How to Rescue a Dead Princess (22 page)

“Now, as I'm sure you're all aware, you are prisoners of the Dark One. He'll be joining us a bit later—he has some last minute brooding to take care of. Now, we were going to start this meeting with a singing of the new Hail to the Dark One anthem, but we were unable to get the lyric sheets printed up in time, so I'm going to introduce our first speaker instead.”

“Are we going to be killed?” asked a prisoner in front.

“There will be a question-and-answer session at the end, so please hold off until then. You never know, we may answer your question during the course of the program. Now, please give a warm welcome to Nancy.”

Nancy stepped onto the stage with some signs tucked under her arm. “Thank you, Bamberg. As new prisoners of the Dark One, you will all be expected to follow a number of rules. I know, I know, who needs rules, right? Well, rules have been historically essential in any well-functioning society, and though the Dark One hopes to be a leader to break from tradition, this is one area where he's fairly conservative.”

She set all of the signs down on the stage except one, then glared at one of the prisoners. “What was that?” she asked.

“Nothing,” the prisoner replied.

“You were whispering something to the person next to you. Would you mind sharing it with the rest of us?”

“I'd rather not.”

“Please do. I mean, if there's a conversation going on down there that's more interesting than what I have to say regarding your collective futures, I'm curious to know what it could be.”

The prisoner looked sheepish. “I told him to check out your boobs.”

Nancy smiled, flattered. “Why, thank you. I wax them daily, you know. Anyway, back to what I was saying.” She held up the first sign, which read
Rule #5: No Calling the Dark One a Sissy
. “Rule #1: No—”

“Wrong sign!” one of the prisoners called out.

Nancy glanced at the front of her sign, then sighed. “I'm so sorry. Apparently my kids were playing with the signs again. You know what rascals boys can be between the ages of two and eighteen.”

“Real whippersnappers,” agreed the prisoner.

Nancy bent down and flipped through the signs until she located the right one. “Ah, here we go. Rule #1: No Calling the Dark One a Pansy. Simple enough, I think.” She held up the next sign. “Rule #2: No Calling the Dark One a Wimp. Once again, fairly self-explanatory.”

“Can we call him a repugnant mammy-grabber?” asked a prisoner.

“What were you told about saving questions until the end?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

“No, let's make sure you're completely clear on this. What were you told about saving questions until the end?”

“To do it.”

“Very good. And you know what? Because you didn't follow the instructions, you're going to have to wait until everyone else has finished with their questions before you'll be allowed to ask one.”

“For crying out loud, I
said
I was sorry!”

“That will be quite enough out of you,” said Nancy. “Nobody likes a show-off.”

“Wench,” the prisoner muttered.

“What did you say?” Nancy demanded.

“I said ‘That wonderful person certainly isn't a wench.'”

Nancy smiled, flattered again. “Okay, let's have a quick review before we continue with the rules. We aren't to refer to the Dark One as a sissy, pansy, or wimp. Rule #3: No Calling—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Bamberg, stepping back onto the stage, “but I think the Dark One is ready to give his speech.”

“Well, as long as you're sorry,” said Nancy, moving out of the way. They waited expectantly for a moment.

Behind the curtain, the Dark One paced nervously. “I had no idea there would be so many people out there,” he said. “Look at all those people. Too many people.”

“But Master,” said Scrivener, “you need to address your minions! Show them what a mighty, merciless leader you are!”

“I can't. I'm good at one-on-one interactions, but public speaking scares the hell out of me!”

“Try this, then. Imagine them in their underwear.”

“What are you, some kind of pervert?”

“No, really. It works.”

“I can think of few things less comfortable than addressing a bunch of nearly-naked people. I'm not going out there. That's all there is to it.”

“Master, you need to gain their respect! Here, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out...”

“Did they prepare the cue cards?”

“Of course. Everything is ready. You'll do fine.”

The Dark One took a deep breath. “Very well. I shall speak to them, and make them tremble before me! Muahahahahahahaha!”

“Ooooh, do that laugh out there!” said Scrivener. “That'll freak them out
good
!”

The Dark One passed through the curtain and walked to the center of the stage. He looked down, realized that he was imagining himself in his underwear, and let out a squeak.

“Did he just squeak?” Yvonne asked Randall.

“I believe he did.”

The Dark One slapped himself on the side of the head, and he mentally re-dressed himself. Then he gazed out into the group of prisoners, who appeared to be in their undergarments. One woman had an iron loin cloth, while another had propellers on her brassiere. It was all terribly distracting.

“I am the Dark One!” he said. Bamberg held up an “applause” sign, and again the prisoners moved their hands as far as they were capable. The Dark One relaxed a bit.
I've already won them over
! he thought to himself with a smile.

Ignoring the man in the copper bra, the Dark One held up an egg that he'd carried on-stage. “See this egg? This egg stands for all of you!” He crushed the egg in his fist. “That shows what will happen to you if you betray me! The yolk represents your guts sliding down my glove! Got it?”

The prisoners nodded as one.

“Good. That is all.” He took a moment to ogle a woman in a particularly revealing lace teddy, then walked back through the curtain.

“Let's hear it for the Dark One!” said Bamberg, stepping back on the stage. “Now let's discuss what is going to happen to each of you. If you're a male, five-foot-eight or taller, in good health, not too old, with no open sores, please stand up.”

Just under half of the prisoners stood up. “You will all be joining the Dark One's Army, unless you choose to file for Conscientious Objector status, in which case you'll join the short males in the dungeon. To avoid confusion, when exiting the ballroom after the presentation please tell the guard at the door that you're letter A, and you'll be sent to the proper location. You may be seated.”

The men sat down. Bamberg checked his notes. “Next, I'd like the women to stand up.” They did. “Now, you'll be given a variety of domestic duties to choose from. Minor cleaning, meal preparation, occasional child-bearing, that sort of thing. It sounds sexist and demeaning, I know, but at least it keeps you out of combat. Your letter is B. Please remember that so we can keep the line moving smoothly. Now, I'd like all women who are virgins to remain standing. Everyone else sit down.”

All the women except Yvonne sat down. Bamberg looked over at her and nodded. “I was just curious. You can sit down as well. Now, men who haven't stood up, your letter is C. And that leaves only the children. You will all be schooled in the arts of Dark One worshiping, so that you might become productive citizens when you're old enough to quit being whiny brats. Your letter is D. Does that cover everyone?”

There was a general murmur of assent. “Good,” said Bamberg. “Now, for your entertainment, I'd like to present the musical stylings of Hirsch!”

Hirsch, Scrivener's twin brother, stepped onto the stage holding his lute. “I'd like to dedicate this song to everyone with good taste in music,” he said, as he began to play a downbeat melody. “
Oh, I stepped on a weasel last night. It got scared and then it ran away. Oh why, oh why did it have to happen? I guess I'll never know.
” He waved to the audience. “Thank you! There's one more where that came from!”

As Hirsch left the stage, Bamberg returned. “Now, it's time for our question-and-answer segment. Any questions?”

“When's dinner?” asked a female prisoner.

“Are you an A, B, C, or D?”

The woman paused. “I forget.”

“Well, then, no dinner for you, I guess. Anyone else?”

Randall raised his hand. “What are this Dark One's credentials for ruling us?”

“Oh, a troublemaker, huh? I'll have you know that the Dark One has
plenty
of credentials. Plenty!”

“Okay,” said Randall.

“Any more questions? No? Good. Now, I'm going to ask you all to file through the exit to your left, but first, I'd like to share with you a little tradition we've just started. Beneath this tower is the dreaded Maze where the dreaded Bull Creature lives. What we like to do is send people to test their heroism by attempting to slay the creature. Of course, none of them succeed, but that in no way diminishes the entertainment value. So, we'd like to select one of you to test your skill. Any volunteers?”

Several hands went up. Bamberg raised his eyebrows. “You
are
aware that the creature kills the people who don't succeed, right?” The hands went back down. One prisoner began enthusiastically pointing to the person next to him. “By doing that, you're only volunteering yourself,” Bamberg told him.

“I was just kidding,” said the prisoner.

“Well, since nobody wants to do it, I guess we'll have to go with the usual method of picking the last person in the chain.” He pointed to Randall. “Sir, if you'll please stand up.”

“Listen,” said Randall, “I'd really appreciate a break. It's been such a lousy week that I don't even wanna get into it.”

“We'll let the other prisoners decide. Anyone who wants to trade places with the guy on the end, give a holler.” Nobody responded. “Sorry, but you're stuck. A pair of my associates with unlock you and escort you to the Maze.”

Two of the black-armored warriors began walking towards Randall. Yvonne looked at him, teary-eyed. “Oh, Randall—I have faith in you! You can defeat this creature and return safely to my warm and loving arms!”

“Tell the Bull Creature I said hi,” Jack said.

The warriors unlocked the chain around Randall's wrist and took him by the shoulders. “Be strong, my love!” said Yvonne.

“Hey, guys, do you think we could share one last kiss?” Randall asked the guards.

The guards glanced at each other. “I'm not that way,” one of them said.

“No, I meant with the woman.”

“Oh. Nah.” As the guards violently dragged Randall out of the room, Yvonne began to sob freely.

“I've lost him!” she cried. “I've lost my one and only love! Woe and despair and sorrow and tears and heartache!”

“Prisoners, please rise and file out of the door,” said Bamberg. “Follow the person you're chained to, if you will.”

The prisoners stood up, with Jack having to help Yvonne to her feet. “He'll be okay,” Jack assured her. “After all he's been through, it would be ridiculous for him to die now.”

“That's what I'm afraid of!” Yvonne sobbed. “This whole place is ridiculous!”

RANDALL WAS taken down a hallway which ended at a flight of stairs leading downward. “Since you don't have much longer to live,” said one of the warriors, “I'd like to do something nice for you. Would you care for a last meal?”

“Yeah, that'd be okay.”

The warrior took some thin wafers out of his pocket and handed one to Randall. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

“Cripes, Abner,” moaned the other warrior. “You know, not everyone goes ga-ga over those wafers like you do.”

“These are delicious wafers,” said Abner, taking a bite of one. “Been in my family for generations.”

“That may be so, but you got the poor guy's hopes up for some marvelous last meal and all he gets is a dry wafer. I think you owe him an apology.”

“Dale, I'm getting sick and tired of you maligning my wafers all the time. These are gourmet wafers. You can't get these just anywhere. My own mother baked these!”

“Oh, well, gee, I guess I should just run over and kiss your mother's substantial butt, then. I'm not complaining about the wafers themselves, I'm just remarking that they're a pretty feeble excuse for a last meal, no matter how good they are in comparison to other wafers.”

“Taste it,” Abner told Randall. “Taste it and tell me what you think.”

Randall took a bite. It was easily the finest wafer he'd ever tasted, not that he was much of a wafer connoisseur. “It's very good,” he said.

“See? He likes it!”

“I didn't say he wouldn't like it,” Dale insisted. “I just said that when you think of a last meal, you think steak, lobster, thoroughly-cleaned whale bladder, stuff like that. You don't think of a wafer. That's more of a snack.”

“Fine, let's not argue. That was his final snack. Are you happy now?”

“I'm happy now.”

“Could I have another wafer?” Randall asked.

“No. Now, what you'll have to do is venture down into the maze and kill the Bull Creature. You don't get any weapons, and what you need to do is bring its heart back to us, then we'll set you free. Understand?”

“Its heart? That's so gross! How am I supposed to be expected to find my way back through a maze when I'm distracted by the fact that I'm holding a wet heart?”

“Well, technically we know it's not going to happen, which is why we've never sweated the heart deal,” Abner explained.

“At least give me a baggie or something to hold it in!”

“We don't have one handy. Listen, if you succeed in the actual process of heart removal you're going to be all messy anyway, so what's a few more minutes holding the lousy thing?”

“Okay, fine,” said Randall. “But when I get out of here I'm going to throw it at you.”

“If you survive this place, I'll be here with my mouth open. Now go.” Abner gave Randall a gentle push, and he slowly walked down the staircase. When he reached the bottom, he removed a burning torch from its holder on the wall and moved down the brick-lined hallway. Within a few feet, paths branched off to the left and right.

“Hey, Bull Creature!” he called out. “You around?”