Chapter 21
Madness and Mayhem
“Can we live here?”
“No,” Tarran and I said in unison to the Carls as we toured the house they had given us to stay in for the next few days. It was shaped like a teacup.
Not metaphorically. It was a literal, oversized teacup turned on its side, door cut clean in the front, a chimney poking through where a handle would be. The windows were oddly shapen to fit in with the rounded edges of the walls.
Inside, at least, it was cozier than expected. Soft cushion adorned a lavender couch, rugs cut out and designed to resemble playing cards. The chandeliers were the most interesting part to me, made entirely of copper spoons that ended in a soft, warm light.
“This is the best kingdom ever,” Carl-One announced, belly-flopping onto the couch.
Carl-Two was already deep in the kitchen stores, only his rear end visible as he perused. “There’s a cake in here!”
I stared at the cake, a strange, grey color. “Do not eat that.”
He licked the frosting. “Too late.”
Tarran wandered into the main room last, glancing over her shoulder suspiciously as she went, as if someone was following her, but no one was there.
“Are you alright?” I asked her, head cocked to one side. She’d been acting more and more cagey since I’d come out of the silent king’s castle.
It took her a moment for her eyes to land on mine, and she nodded stiffly. “The walls here are…” She trailed off, shaking her head, as if saying no to something or someone who hadn’t spoken. “Let’s explore the city. I’m sure there’s much to see.”
The streets of Mayhem were lined with strange vendors selling misshapen hats, invisible scarves (did they even exist at all?), and jars of canned chuckles that seemed entirely empty to me. One stall offered insults for a fee, which I couldn’t fathom why anyone would pay for.
Laughter was everywhere here, a contrast to the depressive despair of the previous king, but it wasn’t the deep, belly kind that lit you from within, not the kind that came from real joy.
It was surface-level. Stiff. Too frequent on the people we passed, like someone in the background was playing a laugh track on repeat.
Nothing we passed made much sense to me, like we were in some strange, upside down world. A park where children played chess against squirrels. A library with only one book that shot sparkles when opened. A signpost spun constantly, changing directions every few seconds.
I stopped beneath it, squinting up.
LEFT: Probably Not
Right: Possibly So
Up: Maybe?
Down: Oops, Don’t Ask
Tarran and the Carls joined me, watching the sign turn.
“This place is very confusing,” I said quietly, not sure who could hear and if it would affect my trial. “It’s pure nonsense.”
“Confusion keeps you from asking questions,” she replied, and I frowned at her.
“Wouldn’t that mean you’d ask more questions?”
Tarran didn’t answer, just walked ahead. I stared at the Carls, who exchanged a glance with me, an equally worried expression on their faces.
“This kingdom is not good for her, I don’t think,” Carl-Two said, his voice serious as we fell into step behind her, just out of earshot. “The less things make sense…”
“No, I think not.”
“We must get this over with as soon as possible. Maybe taking her away from here will help. The madness of the twin kings…maybe its influencing her,” he said, and Carl-One nodded along glumly.
“But you guys seem fine. And I’m fine.” I thought, anyways.
“We all have a touch of madness in us,” Carl-One said, his eyes never leaving Tarran’s back. “But some more than others. Who is to know how it works?” He shrugged before dashing ahead and taking one of Tarran’s hands, joining her in her leisurely pace.
“This way!” She turned her head, calling over her shoulder at us before dragging Carl-One off the path. Without hesitation, we followed. She followed the curve of the town to the edge of a wide circular plaza paved in checkerboard tiles.
In the center was a door. Just a door.
Standing upright, unattached to anything, frame held in place by a halo of golden light.
“The maze,” Tarran said. Her voice was softer now.
“How did you know it was here?” I questioned as I approached the door. I could almost feel the power radiating from it.
“It told me so,” she said matter-of-factly.
We stared at it, none of us moving to get any closer. In just a few days, the door would open.
I had the feeling this would be the strangest trial yet.
***
Two nights later, and the Carls were sleeping in a pile of mismatched cushions near the fireplace, curled up like contented cats, their soft snores punctuating the silence. Tarran stood by the curved window, half-lit by moonlight, eyes trained on the crooked tower in the distance.
I joined her without a word.
She didn’t turn. “Do you feel it?”
“Care to be more specific?”
“Intent. Chaos. Something brewing.”
I leaned my shoulder against the window frame, trying to make sense of her words.
Over the past few days, she’d been mostly coherent, but in quiet times like these, she seemed to slip away from me, spouting whatever random nonsense came to her mind.
It was worrying, but I had to keep reminding myself this was how the book was written.
My goal was to pass these trials and get my keys, then get back to my home where I belonged. These people weren’t real, but it was hard to remember that.
“We should get some sleep, Tarran. Big day tomorrow.” It was weird for me to be the one comforting her the night before a trial, but I pushed aside the cavern of nerves in my tummy.
The quiet between us stretched.
“What happens to you? When I finish the trials and unlock the door?”
She turned to me. “What do you mean?”
“Well…wouldn’t that mean the book is over?”
Her violet eye was bright in the dim lighting. “I never considered that really.” She turned back toward the window, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “The maze won’t beat you, you know. You’ll find your way out.”
“You say that before every challenge.” I smiled warily.
“I’ve been right so far.” A faint smile tilted her mouth, and my breath caught in my throat as I looked at her.
Even in the low light, she was stunning.
Then, a seriousness tightened her expression.
“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing for the book to end.
I dare say, I’ve grown weary of this repetitive game. ”
I didn’t know what to say. Nothing in my giant repertoire of comebacks and sassy remarks had prepared me on how to console a fictional character about their impending doom.
So instead, I did what felt right. I took her hand, our fingers intertwining as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The room didn’t spin. The illusion didn’t crack. She didn’t pull away, and neither did I.
And there, in the quiet stillness of the night before the storm, something shifted, quiet and unseen.
And it was something very, very real.