The Search for Macadamia, a Quest Most Noble

CHAPTER 6 - THE COLISEUM

The coliseum cavern was the biggest Spencer had ever seen. It had to be at least ten stories high by five hundred feet round and lit with over a thousand torches. A throbbing horde of beasts pushed and jostled for position closest to the arena floor, but none dared cross into it. At one end of the floor, the biggest beasts—the gladiators—waited for their turn to fight each other after the opening ceremonies, which featured Spencer and Evie.

"I told you, Spencer," Evie yelled.

"I'm sorry I got you into this, old friend," Spencer called back.

"Cheer up," the tyrant said. "You're providing entertainment to thousands."

The tyrant carried his captives to the open space and tossed Evie off to the side. Mr. Rutledge, the silky-voiced secretary, pulled out a long butcher's knife and presented it to the tyrant, bowing low as he did, making a show of his great humility. He was a little shorter than the tyrant, thinner but still fat, and just as ugly. A hush came over the coliseum when the tyrant took the knife, which he raised over his head to signal another triumph.

"Once again a treasure hunter has squandered his pathetic life chasing a myth." He held Spencer up for the crowd in his other hand. "It'd be sad if it weren't so hysterical." His laughter shook the walls. In response, the crowd roared their mockery at Spencer.

Four beasts carried in the tyrant's throne with military precision and then slipped away. Mr. Rutledge leaned toward the tyrant. "Mustard or vinegar, sire?"

"Mmm, vinegar, don't you think?" The tyrant held Spencer out, genuinely interested in his secretary's opinion.

Mr. Rutledge sniffed Spencer from chin to toe. "A robust bouquet." The tyrant nodded in agreement. "Vinegar crew!" Mr. Rutledge called. Two beasts carried in a squeezable bottle of brown vinegar, taller than Spencer.

With an iron grip, Mr. Rutledge took hold of the boy so the tyrant could parade before the admiring crowd. "Tell us," he thundered, "before I pull your legs off, why have you come to Perish Caverns? Is it for our gold?" Perfectly on cue, the crowd roared. "Is it for our priceless collection of Fabergé eggs?" More unbridled laughter.

"No!" Spencer shouted. "Our quest—" Mr. Rutledge covered Spencer's entire face with his slimy palm. The tyrant glowered at the disrespectful interruption and dropped into his throne. He flipped a lazy hand at Mr. Rutledge, who released his grip on Spencer's face, but Spencer didn't finish his thought, out of respect.

"Perhaps an enchanted harp?" the tyrant offered.

"Our quest is most—"

The tyrant held up a finger, silencing Spencer again, then turned to Mr. Rutledge. "Remember the guy looking for the enchanted harp?"

The secretary chuckled. "Thought it'd lure the ladies his way."

The tyrant laughed a little harder. "Oh, he was delicious."

"The stupid ones taste the best. Isn't that so, sire?"

"They commonly do. Yes." Their bellies jiggled until their fond memory passed. "Now, my tiny, malodorous friend, you may speak. What were you hoping to find down here?"

Spencer cleared his throat. "Our quest most noble is to discover this lost city."

The tyrant scratched his horns and nodded with curiosity. "That's a new one. Go on."

"That's it. We seek this city."

"But this isn't a city, exactly," the tyrant said, gesturing all around.

"This isn't the lost city, once known as Macadamia?"

"My boy, up there is Academia." The tyrant glanced skyward. "There's no M on the front. And as for us, down here, we're not lost. You walked right in. Now it's true, Perish Caverns is 'hidden' underground," the tyrant said, his fingers curling into air quotes.

"But not very well," Mr. Rutledge added.

"Right. You see, we want treasure hunters to find us. It's a simple formula: come down, get caught, get eaten. Like with the best marketing, we're crafty about our message."

"Have you heard?" Mr. Rutledge said, as though he were a greedy human. "Go to Perish Caverns of Academia. Come out with riches. But beware, only the smartest, wisest, bravest—"

"Blah blah blah," the tyrant finished. Spencer frowned and a small sigh escaped his lips. "Aw, look. A real live pout. Tell us, why were you looking for that other city?"

"Because it's lost."

"But what's so special about it? Are the buildings marble?" The tyrant boomed, and the crowd roared. "Are the streets lit by diamond light?"

"He just wants to find it," Evie called from her sack, cutting through the noise.

When the crowd settled, Spencer continued. "Macadamia was once magnificent." The tyrant sunk into his throne and looked perplexed.

"They're nuts, Your Highness," Mr. Rutledge explained.

"Clearly, they're nuts. They crawled into a dark, greasy maze looking for a magnificent city."

"Ha! Good one . . . Not!" Evie yelled out.

"Please to pardon, Your Highness. Macadamia trees grow macadamia nuts."

"I know that, Mr. Rutledge. But these two didn't come down here looking for nuts. Did you?" The tyrant looked at Spencer curiously and matched the boy's frown. "Oh, now this really is sad. You came down here looking for nuts? For centuries explorers have braved Perish, looking for riches. The name—Perish—is a promise. But they come nonetheless, driven by greed and dreams of their countrymen's admiration. Without fail, I devour them and throw the remains to my subjects."

Mr. Rutledge leaned in over his prisoner's shoulder. "Typically, His Highness leaves us some skin and ligaments. Generously, I might add."

"I'm not much into brains either . . . too soft," the tyrant added. "But the entire forest is littered with nuts. You should've started in a chipmunk's den. You'd have been home in time for dinner."

"We're not after nuts," Spencer said. "Our quest is the city itself."

The tyrant thought about it, scratching his finger with the point of his longest fang, then swiveled his head around toward Spencer. "You want to conquer it? And crown yourself king?"

"No! We just want to visit. Why is that so hard to understand?"

"Well, lad, it just doesn't add up," the tyrant said. "We don't get tourists down here. We usually catch fortune seekers. I've eaten the occasional fortune-teller, looking for crystals and whatnot."

"I recall a woman who sought wisdom from an oracle," Mr. Rutledge said.

"Yes. Called herself an influencer, whatever that is." The tyrant swiveled his head around toward Spencer. "Anyhow, any last requests?"

Spencer looked up to Mr. Rutledge. "Just this. Could you tell me anything you might know about the lost city of Macadamia—as a consolation before I die?"

"Macadamia trees grow in the highlands above the Western Sea," Mr. Rutledge said, turning westerly. His gaze went beyond the coliseum walls, beyond the landscape of Academia. His grip lightened, and his hopeful eyes widened. "If there's a lost city by the same name, perhaps . . . perhaps it's by the Western Sea."

Spencer heard a yearning in the beast's words. The same yearning Spencer carried in his heart. "Yes, of course," Spencer replied. "The Western Sea." Mr. Rutledge smiled down at Spencer.

The tyrant was confused and a little put off. "How do you know that, Mr. Rutledge?"

"Saothróir Crann."

"Oh right. What's that thing he used to say?"

"Treasure from trees." Mr. Rutledge said the words melodically, and his yellow fingers rose as he did.

"Alright. Alright. On with it." The tyrant yanked Spencer away from his secretary. "Stop making vacation plans with the food."