Constant danced. He pulled up those knees and kicked out his feet. The piper, he piped. And boy, could he pipe. And Constant, well, he could dance. Jerico and Jethrow tried for a while but they couldn’t keep up and threw in the towel, joining Honeycomb and Smellsick sitting by the side of the glowing bridge.

‘Don’t much care for that tune,’ said Jerico, gasping.

‘Me neither!’ Said Constant between breaths and skips and hops.

‘Too bloody hectic,’ Honeycomb muttered with a scowl, ‘how anyone is able to place their feet in the correct order to that crazy tune is beyond me.’

A sudden switch and lilt in the tune had Constant frantically placing his feet in the correct order. ‘That’s not how it goes, fool!’ he said.

The piper shrugged and rolled his eyes to the imp by his side holding a tiny sign.

Honeycomb leaned close, squinting her eyes and scrunching up her pretty face.

‘All covers…liable to change at artist’s whim. All legalities bought.’

Jerico guffawed. ‘Calls hisself an artist, believe that?’ The others said no and chuckled disparagingly. The piper’s eyes flashed mad and he played even faster.

Constant yelled. ‘Fools! Ye’re not helping!’

The piper’s face was red. Constant’s face was red. The four Thrill Seekers shouted and cheered. Egged on and teased.

‘Go, Constant!’

‘You’re doing great!’

‘Where’d ya learn to play?’

‘You suck, piper!’

Dance, blow, skip and pipe, cheer now cheer and heckle snide. Finally the piping hit a crescendo and just as the wind stole the last note, Constant slammed his foot down to the cobbles, arms spread wide.

‘Sweetness!’ The Thrill Seekers celebrated while Constant gasped and burned with pride. The purple imp threw down its sign and kicked at a pebble. The piper, he cast his flute to the ground and kicked the imp off into the Big Wide Galaxy. It sailed away cursing.

‘Rats!’ The piper cried.

‘Open up the gate, pipey,’ said Constant, his voice hoarse.

Muttering, the piper fit his key to the glowing lock and turned it. The magical barrier pulsed brightly, then disappeared.

‘Coolness,’ said Jethrow.

Before them Short Cut Bridge shimmered blue. And gold. And a few other nice colors. Surely it gave Fantasy Bridge a run for its money, though not all of it.

Constant stepped onto the bridge, but as the others moved forward the piper jumped across their way, barring them. ‘Oh no you don’t,’ he said.

In the blink of a lie Constant’s sabre was staring at his throat. ‘Oh yes they do,’ he intoned, ‘the deal was – one of us make it, we all get through. I never let a man squelch on a deal. Be he a fool or a so-called artiist.’ The so-called artist gulped, his Adams apple meeting the sword-point. A tiny droplet of blood rolled down his neck. ‘Hehe, jus’ messin, ya know?’ he said and stepped aside.

As they passed by Smellsick thrust forward his face and pulled his fist back. The piper flinched away. Jerico laughed and Jethrow called the piper a fool. Honeycomb shook her head at them. ‘Don’t be bullies,’ she said, as they continued walking along the wide bridge five abreast.

‘Any of you ever used this bridge before?’ said Smellsick. Everyone shook their heads – no.

‘Not even you, Constant?’

Falter shrugged. ‘Think maybe once when I was drunk or sommin. Can’t remember.’

‘But your travel was cut short, right?’

‘Smell, what part of Can’t Remember don’t you understand?’

‘Look, Death Kisser, I just wanna know if this thing ain’t some bloody hoax. I wanna get this thrill mission over and done wit so’s I can go visit Pigtail before the winter locks up the Big Wide Galaxy for a month.’

‘Oooo, Pigtail,’ said Honeycomb, ‘Cold Mountain’s fair maiden, whom none have ever seen ‘cept you.’

Constant coughed into his fist. ‘Bollocks!’

Smellsick stopped and shoved him in the chest. ‘The Queen of Dreams seen her!’

Jerico laughed. ‘We know the Queen seen her, but you ain’t.’

‘Have too, she’s my girl!’

‘Relax, bro,’ said Jethrow, patting him on the arm, ‘I’ll buy she might be your girl, but she sure as hell ain’t no fair maiden!’

Jerico hooted. ‘Bet she got a pigs tail!’

‘Why you bunch –

They ran ahead, laughing with glee as their comrade chased them along the bridge, calling ‘em names and issuing threats. Halfway across their eyes were assaulted by a fiendish splatter of colors and they all ceased running, the game forgotten. A carnival stand sat on the side of the bridge, its worn wood painted in hues any artist would have been ashamed of. They hadn’t seen the stand till they were practically upon it and the muscled man covered in tattoos behind the counter seemed to relish their surprise, a smirk pulling at his face.

‘Blast and spite,’ said Jerico, ‘that’s the worst paint job I ever seen.’

‘And yet,’ said Honeycomb, ‘I can’t look away.’ The other Thrill Seekers nodded in agreement, staring at the awful stand, fascination dancing in their eyes.

‘Did this thing just appear, or was it already here?’ Smellsick said, breath coming in frustrated bursts.

‘Bloody hell, Smell,’ said Jerico, ‘I dunno.’

‘Creepy,’ said Jethrow.

‘Step right up!’ called Billy Deasel, the tattooed carnie. ‘Step right up and play the game! The game, the game, the game Insane!’

‘What’s the game?’ said Smellsick.

‘Why, the Game Insane of-course,’ said the muscle-bound carnie. He waved a hand and a large playing board appeared on the counter. Squares and circles, ladders and mazes, all shifting and moving around cute little volcanoes and over battlefields. Swirling colors and sparks of light, the mazes ever changing, hurting the eyes and confusing the mind.

‘Five players!’ cried Billy. ‘Five destinies!’ Dice rattled in a bone cup suddenly held in the carnies’ hand. Playing pieces resembling the five Thrill Seekers took positions at five different starting points on the board. Little armies and mini animals appeared and started marching and running about.

‘What’re the rules?’ Honeycomb said.

‘The rules?’ Billy replied, ‘Are there rules to war?’

‘Course there are,’ said Jerico.

The carnie flexed his muscles and the tattooed animals seemed to writhe and turn across his hide. ‘Not in this game. Not in this world.’

‘Then how do we play?’ Constant said.

‘The ways are set, are set in groove, moves are made at the toss of the dice. Yet things are always liable to change. If you don’t like the game, don’t play.’

‘I wanna play,’ Jerico said.

Jethrow hopped from foot to foot. ‘Me too.’

‘There has to be a direction,’ said Honeycomb, ‘a point to the bleeding thing?’

Billy Deasel laughed, a raucous thing. ‘You must win! Battle each other to the death and claim the largest volcano!’

‘Well how much does it cost to play the game, and what’s to be won?

‘It costs nothin to play and everything to lose. If you win the volcano – then you win passage across the rest of the bridge.’

Jerico spat off to the side. ‘Another bloody toll? This bridge is badly named!’

Smellsick growled like a dog at a stranger. ‘Aye, Short Cut Bridge me foot!’

Constant held up a hand to end the bickering. ‘You say everything’s to be lost, well what the hell is everything?’

Another raucous laugh. ‘Everything! Your mind, your soul, your very purpose and all your dreams. You’ll pick up a hoe and till a dying field for the rest of your life!’

‘Jeepers!’ Muttered Honeycomb. ‘And you expect people to play this game?’

Flexing muscles, quivering tattoos. ‘Anyone who wants to use the short cut, sure.’

‘I don’t know about this, guys,’ said Jerico, ‘seems an awful lots to be lost.’

‘Bah!’ said Constant, ‘are you gonna let fear of defeat stand in the way of victory?

‘Good spirit!’ cried the carnie, ‘that’s it. Don’t let fear stand in your way.’

Honeycomb’s eyes narrowed. ‘Quit it with the bleedin catch phrases. There’s other games to be played and many destinies to choose from. I say we bail on this catastrophe and find another way to the pirate isles.’

Constant looked the carnie up and down. ‘Tell me something carnie, those playing pieces; their lives won’t lost, will they?’

Billy Deasel’s eyes blinked into slits. ‘No…’

Smellsick spat on the ground. ‘To hell with this,’ he said and continued striding along the bridge, thick legs thumping down. ‘I’ll cross this bridge if I so choose. No bloody carnie is gonna stand in my way, force me to play the game.’

With a yell in a strange tongue, the carnie jumped over Smellsick, landing a few meters ahead of him. Smellsick unsheathed the sword at his back with a vicious grin. ‘Come on then!’ he said, ‘let’s see what you got!’

Billy Deasel laughed and the tattoos on his body that had previously only seemed to writhe, now began to move and flow over each other. An inked lion on his shoulder rippled, then leapt from its master’s body and into reality. It grew huge. It grew massive. It roared with a deafening force. Screaming monkeys and hairy spiders rippled and took form in front of the adventurers. A black dragon left the carnie’s back and grew ever larger as it circled the sky above, fire shooting from it’s nostrils. A whole jungle kingdom literally jammed the bridge, blocking all passage. Here and there demons and banshees flitted by, casting hungry sly looks at the five of them.

‘Well?’ invited Deasel, ‘fancy your chances then?’

The five Thrill Seekers, weapons and shields ready, well, they hesitated.

‘Hmm,’ said Honeycomb, ‘are those things real?’

‘Lets find out,’ said Smellsick, and darted forward. He swung his sword at a mighty-looking stag. It battered aside the blade with it’s antlers and a tiger jumped in. With a savage swipe it scratched him in the chest and Smellsick staggered back howling. The jungle kingdom roared and in the sky above them the dragon screamed. Billy Deasel laughed and lit his pipe from falling drops of dragon-flame. Constant said, ‘They’re real alright.’

Jethrow yelled, ‘Bail!’ The five Thrill Seekers turned and ran back along the bridge.

The piper stepped up grinning. Behind him the gate was again barred. ‘What tune would you like to dance to this time, eh?’

Smellsick grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and beat him till he surrendered the key from the secret folds of his clothing.

As they were passing through the gate over the pipers beaten form, Constant halted and looked over his shoulder. ‘What is it now, Constant?’ said Honeycomb.

He shook his head. ‘No bloody way,’ he muttered, ‘no bloody way some carnie gonna have me turn tail.’

The four Thrill Seekers groaned. ‘Constannnnt…’

They watched helpless as he charged back. The dragon swooped down and did a fly-by, scorching him good and proper. While he screeched and tried to roll the flames off his body, a bear walked up and started tearing at him. The jungle kingdom and it’s nightmare converged on him and Constant was lost to sight.

As suddenly as they had appeared, the jungle kingdom disappeared. No more Constant. No more nightmare. Just Billy Deasel the tattooed carnie, smoking a pipe at his vibrant stand. A big grin on his face.

Far, far away, in a realm that has inspired many a ridiculous tale, Father Death sat at his chessboard. ‘Ah, Constant. Fancy a game?’

‘I hate that game, and I hate you.’

‘Tut, tut, my dear boy.’

‘Don’t call me boy, how many times have I told you not call me boy!’

Father Death moved a bishop over squares. ‘Tell me something, boy. Why’d you run back to battle that crazy carnie and his evil creatures, why not play the game?’

‘To bollocks with his game, Fart.’

‘You might have won, gained all of you quick passage to go free that old dragon from Folly Strangler and his orcs?’

‘I was angry. And I might have lost.’

‘That’s the risk, Kid.’

Constant unslung his slingshot from his belt and took pot shots at a crew of souls pushing a wagon that wasn’t going anywhere. ‘I ain’t into playing people’s games.’ A soul pushing the wagon yelped and clutched its ear. ‘And that game of his was definitely fixed.’ The soul cast dark holes in Constant’s direction and Falter turned away, considering the chessboard. Father Death watched him. ‘They’re all fixed, Constant.’

‘Then how does one win?’

‘Learn the fix. And you either run with it or you change it. Make it your game.’

Constant hesitated, then reached over and moved his Queen. ‘Check.’

Father Death countered. ‘Check Mate.’

‘What the –

The final entity pointed down the black hill at the wagon. ‘Push, boy.’

Down at the wagon Constant looked at the soul next to him. ‘There are but dark holes where your eyes should be,’ he said.

The soul opened a gaping mouth. ‘Same goes for you. Same goes for us all.’

Constant looked in the wagon bed.

Into the mirror it held.

And he screamed.