The Pearl Inside of Anything

12:40 p.m., Monday, June 22, The Templeton Library

"Slay him!"

"What?"

"Borwyn, slay the troll!"

"What troll?"

"The troll that's whaling on Walvis!" says Bran. "He's still recovering from the goblin attack. He can only take so much. He's practically at zero hit points again."

I look over at Ben. For a dying dwarf, he looks pretty good. Not that I say this out loud. What I say is:

"I have to think about this."

"What do you mean?" says Bran. "You have to think about this? No you don't, just roll."

"But I've never slayed anything before!"

"Slain," growls Bran.

"Are you correcting my grammar, Darren Branowski? Because you are on shaky ground." Actually, I'm not sure, he might be right.

"Grammar is irrelevant when there's a dwarf to save."

"Alright then, here we go again..." But I put the dice down without rolling. Pick it up. Put it down again. I look at Ben. Up, down with the dice. He waits me out, no begging, noble to the end. I roll.

"Phew," says Dirt.

"Not so fast," says Bran. "Look ahead, my friends, down the corridor, what do you see?"

"We're still in the corridor?" I ask. "How long does this game take?"

"A year, maybe two," says Bran. "If you're lucky you'll be above ground by Christmas."

"Christmas 1981 or Christmas 1304?" asks Ben.

"'81," says Dirt. "These things take time."

"Mr. Kovaks?"

"I am Davmorg," Mr. Kovaks says proudly.

"Roll, Davmorg," says Dirt, pushing the dice over to him.

"Oh," says Bran, when the dice stop still. "Not good my friends."

"What is it?"

"Gelatinous Cube!" crows Bran. "It's filled the corridor ahead."

"How is bad?" says Mr. Kovaks.

"Well, let's see, it's filled the tunnel, your path is blocked," Dirt is practically cackling. There's no way your getting anywhere near that crown of Mordrum now, Hasta la vista Tibetan mastiffs..."

"No!" I say. "No imaginary dogs will be harmed in this campaign! Can't we just climb over it or something?"

"Well, sure," says Dirt, "If you like third-degree acid burns to your arms and legs—"

"Borwyn..." says Ben. "Can you maybe freeze it?"

"Well," I say. "I certainly would if I hadn't used my spell-of-the-day saving your life."

"Oh, that's right. Thanks for that."

"You're welcome," I say and feel my face flush.

"Alright you two," says Bran, eyeing us suspiciously. "Knock it off. I am not writing in a dwarf/halfling wedding this early in the campaign."

"No, no, of course not," Ben and I both give a little shake. "Couldn't have that," says Ben. "Right," I add hurriedly. "That would just be weird."

"Any other bright ideas?" says Dirt.

"Eees okay," says Mr. Kovaks. "Problem easy. I feex ladder to wall. We all to escaping."

"Good thinking," says Ben. "I'm for that. Everyone?"

"Sorry, Walvis," says Bran. "You're too weak to travel."

For a second, we're at a stalemate, staring at each other around the table.

"Never mind," I say quietly. "You guys go up. I'll stay with him."

Bran rolls his eyes. I think I am maybe still blushing from the last blush. I fiddle busily with miniature Borwyn.

"That'll work," says Bran. "You two miss a turn though, we'll catch you up next go round. Careful though, you're still a couple of flat-foots."

"We're what?" says Ben. I glance at his feet, like maybe he is, flat-footed, I mean. From all the running around shoeless. But he has shoes on. I can't tell what Bran is talking about.

"He means you're rookie fighters," says Dirt. "You're especially vulnerable in battle. Stick together."

Ben and I look at each other. "Okay, then," he says finally. "That's what we'll do."