The Janitor of Doom

They walked through the archway and into the Boss Room.

It was less of a menacing lair and more of a break room. There were torches on the walls, but they were electric flickering bulbs. In the center of the room sat a massive wooden throne.

Sitting on the throne was a Minotaur. He was seven feet tall, covered in brown fur, and terrifyingly muscular. However, the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he was wearing half-moon reading spectacles and doing a crossword puzzle in a magazine called *Dungeon Monthly*. A mop and bucket stood next to him.

"Behold!" Chadric screamed, his voice cracking slightly. "The Beast of the Cleft! Prepare to meet thy doom, foul monstrosity!"

The Minotaur looked up over his glasses. "Hey, keep it down. I’m on 17-Across. Four letters, 'Greek Earth Goddess'."

"Gaia," Barnaby whispered automatically.

"Thanks," the Minotaur grunted, filling it in.

"Silence!" Chadric roared. "I will not be ignored!"

He drew his sword and charged. "For glory! For honor! For the fan club newsletter!"

Chadric sprinted across the stone floor. He was fast. He was powerful. He was—

Tripping.

His right boot caught the laces of his left boot. Barnaby winced. He had meant to tie those for Chadric earlier, but Chadric had been too busy posing.

The Golden Hero went airborne. He sailed through the air with the grace of a thrown brick. His head collided with the solid oak frame of the Minotaur’s throne with a sickening *THWACK*.

Chadric slumped to the floor, unconscious. A small bird made of stars seemed to circle his head.

Silence descended on the room.

The Minotaur looked down at the hero drooling on his slippers. Then he looked at Barnaby.

"Is he dead?" the Minotaur asked.

"No," Barnaby said, walking over and checking Chadric’s pulse. "His skull is very thick. It absorbs shock well."

"Lucky him," the Minotaur rumbled. He put down his magazine. "I'm Gary, by the way. I handle sanitation for this level."

"Barnaby. Inventory and Morale."

Gary sighed, picking up his mop. "You guys really messed up the slide in the hallway. I just waxed that."

"Sorry," Barnaby said sincerely. He reached into one of the many pouches on his belt. "Sandwich?"

Gary’s eyes lit up. "Ham and cheese?"

"Turkey and swiss."

"Even better."

Barnaby sat on the step of the throne, and Gary sat on his bucket. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching Chadric twitch in his sleep.

"He's a piece of work, huh?" Gary asked, chewing thoughtfully.

"He once made me carry a boulder three miles because he thought it looked like his profile," Barnaby admitted. "It was just a round rock."

"Why do you stay?"

Barnaby shrugged. "Benefits? No, wait, there are no benefits. Destiny? No, that’s his thing. I guess... I just thought this was my lot. Someone has to carry the bags."

Gary finished his sandwich and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Kid, look at me. I’m a seven-foot cow-man living in a basement. And even I know when to clock out."

Gary stood up and walked to the back of the room. He pushed a hidden brick, and a secret door slid open. Sunlight—real, warm sunlight—poured in.

"Staff exit," Gary said. "Leads right to the bus stop."

Barnaby looked at the door. Then he looked at Chadric.

Chadric let out a snore that sounded like a dying pug. "My hair..." he mumbled in his sleep. "Is it... majestic?"

Barnaby looked at the massive, ninety-pound bag of loot, camping gear, and Chadric’s hair care products. It was sitting on the floor where Barnaby had dropped it.

"Yeah," Barnaby said. "It's majestic."