Jack bounded downward. He was almost out of view before realizing we hadn’t moved.

“Let’s go,” he snapped.

Tub and I stared at each other, then at the bed being held over our heads by ARRRGH!!! as if it weighed no more than a sheet. She nodded us on, her horns ripping through my posters and helpfully rearranging my models.

I descended with baby steps. Soon my eyes adjusted to the dim orange glow radiating from underground electrical grids. But this remained a staircase without a railing, and I moved with a caution that frustrated Jack. He sighed and took steps by threes and fours. It made me feel lousy—this thirteen-year-old kid was making me look bad—but what else was I going to do? I inhaled the briny funk of troll, tried to ignore the slither and thump of their weird appendages, and focused on maintaining my slow and steady pace. Tub, meanwhile, kept two handfuls of my shirt.

Ten minutes were spent passing through freezing air. Then we dipped into a lower stratum that was warmer, then hot, then sweltering. Light now came from oil lamps, the same as I’d seen on my previous adventure, and at last I could see the walls around me. The staircase ran out of steps and my foot landed badly. Tub’s full weight slammed me from behind and we started to topple, but warm, rippling tentacles curled beneath our armpits and brought us back to standing position. Look thankful, I thought as I shivered in disgust.

Jack chose one of three stone archways and charged into the lamplit tunnel. I didn’t cherish the idea of being left alone with two trolls, no matter how nice they were being, so I took off at a sprint. Nearly a full, harrowing minute was spent alone in the shadowed tunnel before I caught up.

“Uncle Jack, wait,” I called. “You have to explain all this. At least some of it? Or just a tiny little bit of it? I don’t know why you brought us. You said you want us to hunt. Look, that’s fine, that’s great, Grandpa took me mushroom hunting once. I was pretty good at it, found like twenty of those things. I don’t mind helping, really. But Tub and I are pretty freaked, so maybe you could just—”

Jack turned around. Though I was two years older (or forty-three years younger, depending on how you looked at it), he and I were the same height.

“Grandpa?” he asked.

“Yeah. Grandpa. One time we—”

Jack’s eyes were shining.

Several seconds passed before I realized that the man I called “Grandpa” was Jack’s dad. This made me feel rotten because I knew what he’d ask next.

“Is he…?” Jack let the question trail off.

I swallowed.

“He died five years ago.”