(M.U.T.A.N.T.Z. Island)
Agent Thorn quickly slipped out of the cell, all too happy to be out of it. (Dark, dank, and rat-infested wasn't really her taste in décor.) She turned to Cor, holding one of her fingers to lips, and beckoning with the other hand.
"C'mon, let's walk and talk," she said. "Or ramble and run for our lives. But let's be quiet about it."
As they traversed the myriad of lightless, musty passages, the dryad tried to put her strange story into words.
"I keep forgetting you know hardly anything about me," she finally began, in a barely audible voice as she peered apprehensively around a crumbling corner. "But. . . don't laugh. . . I was born and raised on a very posh estate. In a very posh family of dryads. Of course, the people who owned the estate didn't know we were there. They're so normal, they'd all die of shock if we ever revealed ourselves, and besides, my dryad family wasn't about to be chopped down by panicked rich people wielding axes. They liked their privileged life at Primberley estate, and would never do anything to jeopardize it. . . except for me," she said, with a roll of her eyes.
"A.N.T.I. was a Godsend for me. It finally meant escape, if only temporary. See, I'm still bound to my tree. . . and I have to go back sooner or later, until I can pay somebody who's skilled enough to move it without killing me," she said with a short, sharp laugh. "Anyway, I caused all sorts of chaos at Primberley when I was young. It was the only way I stayed sane. Or insane. You can be the judge of that.
"One of the things I used to do, being an adrenaline junkie, was sneaking into the big house on the hill while my dryad family and the owners of the estate was fast asleep. And I'd steal cookies and cheese puffs, but that's beside the point. The Primberleys are a very old family, and they have lots of interesting things, even if they don't appreciate the things themselves. . . most of the heirlooms and artifacts got shut up in the attic. And that was where I liked snooping best of all. Nobody hardly ever went up there, and it was just dark and creepy enough to satisfy my young self.
"Anyway, one night I found a journal written hundreds of years ago by an archaeologist who had been a Primberley, and had traveled the world. It was pretty fascinating, but the most intriguing part was when he talked about his experiences searching for an ancient treasure on an island inhabited by an ancient family obsessed with numbers.
"I. . . don't remember as much as I'd like, and I have a feeling that's going to come back to bite me. But it was a long time ago. I know he talked about the booby traps, warned of the dangers. . . and then spent several pages ranting about how the treasure chamber was empty.
"No, I'm not talking about risking our lives to find a nonexistent treasure! Just listen.
"One thing I do remember clearly: he included a map—a map that goes into the earth, not over it, and was covered in strange, freakish symbols that all looked like warnings. I remember looking at that map and feeling, somehow, that it was evil.
"I don't think he drew it himself; I think he copied it. Because I saw a painting that looked exactly like it when I was talking to the Count less than two hours ago. And when he realized that I knew what it was. . . he went white as a sheet. I knew something
no one was supposed to know. . . not even the Count, judging by his intent to question me.
"You're probably wondering what an empty treasure chamber has to do with anything. I'm getting to that. But first, we
need to get that map—"
She faltered, and held her breath, hardly daring to move. She could hear footsteps coming up the corridor that lay around the next corner.
"Shh!"
