Bacca and the Skeleton King Page 6

  Bacca and Dug journeyed toward a dark forest biome on the horizon. Along the way, they passed several small villages. These villages showed signs of near-constant attack by zombies. The blocks of all the buildings were full of scratches caused by zombie fingernails. Most of the doors looked as though they had been destroyed and rebuilt at least ten times after zombies had bashed them down. Bacca decided the villagers who lived here must be especially hardy souls.

  Past the ring of villages, they entered a dark roofed forest with enormous oak trees and a roof of leaves so dense that it completely blocked out the sun. The ground underfoot was lush and filled with many different kinds of mushrooms and rose bushes. There were also signs that this place saw heavy traffic from zombies. The soil was full of zombie footprints, and here and there were scattered pieces of zombie that had fallen off unbeknownst to their owners.

  A few yards into the tree canopy, a zombie was standing guard. He wore a set of leather armor and held a rusty iron sword. He did not look happy to see visitors.

  “Follow my lead, kid,” Bacca whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

  As Bacca and Dug neared the guard, the guard held up his weapon.

  “mmmmHalt!” the zombie guard said. “I don’t recognize either of you. This is a private, gated community for members only.”

  Bacca looked around.

  “I don’t see a gate anywhere,” Bacca said.

  “mmmmWe’re working on that,” the zombie guard acknowledged. “Anyhow, you still can’t come in.”

  “This is my friend Dug,” Bacca said. “He’s recently inherited a large sum of money. Take a look.”

  Here, Bacca opened his own inventory and allowed the zombie guard to take a look. It was full of diamonds, emeralds, and gold.

  The guard smiled and lowered his sword.

  “I’m Dug’s assistant,” Bacca continued. “I help manage his affairs. Now that Dug’s a very rich zombie, he’s interested in buying a plot here in Rotpit. Is there someone we could talk to about that?”

  “mmmmOf course,” said the guard. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Right this way.”

  The zombie turned around and led Bacca and Dug down the path that led deeper into Rotpit. It was very dark and the earth underfoot was soft and moist—a perfect environment for the undead. Bacca and Dug began to pass groups of well-to-do zombies, out for a leisurely shamble. They looked very well-fed, and like they didn’t have a care in the world. They were chatting about the new raids they had planned for that evening, and about an upcoming zombie masquerade ball. In all his years as a zombie, Dug had never heard of anything so decadent!

  The zombie guard stopped in front of a small building made of polished granite blocks. Bacca thought it looked quite a bit like a grave marker. Perhaps that was the idea.

  “mmmmThis is the realtor’s office,” the guard said, knocking on the door. “I’m sure they’ll be able to show you something nice.”

  After a few moments, another zombie emerged from the monument-like structure. She wore a large moth-eaten red blazer with holes worn in the elbows, and had stray clumps of long blonde hair clinging to her skull. She looked curiously at Bacca, but then smiled down at Dug. The zombie guard explained the situation.

  “mmmmOh, we will certainly be able to help you, young man,” said the zombie real estate agent. “We’ve got lots of excellent spots available in some of the best neighborhoods in Rotpit. Just what an enterprising young zombie like yourself is looking for.”

  The zombie real estate agent led Bacca and Dug along the central path that ran through Rotpit’s main district. There were plots of land available for sale, and many of them already had headstones made from fancy materials like polished granite, polished diorite, and polished andesite. Bacca was no expert, but it all looked very high-end, very posh.

  “mmmmLet me know if you see anything you like,” the agent said. “There are lots of options. We have everything from urban mausoleum condo conversions, to the more traditional midcentury headstone dwellings. And every neighborhood here is vibrant and diverse—by which I mean ‘full of walking dead people.’ The villagers in the area are also a treat. They practically want to get raided by zombies. It’s a very good arrangement.”

  “Dug is still making up his mind,” Bacca said. “We’re not sure Rotpit is the perfect place for him. We’re looking at some other locations too.”

  The zombie real estate agent was clearly annoyed by this, but did her best to keep smiling. Most of her lips had rotted away, so this was not particularly hard.

  “I wonder …” Bacca continued. “Are there any new zombies who moved in recently? Maybe Dug could talk to them about what it’s like here. That would sure help Dug make his decision.”

  “mmmmOh, that’s an excellent idea,” the zombie real estate agent said enthusiastically. “And I know the perfect subjects. Two zombies from Gravehome just joined us a couple of weeks ago. We’ll go find them right now. You can imagine how much they must like Rotpit if they left the zombie capital for it.”

  “mmmmThat sounds good,” Dug said, playing along.

  The zombie real estate agent took Bacca and Dug to a freshly landscaped patch in central Rotpit. There were modern-looking headstones and monuments where trendy young zombies had made their homes. She indicated a couple of zombies milling around beside a large mausoleum made of redstone with obsidian accents. It looked very classy.

  “mmmmThere are the new zombies I was telling you about,” said the real estate agent. “They opted for one of our premium models. Very popular with the younger set. Perhaps your friend—Hey, where are you going?!”

  But Bacca was already charging over to the zombies at top speed.

  “You two!” Bacca cried. “Yeah, you! I need to have a word.”

  Bacca could tell from their faces that they knew they had been caught.

  “mmmmUh oh,” one of the zombies said.

  “‘Uh oh’ is right,” Bacca replied. “You two are in a heap of trouble. I’ve got some questions, and I expect some honest answers.”

  Bacca grinned just enough to show his fangs. He could be very intimidating when he wanted to.

  The zombies hung their heads.

  “I can guess how it happened, but I want to hear it from you,” Bacca said. “You can start at the part where a senior zombie named Drooler shows up and asks if you’d like to make a whole lot of money for just a little work.”

  The guilty zombies explained that—true to Bacca’s suspicions—they had been approached by Drooler and offered a large sum to conveniently “forget” to go to work on a certain day.

  “mmmmBut honest … ” one of the zombie guards pleaded. “We never thought he was going to do something like this! Taking the Bonesword? Starting a war? It’s awful!”

  “mmmmThat’s right,” said the other zombie guard. “We thought he was just maybe going to borrow the Bonesword for a little while. I thought for sure he would put it back when he was done.”

  Bacca rolled his eyes.

  “That doesn’t make what you did any more acceptable!” Bacca snapped. “Now I want you both to think … Where would Drooler have taken the Bonesword? Did he name a location where he was going to hide it? He wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep it in his own quarters.”

  The zombie guards shook their heads. Neither of them looked like they were lying. They really didn’t know. Then one of the zombies raised a moldy, dried-up finger.

  “mmmmI wonder if …” the zombie began, then backtracked. “Naw, probably not. Never mind.”

  “What?” Bacca said. “Every detail can potentially be important.”

  “mmmmIt’s just … I don’t know precisely what Drooler did with the Bonesword,” the zombie began. “But I did hear he was friends with some witches.”

  “mmmmYeah, I heard that too,” said the other guard. “People said they’d see Drooler hanging out with a witch.”

  “A witch?” Bacca asked. “Interesting. Which witch?”

/>   The zombies looked at him blankly for a second, their tiny zombie brains trying to unravel Bacca’s question.

  “mmmmWitch witch?” one of them tried. “Are you saying the same word twice? Like Drooler Drooler.”

  Bacca rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. Evidently, the smartest zombies were not selected for guard duty.

  “mmmmMaybe he was staring a new sentence—a new sentence about a witch—and you just didn’t give him time to finish,” the other zombie said. “You’re always doing that.”

  “mmmmNo I’m not!” the first zombie protested.

  Bacca rolled his eyes again.

  After much confusion, one of them eventually got it, and explained that there was a coven of three witches who lived near Gravehome.

  “mmmmDrooler tried to keep it a secret that he was friends with them, but everybody knew about it,” one of the zombies said. “Word got around.”

  “I believe that,” Bacca said. “It seems like villains always think they’re better at keeping secrets than they actually are. Where can I find these witches?”

  “mmmmJust northwest of Gravehome,” the zombie guard explained. “They live in a hut supported by long columns that look like chicken legs. Traditional witch architecture, apparently. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks,” Bacca said, his tone turning stern. “Now, as for you two …”

  The zombies gave Bacca a terrified look.

  “I want you to sell your homes you bought here—the nice real estate zombie in the blazer can help you with that—and then I want you to march straight back to Gravehome and tell the Zombie King what you did.”

  “mmmmAre you crazy?” said one of the zombie guards. “Do you have any idea what the king will do to us?”

  “If you prefer,” Bacca said in a mischievous tone of voice, “I could always tell these zombies here in Rotpit what you did. They’ve heard about the war, and they’re furious at the skeletons. How furious do you think they’ll be when they learn that zombie soldiers went off to war for no reason? At least with the Zombie King, you’ll have the opportunity to beg for mercy. I might even mention to him that you were helpful in my investigation. But with these privileged, rich zombies used to doing whatever they want … well, I would say your chances are probably not as good.”

  “mmmmOkay, okay,” the zombie guards said. “We’ll do what you say. Just … please don’t tell anybody around here what we did!”

  Bacca stepped back over to the zombie real estate agent. She was having a long, moan-y conversation with Dug.

  “I’ve got some bad news, but I’ve also got some good news,” Bacca told her. “The bad news is none of these plots look quite right for Dug.”

  “mmmmThat’s a shame,” said the zombie real estate agent. “Are you sure? Did you see those monuments made of lapis lazuli blocks? They’re very cutting edge.”

  “Yes, yes, they’re quite nice, but they’re not what Dug had in mind,” Bacca insisted. “I have good news, though. Our two friends from Gravehome have decided they want to move back to the capital.”

  “mmmmWhat?” said the real estate agent, astonished. “But … but …”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” Bacca said with a smile. “They’re looking to sell the places they bought at a significant loss. In fact, I think they’ll accept any offer. You’ll make a lot of money.”

  “mmmmOh,” said the agent. “Well that is good news.”

  Without further ado, Bacca thanked the zombie real estate agent for her help, and he and Dug made their way out of Rotpit.

  “mmmmThat was a pretty cool place,” Dug said when they were back on the road. “Maybe I’ll be able to live there someday for real. I liked all the pretty headstones. The use of andesite accents was very well done. Though I think I could have done better.”

  “I think you could definitely do better,” Bacca told him. “You’re a crafter with real skill, and you should be thinking bigger than headstones.”

  “mmmmRemember, for a zombie, that’s like a house,” Dug said.

  “Oh yeah,” Bacca told him. “I guess I see your point.”

  “mmmmAnyway, what should we do now?” Dug asked. “The guards confessed to helping Drooler, right? So if they go tell the Zombie King what really happened, then he’ll know the truth and he can arrest Drooler and call off the war. Then we can all go home, right?”

  Dug was a great crafter, but Bacca realized he was still getting the hang of diplomacy.

  “Not quite,” Bacca said with a knowing grin. “Think about it. Even if they go back and admit what they did, the Zombie King is still in a tough situation. The Bonesword is still missing. He’s still the king that lost it, so he’s still in hot water. You better believe that I want everybody involved in this scheme to get the justice that’s coming to them—especially that lousy jerk Drooler—but we’ve got to get the Bonesword back first. That’s the only thing that really solves everything. Do you follow me?”

  Dug nodded to say that he did.

  “Meanwhile, this ceasefire between the zombies and the skeletons is going by fast. We’ve only got about five days left, by my counting.”

  “mmmmSo what are we going to do next?” asked Dug.

  “We’re going to go see some witches,” Bacca said confidently, and they began the trek back north to the Ice Plains Spikes Biome.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Once again, Drooler was terrified.

  He had followed the witches’ directions perfectly: South to the river, then through the Forest Biome until it gave way to savanna. Then savanna became taiga. Then southeast until he saw the big altar made of red sandstone. And there it was. The altar. Drooler had never seen one so enormous. That was what made him uneasy. That, and the other part …

  The witches had told Drooler to set the Dragon Egg on the altar at precisely midnight. This should have been exhilarating, Drooler thought. Under other circumstances, it would definitely have been exhilarating. Or at least very, very interesting. Dragon Eggs were the rarest item in all of Minecraft. There was only one per server plane. Getting one was about the hardest thing you could do.

  Drooler reached into his inventory and took out the egg. It was black and purple and very heavy. It felt like the kind of thing that a dragon would miss. Like, a dragon might come after whoever had stolen it. So, with shaking, nervous hands, Drooler placed it on top of the altar. Then he waited. A cool breeze blew across the taiga. The ferns swayed gently in the breeze. There was no other movement.

  Then it happened.

  A great rustling came from the direction of the spruce trees on the far side of the altar. The ground began to shake under Drooler’s feet. A few of the trees actually began to bend or to fall over, as if some immense beast was trampling them.

  Drooler swallowed hard. (Being a zombie, with very little saliva, this was actually quite an accomplishment.)

  The rustling got closer and closer, until from out of the spruce trees emerged the largest wolf Drooler had ever seen. It had a silky grey coat and glowing red eyes. It stood several times taller than Drooler.

  “mmmmNice doggie,” Drooler said as the enormous wolf approached the altar. Its eyes seemed to burn as if they actually were made of fire. What was this thing? Why was it here? Had a dragon sent it? What had those tricky witches gotten him into now?

  Drooler knew that taiga biomes were full of wolves. He’d seen them many times. Sometimes crafters tamed them and kept them as pets. In rare cases, they could be friendly, even to zombies. But he’d never heard of wolves this big. As the enormous beast got closer and closer, Drooler felt less and less comfortable with its presence.

  The wolf stood on the opposite side of the rectangular altar and looked at Drooler. Then it looked down at the Dragon Egg. It sniffed the egg and touched it with a paw, as if checking to see that it was real. Then the wolf looked up at Drooler and smiled.

  “If you do that again, I will bite your head off,” the giant wolf said matter-of-factly.

&n
bsp; “mmmmDo what?” Drooler asked after another terrified gulp.

  “Refer to me as ‘doggie,’” it said. “I am neither a doggie nor a wolf, though my connection to both is very strong. I am the Spirit of the Taiga. I am connected to all creatures in taiga biomes throughout the Overworld. I am very powerful and very strong.”

  “mmmmGosh,” said Drooler. “Sorry for calling you a doggie.”

  Drooler began to feel that he was even more deeply in over his head than he had been before. If that were even possible.

  “mmmmSome witches gave me this Dragon Egg and said I should put it on the altar and wait for somebody to come,” Drooler continued hastily. “They said that when whoever arrived—and I’m feeling more and more sure that they were talking about you—I should tell you that this was an offering from the witches near Gravehome, and to ask if … if … it was ‘enough.’ I have no idea what that means. They didn’t tell me anything else.”

  The enormous wolf smiled again, as if this amused him greatly.

  “Those witches never give up, do they?” the wolf said.

  “mmmmWhat?” asked Drooler, still confused. “I have no idea what is happening.”

  “It is tradition that visitors may present a gift to the spirits of different biomes, and ask a favor in return,” explained the wolf. “This has got to be my ninth or tenth gift from the witches. And I must say, it is an improvement on their previous offerings.”

  “mmmmWhat do they usually send?” Drooler asked.

  The wolf smiled again. Its mouth was enormous. Probably, it could swallow Drooler in a single gulp.

  “Many of their gifts have been, frankly, terrible,” the wolf said. “Blocks of diamond. Blocks of gold. Once they gave me a statue of me, made entirely out of granite, bedrock, and quartz. A statue of myself! Can you imagine? What am I going to do with that? If I want to know what I look like, I can just see my reflection in a lake.”

  Drooler nodded. The wolf was right about that. Lakes were plenty reflective.

  “No, no, no,” the giant wolf continued. “The previous gifts were entirely unacceptable. They were so unacceptable, in fact, that I had to eat the people who brought them. That’s why the witches don’t come personally. They know that I tend to punish those who bring me lousy gifts. It took three of their workers to bring the statue of me, as I recall. And then I had to eat all three of them!”