How to Rescue a Dead Princess (24 page)

Before Randall even got a chance to reflect upon this being a bad situation, it got significantly worse as the walls began to rapidly close in. He moved to the closest wall and began poking at the corner with his sword, trying to jam it. The eight other swords sticking out of the corner soon convinced him that his efforts were useless.

“Let me out immediately!” he demanded. “Or the cleaning bill will be astronomical!”

Scrivener peered down into the room. “It's self-cleaning. Pretty neat, huh? Won't rust, either.”

Less than five feet separated Randall from some excessive body-piercing. Then the walls abruptly halted.

“Darn it!” said Scrivener. “Hey, squire—will you do me a favor?”

“Will you let me out?”

“Sure. Go over to the north wall and give it a good kick.”

“Which one is the north wall?”

“That one.” Scrivener pointed to one of the non-spiked walls. “Just give it a big ol’ kick. Don't worry, you won't dent it.”

Randall went over to the north wall and kicked it. The walls began to close again, and he realized that he'd been tricked. “Curse you!” he shouted.

Only four feet remained before the spikes reached him.

Then he got an idea.

“I know!” he said aloud to help him remember it. “I'll
climb
the spikes!”

Moving quickly, he scaled the wall, using the spikes as steps and hand-holds. He emerged from the room just as the walls closed together. Scrivener and the Dark One stared at him, mouths gaping.

“You've
got
to rule with me!” the Dark One insisted. “You just have to! I have a leader's charisma and plenty of resources, and you can survive death traps! We're a natural team!”

“No, we aren't,” said Randall. “Because I am good, and you are evil.”

“Oh, well, excuse me, Mister I-See-Everything-In-Black-And-White. The glass doesn't have to be half-f or half-empty. It could be half-flempty!”

“Listen, the only thing I want to do is complete my quest.”

“And what would that be?”

Randall gave him a condensed version of the quest notes. When he was done, The Dark One threw his head back and laughed again.

“What's so funny?” Randall asked, hoping it would be something he found hilarious as well, because he was desperately in need of a good guffaw.

“Ow! Scriv, my head's stuck again.” Scrivener hurried over to the throne and pushed the Dark One's head forward with a loud creak. “Ah, thank you. What's so funny is that there's no such thing as the Necklace of Power. You have no idea how to rescue a dead princess!”

Randall looked confused. “Why did that last sentence seem to take on a special resonance?”

“No idea. You fool, the witch Grysh has been worshiping me for ages, and I know for a fact that she gets off on that kind of thing! Now, perhaps she does need Jenstina and Shreddriff for some reason, but the rest of it's just a pointless quest! A pointless quest, I say!”

“You mean that Princess Janice can't be resurrected?”

“I didn't say that. Grysh doesn't realize it, but she can return your princess to the flesh with the aid of the crystal that used to be part of the Necklace of Powerfulness, which is just like the Necklace of Power but with a catchier name.”

“I know where that is!” Randall said. “That's what killed her in the first place!”

“I'll make you a deal,” said the Dark One. “It is within my power to send you to the Mountain of Rock and the Ocean of Water. I'll do so if you promise to join me.”

“That depends. How's your benefits package?”

“The medical has an extremely high deductible, but it doesn't matter because the job mostly involves sitting in here brooding, so injuries are few and far between.”

“What about retirement?”

“Ummm ... I forget.” The Dark One looked away, avoiding eye contact.

“Don't give me that. I want to know what your retirement plan is like.”

“Fine. There is no retirement plan, and no stable income. But talk about your fringe benefits!”

“Sounds pretty shaky to me,” said Randall. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass.”

“But you also get a free Dark One decoder ring after your six month review! And the secret messages aren't trying to sell you anything!”

“Okay, that'll do it for me,” Randall decided. “But I want you to release my friends to accompany me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Curse you and your haggling abilities!” the Dark One said, slamming his fist against his throne. “At least those will come in useful as well. I'll release
one
of your friends. Who shall it be?”

“Tough call. Yvonne.”

“Very well, Scrivener will be sent to get her. Scrivener, bring our friend here a quill and some ink so that he can draw her likeness on your hand.”

After the drawing was complete and Scrivener had gone off to fetch her, the Dark One reclined back in his throne. “Now, you're not going to back out of this deal once I've kept my part of the bargain, are you? Maybe I should get another witness.”

“No need,” said Randall. “I've given you my word.”

The Dark One scratched the nose portion of his mask. “Why are your fingers crossed?”

“Because I'm wishing for a mutually satisfying partnership.”

“Ah.”

They stood there in silence for a while.

“So,” said the Dark One, uncomfortably. “What kinds of food do you like?”

“The old stand-bys: Fruits, vegetables, meats, dairy products...”

“I see I'll have to work on making a gourmet out of you. I like to dabble in the culinary arts quite a bit. My own personal creation is Tree Bark Souffle. I eat it almost every third day.”

Randall grimaced. “I hope your tongue isn't involved in the process.”

“Really, it's quite tasty if you remove the grubs.”

Randall stared at him, unconvinced.

The Dark One looked at the floor. “Okay, I admit it—I was trying to keep this taste sensation to myself. Leave the grubs in.”

Wyrkham stepped into the throne room. “Master, did you receive the latest directory of prisoners?”

The Dark One shook his head. “I didn't know you'd written it yet.”

“I haven't. I was just kind of hoping you'd received it anyway—would've saved me some time. I'll leave now.” Wyrkham exited.

“As you can see,” said the Dark One, “the people around here are like a dictionary with an index—really stupid. I'd estimate that the intelligence level hovers around that of plaque.”

“I can see that. So, when I get back are there any special guidelines I need to follow?”

“Just do as I do. You should know that I am a cruel and heartless leader. Always have been. Back in school, when one of my classmates said that his dog ate his homework, I cut open the dog to make sure.”

“Your mother must've been too close to gas fumes when you were conceived.”

“Well, the dog lived ... until it went and drowned in a well during a rescue operation. This Yvonne, do you have strong feelings for her?”

“Yep. They seem to lack credibility from a character standpoint, but they're there nevertheless.”

“Well, be good to her. Women are to be cherished, like hair on a teenage boy's chest. Don't make the same mistake I did and refer to them as fire-breathing bimbos.”

“I won't,” Randall promised.

There was another long, uncomfortable silence.

“Do you like duck-billed platypuses?” the Dark One asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Duck-billed platypuses. Do you like them?”

“I really don't have an opinion about them.”

“Hmmm ... I've been asking that question for years and everybody says the same thing. It's very strange.”

Another silence.

“You know, you could do your part to keep the conversation flowing,” said the Dark One. “If we're going to be working together we need to keep the lines of communication open.”

They were spared from further discomfort by the entrance of Scrivener and Yvonne. “Oh, my love-bucket, I've missed you so!” said Yvonne, hurrying over to Randall and giving him a hug.

“Lay off the hugsies,” scowled the Dark One.

“Are you okay?” Randall asked Yvonne. “Did they hurt you? Did they take advantage of you in ways you cannot vocalize? Did they smack you around like a rag doll and kick you in the face and stomp on your back? Did they put you through an unending whirlwind of nightmarish horrors that have burned their way into your consciousness like a magnifying glass frying an ant?”

“They ignored my request for a sponge bath.”

“Enough!” said the Dark One. “Scrivener, locate the Mountain of Rock on the crystal ball. Randall, you and your beloved will be sent there for exactly ten minutes to complete your task. If you fail, I'll send you back for another ten minutes, but I will not be happy about it.”

“Okay, it's ready,” said Scrivener.

“Excellent. Join hands, you two.”

Randall and Yvonne held each other's hand.

“Now, hop on one foot.”

“Whose?” Yvonne asked.

“Randall's,” said the Dark One. Yvonne hopped on Randall's foot, causing him to wince with pain.

POOF
!

Suddenly they were standing on the top of a huge mountain, outside a small hut. A sign on the door read
Here Lives Jenstina the Ogre. Solicitors and Toenail Seekers Unwelcome
.

“I guess we should knock anyway,” said Randall. He reached for the brass lion's-head knocker, then jumped back in surprise as its mouth opened.

Unfortunately, from where Randall had been standing, a jump back in surprise was equivalent to a jump back onto the air just beyond the edge of the mountain. This particular air possessed a majority of the properties generally associated with air, most notably the one about not being able to hold the weight of a human being, thus explaining why Randall fell.

How do YOU want the story to continue?

IF YOU WANT Randall to grab onto an outcropping as he falls, read section (a) of the next chapter.

If you want Randall to flap his arms and try to fly like a birdie, read section (b) of the next chapter.

If you want Randall to do nothing, because as we all know the Fates control our actions anyway, read section (c) of the next chapter.

(a) IT DIDN'T work, and Randall fell to his death.

(b) IT DIDN'T work, and Randall fell to his death.

(c) AS RANDALL fell, he knew that doing anything would be pretty much a waste of time, since the Fates control our actions anyway. And it was the correct choice, for the Fates saw fit to have him land on a section of mountain rock that had been magically transformed into rubber several years ago on a bet that was never paid off and resulted in a broken friendship. He bounced off it and landed on another section of rock that was not rubber, but was thin enough that he broke right through, falling several feet into a reservoir of cold water and immediately getting sucked into a whirlpool. At the tip of the whirlpool, he was hurtled into a very narrow underground cave, where he crawled amongst the stalactites and stalagmites in total darkness, until the rock collapsed beneath him again, dropping him into a tar pit. Fortunately, this pit hadn't been filled with tar recently, and he climbed out to be swallowed whole by a Slime Worm, which burrowed its way through the rock to the surface and then spat Randall out over the edge of the mountain. He landed on a makeshift catapult that had been used decades ago in the infamous Catapult-Your-Parents games, sending him flying high into the air and landing in front of Jenstina's door several inches from where he'd fallen in the first place.

Still a bit shaky from his experience, he fell off the mountain again and went through the procedure a second time.

“You done?” Yvonne asked, as he landed next to her.

“I'm done,” said Randall. “Did you already knock?”

“No. You should have said something if you wanted me to take care of that while you were gone.” Yvonne reached out and grabbed hold of the ring on the knocker.

The lion's mouth opened. “Let go!”

“What do you mean, let go?” Yvonne asked. “You're here to be knocked upon, aren't you?”

“If you don't get your hand off me, I'm gonna bite you!”

Yvonne removed her hand.

“Show a little respect,” said the lion. “If you had a big ring sticking out of your forehead, would you want people bashing it against your face?”

“No ... I guess not,” Yvonne admitted. “I just assumed that was what it was there for.”

“Don't assume. When you assume, you make a jerk out of you and me. Now, what do you want?”

“We want to talk to Jenstina,” said Randall.

“So what am I supposed to do about it?”

“Well, you were
supposed
to make a knocking sound which would let Jenstina know that we were standing at the door,” said Yvonne.

“Oh, my, haven't we just got this whole thing all planned out as pretty as punch?” said the lion. “I'm glad that you've seen fit to make me part of your delightful little scheme. Ooooh, I'm
so
honored! Gosh, I certainly don't mind that I became an integral part of this whole scenario without being asked about it first! What do I care? I'm only a lion's head knocker, right?”

“I'm sorry,” said Randall. “Will you please let Jenstina know we're here?”

“Ooooh, he said
please
! That just makes everything all right, then! One magical word and I'm supposed to leap into your arms and give you a great big hug! Why don't we just get married and stop the charade?”

“Why exactly are you here, then?”

“I'm an ornament.”

“You're pretty sarcastic for somebody who's basically worthless,” Randall told it.

“What do you mean, worthless? I'm attractive. People like to look at me. I spice up this whole door.”

“Yvonne is attractive, too, but if she just hung on a door to be looked at she'd be basically worthless. How many visitors do you get out in these parts? Not too many, I bet.”

“We get enough.”

“Yeah, right. Your life is a joke.”

“You take that back!”

“I won't!”

“Okay, well, what makes
your
life so great, then?”