Over the following weeks, Marc Gasol developed a routine. When the guard would enter the dungeon, bearing Marc’s daily, meager meal, Marc would position himself to be leaned against the cell wall closest to the mysterious inscription which was present on a stone near the floor. When the food was pushed through the bars of his cell, he would mumble a curt “thank you” to the guard, but what he was really thankful for was the torchlight that accompanied the guard’s arrival. At all other times, the dungeon was kept at a level just above pitch-black.
During the light’s short visits, Marc would commit to memory as many details of the inscription as possible. He didn’t dare try to recreate it by scratching his skin or making marks in his clothing; it would be too obvious. Instead, he memorized the short, yet intricate, etching so that he could ponder it even when the cell was in darkness.
It was unclear to Mark whether the etching was supposed to be written language, a symbolic bit of artistry, or a diagram of something. Lines crossed and re-crossed each other, some of them spiraling to completion, some forming loops. Parts of it appeared to be English lettering, but the letters didn’t seem to form words. There was maybe a “T” or an “I”, and there was an “H”, perhaps next to it, but that was all Marc had figured out up until this point. The markings after that could have been anything. “S”, “J”, a question mark? It was unclear.
When he wasn’t puzzling over the inscription, he wondered what the cruel King DTB was planning for him. So far, there had been no torture and not even a mention of a trial. Only the guard bringing a daily meal. It wasn’t the worst way to be kept prisoner, but it wasn’t the best, either. Deeteebeenia was a very strange place that Marc very much desired to escape from.
—
“Marc…Marc…”
Marc knew he was dreaming because he had been magically transported from the dull cell to a pleasant forest glade. The sun shone on his face as he lay in the grass, and it took some effort to sit up and find who was addressing him. When he saw who it was, it took him a few seconds to connect the face to a name.
“Tim Hardaway Junior?”
“Indeed,” Tim replied. “Let’s spare the pleasantries and get to business here. That DTB fellow, who calls himself king of that so-called kingdom, captured me the same way he captured you. But I escaped. And when you deciphered the initials that had been left in that cell, you were summoned to me.”
Marc blinked. This was very confusing to him. “You escaped?”
“I did,” Tim answered. “A hidden, hand-crafted weapon allowed me to overtake the guard. But security was improved after that, and you were never going to get out without my intervention.”
“So, when I wake up from this, you’re coming to get me?” Marc asked. “Or are you going to give me the directions to some kind of secret tunnel you’ve dug into the castle’s foundation?”
Tim laughed, the light sound mixing pleasantly with the chirping of nearby birds. “You’re not dreaming, man. I already rescued you. You’re free.”
Marc’s hands dropped to his torso and legs, feeling them as if to verify that he really existed and that this really wasn’t a dream. He even tried the “pinch on the arm” technique to wake himself up, to bring himself back to the reality of the dungeon that had been his home for nearly a month. But it didn’t work. He was still there on the grass, and Tim was still there smiling at him. “It is real,” Marc murmured. “I’m free.”
“You are,” Tim confirmed, walking over to help Marc to his feet.
“I shall continue on my way do Dawkinsland,” Marc announced, overcome with sudden ambition. “You must accompany me. I will even bear you on my back as a gesture of gratitude.”
Tim shook his head. “You go ahead. Somebody else might need to be saved from Deeteebeenia, and I want to be here when that happens.”
Marc nodded in understanding and reached out to shake Tim’s hand. “Very well. Safe travels, my friend. May our paths meet again.” And with that, Marc set off down the path leading out of the glade. It would not be an easy journey to Dawkinsland, the fabled land of riches and fame, but even that arduous path would be much preferred to the impoverished kingdom of Deeteebeenia and its misfit, idiosyncratic king.