text: You feel compelled — whether by simple curiosity or the desire to find a secret way out of this place, you're not sure — to get back up and see where those steps lead. They descend from an otherwise nondescript spot at the center of the arcade, a narrow and dark entrance to whatever it is that lurks below. It almost seems like the entire point of this building was to shelter those steps, so it is funny that the Woban didn't consider looking for you down there.
  
  Carefully you make your way down in the darkness. There are no railings to hold onto, and who knows how much rubble there might be waiting to trip you up. For all you know, you're about to walk into a bat cave. You have a headlamp in your backpack, so you stop before you go too far and pull it out.
  
  The little beam of light reveals a chamber that appears to be as long and wide as the arcade above, but with a ceiling so low you can touch it without stretching. The place looks like a warehouse for strange and grotesque stone carvings, including an entire battalion of those horned cherubs you've been seeing all over the place. Some of them still bear patches of pigment, as if they were at one time all painted in vibrant colors that have long since flaked away.
  
  The statues are lined up in rows, with parallel aisles between them; as you explore the chamber for a possible way out, you walk up and down these aisles like a shopper looking for the peanut butter section of a grocery supermarket. You don't see any signs of an alternate exit, but in a far corner of the room you find something else that at once intrigues, sickens, and terrifies you.
  
  She has been lying there for years, it appears, face down on the stone floor with arms and legs sprawled out, and small darts snagged in the moth-eaten clothing. She has long, dyed-blond hair but pitch-black roots, telling you her hair continued growing an inch or two even after she was killed. Although something has been pecking away at her corpse, it is otherwise well preserved in this dark and dry chamber.
  
  After a moment you realize that you recognize who she is: Beatriz Paya-Vallejo, a rival adventurer from the north of Chile. The two of you have crossed paths more than once, in places like Nepal, Mali, and Tunisia. None of your encounters were friendly ones. In most cases you were each working for competing collectors, which meant you were both after the same prize — and in the early years, she was too often the one in possession of whatever valuable object you had been sent to obtain. Because of her, you missed out on a few too many payouts and was almost laughed out of your profession. But also because of Paya-Vallejo, you learned to up your game and become better at what you do.
  
  An olive-green knapsack still hugs her back, bulging with its contents. As the beam from your headlamp glances across it, you briefly see a purple reflection. That's way too strange. Despite your repulsion at the idea of touching a mummified corpse, you can't resist seeing what's inside that military-surplus backpack of hers — and you have a pretty good idea what it is.
  
  You undo the strap that closes the knapsack, and immediately a large object slides out and lands with a thud on the ground. It is a gem of tremendous dimensions, purple and flawlessly faceted. There is only one thing it could possibly be: the Stone of Vul-Kar.
  
  Damn you, Beatriz! You hadn't seen her in several years, nor had you heard any news. The people in your profession sometimes manage to fall off the earth for a few years it seems, only to reappear alive and well at the oddest times and places, much to the consternation of their competitors. You never wasted much time thinking about what Paya-Vallejo might be up to, because as long as she wasn't searching for the same thing you were, her whereabouts didn't matter to you.
  
  But here she is now, dead on Woban Island. And she had found the Vul-Kar gem, too! Had she not fallen to these Woban darts, this would have been yet another victory for her — a win added to the tally in her column, and a loss added to yours.
  
  You pick up the stone and are impressed by its heft. The thing must weigh twenty pounds, at least. No wonder so many people have been coming here to find it! No wonder Diane Chambers is willing to pay you two million dollars to bring it back to her in Boston!
  
  So apparently there is no need to climb to the summit temple after all. Beatriz Paya-Vallejo was already there, and managed to get it this far, but no further. No one but her employer probably knew she was here, and now no one but you knows she had removed the Stone of Vul-Kar from its fabled resting place. Everyone coming to Woban Island has been searching for it in the wrong place.
  
  The gem is so large you have to rearrange the items in your backpack to make room for it — and you know that when you shoulder your pack once more, it is going feel very much like you're toting around a couple bowling balls on top of everything else.
  
  But before you do, there is something you need to consider: above you in the daylight, there is still a Woban who seems hellbent on killing you. Unless you want to end up like your former competitor here, you're going to need to use extreme caution to get out of this ancient city alive. This room seems to be a safe place to remain, since the Woban who was chasing you never thought to look here, and the Stone of Vul-Kar has been hiding here in Paya-Vallejo's knapsack for several years without anyone's knowledge. You could probably remain here until nightfall, and if your Woban friend is still looking for you, it will be easier to sneak by him in the darkness.
  
  On the other hand, it seems equally desirable to get out of here as quickly as possible. Nighttime will arrive on the island in a couple hours, and it would be nice to get as far into the jungle as you can in the remaining daylight.
  
  __________________________________________________
  > flee into the jungle now.
  Back in Boston there is a woman who is willing to pay you a wad of money if you are able to bring this big purple stone back to her. You're not going to get there by crouching here in the dark, and you would like to get as far from these ruins as you can before the sun sets. Therefore you decide not to prolong your stay in this hidden basement full of grotesque statues.
  
  Indeed, your backpack does feel heavy when you put it back on — about two million dollars heavier, you estimate. It's not an entirely horrible feeling, although you will probably start to think differently once you start hiking over those mountain summits again on your way back to the Zodiac.
  
  Your journey begins by cautiously ascending the stone steps back up to the arcade, where not very long ago you narrowly avoided the young Woban. After climbing a few steps you poke your head above the level of the stone floor, looking around like a wary prairie dog for signs of predators. At least the shadowy arcade still seems quiet. When nothing lunges at you — or begins shouting unintelligible epithets at you — you climb the rest of the way out of the basement. You have no idea where your three-eyed "friend" might be; his pursuit of you had seemed so single-minded that you find it hard to believe he has simply given up and gone home.
  
  So you survived the first phase of your grand escape, but the fact that you hear or see no sign of your old adversary doesn't relieve you. In fact, it gets your heart pounding in suspense. Your muscles are tense, your breaths are short. When you knew the Woban was sprinting fast behind you, your course of action was clear. Now that you haven't the slightest idea where he is, you fear that he could be anywhere.
  
  Before you can draw up the courage to leave the arcade, you make a quick patrol around its periphery, peeking through the arches to look for signs of movement out among the ruins. Everything seems as peaceful and abandoned as you thought it was when you first found this ancient city. It's not what you were expecting. Damn that Woban! Even his absence is threatening.
  
  All you can do now is hope you haven't been deceived into exposing yourself. You circle back to the corner of the arcade that is closest to the first of the three summits, a dome of trees and rock lit in the golden light of the evening sun. There is no point in worrying about the possibilities here, so you take a deep breath, adjust the waist strap on your backpack, and then run down the steps.
  
  The grass offers no resistance as you rush through it, passing all manner of bizarre structures and ancient artwork. For all you know there could be priceless treasures everywhere in these ruins. In a less stressful situation you might be tempted to "shop" for a little souvenir of your own, but with the possibility that death could be lurking behind any mossy pedestal or vine-covered wall, you're in no mood to go sifting for loot.
  
  But when you make it to the edge of the mountain plain unscathed, it seems like an anticlimactic end to your day. It was such a long run through the ruins that if the Woban was still present, there is no way he would have missed you — how could he, with those three eyes of his? Is it really possible that after all that drama of chasing you into the arcade, he just gave up and went home?
  
  You have no way of knowing for sure what happened here this evening; you're just relieved that there now seems to be a chance you'll make it out of here alive. And with the Stone of Vul-Kar securely stowed in your backpack, too. You afford yourself three seconds to stop and look back across the plain, with its gray-green ruins and backdrop of sheer rock — a strange and beautiful place to visit, but not anywhere you'd want to live.
  
  It was just a few short hours ago you were scrambling down the steep mountain slope that now lies ahead of you. Never did you expect to be back here so soon. The jungle grows thickly around you again as you exit the plain, and soon the terrain slopes upward. The mud is slippery, the rock ledges are frustrating, and your belly feels hollow and desirous of nourishment — but so long as there is daylight remaining you want to get as far away from those ruins as you can.
  
  You are still climbing even as the tropical twilight quickly fails you. And you might continue to climb through the darkness if some strange sound behind you didn't capture your attention. It sounds like distant voices — lots of them. Just above you is a small rock ledge with what looks like a natural window through the forest canopy, so you scramble up to the top. From a corner of the ledge you have a partial view back over the wide plain between the mountains, and to your horror you see dozens of torchlights wandering through the darkness — an entire army of Wobans combing the ruins. You can only assume they are looking for you. So now you know where the your guy went: he did go home, but not to nurse his wounded pride. He went and gathered reinforcements. If you were still down there in the city, you'd have no avenue of escape.
  
  At least you managed to put considerable distance between you and your three-eyed pursuers — so much distance that for the first time in hours you actually feel somewhat secure. It is now too dark to continue climbing this wooded summit without a light, and you fear that if you switched on your headlamp you'd reveal your location to the Wobans. So you decide to remain here for the night, watching the goings-on below you. Tired, thirsty, and hungry, you watch with much interest as the Wobans methodically scour the ruins until their torches start to falter. Then they coalesce into an uneven line and file into the forest, heading northward out of the mountains and back to whatever village they came from.
  
  This leaves you alone on the side of the mountain summit, beneath a sky full of stars. After emptying a few packages of flavored tuna, you lean back against your pack and fall asleep within seconds.
  
   
  
  When morning arrives, the plain of ruins below you is deserted once more, now in the shadow cast by the island's main summit. As you munch on some Clif bars you watch for signs of movement down there, but nothing stirs. It is starting to look like you evaded the natives, but you know better than to let yourself become complacent; you have a long way to go before you are safely off this island. 
  
  You remember well the qualities of each of the three summits that stands between you and the shoreline. As the morning's coolness gives way to the heat of the tropical day, you toil the rest of the way across the first summit. In the notch that follows, you find the spot where you camped so contentedly the night before last, and once again you replenish your water supply in the spring. Then, knowing better than to even try climbing the middle summit, you contour around it, finding an alternate route that entails less elevation loss.
  
  Strangely, you pass much of the day thinking about Cheers. It's not even the money that has captured your imagination this morning; you're just thinking about that Giant Norm Burger, or whatever it was called. You can't believe you turned your nose up at the idea of such a beefy indulgence last week, because right now you could go for two or three of them. Easily three.
  
  Which reminds you: you have a phone call to make. By early afternoon you are ascending the third and final summit, the one with the bald face where you sketched your map two days ago. A large cloud has parked itself over the island, so while the summit remains humid it is not quite as hot as you remember without the sun.
  
  There have been no signs of the Wobans all day, and this view really is enchanting. Now, though, instead of gazing over the island, your attention is drawn to the endless ocean ahead of you, and all of the piles of fattening food and comfortable beds you will find on the far side of that ocean. With two million dollars to your name, you'll be able to fête yourself with quite the feast.
  
  But not if you can't hitch a ride on a boat somehow. So after an ascetic lunch pulled from the supplies in your pack, you pull out the satellite phone that Jimmy gave you so long ago. You see that there is one number programmed into its memory.
  
  "Yes?" You never thought you'd be so happy to hear Jimmy's voice. "I can only assume that if you're calling this number, your mission has been successful."
  
  "Oh, it has, it has," you say.
  
  "Now I suppose you want a boat to pick you up."
  
  "That would be great. And two million dollars. Let's not forget about that."
  
  "Whoah, now, Chief," Jimmy says. "There are procedures to follow. The item will need to be inspected, of course. No funds will be transferred until our employer is satisfied."
  
  "Of course. I was just being facetious. But I really am ready for that big boat home."
  
  "How soon?"
  
  "Tonight would be good. I'm about three miles from that Zodiac of yours, but it's all easy hiking from here. I should be there by nightfall, easily."
  
  "Tonight?" he says. "That's much quicker than we were expecting. Are you certain you found the item?"
  
  "Well, let's just say I am in possession of a big purple rock. Your boss seemed quite eager to obtain it the last we met."
  
  "Well, yes, but we were also under the impression that it would be a major undertaking. Our people just dropped you off a few days ago."
  
  "I got lucky, leave it at that. I'd be happy to tell you all about it when we get back to Boston."
  
  __________________________________________________
  > Next page.
  And so it comes to pass that three days later you are back on Beacon Street, following Jimmy into the basement portion of Cheers. It's a Saturday night, so the place is far more bustling than the last time you were here. Tonight it looks like any other corner pub, except for the familiar logo on all of the pint glasses.
  
  "I should warn you, our employer has been in a bad mood lately," Jimmy says as he leads you through the bar. "Kelsey Grammer was here a few days ago, getting a lot of fan attention. Nobody had much interest in her that night. She still hasn't gotten over it."
  
  He is wearing another one of his plaid suits, but this one takes the cake: the red, white, and black pattern looks like he ripped it off a dead lumberjack stock broker. You're embarrassed to be seen with him, so you hang back about twelve feet.
  
  You weave between tables full of happy people eating, the smell of hamburgers and french fries everywhere. Despite all the time you've been off the island now, you still haven't been treated to a full meal. You can only hope that Diane Chambers is feeling generous — and hungry — tonight.
  
  Fashion concerns aside, you're curious to hear more about the Kelsey Grammer story, but the ambient noise is too loud and Jimmy is moving too fast. Once again he leads you out what appears to be a back door, and then up the steps leading into the Set Bar.
  
  Tonight the place seems less like a museum to a thirty-year-old TV show and more like a functioning commercial establishment. The cardboard cutouts of Woody and Norm are gone, replaced with live bartenders pouring beers, and actual people occupying all of the tables and booths. So many of the customers are wearing "Boston" shirts and hats — of the chintzy kind you would buy from a street vendor — that it's obvious the entire place is populated with tourists.
  
  Diane Chambers is still wedged into the same booth where you first met her, but instead of plate full of chicken wings the table is covered with eight-by-ten glossy photos of Shelley Long.
  
  "Yeah, I was real upset that Sam and I never got together," she is saying to a middle-aged couple standing in rapt attention beside her table. The man is counting out some cash as he listens to her story. "But, you know, the studio wanted to maintain the suspense. People kept tuning in every Thursday night because they wanted to see if we would do it. If we didn't, then they'd keep tuning in. It was a cold business calculation, and it broke my heart. And that's the real reason why I left the show."
  
  "Oh, I just knew that had to be the reason!" the wife says. "Cheers was just never the same after you left. We were never fans of Rebecca, were we, Frank?"
  
  The husband just grunts an affirmative Hmm as he hands over the five twenties he has finished counting out of his wallet.
  
  Diane accepts the cash. "How would you like me to make this out?" she says, picking up a pen and one of the glossy photos.
  
  After a moment of thought, the woman says, "Just 'To Frank and Margaret' would be good."
  
  Your employer scribbles across the photo of the actress she is impersonating, and then notices you and Jimmy approaching the booth. "Oh my, you're just in time! Here comes the illegitimate love child I had with Cliff!"
  
  She is, of course, pointing to Jimmy. The reactions of the two Cheers fans are priceless: she is agog with joy; he scowls with skepticism, worried that he might be asked to dole out another hundred dollars for a second autographed photo.
  
  "I never knew!" Margaret says. "Doesn't he look just like his father, Frank?"
  
  "Funny no one ever heard about that," Frank says dryly.
  
  "Of course not!" Diane says. "The studio paid good money to keep it out of the National Enquirer."
  
  Jimmy ignores the couple as he steps up to the table. "Our friend has returned from the South Pacific, ma'am."
  
  "I see that. Hopefully not empty-handed, either."
  
  "No, ma'am."
  
  "Look how politely he addresses his mother, Frank," Margaret says. "I wish our two boys were like that. Don't you?"
  
  You decide to say nothing, lest you be insinuated in Chambers' little fraud. Who would she try and pass you off as — Lilith's second cousin?
  
  Watching her reaction as you do so, you set the sack containing the Stone of Vul-Kar down on the table. Instead of that grubby backpack you toted across Woban Island, the gem is now concealed in a draw-string knapsack with a Patriots logo, as provided by Jimmy. It lands with such a thud on the tabletop that the condiment rack rattles.
  
  Diane's eyes light up. "I'm afraid I have to take care of some business," she tells the fawning woman and her husband without taking her gaze off the knapsack in front of her. "It was very nice meeting you. And congratulations on the birth of your granddaughter! You should buy her a little pink Cheers onesie from the gift shop on your way out!"
  
  "Oh, we will! We will! Thank you again ever so much, Ms. Chambers!"
  
  You slide into the booth opposite Diane. To your profound dismay, Jimmy slides in beside you. You feel trapped.
  
  Your employer pushes aside the stack of glossies. "I have sooo been waiting for this moment — almost as much as I am for the moment when I get to show this little trinket to that old blowhard, Walter Berringer."
  
  She pulls on the drawstring to open the sack, and then peers inside without removing the contents. "Lordy, lordy," is all she says.
  
  "I hope you find it satisfactory," you say.
  
  "Indeed. Indeed. And you retrieved it so expeditiously, too!"
  
  "Well, that was just...  ."
  
  She cuts you off. "Thomas! Hey, Thomas!" she shouts toward the bar. "We need some drinks over here. What was that you were having last time? Oh, that's right — bring us three of those Green Monsta IPAs!"
  
  Thomas the bartender looks like he is swamped with other drink orders, but he promptly takes three of those Cheers pint glasses and starts pouring the beers.
  
  "I don't want to look at it here," Diane says, closing the Patriots knapsack up once more. "Too many people here. But I'm hosting a gathering in two weeks, and my rival Walter Berringer will be there. I can't stand him, never have, but we both serve on the same board of directors, so he can't really back out. He's been moping all month because the Red Sox finished the year nineteen games behind the Yankees. When he sees this, it'll push him over the edge. I can't wait."
  
  A waitress arrives with the three beers.
  
  Diane raises her glass. "Cheers!" It takes you a second to realize she's not stating the name of the establishment, but proposing a course of action.
  
  "Cheers!" Jimmy dutifully returns, and the three of you clink your glasses together.
  
  "You truly are good at what you do — worth every penny." As she says this, she slides a debit card across the table to you. "I opened this account this morning. The balance is exactly two million dollars. The PIN on the Visa is one nine eight two."
  
  "One nine eight two," you repeat.
  
  "Should be easy to remember. That was the year Cheers debuted. Now, Jimmy was telling me you found the stone in an entire city filled with odd statues?"
  
  You nod.
  
  "Ooooh!" she squeals. "This could become an entire collection! How soon can you go back?"
  
  You want to think she's kidding, but when Jimmy shows you two tickets for a flight back to Honolulu, you know she's dead serious. Hopefully by now the Wobans have given up looking for you.
  
  THE END