The Tangle Box by Terry Brooks

The counterman shrugged. “No name. We have no need for one. Did you come from the north?”

The Knight hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

The counterman lowered his voice conspiratorially and leaned down a bit, his attention on the Knight now. “Did you see anything strange in the woods?”

“Strange?”

“Yes.” The man wet his lips. He seemed reluctant to use a name, as if speaking it might somehow bring what he inquired after through the tavern door.

“We saw nothing,” the Knight said.

The counterman studied him a moment as if to make certain he was not lying, then nodded, relief in his face, and walked away.

The Lady leaned forward, and her voice was cool and measured. “What is he talking about?”

The Knight shook his head. He did not know. They sat in silence and drank the ale from the glasses, listening to the conversations around them. There was talk of work, but in a general way. There was mention of the weather and the seasons and the absence of this and that, but it was all vague and indistinguishable. No one spoke of anything specific or made mention of the particulars of their lives. There was something odd about the conversations, about their tone, about the inflection of the voices speaking. It was quite some time before the Knight was able to figure out that woven into the exchanges was a sense of anticipation, of uneasy expectation, of waiting for something unspoken to happen.

An old man edged by the table and stopped. “Come a long ways, have you?” He slurred his words, his speech thick from the ale he had consumed.

“Yes,” the Knight replied, looking up. “And you?”

“Oh, no, I don’t go nowhere. This is my home, this town. Always and forever. I been here, oh, years and years.” He grinned, toothless. “Can’t go nowhere else, once you’re here.”

The Knight felt something turn cold in the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean? You can leave if you choose, can’t you?”

The old man cackled. “That what you think? That you can leave? You must be new, son. This is the Labyrinth. You can’t leave here. Can’t no one leave here ever!”

“If you can come in, you can go out!” the Lady snapped suddenly, anger flaring in her voice.

“You just try it!” the old man replied, still laughing. “Been lots who have before, but they always come back. This is where they have to stay once they’re here. You, too. You, too.”

He tottered away, mumbling to himself. The Knight signaled the counterman for three fresh mugs, trying to think his way clear of the tangle of the old man’s words. No way out, the Labyrinth a trap that no one could escape—he listened to the whisper of the words in his mind.

“Anything to eat?” the counterman asked, coming up with the glasses of ale. “You got some credit yet from that gold piece.”

“Can you draw us a map?” the Knight asked perfunctorily.

The counterman gave them his patented shrug. “A map to where? Maps all lead to the same place, eventually. Right back here.”

“I need a map that will show us a way out of the Labyrinth.”

The counterman smiled. “So does everyone else here. Trouble is, no one can find it. Some—like that old fellow— been trying for years. He can’t get out, though. None of us can. We try, but we always end up coming back here.”

The Knight stared at him in stunned silence.

“It’s all right, really,” the other continued quickly, worried by the look that appeared on the Knight’s face. “You get used to it. We don’t have too many worries. Just the …” He shook his head.

“The what? What are you talking about?” the Lady demanded.

The counterman took a slow breath. When he spoke again, the words were barely a whisper. “The Haze.”

The Knight glanced quickly at his companions. Neither spoke. He turned back to the counterman. “We don’t know what that is.”

The counterman was suddenly sweating, as if the temperature in the room had just risen to a midday heat. “Best if you never do!” he hissed. “There’s stories. It lives in the woods. It comes out when you least expect it and devours everything! Eats it right up, and when it’s done there’s nothing left!” His mouth tightened. “I’ve never seen it myself. No one here has. But we hear it sometimes. More so recently, like maybe it’s looking us over. They say a monster always precedes its coming—a thing out of myth and legend, a beast out of the old world.”