Minecraft: Mob Squad: Never Say Nether: An Official Minecraft

The Nether would be fascinating if I were here of my own free will and able to control my own experience. But no. I was blindfolded, and instead of seeing a new world for the first time, I could only smell it and use my imagination. Judging by the scent—and the tickle of smoke in my nose—I’ve decided the Nether is dominated by fire and mushrooms, and not like the delicious mushroom soup my brother makes.

Even though my captors kept me from seeing anything, I knew the smell of the woodland mansion the moment they dragged me inside. I recognized the plushness of that particular carpet under my feet, remembered the feel of the steps and the odors of stone, wood, and food. When they marched me past the library, I nearly drooled.

Funny, how those books are what I wanted the most in the world, and now I’m here and have no way to access them.

Instead, they made me climb up a ladder, shoved me through some weird smoke, marched me over a squishy sort of stone, and…well, it wasn’t a fun trip. It all felt impossibly dangerous and like I might die at any moment. Funny how I could feel even less safe when I’d already been kidnapped. And now they’re whispering together while I just stand here, unable to see, unable to move, kept on the end of a lead like I’m someone’s pet pig. It’s mortifying and infuriating, and there’s nothing I can do.

I’ve never felt so alone.

I’ve never missed Chug so much.

For a long time, I waited to be rescued, whether by Chug, Mal, and Lenna or, if they’d finally learned to believe and trust kids, the adults of our town. I dropped berries, and then inconspicuous materials, and then berries again when the leader gave me another handful. But as I spent more time with my kidnappers, I began to hope that my brother and friends wouldn’t risk it. I’ve heard these brigands kill tons of mobs, and they’re ruthless and efficient. If they’re the kind of people who will steal a kid out of his bed, maybe they’re the kind of people who will do worse to a kid they don’t need quite as much. They’ve already abandoned Jarro to his fate, after all.

“No funny business,” the leader reminds me, which is the same thing they said when they whipped off my blindfold in Elder Gabe’s potion workshop.

“What’s the point?” I mutter. “Where am I going to go?”

“Smart kid.”

The blindfold is finally off, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. We’re in a room with a relatively low ceiling. All the walls are a rich, meaty, speckled red, and the floors are dark wood planks. There’s one big window, and through it, I see…

A sea of lava.

Like we’re in an inexplicably ginormous red cavern, with odd towers and waterfalls of lava and no sky in sight. Everything glows in shades of red.

“Go on and look. Get it out of your system,” the leader says. When I look around, I realize we’re alone in the room. I walk to the window, put my hands on the cold stone sill and look out.

We’re at least two stories up, almost like we’re floating. Down below is so much lava that I can’t really contemplate it. It reminds me of the first time I saw beyond the wall back home, looking out through Nan’s secret window. There was so much grass, so much green, that it was incomprehensible. But this is lava, and it doesn’t give me that rippling joy of awe and discovery. It just makes me realize how very flammable I am.

“That’s the only way out, and I think you can guess what happens if you hit the lava,” the lead brigand says. “So if you had any ideas about escaping, forget ’em. If you do what we say and don’t do anything stupid, you can earn your way back home.”

Which reminds me of the question I forgot to ask the first time we talked and that I’ve been regretting not asking ever since. “Is my brother okay?”

“We left him sleeping in his own bed. Whatever he did after that is his own business. We’re not monsters, kid.”

I’m sick of him calling me “kid” like uncles do. My uncles are nice and friendly and care about me. Whatever this guy says, only a monster would do what he’s done.

“My name is Tok.”

“And my name is Orlok. Mr. Orlok, to you. Hey, we rhyme! I’m sure you remember my friends, too. Fellas, come say hi!”

Four more brigands appear in the open door, the same ones who stood against us at the river crossing on our last adventure. Only one has a weapon out, the biggest one among them. They must really know, bone deep, that there’s nowhere I can go, nothing I can do. They don’t see me as a threat at all.

They’re wrong, though. These may be my pajamas and not my work clothes, but I’m the kind of person who’s always working on something, always has something up my sleeve. Even if I’ve been dropping stuff every few thousand footsteps, my pockets are still decently full. If these guys were smart, they would’ve checked, but I guess they figure no one keeps weapons in their jammies. Last time, we had unloaded all of our loot into easily stolen chests, but these days, I always have full pockets.

“What do you want from me?”NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

Orlok gestures across the room. I’m intrigued despite my fear, rage, and bone-deep exhaustion. They’ve set up a really nice workshop. There’s a crafting table, a smithing table, a brewing stand, a forge, a furnace, a desk. Torches light the area nicely, and shelves hold rows of water bottles, piles of powder, collections of ingredients I know well and objects I’m eager to test. I’m guessing the chests are full, too. Most importantly, there are several books piled up on the desk, and the top one is called simply: Potions.

I’d be in heaven if I weren’t in…the Nether.

That’s got to be where we are. This can’t be our world. I’d be excited—

If I weren’t separated from my brother, my friends, my family, my town. And my freedom.

“Can you be more specific?” I say, because I’m pretty sure Orlok and his cronies didn’t bring me here for my own good.

“Did you know about Krog’s plan to secure the town for himself and access the Nether?”

I nod. “Yeah, we heard his evil villain speech. He’s in jail back home now.”

Orlok throws back his head and laughs. “Good. That’s where he belongs—out of our way. See, we decided that his plan was too complicated. Run off the town, then keep the fortress and get to the Nether to benefit from all the rare ingredients and drops. We realized we could skip the town and just go to the Nether, start up a farm and workshop, and profit. And then we heard there was this kid just outside town who could craft anything and wasn’t afraid to mix up potions.” He pokes a finger in my chest. “That’s you. So you’re gonna eat up and start crafting.”

“Can’t I sleep?” My fingers twitch toward my pockets and what I could do if left alone and out of sight.

Orlok shakes his head. “No sleep in the Nether. You don’t want to know what happens if you put down a bed here. Or maybe you do, judging by your singed eyebrows. Anyway, there’re no maps here, no clocks, no escape, so you’d better get brewing.”

“Just like that? Just start making potions?”

“I marked a few pages in the book—the most valuable items. We still need to find some more ingredients, but you can start with something easy. And when you run out of what you need for the high-value potions, make armor and weapons. We can always sell those.” He leans in so close I can smell the sweet berries and fish on his rancid breath. “But again: No funny business.”

He hands me, of all things, a cookie, and I eat it and move to the desk, sitting down and cracking open the book.

Orlok nods his approval. “I’ve got business to attend to. Rex, stay here and watch him. If he does anything that looks sneaky, stop him.”

The big guy turns to me, his giant, droopy mustache quivering. “Stop him how, boss?”

“With a weapon of your choice.”

Rex smiles, and it’s like looking at a murderous jack-o’-lantern.

Waving, Orlok leaves. His other three minions follow him, leaving just me and Rex, who settles down in the doorway like a chicken sitting on an egg.

“I’ll be reading,” he proclaims, pulling out, to my surprise, a thick leather tome. “Don’t bother me. And don’t explode yourself. I don’t like loud noises.” As soon as the book is open, it’s like he’s in his own little world, his muscular shoulders blocking the doorway.

Finally alone, or as alone as I’m going to get, I sit at the desk and look at each dog-eared page. There are helpful potions, like the Potions of Healing and Regeneration that Elder Gabe knows, and there are also harmful potions, like the Potions of Weakness and Harming that Krog threw at Mal and Chug last year. My eyes light up when I see the recipe for a Potion of Fire Resistance. It’s not dog-eared, but that’s the one I’ve been struggling with back home, and it turns out there was a good reason for that. I’d been using slimeballs, whereas I actually need something called magma cream. I go directly to the shelf and find a bowl labeled magma cream, which is full of iridescent spheres that look halfway between a slimeball and fire. I’m not sure what magma is or where the spheres might come from, but if they’re the key to that elusive potion, I’m all for them. I’ve been trying so hard to make my potions work, and now the answer seems so obvious.

But I need to make sure my captors are happy with me. I focus on the first potion Orlok wants, the Potion of Invisibility. Knowing these brigands, he’s going to use it to steal things—or sell it to people who want to steal things. I study all the steps—because there are many—and turn to the shelves and chests of ingredients.

I don’t like being here. I don’t like being kidnapped. I don’t like helping bad guys.

But I really, really love making things, especially when there’s some expectation that they’ll actually work. Maybe if I get good enough, and if Rex gets deep enough into his book coma, I can figure out how to escape.