin slipped a notch as a tremor passed through the floor. His eyes widened in shock as he realized what they’d done. This room wasn’t truly designed to kill. The traps and weapons—spikes, saws, and spears—were little more than distractions. Clever sleight of hand designed to herd the dungeoneers. Rockheart watched as a metal wall rose from the center of the room, splitting the party in two before anyone could react.
Marko’s insanely amplified voice filled the puzzle room. “I’m the lucky piper, and you four have played the unluckiest of tunes. Winning is losing, in this case, but our little party is only just beginning. You survived the first level of my amazing maze. But will you survive the second?”
Corry threw Rockheart a weak grin. “Looks like it’s just me and you, Tearclaw.” A previously hidden iron door slid open, revealing stairs leading down. The thief laughed weakly. “Now, cat man, which one of us should go first?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
SO FAR, LOGAN MURRAY couldn’t believe how well things were going. He also couldn’t believe how much Marko’s plaster statues looked like the theater mannequins from Layers of Fear 2. Creepy. Creepy and amazing.
Granted, Inga had only killed one of the raiders, but that had been Linraist Erejam. When Logan first laid eyes on the Vampiric Runecaster, fear had hit him hard. This was someone who’d tackled Kyvandry’s Slaughter Pits repeatedly and had managed to survive. Deploying Inga so early had been a terrible gamble, but it had paid off in spades as far as Logan was concerned.
They’d also gotten fortunate with the Wood Warden, though her death was really her own fault. If this had been Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, there would’ve been an Oompa Loompa singing a song about being difficult to work with and not following simple instructions. Like the rogue had suggested, she should’ve waited for them to wipe the magical paint off the wall. Had the half-elf just had a little more patience, she would be alive right now instead of dissolving in a vat of digestive acid, providing Logan with a burst of much-needed energy.
Things had turned out well for the Terrible Twelfth, even down to splitting the party in Treacle’s puzzle trap, which Logan had called the Bop-It room.
Inga had been thrilled to split the party—that was kind of her thing. While her guardian form lay dead at the entrance, her consciousness still swam in her gem floating over the pedestal. She was still helping Logan, both with ideas and by feeding him more of her Apothos.
But there were still four raiders left to deal with, and the next big test was right around the corner. Using a set of secret passageways, Treacle had dragged the Wood Warden’s body from the hallway all the way back to the digestive pit in the entrance room. Now he was hustling back through the twists and turns, beelining to take his place in the right arm of the labyrinth’s second level. He had to move like the wind, but thankfully the minotaur didn’t get lost because of his special racial ability: Labyrinth Sense.
Treacle’s boss room on the left had been placed closer to the puzzle room stairs than Marko’s feast room outside the sanctum on the right side of the maze, because Logan and his cohort didn’t want to juggle two major battles at the same time.
The dwarf and half-orc would have to fight through Treacle’s boss room and then pass through a warren of passages filled with Inga’s minions before eventually arriving at the sanctum. Assuming they made it that far. Meanwhile, it would take a bit for the cat man and the ever-smiling rogue to reach Marko’s feast room. More paintings and mannequins would be there to slow them down, not to mention hallways full to bursting with Logan’s fiendish fungi: Gem-Studded Puffballs, Ghoul’s Snare, and the Blister Wart. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the Apothos necessary to make the artwork deadly, but the mushrooms were armed and ready. All in all, those would be a delaying tactic.
If all went according to plan, Treacle would join them in the feast room for the final fight.
They were trying hard to keep the raiders out of the sanctum.