Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest (8 page)

The electric-blue Chimera skimmed across the highway with the relentless pace of a beast on a mission. The ride was smooth, but Helen still felt as if she held a wild animal by the steering wheel. She didn't fear losing control of the Chimera. She didn't have much control to begin with. The car had a will of her own, a desire to prowl imbued in her four tons of classic Detroit steel.

It was surely the car's own will that caused Helen to push a few miles above the speed limit when she normally abhorred speeding. She might have been envisioning the Chimera as a hungry monster, eager to devour as many miles as she could before sunset. The thrill that surged through Helen when she passed a slower vehicle surely came from her own primitive impulses, not some overpowering alluring spirit originating within the engine.

Try as she might, she couldn't shake the feeling that the Chimera was driving her.

She hadn't wanted to get behind the wheel at first, but Troy had convinced her to give it a try. If they were going to be on the road for a while, she might as well get used to the idea. Troy was bound to need a break every now and then.

“Maybe fifteen minutes,” she'd said.

That had been five hours ago.

They'd left the urban sprawl behind a while before, and now drove through an endless desert. Civilization was ever present in the form of billboards, rest stops, truck stops, and a string of small towns that came with the miles. The Chimera barely noticed, and she was mostly annoyed whenever her passengers had to stop for a bathroom break or to grab a snack.

The dog in the backseat put his head on the seat and whined.

“I think he needs to relieve himself,” said Helen.

“Again?” Troy groaned. “You didn't even eat or drink anything since the last time.”

The dog whimpered.

Helen forced her hoof off the accelerator, though she couldn't make herself hit the brakes. The Chimera rolled to a slow stop, and she was honestly surprised by that.

The dog jumped out of the car and sniffed the dirt.

“I told you he'd slow us down.” Troy frowned. “Just do it already, dog. It's all the same. Not like you're going to run into anyone you know here.”

The dog raised his head and yawned.

“By all means, take your time,” said Troy.

The dog returned to his search for the ideal spot.

“I still can't believe you don't like dogs,” said Helen.

“I'm allowed, aren't I?”

“No,” she said. “Actually, you aren't.”

The sun hung low in the red desert sky, only twenty or thirty minutes from dipping below the horizon.

Troy said, “Guess we're almost there. Land of the setting sun, right?”

“That's a bit literal. And don't think I didn't notice you trying to change the subject.”

The dog sniffed a yellow bush, but it didn't pass inspection.

“So what if I don't like dogs? I don't hate them. I'm not mean to them. I just don't see the appeal.”

“Don't you volunteer at the animal shelter?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes, and I take very good care of the dogs. I'm not afraid of them. And I don't begrudge them the right to exist.”

She smiled. “How very noble of you.”

Troy threw his hands in the air. “See? This is why I don't tell people. The moment you suggest that maybe dogs aren't awesome everyone looks at you funny.”

“You have to admit it's a bit unexpected,” said Helen. “You're so…
you
. And liking dogs seems like it should be part of the package.”

“Well, it isn't.”

Helen grinned. “That's what makes it so strange. And I don't think I've ever seen you so irritated.”

“And this amuses you?”

“Nice to see you having a sore spot.” She bumped her fist against his shoulder. “Makes you seem almost mortal.”

Troy smiled, despite himself. “I'm not a big fan of apple pie either.”

She put a finger to her lips. “I'll take your dark secret to my grave.”

She rubbed her curse mark. She had the willpower to avoid scratching it, but it itched. Troy either had more self-control or his was less irritating. Her enchanted bracelet felt constricting, as if it were cutting off her circulation. But running her fingers along the edge, she could tell it wasn't any tighter.

Troy noticed her fiddling with the rune-scrolled band. “So what's that for?”

She covered it with her hand. “It's just something I wear.”

“But you always wear it. I've never seen you without it.”

She put her hand behind her back. “It's nothing.”

She tried, and failed, to hide her discomfort with the subject. He was too nice a guy to push it, and she was thankful for that. She pulled out the map (in the broadest sense of the word) the lunch wagon oracle had given them.

He'd drawn doodles along the solution traced through the child's maze. First was the cyclops, though it still didn't look like much of one. Next he'd doodled three faces. After that some kind of squiggle. It could've been a snake. Or a winding road. Or maybe just a part of the map where the oracle's pen had run out of ink and he'd had to scribble to get it working again.

She rotated the map and took a closer look. “This thing is unreadable.” She pointed to a house on two sticks. “Are those stilts?”

“Look like stilts to me,” agreed Troy.

The final doodle on the maze, just before the exit, was a big question mark. It wasn't comforting. Either destiny was holding out on them, or it didn't know. She folded the map, stuck it in her back pocket.

The dog finally located the proper patch of land to pee on, then trotted over and jumped into the car without prodding.

“What are you going to name him?” asked Troy.

“I'm surprised you care.”

“If he's going to stick around, you have to name him something.”

“I'm still working on it.”

He hopped in the driver's seat, and Helen was simultaneously annoyed to have her position taken and grateful to be free of the responsibility that came with it. The Chimera tore down the road, and within the half-hour Troy pulled off the interstate as the sun touched the horizon.

As luck or fate would have it, there was a rural town located just off the exit. It appeared like a shimmering heat mirage, a few dozen buildings. It didn't look like much. Maybe only two or three miles across at its widest. Only the main road was paved.

WELCOME TO GATEWAY, NEVADA
declared a wooden sign.
YOUR ROAD TO ADVENTURE BEGINS HERE
.

“This has got to be the place.” He called to an old man sitting in a rocking chair, “Beg your pardon, sir, but is there a hotel here?”

The old man nodded, pointed down the road. “Can't miss it, young man.”

Troy thanked him, and they drove on. The people sitting on their front porches seemed a quaint mistake in the space/time continuum. Or would have if all of Gateway hadn't seemed a refuge from another world, a place that had never existed outside of the imagined Good Ol' Days. It was surely a trick of the dusky twilight that made everything appear black and white, and even with the shadows stretching across the town, it never seemed ominous. Only friendly and welcoming. Not in that unsettling too-friendly way either. People smiled and waved at them, and they had the distinct impression that they were expected.

The Noble Wanderer Inn was a two-story building where the paved road ended. They parked and went inside. The lobby looked more like a den than an office. A man and a woman sat on a pair of recliners watching television.

The man nodded to them. “Customers, Billi!” he shouted.

A short-haired brunette girl, maybe fourteen years old, came down the stairs. She smiled somewhat sincerely.

“Passing through? Or are you questers?” she asked.

“Questers,” said Helen.

“You looked like questers. Have a seat. I'll be right with you.” She ran upstairs.

The only seats available were on the couch between the couple. Helen and Troy sat. The couple were too engrossed in their
Have Sword, Will Travel
rerun to say anything else.

Billi came halfway down the staircase. “Are you going to need two solo licenses or one group?”

“Licenses for what?” asked Troy.

“The cyclops. That's why you're here, isn't it? You're questers, right?”

“We're on a quest,” he replied.

“And we are looking for a cyclops,” said Helen.

“Well, you can't face the cyclops without first purchasing a license. It's against the law. All I'm finding are the solo licenses, though. Most groups prefer to fight the cyclops together. But if you'd be willing to take the solo licenses, I've got plenty of those.”

They didn't reply quickly enough, and Billi said, “Don't worry about it. I'm sure I can find some group licenses around here somewhere. If you want, you can come up here and help me look.”

She ran upstairs. They followed her, finding her in a room that seemed to be half bathroom, half storage area. Billi sat on the rim of the bathtub, rifling through a filing cabinet. She instructed Troy to check a different cabinet while Helen stood outside the room and watched.

“I'm not sure we're here to fight,” said Helen. “Maybe we're just here to talk to him.”

Billi shook her head. “That's not how it works. You don't talk to the cyclops. You fight him. Because if you're on a quest, the only other reason you'd be here would be to get the chalice at the bottom of Garvey Cavern, and someone finally managed to kill the giant spider that guarded it last year.”

“And why do we need licenses?”

Billi said, “Because Gateway's economy relies on four things. We have our truck stop. We have our hotel. And we've got the people who come to fight the cyclops. I guess that's only three things now that the spider is dead.

“You used to be able to face Cliff's challenge without a license, but then the city council passed a law. It's only a way to squeeze a few extra bucks out of questers, but there's nothing you can do about it. Cliff won't fight you if you don't have a license.”

“The cyclops is named Cliff?” asked Helen.

Billi winced. “I wouldn't call him that to his face. Only his friends can get away with that. If you want to stand a chance, call him Clifford.”

Troy pulled a couple of sheets of paper from a drawer and showed them to Billi.

“Nope. Those are monster-spider-hunting permits. Now the cave just has bats in it. We've been trying to get people excited about that, but we still mostly rely on the truck stop and Cliff right now.”

Billi slammed the drawer shut.

“Oh, forget it. I'll get some new forms in the morning. Let's just check you in.”

“We have a dog,” said Helen. “I hope that's OK.”

“What's its name?” asked Billi.

“He doesn't have one yet. We just got him.”

“Mom doesn't like dogs in the rooms, but I'll take care of it.”

“Thanks.”

“I'm a dog person,” said Billi.

“Who isn't?” replied Helen with a sly smile.

Troy rolled his eyes.

They paid for two rooms. The Noble Wanderer's rooms were an addition built onto the back of the house. They were well kept and came with vouchers for free drinks from the local restaurant. The wallpaper was a bright-blue rubber duck motif more suited to a bathroom, but the beds were comfortable.

Helen left the three-legged dog in her room. The pooch hopped on the bed and promptly fell asleep.

Billi gave them their two eating options. They could dine at the local Magic Burger franchise. Even before getting nearly sacrificed to a hamburger god, their time as employees had soured them to the chain. That left the truck stop, where someone had opened a Mexican restaurant on one end.

The place wasn't terribly fancy, and the only attempts at ambience were a few sombreros hanging on the walls and some mariachi music playing from the speakers. But the food smelled good.

They found a table, tucked between busy groups of truckers and locals. The waitress took their orders. A tall, lean man sat a few tables away. He wasn't especially noteworthy, except that he had only one eye where he should've had two. Helen pointed the guy out to Troy, then stopped him from turning and looking.

“Do you think that's the cyclops?” she asked. “He's a bit small.”

Troy turned his head to get a glimpse from his peripheral vision. “He is a cyclops.”

“There could be more than one.”

He nodded, took a moment to enjoy the complimentary chips and salsa. “I'm just going to ask him.”

She grabbed Troy's arm. “Don't do that.”

“Why not?”

“He's eating.”

“I'm just going to ask him if he's Cliff the cyclops.”

“You aren't supposed to call him Cliff,” she reminded him.

“I remember.” He slipped out of her grasp and walked up to the cyclops's table.

“Hi, sorry to disturb you,” said Troy, “but we've been told that we have to fight a cyclops in town, and I hope it's not too rude to ask—”

“That's me,” said Clifford. “I'm the town cyclops.”

“I hope it's not considered impolite to introduce myself then.”

Clifford set down his fork and smiled. “Not at all. I'm Clifford.”

“Troy.” He pointed to Helen, who sank into her chair. “That's Helen.”

Clifford offered Troy a firm, friendly handshake.

“Would you care to join me?” asked Clifford.

“We'd be delighted.”

Troy waved Helen over. Helen shook her head.

“Don't mind her,” he said. “She's shy.”

“Most people are,” said Clifford. “They seem to think this is personal. But it's just business. I like most of the questers who pass through. Decent folks, most of them.”