Chapter 10

chapter ten Quint and Galamelon make their way down a series of sloping hallways, each more dimly lit than the last. Battery-powered candles flicker in plastic sconces, revealing black oil-goop dripping from cracks in the ceiling, trickling down the walls. "Smells like monster blood," Quint says. "And it's getting so dark I can hardly see..." Galamelon pulls a necklace from under his shirt, there is a sudden SNAP, and then neon pink light fills the hall. "Ooh!" Quint says, in awe. "What conjuration is that? Can you teach me?"

Close stick necklace. Meeting in myself. Never know when a party might break out. Oh, but I did not have it on me until just this moment. I summoned the necklace with one flash of my mind.-And now here it is around my neck Before Quint can give that claim the thought it deserves, a sound stops them in their tracks. "A strange noise ahead... Weird mumbling..." Quint says, peering down the shadowy hall. The walls are cracked—like something big squeezed its way through: the Drakkor, Quint thinks. Galamelon nods. "My conjurer's ear does hear a muttering anear." They press on, emerging into a cavernous hall filled with batting cages: the Home Run Dungeon. The discomforting sound is clearer now: a crazed, nonsense sort of rambling. "I must admit," Quint says. "That is one of the most unsettling sounds I've ever heard..."

MEANWHILE, DIRK AND KIMMY HEAD TOWARD THE PIZZA THEATER... That's about the most unsettling sound I've ever heard. What sound? I don't hear anything. The sound radiating from your brain fear. "Hey!" Dirk exclaims, suddenly processing what Kimmy said. "That's not fear you're hearing. It's readiness. Steely readiness. We're almost at the Pizza Theater, so I'm preparing myself. And stop reading my mind!" "Okey dokers. I understand mind-reading consent," Kimmy says. Then a second later, she says, "Sooo, whatcha thinkin' 'bout?" "Thinkin' about slaying a Drakkor. And how not nervous I am about doing that," Dirk says, and he doesn't care one iota if Kimmy can read that lie. Black oil-goop drips down the walls of the winding staircase that leads to King Possum's Pizza Theater.

The steps are littered with bones, and every few moments, there's a CRACK as one is crunched beneath Dirk's boots. There is one final CRACK as Dirk and Kimmy reach a pair of red double doors. "Let's do it, do it!" Kimmy chirps. "Pizza Theater time!" Dirk grunts and nudges open the door, revealing a large, circular auditorium. Rings of dining tables encircle a large center stage: a theater in the round. Light seeps through fake stained-glass windows— and Dirk sees discolored, discarded strips of something that are scattered and draped across the theater. "Oh man," Dirk says. "I think that stuff is..."

skin. It smells nice for skin. I wonder if they sell it as a candle? I'm gonna check the gift shop for a skin candle on our way out, but don't worry if the slang goes well, you get a treat too dark, but only if the slang goes well. "It does not smell nice," Dirk grumbles, yanking his shirt collar up over his nose. "It smells like that black oil-goop stuff." Kimmy picks up one of the long strips and slowly rubs a finger over it. "This is old." Dirk leans in, eyeing the strip. "Looks like a snake's skin, after it's molted. You said the Drakkor keeps getting bigger, right? Maybe it sheds this when it levels up. When it gets more evil."

"Doesn't taste evil!" Kimmy says, stuffing a balled-up wad of the skin into her mouth. "You are so weird, Kimmy." She pauses, chewing. "Huh. In fact, if I had to say... it tastes more like—" "No, do NOT tell me. Just—no." A soft, steady rumbling can be heard from overhead. Their gazes jerk upward, just in time to see bits of dust from the ceiling. "I think the Drakkor's asleep directly above us," Dirk whispers. Kimmy points across the theater to a door labeled ROOF ACCESS: EMPLOYEES ONLY. "Then that's our path to the Drakkor. Ahh, bummer—we're not employees." "Pretty sure we'll be OK," Dirk says.