Chapter Twenty-Four
Behind the Steel Door
The occupation of Sugar Rush was going quite smoothly for SANG- which is to say, it was going quite roughly for the game's inhabitants. They had been barred from leaving the game, but were, for the most part, still allowed to roam freely, albeit at the risk of random jibes or beatings from the vikings and aliens. These occurred with enough frequency that within a few hours, the racers were soon minimizing the amount of time spent away from their homes. But even there, they couldn't escape being reminded of their present predicament; Mr. Ainsworth had turned the game's theme song on at a volume sufficient to penetrate everywhere except the inner recesses of the castle. It's sunny, cheerful lyrics rang like a vicious mockery in the racers' ears, contrasting sharply with the cruelty of the members of SANG. This, of course, was precisely the intent.
The castle generally looked the same, with two notable exceptions. On the side of the bridge closest to the road, nailed atop a post, was Vanellope's blood-stained hoodie. And above the front gates, suspended by ropes around her wrists, there hung Vanellope herself.
Technically, she could have glitched out of the ropes at any time. But three things prevented her from taking that action. Firstly, there was her still healing wound from the night before. Secondly, there was a twenty foot drop below her, and nowhere but concrete to land on. Lastly, she was starting to have difficulty breathing.
When Mr. Ainsworth had gone to confer with Portia, he had left her there so he would not forget where he had put her- or so he had said. By that point, Vanellope had reasoned it was another cruel jibe, like most of the comments he directed at her.
It wasn't as though she were the only one the mercenary humiliated. He'd turned Rancis loose to roam the game, telling the president that "he was no real threat anyway". He'd half-sarcastically offered Taffyta a job shining his boots and when she refused, had forced her to do it at gunpoint. He'd laughed off whatever insults Otis and Floyd had thrown his way, until the paddles had given up for lack of any other epithets they could bestow upon him.
Yet, much to Vanellope's horror and revulsion, he'd seemingly fixed his sites on her as his primary target. She had no idea why he'd singled her out, but she was already feeling the results. Her breath was shortening, her head starting to feel light. Her wrists had already gone numb from the ropes. Gazing at the pavement far below, she could see a half dozen vikings guarding the gates, axes at the ready.
"Good morning," said Mr. Ainsworth, stepping out onto the parapet above her. "My, what a nice view from up here." Vanellope couldn't see him, but she knew him by his voice, which she was already coming to dread. Within moments of his speaking, she felt the ropes being pulled upwards and dragged over the battlements. Once on the parapet, Mr. Ainsworth pulled her to her feet. As soon as he let go, she fell onto her back. Grinning, Mr. Ainsworth hauled her upright once more.
"Got to work on those muscles," he said as he cut the ropes from her wrists. "They seem to have atrophied."
Slowly, Vanellope's breathing began to return to normal. Her lightheadedness receded. After some minutes, she was able to stand on her own, albeit barely.
"That's better," said Mr. Ainsworth. "Now walk with me."
Vanellope glared at him.
"Walk with me," Mr. Ainsworth repeated. He drew his knife.
Reluctantly, Vanellope fell into step in front of the mercenary. Placing the point of his knife against her back, he prodded her down into the castle, through the throne room, and past a side door towards a long flight of stairs.
The stairs that led to the dungeons.
Vanellope's eyes widened. What is he thinking of?
"Down," said Mr. Ainsworth.
"N-n-no."
"I said down!" Mr. Ainsworth gave Vanellope a sharp kick. She tumbled headlong down the stairs, finally coming to a stop by the base of the wooden door at the bottom.
"You're rather light," Mr. Ainsworth commented as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Maybe I should just carry you the rest of the way." Sheathing his knife, he unlocked the door, and then lifted the bruised and battered Vanellope into the air.
"Where...you…taking…"
"I found something down here," said Mr. Ainsworth, passing into the corridor. "I was hoping you could tell me what it was.
He turned down a side hallway, and then went down another flight of stairs. At the bottom was a tall, door shaped space that was blocked off by wooden boards.
"Somebody wanted this room blocked off," said Mr. Ainsworth. "I figured you'd know why."
Vanellope's eyes widened even further. "No," she whimpered. "Please, no."
"You make me curious, little lady," said Mr. Ainsworth. "What've you got behind here?" He drew his knife once again, hacking the boards down. Behind them was a solid steel door.
"Well, you must really want this thing hidden. Let's see what's behind the door, shall we?" Sheathing his knife yet again, he retrieved the keys and unlocked the door.
"What's this?" he said, carrying Vanellope into the circular room beyond. He glanced about, noting the images and words that decorated the wall.
"Clowns? Lions?" said Mr. Ainsworth. He turned around. "Welcome to the Fungeon," he said, reading a sign above the doorway. "What is this place? Your old play-pen?"
"No," said Vanellope. "Not here."
"What's not here?" said Mr. Ainsworth. "You seem to know this room."
His foot bumped into something metal. It was a broken piece of chain.
Vanellope flinched.
"Well, you aren't telling me much," said Mr. Ainsworth. "But I reckon I don't mind. Besides, I figure you'll need a place to sleep since I confiscated your bedroom."
"What?" Vanellope cried.
"Don't worry about the pink not suiting me," said Mr. Ainsworth. "I can just re-paint the walls." He dropped her onto the dank stone floor.
"Enjoy your play-pen," he said as he headed for the doorway. "I'd give you a few toys, but I'm afraid I don't have any. So you'll just have to use your imagination."
He slammed the door and locked it. The sound echoed around the chamber. Vanellope winced and covered her ears. When the echoes died down, she uncovered them and climbed wearily to her feet.
"Hello, my dear glitch!" said a jolly voice. Vanellope shrieked and glitched into the air. Her wound was instantly aggravated, which caused her to shriek once more and land hard on a pile of chain fragments.
"No!" she cried, tumbling backwards off of the pile. She crawled to the other end of the room, where she tried to make herself as small as possible.
"Up," said the voice again, and Vanellope felt a sharp tap against her back. She raised her head and turned until her back was to the wall.
There he was again in front of her. King Candy.
"You're just a fig- a figa-me-"
"A figment of your imagination?" said King Candy. "A product of your fevered dreamth?"
"What you said."
"Hoo hoo, of courthe!" said King Candy. "You mutht have gotten pretty sthick for me to pop up again."
"You're dead," said Vanellope. "I don't have to be scared of you anymore."
"But you're afraid of thith room, aren't you?"
"I hate it, and I hate you!"
"Hate? The little thaccharine kiddie hatesth thomeone?"
"Yes…and no," Vanellope replied. "Go away, you're making me cry. I hate crying."
King Candy held out a handkerchief. Vanellope took it and dried her eyes. It wasn't until she was finished that she realized that it had the phrase "Turbotastic" embroidered on its white surface in red lettering.
"Yech!" She tossed it aside.
"But it'th a very Turbotathtic handkerchief," King Candy protested, retrieving it from the floor.
"It's not even real," Vanellope replied, standing up and stepping away from the wall. "You're not even real. I'm just imagining you, and it."
"But not the room, Vanellope. Not the fungeon."
"It's just called the dungeon now."
"I'm reading the thign," said King Candy, pointing with his cane towards the lettering above the door.
"Yeah, well I changed the name, so…yeah."
"Pity," said King Candy. He hopped over towards the pile of broken chain links.
"Glitch proof," he said, holding up some of the links. "I remember forging thith."
"Yeah, and Ralph broke it."
"You don't theem afraid of me," said King Candy.
"It's not you I'm afraid of. You're not even here."
King Candy set his cane against the wall. Selecting a length of chain from the floor, he walked slowly towards Vanellope, a wicked grin on his face.
"But that Ainthworth fellow, he ith here," said King Candy. "And you're afraid of him."
"Go away," Vanellope whispered. "You're not here."
King Candy stopped directly in front of her. He threw the chain over her head and wrapped it about her body, pinning her arms to her sides.
"You're right," he said. "I'm not here. But you are, and trouble followth you like a Devil-Dog on the thcent. Firtht me, then Dr. Dethpair, now Ainthworth. You, my little friend, are a villain magnet thethe dayth."
He pulled the ends of the chain together. Vanellope winced as her arm was pressed tightly against her wounded side…
She sat up, blinking nervously. King Candy was nowhere to be seen. But there she was, on the ground, with a fragment of chain wrapped about her body. Quickly, she shrugged it off and shoved it away. She glanced about the room. The pictures were still there, their doleful expressions mocking her.
"I won't break," she said aloud. "You won't beat me."
The lions and the clowns continued to stare as mournfully as before.
Vanellope stood up once more. She pointed at each of the pictures in turn. "I won't give in," she said.
The pictures remained impassive, as pictures will.
With a sigh, Vanellope sat down with her back to the wall. And then she remembered all her friends, who were also in a terrible predicament.
That was the moment when she started to cry.