Page 48 of Shelf-Made Man
It wasn’t a good plan. They all agreed that it relied too heavily on assumptions and luck. But they didn’t have time to come up with anything better. “And besides,” said Alfie, “isn’t this the season for miracles?”
Tobias patted his shoulder. “We’re asking for a lot more than oil lasting for eight days.”
So despite the misgivings, they went forward with it anyway.
To begin with, they ate. Sort of. The bag contained a hunk of moldy bread, a few mealy apple-like fruits, and several pieces of mystery meat. As awful as it was, it was more food than Olve had seen in a long time. At Tobias and Alfie’s insistence, he consumed the bulk of it, promptly felt ill, and was just as promptly healed by Alfie. He left a few bites for each of them, and they managed to choke them down—more out of politenessthan need—since neither of them had reached Olve’s level of hunger.
Shortly afterward, the trolls barged in. Before they could hurl their first insult, Olve pointed a finger, mumbled something unintelligible, and froze them in place.
“That’s impressive!” said Tobias, poking the nearest one pretty hard.
“It’s a simple spell, and it won’t last long. We should go.”
They paused long enough for Tobias to make sure all three immobile trolls were fully inside the cell and for Alfie to take a knife and a set of keys from one of them. Locking the trolls inside the cell proved unexpectedly satisfying, especially after Alfie somehow managed to turn off the light inside.
“Are there any other prisoners?” Alfie asked Olve.
“I don’t know.”
They unlocked all the other cells, which were empty. None of them looked to be magic-proofed.
By the time they reached the end of the corridor and climbed the stairs, Olve was flagging. “Go on without me,” he gasped, leaning against the wall.
“No,” Alfie and Tobias replied in unison.
Alfie unlocked the door and, with Tobias tracking Snjokarl and half carrying Olve, they crept through the halls. The whole thing reminded Tobias of a scene inThe Princess Bride—a movie he and his mother had loved to watch together—and he nearly broke intohysterical laughter. Alfie had to poke him a few times to keep him moving properly.
The few windows they passed showed darkness outside, and Tobias sensed it was pretty late. That likely explained why they didn’t encounter many other people. The few they did bump into stopped in shock, and that gave Olve the opportunity to freeze them before they could scream for help.
They finally reached a door at the very end of a long, narrow hallway, guarded by a pair of sleepy-looking trolls who were immobilized before they knew what hit them. “Can’t do much more,” rasped Olve, who by now was literally draped in Tobias’s arms. His face was even more drawn than usual. Clearly, magic took energy, and he hadn’t had much to begin with.
Alfie gave him a reassuring pat. “No worries. We’re nearly there.” Then he took a deep breath and flung open the door.
It was a torture chamber. Not exactly like the ones Tobias had seen in movies—this one looked more industrial than medieval—but there was no question about the room’s intended use. Whips, chains, and other items he didn’t want to identify hung on hooks or sat on shelves. There were benches and racks, and the straps weren’t padded as they would be with BDSM gear. The wood was bloodstained. And some of that blood was Alfie’s.
Fear, pain, and desperation so filled the room that Tobias could smell them, could feel them on his skin like tiny claws.
And there in the middle, gaping, was Snjokarl. He held a sinister-looking metal device in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, as if he’d been adjusting the cursed thing. “How?” he demanded as he dropped both items and reached for the knives at his waist.
Olve raised a finger, mumbled his spell, and… nothing happened. “Oh no,” he moaned.
At the same moment, Snjokarl opened his mouth and roared, “Guards!”
And also at the same moment, Alfie hurled himself toward Snjokarl—who now held a pair of wicked-looking blades.
Acting entirely on instinct, Tobias dropped Olve—not gently, due to the rush—and used the advantage of his longer legs and greater weight to catch up to Alfie, shove him aside, and launch himself into Snjokarl. The evil elf fell to the floor, Tobias landing atop him. And the knives were between them, digging deep into Tobias’s body.
He didn’t feel pain yet, just urgency and purpose. “Alfie! Olve! Come here!” Snjokarl bucked and snarled beneath him, plunging the weapons in deeper and twisting them, but Tobias was too heavy for Snjokarl to dislodge. Just to make sure, Tobias grabbed handfuls of Snjokarl’s hair.
There was a lot of noise behind him. Running footsteps, shouts, clattering metal. He felt his own hot blood between his body and Snjokarl’s. His vision dimmed and narrowed and his hands and feet went numb.
But when Alfie wrapped himself halfway around him, Tobias felt that. And there was Olve, clutching Tobias’s shoulder.
Tobias gritted his teeth and ordered his stupid head to focus. He mentally highlighted the writhing, grotesque mass of the four of them, hit Control+X and, with his last remaining consciousness, dragged them into another window and hit Control+V.
There was…a lot of noise.
That was the first thing Tobias was aware of. It wasn’t screaming, although some of it sounded like crying. Most of it was simply voices. His not-quite-awake brain realized that heknewthese voices—and that they were safe voices—so he was content to float just beneath the surface of consciousness, letting the words wash over him.
