When the Lights Went Out #3

Chapter Three

Troll [tr-oh-ll]: The guardians of the portals to the human realm and No Man’s Land at the opposite end of the monster realm. They speak in riddles and only accept honest answers in exchange for passage.

The covered bridge seemed to go on forever. As they walked, Coyote’s and his captor’s feet clopped on the boards. Coyote caught glimpses of a churning moat far below through the bridge’s narrow windows. The dictionary rested uncomfortably under his hoodie, with his arms crossed to hold it in place. His captor hadn’t said anything since they left what he’d called No Man’s Land.

Ahead, the bridge ended in something that looked like a parking garage ticket booth. A hulking creature crouched behind the glass.

The vampire slowed his pace, snatching Coyote by the bicep. “When we get to the troll, don’t say a word. You are nothing here. Understand?”

Funny, if he were nothing, his captor wouldn’t be able to haul him around like a sack of potatoes. Coyote certainly wasn’t going to act like one though. “This isn’t over. When we get out of here, we’re going to have words.”

The man’s grip tightened, and he hauled Coyote to the booth. The glass slid open on an ugly wrinkled face. The creature’s beard was the same dark blue as the Fictionary’s stripes, and the top of its bald head shone.

“Give me the bloody riddle,” Coyote’s captor barked. “I’d like to get to civilization before nightfall.”

“Good evening, London,” the creature in the booth rumbled.

“Come on.” London banged his fist against the toll booth’s metal casing.

The troll grinned. “Mi, oh my, London. My brother, guardian of the gate. Once placed a bet upon your fate. Return should you with another male. And we hear about how bad you fail.”

The words echoed around the bridge, followed by the tapping of London’s shiny black boot. “Well? That’s it? How is that a riddle?”

“A riddle for you is for me,” the troll said. “Your chance to answer is down to three.”

“Shit,” London mumbled.

Coyote knitted his brows, turning the troll’s words over in his mind. How could anyone answer a riddle that didn’t inherently contain a question?

“I haven’t failed yet,” London said. “So, pick a new bloody riddle!”

The troll’s baggy eyelids narrowed as he smiled. “What a fool we have in brew. Your chance to answer is down to two.”

Obviously, London needed to stop saying useless crap. He needed to think about the troll’s words and provide a somewhat intelligent answer. Coyote doubted he had anything intelligent to say at all.

“Rochester, collector of the debt,” Coyote began slowly.

London whirled on him with a sharp look, but the troll leaned in with interest.

“Won’t know I’m here, don’t fret,” Coyote said. “Return a boy from whence he came. And clear the debt that’s on his name.”

The troll smiled larger. “Clear the debt, ha!” the troll cried. “To believe by the crow’s caw. That fool London is quite worthless, see? What makes him worth your generosity?”

“Hold it!” London whipped back to face the troll. “You cannot give us two riddles to answer. And you aren’t even allowed to take payment from a cosset.”

“Well, now, don’t ruin the fun,” the troll said. “Your chance to answer is down to one.”

Coyote elbowed London in the ribs and shoved him aside to stand between the vampire and the booth. At least this riddle contained a question. And, clearly, the question was directed at Coyote. So, sorry, London.

“A cosset is not I,” Coyote said. “For London is a ticket to fly. Back to the home I know. Though I don’t want to go.”

The bridge echoed with the sound of that one syllable.

Go. Go. Go.

Coyote hung his head. London tensed behind him like a jack-in-the-box.

“An appropriate payment you offered.” The troll leaned farther forward and peered past Coyote at London. “Dearest London, you ought to keep this one coffered.”

The troll settled back in the booth as London sighed. The creature jammed a button, and a motor whirred. The candy-cane-striped arm lifted high enough for them to pass under.

“Thanks, you piece of rubbish.” London snagged Coyote by the arm again and dragged him off the covered bridge.

Coyote yelped.

“A delight it was to spar with you,” the troll called after them. “See you on your next time through.”

London waved toward the booth as he hauled Coyote farther away. “If only I didn’t have to see his mug ever again.”

“Let go of me,” Coyote said.

The pale gray sky darkened, bleeding black from its far reaches. Here, the breeze merely caressed Coyote’s skin. The ground had transformed into a street of cobbled stones, almost like a road to somewhere. Coyote hoped it would be a civilization to help him out of this mess.

London rolled his eyes toward the sky and unclipped his crosstie, letting the two halves hang open against his chest. “Fuck, now it’s too late. We’ll never make it to the portal before morning.”

“Maybe if someone hadn’t argued with the troll for so long,” Coyote grumbled under his breath.

The gray-tinged sky started to drip down around them, splattering in globs like wet paint. Darkness conquered the sky, clear like a night with no stars.

London lay on the cobbled street. He closed his eyes. “Since you won’t feed me, I need to sleep for a minute. Then we’ll get moving.”

Coyote sat cross-legged on the road next to London. He set the Fictionary in his lap and opened the front cover, wondering what insights it could possibly contain that would cause it to be illegal. Perhaps he’d find some inspiration for his persuasive essay in it after all.