How to Rescue a Dead Princess

Jack was sent to bed without supper or even a decent story. He slept, and his dreams were a whirlwind of nightmare images: the old beggar woman, a giant wanting to eat him, Morty the Unfriendly Woodchuck, and others too terrifying to mention. There was also a rather nice image involving the cow and its udder.

The next morning, Jack looked out his window and saw that a huge beanstalk had indeed grown outside. His mother stormed into his room. “Great, just great,” she muttered. “As if we didn't have enough problems, now there's a beanstalk on top of my garden. I should've kept the cow and sold you into slavery.”

But Jack was excited. He rummaged through his closet, got out his climbing equipment, and immediately ran outside and began to work his way up the beanstalk. It wasn't long before he had made it all the way above the clouds and was greeted with the glorious sight of the giant's castle. It was so impressive that Jack momentarily forgot what he was doing and slid the entire way down, collecting several thorns where he'd much rather have none.

But he was undaunted. He climbed all the way back up, then hurried over to the staircase that led to the giant's front door. Realizing that the doorknob was far out of reach, Jack began to knock. “Let me in!” he called out.

A thundering voice responded. “Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!”

Jack began to knock again. “Avon calling!” he shouted. The door swung open, knocking Jack back down the stairs, back down the beanstalk, and about three feet into the ground. It hurt.

Jack was daunted this time, but still not very bright. He climbed back up the beanstalk and realized that the giant had left the door ajar. Jack squeezed inside and found himself in the giant's living room. The giant sat on his couch, looking at the biggest centerfold Jack had ever seen. Then the giant began to sniff and look around.

“Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman.”

“This guy's poetry needs some work,” thought Jack.

The giant saw Jack, and snarled. “I'll grind your bones to make my bread!”

“Oh, that's gonna taste really good. You think that just because bones and bread have the same color that they're interchangeable? You need yeast, flour, all that stuff. And I think the marrow will significantly affect the texture.”

The giant started to say something, but halted in mid-"Duh” and sat back down on the couch. Within moments he was asleep. Steroids tend to have that effect. Looking around, Jack noticed a large bag that was overflowing with gold coins. Unable to believe his good fortune, Jack grabbed the five coins he would have gotten for the cow, removed the foil, and ate the chocolate inside. His appetite sated, Jack took a couple more coins to get his mother off his back, then returned to the beanstalk and slid down.

“Look, mother,” he said. “I took these coins from the castle just for you.”

His mother looked stern. “You little klepto. Didn't I teach you any better than that? Not only are you a thief, but I bet you left fingerprints all over the place. Now get that hot merchandise out of here—I don't want to be involved when this all goes down.”

Saddened, Jack ate the two coins without removing the foil. The only way to impress his mother was to bring her something even better than the coins. He'd noticed an oversized fruitcake (Momma Helga's Super Deluxe Fruitcake With Extra Green Chunks) that she was sure to love. And so Jack scurried back up the beanstalk once again.

He went over to the castle door, slipped inside, then gasped the gasp of the truly surprised as he realized that the couch was now bare. The thundering boom of the giant's footsteps grew louder, and he heard the giant say “Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman!” The giant entered the room, picked up the pungent vial of Englishman's blood that rested on the table, and poured it out into the sink. Jack immediately hid behind a table leg and watched as the giant picked a goose that was resting in a basket.

“Okay, goose,” said the giant. “Lay me one of your golden eggs.”

The goose looked up at him. “This ain't the immaculate conception, buddy. You want golden eggs, you better be getting a gander up here pretty darn quick.”

“Lay me a golden egg now!” demanded the giant.

“Maybe you should walk around with a big lump of gold inside you for a change. You think it's comfortable? Gold's a little heavier than yolk, you know. You feel all bloated, you can barely keep your balance, it feels like passing a kidney stone when you finally lay it—believe me, I've got better things to do.”

The giant was not accustomed to having so many words spoken to him in one sitting, and so sat there with a blank look on his face for a moment. Then he growled and reached out to kill the goose.

Jack leaped out of his hiding spot and tried to yell “Stop!", but before he could the giant scooped him up and swallowed him whole. He slid down the giant's throat, passing a formerly handsome prince who would eventually be kissed in another fairy tale, and landed in his stomach.

“This,” Jack decided, “is really nasty.”

Basic human decency dictates that the actual contents of the giant's stomach not be described. But Jack did not become Stomach Acid Surprise. For the giant possessed the type of belly button known to the general public as an “Innie” rather than an “Outtie.” It was perhaps the deepest “Innie” in verifiable history, deep enough that Jack was able to squeeze through to safety.

The giant had by now fallen asleep. The goose was also asleep in its basket, and since Jack had already fallen down the temptation-laden path of criminal behavior he decided to steal it, figuring the freak show at the circus would pay at least five pieces of gold for it.

Tragically, he dropped the goose on the way down, and had to content himself with a decent meal. But the next day, Jack set off to climb the beanstalk yet again, because by now thievery was an addiction. He snuck into the castle, and watched as the giant picked up a magic harp that was in the shape of a Miss Generic Fantasy Land model.

“Play me a song, magic harp that's in the shape of a Miss Generic Fantasy Land model,” demanded the giant.

The harp began to play a lovely melody. “ROCK ME, BAY-BEE! I WANT YOUR SWEET LOVIN’ ALL NIGHT LONG! YEAH, YEAH, YEAH! BOOP BOOP A DOOP!” As the harp continued to play and sing, the giant was lulled into a sound sleep. Jack hurried over to the harp, grabbed it, and began to run for the door.

But the harp was a snitch. “Yo, giant! This little punk's stealing me! Let's get a move on, willya!”

Jack got out of there as fast as he could, with the giant in hot pursuit. As he slid down the beanstalk, he saw his mother tending what was left of her garden. “Mom!” he shouted. “Fetch me an axe, so that I might chop down the beanstalk before the giant reaches the bottom!”

It was, of course, a genuinely pathetic example of self-delusion. Jack didn't get two steps from the bottom of the beanstalk before the giant's foot came down, squashing him like a wad of chewing gum.

Everyone else, however, lived happily ever after.

Chapter 15

The Escape

(We Apologize If That Reveals Too Much)

“INTERESTING HOW you manage to die at the end of your own story,” Randall remarked.

“I guess the chewing gum simile was a bit exaggerated,” Jack admitted. “He did break four of my toes. Then he filed a formal complaint against me. The king got me for breaking and entering, theft, and unwarranted vegetation creation. So I'm here. Have been for days.”

“Any way to escape?”

“Do you think I'd still be here if there was?”

“I don't know, I've just met you. Lots of idiots in existence.”

“Good point. No, there's no way to escape. Well, there's one.”

“What is it?” asked Randall, excitedly.

“Let them execute you.”

Randall buried his face in his hands. “Aw, what's the use? Even if I did escape, I'd be a fugitive. They'd hunt me down in an hour.”

“Indeed they would. But I would give anything for just one more hour of freedom. One more hour to gaze at the sun, to bask in its light.”

“I just saw the sun ten minutes ago. I don't miss it yet.”

“You will.”

Randall waited a few seconds. “Nope, not yet. Oh, wait, there we go.”

“Do you mind if I ask how it feels to know you'll be killed at dawn? Or would that be too much of a mood-dampener?”

“It's going to happen,” said Randall. “No sense avoiding the issue. But I'd prefer that decomposition be alluded to rather than stated directly.”

“I understand,” said Jack. “Nasty business, decomposition. Not even the most beautiful princess in the entire land is worth gazing at once decomposition has taken its toll. It's just plain rotten. It spoils everything.”

“Thanks for the merriment.”

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“I'm not sure,” Randall admitted. “With my luck I'd come back as a vagrant who likes wearing the clothing of very large women.”

“What I'd hate is to come back as a bowel.”

“If reincarnation exists, I don't think it lets you come back as individual body parts. That would mean that all of our body parts used to be somebody else.”

“So we're made of dead people?” asked Jack, uneasily. “My dreams are really going to suck tonight.”

“What if you came back as the one thing you hated most?”

“I'd come back as an iguana.”

“What have iguanas ever done to you?” Randall asked.

“What have iguanas ever done for me?” Jack countered.

“I think I'd come back as an octopus. I don't know why, but whenever I see an octopus something inside me just says ‘I hate that thing.'”

“Does this hatred stretch to all mollusks?”

“No. Just octopi.”

“Not even squid?”

“Squid are fine.”

“That's weird. Well, here's hoping you don't come back as an octopus, then. Did you know they have beaks like a bird?”

“Didn't know that.”

“It's true. And if you put an octopus in a bottle with a mouth just as big around as its beak, that sucker can squeeze right out, no problem.”

“Any special reason you put an octopus in a bottle?”

“I don't remember. Probably a dare.”

“Dares are so pointless.”

“AAAAHHHH! THERE'S AN OCTOPUS ON YOUR SHOULDER!!! No, just kidding.”

“What if there's no such thing as reincarnation?” Randall asked, thoughtfully. “What happens to you when you die?”

“Probably that thing you only wanted me to allude to.”

“Yeah, but I'm not talking about your body. I'm talking about the spirit within your body. The real you.”

“You know what would be creepy?” asked Jack. “If your spirit left your body, but you could still feel what was happening to it. So you'd be standing out there in the netherworld, but you'd get this feeling like worms were eating your guts and stuff like that.” He shivered. “The people who chose to be cremated would sure be miffed.”

“I just wish I had some tangible evidence of what was going to happen to me after I die.”

“Well, I don't mean to be Mr. Bum The Mood here, but you'll find out pretty soon. Want to hear what I really think happens when you die?”

“Is it cynical?”

“Not too much. Okay, let's say that for whatever reason, heart attack, horse crash, appendix malfunction, you die. Poof.” He snapped his fingers, emphasizing the point a little too clearly for Randall's comfort. “You start to feel like you're floating, but there's no water or mushrooms around. You're in a long tunnel without a trace of graffiti anywhere. At the end of the tunnel is a bright light, like what you see when you get struck by lightning. And you hear a voice saying, ‘Come closer, and all will be well.’ You float toward it, and at the end of the tunnel is a big termite.”

“A termite?”

“Yeah. I mean, have you ever tried getting rid of those things? There has to be some kind of divine intervention at work. So the termite asks you if you're ready to enter the afterlife. And you say, ‘Mind if I float a little longer? This is really neat.’ But the termite says that time is short, and says that you may enter the afterlife, but first you must perform an act of penance.”

“Such as not trying to stomp on the termite?”

“Well, it's a big one. You wouldn't want to stomp it with your bare feet. Anyway, the termite says that to show your penance, you must rub your belly and pat your head at the same time.”

“That's really lame, Jack.”

“No, no, you see, it's harder than it seems, because you're ethereal, and so your hands just pass right through your belly and head. So, to get into the afterlife, you have to prove yourself worthy by going through with the bizarre sensation of putting your hand through your head.”

“I can try that bizarre sensation with a partner. Would you like to volunteer?”

“You know, these are my beliefs you're mocking,” said Jack. “If I want to believe that this is how things happen after you die, I think I'm entitled to a little respect.”

“I'm sorry. What does the termite do next?”

“I changed my mind. It's a cockroach. Those things are hard to kill, too.”

“Interesting how your beliefs in the afterlife can morph so rapidly.”

“Let me tell you something. When you're locked down here, morphing beliefs in the afterlife are all a man's got.”

“Proceed with the cockroach story.”

“Okay, once the cockroach has given you admittance, you pass through the Gateway, where your life is reviewed. If you had a good life, you return as a baby, ready to begin anew. If your life was miserable enough that the Committee decides you need a break, you move on to the next world.”

“And what's the next world?”

“Munchkin Land.”

“Okay,” Randall said, “the conversation is now over. I'll stay on my side of the cell, you stay on yours.”

* * * *

WAS THE conversation truly over?, Jack wondered as he sat on his side of the cell, making a straw castle. He couldn't tell. Randall didn't seem to be interested in continuing their discussion, and was currently sitting with his face pressed into the corner, but perhaps his social skills just needed work.

“Do you—”

“Shut up,” said Randall.

That certainly implied that no more conversation was forthcoming, but if there was anything Jack knew, it was not to jump to conclusions.

“I think—”

“Shut up,” repeated Randall.

Once again, strong evidence that the conversation was over, but most of it was circumstantial. It wasn't as if Jack could see into Randall's mind, after all. For all he knew, the poor guy could be just screaming for the conversation to continue, but didn't know how to properly express it. However, Jack did have his limits, and decided that one more rebuke would result in the official termination of the discussion.

“It—”

“Shut up.”

Then again, only wimps gave up that easily. If there was any chance, any chance at all, that Randall wished to continue the conversation, Jack was going to pursue it. That was his duty. He couldn't let Randall be taken to his death leaving unfinished business behind.

“If—”

For once, Randall didn't tell him to shut up. Instead, he removed his face from the corner, turned around, walked over, and kicked Jack in the gut. Then he returned to the corner.

The conversation was over.

* * * *

NIGHT FELL.

At least Randall thought night had fell. He couldn't tell for sure with the general lack of windows in the dungeon area. The other prisoners had gone to sleep, and only the occasional guard strolling by disrupted the complete silence.

Thump! The sound of somebody being hit. Randall sat up, listening intently.

Thump! “Hit him again!” said a familiar voice, just around the corner. Thump! Thump! Thump! “You call that a hit? Let me show you.” Thwack! “See? You need to tighten your fist more. Now you try it.” Thump! “Tighter.” Crunch! “Whoops. Was that your hand or his face?”

“My hand.”

“Sorry about that. Is he unconscious yet?” Chomp!

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Get him off me, get him off me!”

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

“There we go. He's unconscious now.”

“What are you guys doing down here?”

Thump! Thwack! Crunch! Chomp! Thwack! Spit! Gush!

Silence.

Then the four Ricks wandered down the aisle. “That's right,” said Roderick. “Nobody messes with us.”

“We bad,” Frederick agreed.

Randall moved over to the bars and stuck his arm through, waving frantically. “Guys! Over here!”

The Ricks hurried over to his cell. “Are you okay?” Maverick asked.

“I'm fine,” Randall assured him. “Thank goodness you guys showed up. Do you have the key to the cell?”

“Oh, we're not here for you,” said Roderick. “We want the necklace back. It was expensive.”

Randall stepped away from the bars. “You don't get the necklace until I get out of here.”

Frederick punched Roderick in the shoulder. “What did I tell you? Didn't I tell you not to be so blatant about the necklace thing? Didn't I?”

“Well, I didn't think he'd be so stinky about it,” said Roderick.

“Check the guards we substantially injured,” said Frederick. Rick nodded and went back the way they came.

“After we get you out, you're coming with us to assassinate the king,” Maverick told Randall. “Or else your friend here dies.” He held up the jar containing Bug, who was lying on the bottom, unmoving.

“It's already dead,” said Randall, angrily. “I can't believe you guys! You killed an innocent bug! I hope you develop facial warts in the pattern of an obscene phrase!”

Maverick tapped on the jar a couple times, then smacked his forehead in realization. “Air holes! I knew I was forgetting something, but I assumed it was a label.”

He removed the lid. Suddenly Bug sprung to life, flew out of the jar, and zipped off in the direction of the dungeon exit.

“Look at that,” said Maverick. “It's gone to the afterlife.”

“You cow chip, it's gone to get help!” snarled Roderick.

“Run!” shouted Frederick.

“No!” said Roderick. “We need the necklace for the ladies-only hot tub party.” He looked at Randall. “Let me have it, and I promise we'll let you out afterward.”

“Sure thing,” said Randall. “Not!”

“Ah, the ol’ unexpected last word reversal trick, huh? Listen, buddy, your only hope is to trust us.”

“I trust you about as far as I can shot-put a proboscid.”

“What's a proboscid?”

“Any member of the mammalian order of large herbivores possessing a long and flexible trunk, incisors modified as tusks, and huge molars, some examples being the elephant and the now-extinct mastodon and woolly mammoth, all of which are unsuitable for shot-putting.”

Rick hurried back over to the group. “No keys!” he announced. “But I did catch a bug that looked just like the one we were keeping in the jar.”

“Good,” said Roderick. “Where is it?”

“I let it go. We already had one.”

Jack opened his eyes and sat up. “What's going on?”

“We have to get out of here!” said Maverick. “If we get caught, we'll be executed along with Randall.”

Roderick stared at the necklace for a few seconds, then nodded. “All right, let's go. You're on my list, Randall.” He slammed his fist against the cell door in frustration. It slid open.

“It was never locked!” said Frederick, for the benefit of those who had trouble with eye-brain communication.

“The guards here are big on trust,” Jack told him.

Roderick fumbled around in his robes for a moment, then took out a dagger. “Give me the necklace,” he said.

A voice sounded from the stairway: “I think the disturbance is coming from the dungeon area! But I guess we should do a thorough check of these stairs first, just to be safe.”

“There isn't time to waste!” said Roderick. “Give me the necklace! Now!”

“You want the necklace? Come in here and fight me for it,” said Randall.

“Know what?” asked Maverick.

“No, what?”

“You're coming with us.” Maverick, Frederick, and Rick also took out their knives as the four Ricks burst into the cell. Roderick and Maverick grabbed Randall by the shoulders, while Frederick and Rick took hold of Jack. Roderick grabbed the necklace and put it around his own neck. “C'mon!”

The voice from upstairs sounded again. “Well, I don't see anything on the stairs, but there's no harm in double-checking.”

The group rushed forward, past the cells filled with soundly-sleeping prisoners. When they reached the end of the hall, they froze at the sight of the two guards on the staircase.

“Don't move!” shouted the first guard.

“Don't you move, either!” shouted Roderick.

“I'm allowed to move. I'm a guard.”

Roderick pressed the tip of his dagger against the side of Randall's neck. “Let us pass or he dies!”

“He's already set to die,” explained the guard. “That's why I was coming downstairs, to bring him to the guillotine.”

Frederick pressed the tip of his own dagger against the side of Jack's neck. “All right, then let us pass or this prisoner dies!”

“I think he means it!” said the second guard.

Without warning, the first guard threw the spear he'd been carrying. It struck Frederick in the chest, causing him to drop his dagger and stumble backward, gasping.

“Wow!” exclaimed the first guard. “First try!”

“Frederick!” shouted Roderick.

“Frederick!” shouted Maverick.

“Maverick!” shouted Rick.

“What?” asked Maverick.

“Look what happened to Frederick!”

Randall and Jack forgotten, the three Ricks hurried over to their comrade, who was still stumbling backward and gasping. His feet slipped, and he fell on his back, hands clenched around the spear.

“I'm a goner,” he said, weakly. “I can feel the life draining from my body...”

“That's not your life,” said Maverick, “that's blood.” He considered that for a moment. “Oh, I see your point.”

“Didja see that?” the first guard asked his partner. “First try! You saw it, right? Did you see the way I threw that thing? Got him smack dab in the chest! Go, team, go!”

Randall and Jack just stood there, unsure what they should be doing.

“I know my time is drawing to a close,” said Frederick. “At least I can go out knowing that I died for the Cause.”

“Well, not really,” Maverick corrected. “We were just down here to get back the necklace.” Roderick elbowed him in the ribs.

“Goodbye, my friends!” Frederick said. “Oh, how I wish I would be there to see you all in your old age ... to watch you get married, have children, share good times and bad...”

“Could you maybe speed it up a bit?” Maverick asked. “Your last words are very important to us, but we kind of have a situation here.”

Frederick coughed. “I've still got a good three minutes left in me,” he said.

“We can't wait three minutes!” Roderick insisted.

“A lifetime of friendship, and you won't stay with me three more minutes?” Maverick asked.

“Okay, okay. Fine. Talk.”

The second guard nudged the first. “If you'd really hit him as well as you're bragging, he wouldn't have three minutes left.”

“Yeah? Well, let's see you try and hit one of them.”

The second guard flung his own spear at the Ricks. It missed Roderick, Maverick, and Rick, and struck Frederick in the chest two inches from the other spear.

“There go my three minutes,” winced Frederick, just before he died.

“You're pathetic,” the first guard told his partner.

“I know,” the second guard admitted with a sniffle.

The three Ricks turned around to face the guards. “We will have our revenge,” said Roderick. “Someday soon. Just keep looking over your shoulder.”

The guards looked over their shoulders nervously.

Roderick clapped his hands loudly, awakening the other prisoners. “Everyone upstairs! It's time for co-ed naked backgammon!”

The prisoners burst out of their cells and surged forward, overwhelming the guards. Randall and Jack tried to escape, but the Ricks grabbed them by the shoulders again and forced them to move with the crowd. Right before they reached the stairs, they veered to the right, pushing through a hidden revolving door that led to another tunnel.

“Frederick's passing was not in vain!” Roderick announced. “Tonight, King Irving dies!”

Chapter 16

Pre-Chapter-Seventeen Excitement

“YOU CAN'T be serious!” Randall said. “An attempt on the king's life now is suicidal! We'll be captured for sure!”

“I know what you're going to say,” said Roderick. “You're going to tell me that an attempt on the king's life now is suicidal, and that we'll be captured for sure.”

“That's what I did say,” Randall told him.

“Oh. Sorry, I was a little distracted. No, this is the perfect moment to strike! The guards will be so concerned with the escaping prisoners that they won't be watching the king's chambers as closely! And we've got hostages!”

Jack cleared his throat, “I wasn't going to say anything, but since you brought up the hostage situation, I was just wondering if I could leave, being redundant and all.”

“No.”

“Is that no meaning yes, or no meaning no? Hard to tell sometimes.”

Roderick gave him a dirty look, then proceeded down the tunnel. The others followed, Jack and Randall both with knives pressed against their backs.

“Here's the plan,” said Roderick. “We go to the trap-door underneath the king's bedroom. Rick, you'll stay down in the tunnel, while Maverick and I take Randall and ... your name is?”

“Jack.”

“Nice name. We'll take Randall and Jack up there with us. Maverick and I will flip a dvorkin, and the winner gets to go over and kill the king. Then we'll hurry back down into the tunnel, go back to our lair, and celebrate with bottled water and croutons. I mean it, Jack, that's a really nice name. Simple. Precise.”

“Why do all four of us need to be up there?” Randall asked.

“Because if there are guards waiting, we need hostages to distract them with,” said Roderick.

“That would be you and Jack,” Maverick explained.

“What if the flipped dvorkin wakes up the king?” Jack asked.

“Then we'll just have to kill him a little more quickly.”

“Why not just flip it before you go up into the bedroom?”

“Do I tell you how to do your job?” Roderick demanded.

“No ... not that I recall...”

“Then shut up.”

A few minutes later, they stopped underneath the trap-door labeled “The King's Bedroom.” Roderick reached up, unhooked the latch, and the door swung downward. He retrieved a ladder that was resting against the wall and braced it firmly against the edge of the opening.

“Only one person on the ladder at a time, for safety's sake,” he whispered, as he began to climb.

After Roderick had made it to the top, Maverick prodded Randall with the dagger. Randall climbed up the ladder as well, and found himself in the center of the king's immense lavatory.

“Trap-door was mislabeled,” Roderick grumbled.

“I like those little soap animals,” Randall commented.

Jack emerged from the trap-door. “You mean to tell me the king sleeps amongst his chamber pots? How twisted!”

“Quiet,” said Roderick. “We're in the wrong room is all. Once Maverick gets up here, we'll all head over to the bedroom together.”

There was a loud snap down below, then a loud crunch that sounded suspiciously like Maverick's body slamming down upon the hard floor of the tunnel. They all rushed over to the trap-door and peered downward. Maverick lay on the floor, the broken ladder next to him, a trickle of blood running down the side of his mouth like incompetently-applied lipstick. Rick crouched next to him, helplessly.

“I ... did what you said,” Maverick wheezed. “One at a time on the ladder ... just like you told me...”

“Maverick!” said Roderick. “Just stay calm! You're going to be okay!”

Rick looked up at them and shook his head.

“I'm sorry...” said Maverick, “I let you down. I haven't always been the greatest friend in the world, I know, but I'm going to become a better person in these last few moments before I die, I promise you that!”

“Darn it, Maverick! We haven't got time for another death soliloquy!”

The door to the lavatory swung open, and King Irving entered. Roderick, Randall, and Jack froze.

“I can see now all the things I should have done with my life,” said Maverick. “All the people I could have helped, all the—” He noticed Roderick's frantic gesturing to be quiet. “Oh, sorry.”

King Irving, half asleep, seemed unaware of their presence. He looked into the mirror and began plucking his eyelashes.

“Is it clear?” Maverick asked from below. “Can I continue with my dying words?”

“Shhhh! Not yet!” Roderick hissed.

The king batted his eyelashes a few times, then staggered sleepily back into his bedroom.

“Now?” asked Maverick.

“Okay, now. But hurry up!”

“I forgot what I was going to say.”

Roderick sighed with frustration. “These are your last words! Say something profound, for crying out loud!”

“Ummmm ... if you're going to stick your tongue in a woman's ear, make sure you have a Q-Tip handy.”

And then he died.

“What's a Q-Tip?” asked Roderick.

Rick shrugged. “Perhaps he saw into another world in those last seconds before he passed on?”

“Nah. The guy was just delirious. We're going to need you up here, Rick.”

With Roderick keeping his dagger pointed at them, Randall and Jack helped pull Rick up into the lavatory. “Interesting bedroom decor,” Rick said. “Almost creepy in a way.”

“Everyone be quiet,” said Roderick. “We're heading through that door,” he pointed to the door the king had gone through, “and then we're going to dispose of the tyrant. Let's go.”

Silently, they passed through the door and entered the king's bedroom. It was exquisitely furnished, with gold plating on everything from the bed frame to the royal slippers. There was a huge gold-plated chandelier in the shape of several gout-suffering mermaids hanging from the ceiling, just perfect for dropping on somebody's head if the situation got tense.

Jack glanced up at the chandelier. “That's probably the ugliest piece of decor I've ever seen in my life. But I guess everyone's entitled to their own lack of taste.”

King Irving lay in his bed, sleeping soundly, surrounded by a collection of stuffed animals that made Randall twitch with envy. Roderick went over to the window and held up his knife so that the moonbeam made the blade shine dramatically.

“Nice touch,” admitted Randall.

“Since Maverick's dead, I'll do the honors,” said Roderick, moving with great stealth toward the king's bed. He stopped right next to where the king lay sleeping, then slowly moved the blade toward his exposed throat.

“Ow!” Rick cried out, falling to the ground. “A splinter! I stepped on a splinter!”

“Quiet!” Roderick said. “You'll wake him up!”

Rick pulled off his shoe. “Look at it!” he said. “It's sticking right out of my little toe.” He gazed at Roderick soulfully. “I guess that's it for me. I lived a good life, haven't I?”

“Give me a break, you whiny little cross-section of bat guano!” said Roderick. “It's a lousy splinter!”

“Shock can be just as bad as the physical injuries,” Rick told him. “I know I didn't accomplish everything I wanted to during my stay on this world, yet I feel a certain satisfaction when I look back at what I have done.”

“Shut up!” shouted Roderick. “Just shut up! I haven't got time to listen to this! I'm trying to kill a king here!”

“I know it's none of my business,” said Jack, “but you might want to give some consideration to the current volume level of the discussion.”

A tear trickled down Rick's cheek. “Hold me, Roderick. I'm cold. So cold.”

“I'm in the middle of something!”

“Please, Roderick! It's my last request!”

Muttering surprisingly vulgar things under his breath, Roderick walked over to Rick and crouched down next to him. “Okay, okay, what do you want me to do?”

“I don't want to die with that thing in me,” Rick said. “Please, take it out. I can't stand the pain, please, just pull it out.”

Roderick reached over and plucked the splinter out of his toe. Rick began to breathe in huge, agonized gasps.

“Can I go kill the king now?” Roderick asked.

“I've always respected you,” said Rick. “In fact ... I think I may even have loved you. Purely platonic, but still impressive considering how rarely we sat down and really talked to one another.”

“Good. I love you too. Get on with it.”

“Won't you hug me?”

“Oh, for crying out loud, man! Do you understand the concept of ‘bad timing?'”

“Just one hug ... then I can die in peace.”

“Go on, give the poor guy a hug,” Jack urged.

The king let out a snore, then rolled over in bed.

“All right,” said Roderick. “One hug. Then whether you're dead or not, I'm going to slit the tyrant's throat.” He lifted Rick to a sitting position, then gave him a tender hug.

“Thank you,” said Rick. “Now I'm at peace, and can die.”

“When?”

“Any day now.”

Roderick released the hug, dropping Rick on his back. His head struck the floor much harder than Roderick had intended. Randall quickly knelt down and checked for a heartbeat.

“Nice move,” he said.

“Is he dead?”

“Close enough.”

Roderick stood up. “Forget it. He was a goober anyway. And now, the moment we've all been waiting for...”

“Stop!” ordered Randall, also standing up. He held Rick's dagger. “If you want to kill the king, you're going to have to go through me!”

“No, I won't. You're on the wrong side of the room.”

Randall hurriedly moved to a position in front of the king's bed.

“You cretin!” Roderick snarled.

“That really was pretty low,” Jack admitted.

“C'mon, Roderick, let's go for it,” said Randall, taunting him. “Think you've got what it takes? I'll have you know—I've beaten people in hand-to-hand dead squirrel combat before!”

Roderick slashed his own dagger through the air a few times, implying if Randall had been that air, he'd be all slashed up now. “You want to duel? Great, let's duel!”

“I'm ready whenever you are.”

“I'm ready right now.”

“Therefore, I'm ready right now as well.”

“So let's go!”

“Okay, let's go!”

Randall and Roderick lunged at each other. Stainless steel struck stainless steel with a sound like thunder.

“Ow, crud!” said Randall, dropping the knife and massaging his throbbing hand.

“Do you surrender?” Roderick asked, giving him a grin that failed to disguise the amount of pain he was in himself.

“Never!” said Jack. “He'll fight to the death!”

“So be it! Since I am an honorable man, I will allow you to retrieve your weapon before I slay you.”

“You're just saying that to give your hand time to de-numb.”

The king rolled over. “A little higher ... yeah, that's right...” he moaned in his sleep.

“What did he just say?” asked Jack.

“Sounds like he's having an interesting dream,” said Roderick. “I never get to have cool dreams like that. I always dream that I'm solving mathematical equations. It bites.”

“You guys want to call a truce so we can mess with his dream?” Jack asked. “Or ... hey, better yet, somebody get a glass of warm water to put his hand in!”

“The time for frivolity has passed,” said Roderick. “A few minutes ago, I would've short-sheeted his bed with a wink and a giggle, but we have entered darker times now.”

Jack lowered his head next to the king's ear. “Rain ... rivers ... waterfalls ... floods ... oceans ... leaky drain pipes...”

“You know,” said Randall, “you're carrying immaturity to a previously uncharted level.”

“C'mon, you can't tell me it hasn't been one of your lifelong fantasies to make royalty wet the bed.”

“Is it absolutely necessary that your mouth be open so frequently?” asked Randall.

Suddenly Roderick lashed out with his dagger. Randall dodged. Roderick lashed out again. Randall dodged again. Roderick lashed out a third time. In keeping with the continuity of the situation, Randall dodged again. To fool him, Roderick didn't lash out a fourth time. To show that he wasn't fooled, Randall didn't dodge a fourth time.

Jack whispered into the king's ear again. “Your legs have turned into spaghetti, and now you're playing leapfrog ... on the moon.” King Irving writhed uncomfortably in his sleep.

Roderick lowered his dagger. “How about we call a time-out so I can kill Jack first?”

“Nah. Hey, is that thing about me getting to retrieve my weapon still in effect?” Randall asked.

“I guess so. But if I lose my own weapon after that, I get to pick it up one time for free, okay?”

Randall nodded, then picked up his dagger. “Let's go! To the corpus delicti!”

They rushed at each other, then began an incredibly exciting duel. It was so impressive that no mere words could truly describe it, and therefore no mere words will be wasted.

It ended with Randall up against the wall, and Roderick's knife up against Randall's throat. “You lose,” said Roderick, rather unnecessarily in everyone's opinion, even his own.

“Don't kill me,” Randall requested. “I'll do anything.”

“Will you shave my back?”

“Changed my mind.”

Suddenly Jack sprung into action. Mustering all his courage, he rushed forward, hurrying to the other side of the room where no blood would get on him.

“How does it feel to have only ten seconds left to live?” Roderick asked.

“Not as bad as having only five seconds, I guess.”

“Stop!” said Bug, flying into the room. “You don't need to fight!”

“Yes we do,” Roderick corrected.

“No, you don't!” Bug insisted. “The twelve guards right behind me said so!”

The pause was a little too lengthy to make the moment truly dramatic, but shortly after Bug's statement twelve guards burst into the room, swords drawn.

“What's all this racket?” demanded King Irving, sitting up. “Best dream of my life, and you guys have to interrupt it!”

“Don't come any closer!” shouted Roderick. “I'll kill him! I mean it! I'm not lying! Don't mess with me! This is not a joke! I'm not kidding! If you come closer, I'll stab him! That's the truth! No bluffing here! Don't make me do it! I will! This is no deception! He'll die!”

“We're just here to save the king,” explained one of the guards. “You can waste the squire—we don't care.”

“Oh, really?” asked Roderick. He pulled the knife away from Randall's throat, then immediately spun around and pressed it against the king's throat. “Don't come any closer! I'll kill him! I mean it!”

“You're bluffing,” said one of the guards.

“Want me to prove that I'm not?”

“No, not really.”

“Then shut up! Okay, here are my demands! I want to assassinate King Irving of Rainey for his unspeakable atrocities without interference, and then I want to be provided with a horse to help me escape the kingdom! Understand?”

One of the guards stepped forward. “Okay, okay, just don't do anything crazy. We'll get you your horse, but it's going to take some time.”

“I don't have time!” Roderick shouted. “If the horse isn't ready in ten minutes, the king dies!”

“Do what he says!” ordered King Irving.

Four of the guards filed out of the chamber. One of them returned a moment later. “A horse, right?”

Roderick nodded. The guard left again.

“You can't get away with this, you know,” said Randall. “After you kill the king and get on your horse, they'll follow you to the ends of the Generic Fantasy Land. There's nowhere you'll be safe, not the Caverns of Despair, not the Pits of Searing Hellfire, not even the Slaughter Tombs of Agonized Shrieking and Bloodshed!”

“Says you.”

One of the guards raised his hand. “I say it, too.”

“Face it, Roderick,” said Randall, “there's no way you can escape. You might as well give up right now.”

Roderick was silent for a long moment, considering what to do. He moved the knife away from the king's throat. “Okay, suppose I let the king go and give myself up. What will happen to me?”

The guard with his hand still in the air spoke up. “Why, you'll be tortured and executed, of course.”

Roderick pressed the knife against the king's throat again.

“No, no—he was just joking!” Randall insisted. “You were just joking, right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” said the guard. “I was dead humorous.”

All the other guards let loose with a series of hearty chuckles to prove to Roderick that the statement had been nothing more than a silly little gag.

“See?” asked Randall. “With all the stress in a guard's life, there's no way they could chuckle like that unless it had truly been a joke.”

“Very well,” said Roderick. “So, what happens to me if I surrender, then?”

The guard with his hand still in the air started to speak, but was knocked unconscious by one of his co-workers just in time. “Let's see,” said Randall. “They'd have a huge feast in your honor, complete with the devouring of a dead animal that still looks like the animal it used to be while alive. Then you'd be given a gold bracelet worth millions of dvorkins, with your initials scratched into it.”

“I don't have initials. My full name is Roderick.”

“Then it would just use ‘Rod.’ Or ‘Ick.’ Anyway, after the feast ended, you'd be escorted by ten awesomely nubile women to the bathing room, where they would join you in a pool with water set to a temperature of your choosing, then pair off and slowly but thoroughly bathe your appendages.”

“Hmmmm ... that sounds okay,” said Roderick, “but how do I know you're not lying?”

Alan burst into the room. “Sorry to disturb you gentlemen, but I detected a minor vocal tremor that guarantees there's some lying going on in this very room!” He surveyed the current situation and realized his tactical error. “Of course, I'm probably wrong.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Roderick. “Look me in the eye and tell me you were wrong about Randall lying.”

Alan stifled a sob. “I can't. Sorry.”

A guard burst into the room. “It was a horse, right?”

“Yes!” said King Irving.

The guard cursed and left the room.

“Forget this!” said Roderick. “The king dies now!”

“You keep saying that, and yet the king sure looks alive to me,” Jack pointed out.

“Here goes!” announced Roderick.

Then Randall glanced up at the huge chandelier. He flung his dagger skyward, severing the rope that had formerly prevented the chandelier from falling onto the edge of the bed. The chandelier fell onto the edge of the bed. The force of its impact caused the other end of the mattress to flip upward, hurtling Roderick and King Irving through the air and onto the floor. The guards immediately subdued Roderick.

“He's saved the king!” Alan exclaimed.

“He's a hero!” said one of the guards.

“Hey, I deserve a little credit, too,” said Roderick. “It's not like I killed the king when I had a chance.”

King Irving got to his feet. “Get him out of here!” he ordered. The guards dragged Roderick out, kicking and screaming. Roderick was kicking and screaming as well.

“That was quick thinking,” King Irving told Randall. “I guess I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“Me too,” said Jack. “After all, I pointed out the chandelier in the first place.”

“To show my great appreciation for what you've done, I won't send you to the guillotine to die a horrible death as planned. How's that sound?”

“Works for me,” said Randall.

“I love everyone,” said Bug.

Chapter 17

The Seventeenth Chapter

RANDALL AND Jack walked over the main drawbridge, as Bug flew behind them. It was still nighttime, but the air was magically lit.

“It was nice of the king to give us these first-place ribbons,” said Randall. “I mean, he didn't have to do that.”

“Big whoop-de-loop-de-doo. Heck, Roderick would have gotten this great feast, and all he had to do was not kill anybody.”

“I was lying about the feast, Jack.”

“Really? Well, now I don't feel so bad about the ribbon.”

“What are we going to do next?” asked Bug.

“I need to get the reagents for the resurrection spell,” said Randall. “I might have a lead on the Necklace of Power, but I'd have to go back to the forest for that anyway, so I'm going to hold off. In the meantime, I need breath from a sleeping maiden, the toenail of Jenstina the Ogre, and the legendary berserker Shreddriff himself.”

“I guess we should start with the easiest one,” said Jack. “I wonder where Shreddriff lives?”

“Look, guy and it, I welcome your help. But the quest may be dangerous, so I don't want you to feel like you have to come with me.”

“Okay, bye,” said Jack, walking off, never to be seen again, until he turned around and came back. “Changed my mind.”

“I'm with you,” said Bug. “You're my best friend.”

“Then we're off,” Randall announced. They walked around the kingdom walls, until they came to the broken drawbridge.

“Looks like some moron tried to walk across that thing,” Jack noted.

“I wonder what that is?” Bug flew over to the gap in the bridge, where a piece of paper was floating. It picked it up with its back legs, then flew over to Randall and dropped it in his hand.

Randall unfolded the paper. “Dearest Pooky Moocher Lovey Frumps—oh, yeah, it's the note that I took from this lady named Scar. You'd probably like her, Bug. I forgot I'd put it in my shoe several chapters, er, a couple days ago.”

“Well, let's hear it,” said Jack.

“Dearest P.M.L.F., I love you so much it hurts. Ow ow ow! That's the sound of my love for you. Do you love me just as much? (circle one) Yes, No. I think you're swell. Best regards, Grysh.” Randall looked up from the note. “What the...?”

“Heck?” prompted Jack, helpfully.

“Yeah, what the heck is going on here? Why would Scar have a love letter from Grysh? Unless ... she stole it from Romeoo! Which means she knows where he is! Which means we might be able to find him! Which means I'll be spared another seduction attempt!” He put the letter in his pocket. “That's definitely something to check out later.”

“Hey!” a guard's voice screamed. “Where's my pony?”

“Run!” Randall shouted.

* * * *

TWO HOURS later, their journey took them to a small town. A sign read “Welcome to Manget Town. Population: 37 nice people, 4 jerks, 2 major jerks, 6 people ugly enough to melt mirrors, and one guy who sits around all day counting his arms to be sure they're both there.”

“How nice,” said Bug. “They welcomed us.”

They proceeded down the main/only street, which contained a few small houses. But the primary attraction, taking up more space than all of the houses combined, was Madame Taylor's Hall of Supreme Exotic Dancers. A sign out front read “All private! All nekkid! All right!”

“I don't think the maidens run fast and free in these parts,” said Jack.

“Nor do I,” agreed Randall. “I guess we should ask around, though.” He gestured to a pug-nosed, middle-aged man seated on a rocking chair up on his front porch. “Let me do the talking so we don't accidentally start Armageddon.”

They crossed over to the house. Randall stepped up onto the first of two stairs.

“That stair ain't for walking on,” said the man.

“Oh, sorry.” Randall stepped down.

“That ground ain't, either.”

“Look,” said Randall, “we are two men and one bug questing for a virtuous woman to worship. Who in this town might serve our purpose?”

“Oh, that's easy. Try Yvonne over at the dance hall.”

“No, no, obviously your standards of virtue are demented. What we're looking for is—”

“Her name is Yvonne the Pure,” said the man. “She's just the hostess. She's less than brilliant, if you're into that kind of thing.”

“Is she working now?” Randall asked.

“For another half hour. Then she'll go to bed, so she can fall asleep and breathe deeply.”

“Convenient. Thanks for your help.”

“I love you,” Bug told the man.

“Yeah, well, that and two thousand dvorkins will get me a rushed nose job.”

They began walking towards the brothel. “Bug, I think you'd better wait outside,” said Randall. “I have a feeling this place may take your ‘I love everyone’ philosophy in a whole new direction.”

“Okay, I'll go bring happiness to somebody who's feeling a touch of sorrow,” said Bug, flying away.

“That is one upbeat insect,” said Jack.

They approached the front door. “Have you ever been in a place like this?” Randall asked.

“No. What about you?”

“Never. But, I mean, it's not like we're going in to watch the dancing. We have a very serious mission here. It's a matter of life or death. It's not our fault there's going to be nakedness, is it?”

“It certainly isn't,” Jack agreed.

“We'll just have a nice conversation with Yvonne the Pure, and ... uh ... I guess see if she'll let us come into her room while she's asleep and fill a small jar with her breath.”

“Do we have a jar?”

“No. Guess I should've saved the one Bug was in. But they'll have jars in an exotic dance hall, won't they?”

“I don't know. What would they store in them?”

“Let's not think about it.”

Randall opened the door, and they both stepped into the hall. The walls of the waiting room were covered with clown faces, and brightly-colored balloons and ribbons dangled from the ceiling. There were several striped couches upon which sat potential audience members, all wearing party hats.

“Welcome!” said a young woman in an extremely enthusiastic voice, walking toward them with a hat in each hand. She was in her late twenties, with curly black hair and a sequined white dress.

“Uh, thanks,” said Randall. “Is it always like this?”

“Of course it is! Because this is the happiest place in town!” She placed a hat on each of their heads. “Would you gentlemen care to see a dance menu?”

“Actually, no,” said Randall. “To be completely honest, I find this place degrading to women. It sends the message to society that the female of the species is nothing more than a slab of meat.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” said the woman.

A voice called out: “Number fifty-seven, your dancer is ready. Number fifty-seven, your dancer is ready.” A party of four got up and walked through a curtained doorway together.

“If you're not going to place an order, I want the hats back,” said the woman. Jack clung to his protectively.

“We're looking for somebody,” said Randall. “Are you Yvonne?”

The woman shook her head.

“Do you know where we could find her?”

“Her? Oh, you said Yvonne. I thought you said Ferdinand. Yes, that's me.”

“Ferdinand?”

“No, Yvonne.”

“Is there somewhere we could talk? This is very important.”

“Yeah, okay, but your friend will have to cover for me.” She pointed to a dresser against the wall. “The hats, menus, fireworks, and kazoos are in there. Seat the customers, and offer them a glass of wine. It tastes like whoever stomped on the grapes had Athlete's Foot, but it's complimentary. If a customer has any questions, give them one of the Madame Taylor's Q&A pamphlets from the dresser, or just make something up. Oh, yeah, one more thing.” She removed the If I don't greet you with a smile, your visit is free button from her dress and pinned it on Jack. “You're all set.”

A loud buzzer sounded. “Special announcement! Jerome the Meek, over in cubicle eight, has just set a new Madame Taylor's Hall of Supreme Exotic Dancers drool record! Let's all give him a big hand!”

Yvonne led Randall past the applauding guests, through a polka-dot curtained doorway, and down a hallway filled with the sounds of tap-dancing feet and squeak toys. She opened the last door on the end, and led Randall inside a bedroom decorated entirely in white, with ruffles everywhere.

There was a moan from the next room. “Oh, baby, take it off! Take it off! Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, take it off! That's right! Oooooh yeah! Now throw that fake mustache over here!”

Yvonne shut the door. “Have a seat,” she said, motioning toward the bed. Randall sat down upon it, and Yvonne sat down next to him. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“This may be kind of embarrassing. Especially for me.”

“I work in an exotic dance hall. I think I can handle embarrassing.”

“I understand you're known as Yvonne the Pure.”

“Yes. I believe the body is a temple, one to be protected from invaders. And I really like the color white.”

“Okay, well, I have a very unusual request. Would it be possible, when you're asleep tonight, for my friend and I to catch some of your breath in a jar?”

“I know this isn't the most wholesome place in the Generic Fantasy Land, but that's a little—”

“No, I have an honorable purpose.” He proceeded to tell her the entire story, except for the accidental omission of the part where Sir William shouted “Check it! Check it!”

“That's awful!” Yvonne exclaimed.

“I know.”

“I mean, you can't tell a story to save your life! Ramble a little more, why don't you?”

“The point is, we need your sleeping breath.”

“You actually think I'll be able to sleep with two freakozoids in my room waiting to take my breath away?”

“We're not freakozoids. We're desperate. If I don't get the princess back, I'll be hunted down like a dog. A dog that's done something really bad, of course.”

Yvonne shook her head. “I'm not interested.”

“You hold my life and the future of an entire kingdom in your mouth. Please, don't turn me away.”

Some really awful male singing began to emanate from an adjoining room. “Magical Karaoke is an extra fifty dvorkins,” Yvonne explained.

“Dandy.”

“Listen, maybe I've been dropped on my head too many times this week, but I'm going to trust you. I'll leave my door unlocked after I go to sleep, and one hour from now you and your friend can come in and do what you need to do.”

“Thank you!” said Randall. “You're a true heroine.”

They returned to the waiting room, where Jack was encouraging the dance hall's mascot seal to balance a ball on its nose to the delight of the patrons. “We're all set,” Randall told him.

“I could get used to a life like this,” Jack said. “Watch, he can even bounce the ball up and down! Hee-hee!”

“Maybe I should arrange a chaperone for you guys,” said Yvonne, uneasily.

* * * *

ONE HOUR later, Jack pocketed the tips he'd made as a hostess and walked down the hallway with Randall. Elizabeth, the Employee of the Month, had been kind enough to give them a jar of pickled bananas, which Randall had emptied out onto a section of the floor that was already pretty dirty.

Very slowly, so as not to awaken Yvonne, Randall pushed open the door to her room. SQUEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAK.

“Huh? Who's there?” said Yvonne, sitting up in bed.

“Sorry,” said Randall. “We'll come back later.”

Later, Randall and Jack came back. After oiling the hinges of the door with some oil that Randall suspected was not intended for hinges, he pushed it open. Squeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaak.

“Darn you!” said Yvonne, sitting up again. “You interrupted an impure dream! Those things are few and far between!”

Later, they returned. After removing the hinges of the door and silently leaning the door against the opposite wall, Randall and Jack entered her room. Yvonne lay there, sleeping soundly, snoring like an angel.

“She's beautiful,” Randall whispered.

“A-yup,” Jack whispered.

Randall removed the lid to the jar. “Here goes,” he said, bending down next to her. Suddenly he recoiled. “Oh my gosh!”

“What's wrong?”

“Her breath. It's horrible!”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure! I didn't notice anything while we were talking before, but now it's like she's been gargling compost!”

“I wonder what she ate before bed?”

“No mere food could produce mutant breath like this! Maybe her status as Yvonne the Pure isn't wholly by choice!”

Yvonne stirred a bit, but didn't wake up. “Well, get the breath so we can get out of here,” Jack urged.

“Maybe I shouldn't. This breath could very well cause the resurrection spell to malfunction! Princess Janice could come back as a really dead skunk! I say we find ourselves another maiden.”

Then the loud buzzer sounded again. “We have a code red, ladies and gentlemen! Code red!”

Yvonne sat up, panicked. “What does that mean?” Randall asked.

“It means Madame Taylor is coming for a visit! Hurry, we have to go to the waiting room!”

They hurried out of the bedroom and back into the waiting room, where the employees and customers were seated, open books on their laps. Yvonne pulled a book from underneath the cushion and motioned for Randall and Jack to sit on each side of her. “Pretend I'm teaching you how to read,” she said.

The front door opened, and Madame Taylor entered. She was a short woman that could be described as “pleasantly plump” unless one was an insensitive cretin, in which case “mobile lard lump” would be used.

“Hello, Madame Taylor!” said Yvonne. “How nice of you to pay us this visit! We're giddy already!”

Madame Taylor beckoned for Yvonne to come over to her. As Yvonne did, Madame Taylor lowered her head in an attempt to speak confidentially despite the thirty people hanging on her every word. “I think we have a problem,” she said.

“Oh no! Problems are bad! What kind of problem?”

Madame Taylor hesitated, as if uncomfortable speaking the words. “I've heard a persistent rumor that there's...” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “...nudity going on here!”

“Don't be ridiculous,” said Yvonne. “This place is here to promote literacy in the commoners, just as you requested.”

The patrons and dancers all nodded vigorously.

“Are you sure? The rumors are very persistent. They say there's even bumping! And grinding!”

“No, no, that's preposterous.” She pointed to one of the men. “Albert, tell her how much you've learned here.”

“When I first came to Madame Taylor's Hall of Supreme Exotic Dancers, I couldn't even read the letter a,” said Albert. “Now, after going through this program of literacy, I can.”

“See, Madame Taylor? You have nothing to worry about.”

“But I've been told by several sources that a ‘Hall of Exotic Dancers’ is a place where the dancers aren't wearing any clothes! Or else they're wearing terrible, terrible things!”

Yvonne smiled reassuringly. “Honestly, Madame Taylor, if there were something bad going on here, do you really think we could hide it from you?”

“I guess not. I'd just hate to have my name so prominently displayed over a wicked place.”

“Of course. But thanks for stopping by. We're all better people for it.”

“I know I am,” said one of the men.

Madame Taylor started for the exit, then abruptly turned around and walked over to Randall. “So ... Yvonne has been teaching you to read, huh?”

Randall nodded.

“If that's true, then you won't mind reading a page from your book there, will you?”

“Of course not.” Randall looked down at the book and read. “Chapter Six: Flinging Your Brassiere At Clients Without Hitting Them In The Eye.”

“I knew it!” shouted Madame Taylor. “Smut! Filth! You people have pulled the black-webbed nylon over my eyes for the last time! This place is now closed! You're all fired!”

Heads hung, the employees and clients began to file out of the building. Yvonne burst into tears.

“I'm sorry,” said Randall. “I just read what was in front of me.”

“It's not your fault,” sniffled Yvonne. “But what am I going to do now? The other women can get hired at Madame Trixie's Hall of Ultra-Supreme Exotic Dancers, opening next week, but there's no job for a chaste hostess! I'm doomed!”

“Well,” said Randall. “This might not be the most thrilling option in the world, but you could join us in our quest.”

“You mean it?” asked Yvonne. “I've never been on a quest before. I'd be happy to join you.”

“Great!” said Randall. “We'd be happy to have you. Just promise me that as soon as we find one, you'll chew on a mint leaf.”

Chapter 18

Post-Chapter-Seventeen Letdown

THE DARK One sat upon his throne, thinking evil thoughts about cute little puppies eating cute little babies. There was so much hate within him that no fewer than a dozen therapists had happily taken their own lives after attempting to psychoanalyze him. His face was so repulsive that he kept it hidden behind a black iron mask, to be shown only to those hirelings who dared to fail him. It would be the last sight they saw, before their hearts stopped. He was that ugly.

“Scrivener,” he said to the hunchbacked dwarf cowering next to the throne, “gaze into your Sphere of Revelation and Other Neat Powers. I must know if my plan will succeed.”

“Yes, master,” said Scrivener, running his hand over the fingerprint-covered crystal ball. An image began to form. “Alas, master, I see defeat!”

“What?” thundered the Dark One. “Defeat from whom?”

“It is a man ... a man named ... Ralph! No, wait, the eels just got him. You're clear.”

“Good,” smiled the Dark One. “Then I shall rule this land with an iron fist!” He stood up and clenched his iron fist. He wore a suit of black armor, completely covered with terrifyingly sharp spikes. The Dark One went through a lot of furniture because of this suit.

There was a timid knock at the door on the other end of the throne room, then another dwarf, Wyrkham, entered, knees shaking. “Master? I'm afraid I bring bad news.”

“Then you're screwed,” the Dark One noted. “But give me the news anyway.”

“The attack this morning on Mosiman Kingdom failed. We tried our hardest, but they had lots and lots of really big sticks!”

The Dark One took a cruel and merciless step forward. “I am not pleased, servant.”

Wyrkham gulped. “Am I in trouble?”

“Let me put it to you this way: Yes.” He walked over to the whimpering dwarf and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I think it is time you saw my real face.”

“Oh, no, master! I beg you! Give me another chance!”

“I think not.” With his free hand, the Dark One removed the mask. “Feast your eyes! Glut your soul, upon my accursed ugliness!”

Wyrkham's eyes widened, and he staggered backward. It took several moments for him to verbalize his reaction. “Eeeewwwww...that is so nasty! I mean, the only word here is yuck! That sight is totally uncalled for! Putrid, putrid, putrid! Gag me with a spoon!”

“Leave me!” shouted the Dark One, replacing his mask. “Get out of my sight!”

Wyrkham hurriedly headed for the exit. “Jeez, no wonder you have so much trouble keeping concubines around!”

“Candid twerp,” muttered the Dark One. “But never mind. This is but a minor setback, for soon my army shall crush the feeble denizens of this land, and I shall rule! Muahahahahaha!”

“Yes,” said Scrivener. “Moo ha ha ha!”

“Your sadistic glee is forced, my servant. The very moment I have this land in my choking grip, I shall teach you to cackle like the demons writhing in their tormented ecstasy! I will rule supreme! Muahahahahahahahahaha!”

* * * *

RANDALL, YVONNE, Jack, and Bug moved at a casual pace through a vast meadow. They'd been walking most of the day in search of a town or kingdom where they could glean information about Jenstina or Shreddriff, but so far they'd had no luck. The countryside was beautiful, however.

“This countryside sucks,” proclaimed Jack. “Nothing but trees, flowers, ponds, and the occasional complacent fauna. What we need is a good volcano!”

“Haven't you had enough excitement?” asked Randall.

“You can never have enough excitement!”

“Bite your tongue,” said Yvonne. “Let's enjoy the peaceful moments while we can.”

“Ow!” winced Randall.

“Jack, I said bite your tongue.”

“Oh, sorry.”

They continued walking, as time trickled past like the crisp photosynthesized leaves falling from the trees to be decomposed in order to replenish the precious balance of nature's way. Jack and Bug moved up ahead, as their argument about shag carpets grew more and more heated.

“What are your dreams?” Yvonne asked Randall. “Where do you want to be ten years from now?”

“Ten years to the day, or just a decade in general?”

“It doesn't matter. I want to know where you hope to find yourself in the future.”

“Well, a major hope for my future is that I'm not dead, because that sort of reduces the number of possible accomplishments. And if at all possible I'd like for all four of my major limbs to be in fully-functioning order, and if I can avoid any serious brain damage, that would have to count as a definite plus as well.”

“Me, I want to fall in love. I want a lover who would climb the most treacherous cliff in the land just to get me the single strawberry growing there.”

Randall glanced over at the sufficiently treacherous cliff off in the distance, with a strawberry-shaped dot of red near the top. “I could go for a strawberry, too,” he remarked.

“So you'll do it for me?” asked Yvonne, thrilled. “I've never known a man who was willing to risk his life for me before! Well, there was Martin, but he was seriously injured in the process and can't pronounce his vowels anymore.”

“Well, I'd like to,” said Randall, “but we're kind of in the middle of an important quest.”

“What could be more important than the quest for love?”

“The quest for not getting savagely beaten and executed.”

“Randall, the princess will still be there when you get back. Ashes don't have a shelf life. But we're here now, and if we leave, some other hero could pick that strawberry for his own lover, and she'd probably be ungrateful and complain that it's covered with too many seeds.”

“Are we falling in love?” Randall asked.

“Yes, we are.”

“How did this happen? It seems like I had just asked you to chew a mint leaf, and now here we are all of a sudden making goo-goo eyes at each other in a meadow.”

“Don't question the ways of love.”

Randall whistled to get Jack and Bug's attention. “Hey, come on back here for a second.”

“Yeah, what?” asked Jack as they approached.

“The quest is going to be put on hold for a little bit while I climb up that cliff and pick a strawberry.”

“Sure, no problem,” said Bug. “Have fun.”

“Um, Randall?” asked Jack. “Can I talk to you for a moment in private?”

“All right.” Randall and Jack began walking forward together. “What is it?”

“This is your quest, of course, and I don't want to tell you what to do, any more than I'd want you to tell me what to do, because freedom is one of our most cherished gifts, and it's not something to be taken for granted. But you're acting like a blithering idiot.”

“A blithering one? Are you sure?”

Jack nodded. “If you don't find the reagents, you're up Spit Creek without waders, and yet you're willing to put everything on hold to pick some fruit for a halitosis-plagued woman you just met? I mean, she's got that ‘The Pure’ after her name, so you're not doing it for touchie-feelie-happy-squealie, which would be just as stupid but understandable.”

“I don't know what's going on,” Randall admitted. “It's just that when I look at her, I feel this tingling inside, as if the Spiders of Love were dancing around my innards with their tiny arachnid feet.”

“Listen, Randall, you have to control yourself. This falling in love thing—it's like I were writing a book, and I decided I needed to put some romance in it to make it more commercial, and even though the love story didn't fit in with the rest of the plot and was extremely unbelievable and forced, I put it in there anyway. Do you see what I'm saying?”

“Obviously I can't see what you're saying, but I hear it. Well, more or less, since there's also the humming of a thousand angels running through my head.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Snag the strawberry.”

Jack shrugged. “Fine. It's your life. Do what you want.”

Randall returned to Yvonne. “I'm ready to climb the cliff,” he told her. “Any words of loving advice before I go?”

“If you fall, try to land on your back. You won't linger in agony quite as long.”

So Randall set off for the cliff, as Yvonne watched with heartfelt joy. It took him a little longer than anticipated to reach the cliff, however, because after ten steps the ground collapsed beneath him and he fell into a pit of scorpions.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!” he shrieked. “AHH! AHH! AHH!”

“Can't you just hear the love in his voice?” sighed Yvonne.

The pit was about six feet deep, had an uncomfortably jagged bottom, and contained three thousand, two hundred and fifty-four scorpions, of which one thousand, eight hundred and six were already crawling over Randall. The odds that he could avoid getting stung were about as bad as the odds that in a meadow this vast he would have stumbled upon the pit in the first place. There was also a moth, but it posed a lesser threat.

“AHH! AHH! AHH!” Randall repeated, to make sure his meaning got across. Then he added an “OH, CRUD!” for clarity.

“Think it would disrupt his courtship if we helped him?” asked Jack.

“I guess we should do something,” Yvonne decided. “It would appear from his shrieks that today's wooing is over.”

“I love wooing,” said Bug.

Down in the pit, Randall pulled a scorpion from each ear and, despite their high nutritional value and low caloric content, spat out the four that had scurried into his mouth while he was going “AHH! AHH! AHH!”

“Here, grab my hand!” said Jack, reaching down to help him. “No, wait, brush the scorpions off your own hand first!”

“I can't! There are too many of them!”

“You're right! There must be three thousand, two hundred and fifty-four of them down there! Yvonne, close your eyes and come over here!”

“Just pull me out!” screamed Randall. “These things have stingers!”

“Say what?” asked Jack, jerking his hand out of the pit. “Were you planning on just letting that little tidbit of information pass by? Jeez, they've got pinchers, too! There's probably some venom in there, for all I know!”

Yvonne shoved Jack out of the way and reached down into the pit with both hands. Within three seconds Randall had grabbed her arms and climbed up them, scorpions clinging to his shirt, pants, shoes, hair, prominent facial features, and skin pores. He then began performing the traditional Get These Scorpions The Hell Off Me dance, which involved bouncing around, ripping off clothing, and making noises that would be physically impossible in other circumstances.

“They're still on me!” he hollered as the dance began to wind down.

“The pond!” Yvonne shouted.

“What about the pond?”

“It's full of water!”

“What about water?”

“Jump in it!”

“Great idea! Where is the pond?”

“Just over that grassy knoll!”

“Will I be turning left or right?”

“You'll veer slightly to the right.”

“Thank you!” Randall took off running over the knoll, then leapt into the pond. The water was nice and cool, and the scorpions immediately released him as they began doggy paddling for shore.

Jack, Yvonne, and Bug hurried over to the edge of the pond. “Are you okay?” asked Yvonne.

“Fine,” said Randall. “I don't think I got stung.”

Jack glanced at a small sign. “I wonder if they call it ‘Leech Lagoon’ just for aesthetic reasons?”

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!! AHH! AHH! AHH! I feel something slimy!”

“Leeches are slimy,” Jack noted, uneasily.

Randall rushed out of the pond, covered with muck from the bottom but no leeches, excluding the three-foot-long one attached to his back. “Get it off me! Get it off me!”

“Just what I need,” said Jack. “Another phobia for my collection. Yvonne, I really liked the way you handled our little scorpion situation. Do it again so that I can learn from your technique.”

Yvonne grabbed the tail end of the leech and began to tug, but it held fast. “You have to burn these things off!”

“So torch it!”

“Jack, go find me two sticks to rub together!”

Jack nodded and ran off.

“Randall, stay calm!”

“If this thing sucks any more blood, I'm going to be downright mellow.”

“Is there anything I can do?” asked Bug.

“Do you speak leech?” Yvonne inquired.

“Sorry, no. I'm an arthropod, he's a worm. Completely different dialect.”

“I feel another ear-piercing shriek coming on,” Randall warned them.

“I'm back with the sticks!” said Jack. “You want to borrow my magic lighter to ignite them?”

“Gimme that thing!” said Yvonne, snatching the lighter out of his hand. She flicked on the tiny flame, and held it up to the leech's tail. They stood there for a few moments, waiting.

“It's definitely getting a little crispy,” Jack pointed out.

“This could take a while,” Yvonne admitted. “We'll just have to work in shifts.”

“Not to malign cooperation,” said Randall, “but I should mention that I'm going to be dead any minute now.”

“They better be quick shifts then,” said Jack.

Yvonne tossed the lighter away and began beating on the leech, punching bag style.

“Nice form,” said Jack, impressed.

“This isn't working either,” Yvonne said. “We're just all going to have to grab hold of it and pull as hard as we can.”

Jack and Yvonne both grabbed the leech's tail. Bug told them that it loved them for moral support. “On the count of three,” said Yvonne. “One ... two ... THREE!”

They both yanked. Their hands instantly slipped off the slimy leech-skin, and their momentum carried them back a few steps. The ground collapsed underneath Jack, dropping him into a new pit.

“Dung beetles!” Jack screeched. “Dung beetles everywhere!” Bug quickly flew down there to help him.

Yvonne grabbed hold of the leech again, digging her fingers into its skin. She raised her feet, bracing them against each of Randall's buttocks, then pulled with all her might.

“And dung!” Jack added. “Dung everywhere!”

“I think it's coming loose,” said Yvonne through clenched teeth.

“That's my spine,” whimpered Randall.

Then, with a loud pop, the leech popped free. Yvonne fell on her back, as the leech squirmed to get at her feet. Despite his dizziness, Randall gave the leech a tremendous kick, sending it flying through the air and into the pit with Jack.

“Eeeeeeek!” screamed Jack.

Bug flew out of the pit. “It's swallowing his head!”

Yvonne rushed forward and reached down into the pit. The leech either hadn't gotten a sufficient grip or wasn't thrilled with the taste of Jack's head, and came free with a minor effort. Yvonne dropped the leech, then pulled Jack out of the pit, covered with the beetles.

“Get them off me!” he screamed, running toward the pond.

“Jack, no!”

Ignoring the warning, Jack splashed into the pond and began thrashing about. Three seconds and one crocodile sighting later, he came running out of the water, thankfully leech-free.

The four of them dropped to the ground, exhausted. For several minutes they just sat there, trying to catch their breath. Finally, Randall spoke.

“Now, back to the strawberry.”

Chapter 19

No Title Necessary

“REALLY, YOU don't have to do that,” said Yvonne. “I had a whole bunch of strawberries this morning and they gave me salmonella. Let's just find some place to rest.”

“Oh, no,” said Randall, his voice slurred. “I said I was going to get you that strawberry, and by gosh I'm going to get it.” He passed out for a moment, then woke up again. “No matter what.”

“Listen, Randall, that leech really did a number on you. I think we should get out of this place and find you some help.”

“I feel perfectly fine,” said Randall. Then he passed out for a couple days.

* * * *

“WHERE AM I?” he asked, opening his eyes.

“You're in the same meadow,” Yvonne replied. “Jack wouldn't help me carry you.”

“I have fragile arms,” Jack insisted.

“We've just been hanging out here,” said Yvonne. “Waiting for you to recover, surviving on leech meat, playing Twenty Questions, which is a really idiotic game. Way too easy.”

“Okay, I've thought of something,” said Bug.

“Question one,” said Jack. “What is it?”

“A breadbox. You win again!”

“See?” asked Yvonne. “Why do they call it Twenty Questions when it never takes more than one?”

Randall sat up. “I feel pretty good. How long have I been out?”

“Two days.”

“Oh my goodness!” exclaimed Randall.

“Oh your goodness what?”

“That's terrible! I can't afford two days! By now the king will have every knight in the kingdom out looking for me, Sir William, and Princess Janice!”

“See?” said Jack to Yvonne. “I told you he was the one those knights were looking for. Pay up.”

Yvonne handed him a dvorkin. “Good thing we hid him down in the scorpion pit.”

“Look, this is serious! I can't let them find me!”

“But don't you think the hunt for the reagents would go a little better with every knight in the kingdom searching?” asked Yvonne.

“Sure it would, but so would the game of Squish-the-Squire. We have to get out of here and start questing again!”

“That's a good idea,” said Yvonne. “Oh, one thing, though. I changed my mind ... do you think you could get me that strawberry after all?”

“Okay.”

* * * *

THE DARK One sat upon his throne, lost in his wicked thoughts. Scrivener turned off the power to his crystal ball and looked over at him. “What are you doing, Master?”

“Brooding.”

“I see. Not to correct you, Master, but wouldn't that require that a female be present?”

“I said brooding, fool, not breeding! Your stupidity is matched only by your stench!”

“Apologies, Master. Do you wish me to stand in the corner so that I might wallow in my own shameful inadequacies?”

“No. On second thought, yes. And while you're there perform some acts of self-abuse.”

“As you wish, Master.” Scrivener retreated to the corner and began poking himself in the nose.

There was a knock on the door, then Wyrkham entered. “Master! I have great news! Wonderful news!”

“Are you going to stand there all day before you tell me?”

The dwarf hesitated. “Is that what you desire?”

“No! Give me the message!”

“We've now conquered nine towns and two kingdoms and made all the residents our slaves! They've got dehumanizing collars on and everything! Our army continues to grow, and we've written ‘The Dark One rules!’ all over the place!”

“Excellent. I am most pleased.”

“Cool. Can I borrow a couple dvorkins?”

“Leave me,” the Dark One hissed. “I must concentrate on the next phase of my domination plan!”

“That would be something like taking over more kingdoms and getting more slaves, right?” asked Wyrkham.

“Yes, basically. Now begone!”

Wyrkham left the throne room. Scrivener stopped twisting his eyebrow. “May I leave the corner now?”

“You may,” said the Dark One. “Ahhhh, the sweet sound of victory. Soon will I reduce the peasants of this land to frightened cowards, pleading to do my bidding!”

“That sounds delightful, Master. But wouldn't they be more productive as laborers if you built up their morale rather than taking it away?”

“Perhaps. But when the slaves fear me, the sense of power makes me giggly. And you know how difficult it is for me to become giggly.”

“I do indeed, Master. And you have my sympathies.”

* * * *

AS TREACHEROUS as the cliff was, Randall managed to climb to the top in just under an hour, and without breaking any bones, even minor ones that he didn't know the names for. And there was the strawberry, large and succulent-looking. If he could reach the bottom of the cliff without accidentally crushing it into a gooey red pulp, Yvonne would love him forever.

He bent down to pick the strawberry.

And his hand passed right through it.

“Odd berry,” he said to himself.

Several more attempts convinced him that the strawberry was indeed an illusion, and he had broken no bones for nothing.

“Ha!” said an old man, crawling out from under some bushes. “Ha ha! I laugh in your face, then spit in it, then laugh in it again! Ha ha! I can't believe you fell for the illusionary strawberry trick!”

“Ha ha. I'm tickled pink. I'd let out a hearty guffaw if I weren't entertaining thoughts about killing you right now.”

The man stood up. His face appeared to be the wrinkle rest stop of the land. He wore ragged clothing, and his long, grey hair looked like it had been ratted with real rats. “Lighten up,” he said. “My name is Warren the Wise, though some people call me Warren the Wise-Ass. I know all and see all. Because you have climbed such dangerous heights to see me, I will now share some of my eternal knowledge with you. Ask me any three questions.”

“Hey, this is great!” said Randall. “I have some questions I really need answered. First, where would I find Jenstina the Ogre?”

Warren sighed. “Oh, sure, ask something for yourself. Where would I find the ogre? I. Me, me, me. That's all you people care about. For once it would be nice if somebody's first question was ‘How are you feeling today?’ ‘Doesn't it get lonely sitting up here all by yourself?’ ‘Would you care for something to drink?’ But no, it's got to be something you care about, you selfish bastard!”

“Okay, then, where would you find Jenstina the Ogre?”

“None of your business. That's one question.”

“What?”

“I said, none of your business. That's two.”

“You bitter little creep!”

“All right, all right, whatever your last question is, I promise to give you a good answer.”

“Fine, here's my question: Where are Jenstina the Ogre and Shreddriff the Berserker and the Necklace of Power and is Yvonne really the woman for me and what's the meaning of life?”

“Sneaky. Jenstina the Ogre lives in a hut on the Mountain of Rock. Here's a map.” He handed Randall a folded piece of paper. “Shreddriff the Berserker lives on an island in the Ocean of Water. Here's a map.” He handed Randall another folded piece of paper. “I've never heard of the Necklace of Power. Yes, Yvonne is the woman for you, and don't you forget it. And the meaning of life is ‘the state of being alive.'”

“Thanks a lot!” said Randall. “This will be very helpful!” He turned around to climb back down the cliff.

“What, you're leaving?”

“Of course.”

“You don't want to sit around and talk or anything? It's a lonely life up here as a Wise Man. People just ask their questions and then leave me here by myself.”

“Well, you know, if you didn't act so snotty about people only being allowed three questions, they'd probably be more inclined to hang around.”

“So, you think it's my personality that drives people away? I always thought they were just intimidated by my far-reaching wisdom.”

“No, it's definitely the personality. And the location. I mean, here you are on top of a treacherous cliff. Your neighbors aren't going to risk their lives just to pop by for a chat.”

“But I'm a Wise Man. People have to prove themselves worthy for me to answer their questions. If I set up shop in a village, what would be the big deal? I wouldn't be special.”

“But, you see, if you had friends, you would be special. Friends are what make us special, not omniscience! Give people a chance to like you for you, not for the questions you can answer.”

Warren considered that. “But what if they don't like me? What if I'm not accepted? You know, all it takes is one nudity-related faux pas and you can be shunned for life!”

“Look deep within yourself. Do you want this bad enough to take the risk?”

“Yes!” said Warren, almost in tears. “Yes, I do! Thank you so much!”

“I'm glad I could help. Now, I have to be going.”

“Wait a second! There's no way I can get off this cliff!”

“Oh. That's a problem.”

“So ... maybe I should just be less snotty about the three questions?”

“Yeah.”

“Gotcha. Thanks for your help.”

* * * *

“WELL, I HAVE good news and bad news,” said Randall, returning from the cliff.

“Tell us the good news first,” said Yvonne.

“Actually, the overall impact would be better if I gave you the bad news first.”

“Okay, what's the bad news?”

“I didn't get the strawberry.”

“You suck, Randall,” said Jack.

“But the good news is, I got something even better. Maps to take us to Jenstina and Shreddriff!”

“Oh,” said Yvonne. “I guess a map is almost as tasty.”

Randall unfolded the map. “See, the hut where we'll find Jenstina the Ogre is right about ... whoops, that's a bit further than I expected.”

“How far?” asked Jack.

“Five thumb-lengths on the map, which translates to five thousand miles. Looks like the Mountain of Rock is on the very edge of the land, right before you fall off.” He unfolded the other map. “Let's see, the island where we'll find Shreddriff the Berserker is also five thousand miles away ... in the opposite direction.”

“Is that five thumb-lengths, too?” asked Jack.

Randall looked pained. “I'm dead. Including round trips, that's twenty thousand miles we have to cover! It's impossible!”

“Nothing's impossible,” said Yvonne. “Except an interesting game of Royal Golf.”

“We live in an age of magic,” said Jack. “Find a magician willing to transport you there. The new regulations are fairly stringent, but a good bribe should take care of that.”

“That idea's so crazy it just might work!” said Randall. “Except that I'm almost broke. What about the rest of you?”

“Barely a dvorkin to my name,” said Jack.

“Forgot my fortune under my mattress,” Yvonne admitted.

“I know where there are riches beyond your imagination!” said Bug.

“Really? Where?”

“In your hearts, where the love is kept!”

“Look, there has to be a quick way to make some money,” said Randall, “but our first priority should be to find a corrupt magician, so we'll ask at the next town. Though, of course we won't ask specifically for a corrupt magician at first, which would be tacky.”

“Hey!” Warren's barely-audible voice called from the top of the cliff. “I changed my mind! I think I can make it down there, if you'll give me a couple hours!”

“No!” Randall shouted back. “We're in a hurry!”

“Aw, c'mon! I thought we were buddies! Oooh—that joint doesn't sound so good, better add another half hour!”

“Let's get going,” said Randall.

“Having a bit of trouble with the ol’ motor functions!” shouted Warren. “I'll catch up with you, okay?”

“No problem,” Randall shouted back, as they moved onward.

* * * *

IT TOOK MOST of the day to reach the next town, which was called Warfield. The fact that this town was having serious problems was immediately evident from the toilet paper strewn over every single structure in sight.

Chapter 20

Filling Some Space

WHOMEVER invaded this town had been remarkably thorough. The toilet paper was everywhere they looked, as was graffiti saying “The Dark One is really cool” and “The Dark One: He may be ugly but at least he's not as psychotic as that one guy from that place.” There were no people in sight.

“Who is the Dark One?” Randall wondered aloud. “What kind of inhuman monster would tee-pee an entire town? What if it rains?”

They all took a minute to think about it, then proceeded down the street, searching for signs of life, or at least a few telltale corpses to let them know that people had died recently. But there was nobody.

“Do you think everybody fled?” asked Yvonne.

“From a mess like this? I'm sure of it,” said Jack.

“No, wait—look at that message,” said Randall, pointing to the side of a hut, upon which was painted The residents of this fine, previously litter-free town have been kidnapped by the Dark One, so whine all you want.

Within the hut, there was a crash as something shattered. “Go away!” screamed a man from inside. “I'll throw another plate at you! I mean it! And this one won't hit my ceiling!”

“Who are you?” Randall asked.

“Thank goodness!” said the man. “You can't be part of the marauders. They would never take such an interest in my personal life.” The front door opened, and the man stepped out. He was middle-aged and fairly nondescript, except for his face, which was somewhat descript but not all that much. “My name is Toby. Do you see what they've done to this place?”

“Tell us what happened,” said Randall.

“It was horrible! Horrible, I say! Horrible, I say again! There were ten dozen of them! Men in black armor, with really creepy pictures carved on their helmets! They marched down our main street, then one of them demanded that we surrender to the Dark One. But Frank, this really dumb guy who'd been sucking down ale since nine in the morning, said no. So they began ravaging our town! They goosed our women! They gave noogies to our men! And there was nothing I could do. They gave my brother a charley horse while I watched, helpless.”

Yvonne wiped a tear from her eye. “And then what?”

“And then...” Toby's voice cracked, “...they started with the wedgies.”

“Fiends!” said Jack.

“They've taken everyone away,” said Toby. “I only escaped by pretending to be an incredibly realistic, self-moving mannequin with a pulse. I've lost almost everything! I can only be thankful that my edge-to-edge rapid transportation service remained unharmed.”

“Oh, speaking of transportation,” said Randall, “we're looking for a magician that could take us to the Mountain of Rock. Do you know of one who lives in this region?”

“Nope,” said Toby. “The magicians in this area tend to be pretty amateurish—bunnies from hats, dvorkins from ears, tumors from brains ... you know, useless stuff. I've transported people just about everywhere in this land, and met lots of magicians, and I'd say that your best shot is the wizard Valeman, who lives about a three-day walk from here.”

“Valeman, huh? Never heard of him.”

“Well, there is kind of a problem in that he won't transport anyone who doesn't weigh exactly one hundred and seventy-eight pounds, which I don't think any of you do.”

Randall sighed. “He can't be all that great of a magician if he can only handle exactly one hundred and seventy-eight pounds.”

“Actually, it's a personal choice. He's very odd.”

“Any other recommendations?”

“Not that I can think of off the top of my head. Really, all the good magicians are far from here.”

“Could you think harder? We really, really need a way to get to the Mountain of Rock.”

“What's so special about the Mountain of Rock? I've taken people there dozens of times and didn't see anything worth visiting.”

“It's kind of a long story.”

“Then forget it. Long stories are boring.” Toby had a sudden thought. “Hey, there is a wizard up there on the Mountain of Rock, now that I think of it. If you guys want, I'll take you up there to see him.”

“That would be nice,” said Randall, “but we don't want to be a bother.”

“Oh, well, I guess you have a good point there,” Toby agreed. “Ah, what the heck? I'll take you anyway, and since I'm such a great guy I'll only add ten percent to my fee for your lack of two weeks’ notice.”

“The fee could be a problem,” said Randall. “As we're all pretty much broke.”

“I must say, your mental grasp upon what could be a problem is surprisingly accurate.”

“And, let's face it,” said Randall. “The Mountain of Rock is pretty far to travel just to find a magician to teleport us to the Mountain of Rock.”

“That it is. I wish you all luck in your endeavors.”

They started down the street again, but had gone no more than five steps before Toby's belt began beeping. He groaned and gave it a light tap, shutting it off. “That better not be my mom,” he said. “She's always calling me on this thing, asking if I'm eating three square meals a day, bugging me about getting married to this really young lady with zits on her lips.” He removed the belt buckle and glanced at the magically luminous number that flashed upon it. “Oh, hey, it's one of my clients!”

As Randall and the other watched, Toby took a small golden device out of his pocket, punched in some numbers, and spoke into one end. “Rowder? Toby. Yeah ... yeah ... yeah ... yeah ... yeah ... yeah ... yeah ... yeah ... cool.” He put the device back into his pocket. “Hey, I've got good news for you people!”

“Let's hear that first,” said Yvonne.

“This guy Rowder just called from the Mountain of Rock, said he wants me to pick him up. If you're willing to provide some political debate along the way, I'd be happy to give you a lift for free.”

“That's fantastic!” said Randall.

“One thing, you'd have to leave the bug here. I don't transport insects.”

“But that's prejudiced,” Yvonne told him.

Toby's eyes widened. “Gosh, you're right! I'm a bigot! Wow, looks like it's time for some serious changes in my value system, huh? Sure, bring the bug along. Follow me, everybody—our chariot awaits!”

* * * *

THEIR CHARIOT was similar in concept to a boat. One that would spontaneously combust upon touching water and turn the occupants into squid chow. Basically, it was a strip of iron, upon which were eight seats. These seats were fitted with straps with which to restrain hand and foot movement, and were spotted with dried blood. Toby stepped up onto the framework and began turning the handle of a body-stretching rack that was installed at the front. As he cranked, a large black sail was raised.

“Don't mind the implements of torture that this is constructed from,” said Toby. “I got a good deal on used parts when King Waldo of Sharku upgraded to a more aerobic-type torture system.”

“How exactly does this thing work?” asked Jack, uneasily.

“See this?” asked Toby, patting a small metal box attached to the rack, next to a few other contraptions. “This is a magical engine, created by a wizard the night before a spell of his backfired and blew him up. It makes this machine, which to the naked eye appears to be a death trap for the hard-core suicidal maniac, into a flying thing with all the grace of the eagle. Hop aboard. Pick any of the twelve seats you want.”

“There are only eight seats,” Randall pointed out.

“That's right, I keep forgetting that four of them have fallen off over the past few days. Silly me.”

“How many people have died on this thing?” asked Jack.

“Not a single one,” Toby assured him. “It's the hard ground that's the real killer. Can't blame my machine if the ground refuses to budge for a plummeting body, can we?”

“I guess not,” said Jack.

“Time's a-wastin', so everyone grab a seat,” said Toby, pressing some buttons on the box. There was a loud whirring sound, and the machine began to vibrate. Randall, Yvonne, Jack, and Bug all reluctantly boarded and sat down. “I would tell you to fasten your safety harnesses, but they don't come off again. Just hold on tight.”

The machine began to slide across the ground, sending off sparks that ignited a bush that was eventually to burn down the entire town because of all the highly-flammable toilet paper. And then, it lifted into the air, just as a copper thing with two levers fell off.

“Don't worry about that,” said Toby. “I never knew what it was for anyway.”

The machine sailed higher, higher, higher, lower ("Aaaah! We're all gonna die! We're all gonna die!” screamed Toby. “No, wait, I just pushed the wrong button."), higher. The beauty of the land below was truly impressive, even if the passengers were disturbing it with their occasional purging of stomach contents. They continued picking up speed and unwanted birds.

“Wow,” said Randall, “the clouds are incredible from up here. That one looks just like a doggie.”

“That one looks just like two lovers strolling in the moonlight,” said Bug.

“That one looks like an unleashed demon, hunting its mortal prey in the form of two lovers strolling in the moonlight,” said Jack.

“That one looks like a puff of smoke,” said Yvonne.

“That one's ugly,” said Toby.

They passed through the clouds and sailed above them. Toby turned around and smiled at the others.

“So, what do you think? Pretty fun, huh?”

“I have to admit, I was leery at first,” said Randall, “but I'm actually enjoying this. How long do you think it'll take to get there?”

“A few hours, I'd say. That gives you plenty of time to gaze upon this beauty. I mean, look at that!” He gestured grandly, knocking the magic box off the rack. It fell through the cloud cover and vanished from sight. “I wish that hadn't happened,” he remarked to nobody in particular.

“Is that as big of a problem as I think it is?” asked Randall.

“Unless you're so optimistic as to be mentally defective, yes.” The machine began to tilt downward and pass through the clouds again. Toby glanced around the rapidly-approaching land. “You don't see any water we could land in, do you?”

“No!” shouted Randall, totally panicked.

“Any full-bodied people we could land on to cushion the impact?”

“No! None! We're all done for!”

“I really have to apologize for this,” Toby said.

“Apology accepted,” Bug told him.

“At least I didn't charge you. That'll ease my conscience in these last few moments.”

The sail broke off, followed immediately by the two empty seats on the end. Yvonne leaned over toward Randall. “I'm sorry if this is inconvenient, but I really don't want to die being known as Yvonne the Pure.”

“Um, I'd be happy to oblige, but right now I'm suffering from the Terminal Droop.”

They were heading straight for a small town. “Thirty seconds ‘til the splatfest,” Toby announced. “Would you like me to continue the countdown or just shut up and leave you to your final thoughts?” The entire rack broke off, nearly taking Toby with it. “Ah, like it matters,” he said.

“I have a confession to make before I die,” said Jack. “I eat slugs.”

“Jack!” exclaimed Yvonne, horrified.

“It's the truth,” he sobbed. “I never intended to, but one day I saw a slug out on the ground and I had some salt handy, so I poured the salt on it to watch it dissolve, but then I figured that was a waste of good salt, and one thing led to another, and soon I was addicted! Oh, spank me now!”

“Look at all those people down there,” said Toby, pointing to the town, which was much closer now. “I wonder what's going on? I hope it's a funeral so we don't bum anybody's high spirits.”

“Wait!” Randall shouted. “There's a haystack down there! Aim for it!”

“I can't! We lost the controls!” said Toby. “But I've got an idea! Everyone lean to the left!” He leaned to the left, falling off the machine with a scream and hurtling toward the ground without the benefit of a large iron bar to cushion the impact.

“I miss him already,” said Bug.

“This has been a long thirty seconds,” Yvonne noted.

“Look!” said Randall. “Fruit carts! If we jump at the precise moment, we can land on them!”

“And over there!” said Jack. “Children playing with rubber balls! We can land on those as well!”

“And behind that barn!” said Yvonne. “Somebody spat out a piece of chewing gum!”

They were seconds from hitting the ground. Just before the individual seats broke off, Randall, Jack, and Yvonne leapt from the machine. Bug flew off and landed happily on the shoulder of a woman who currently needed some counseling.

Randall struck a load of tomatoes, spraying red chunks everywhere and wasting a great deal of food. Jack hit the rubber balls at the perfect angle and bounced off them, landing painfully on the ground. The chewing gum absorbed enough of the force of Yvonne's landing that she remained intact. And Toby had managed to hit the haystack, though a severe allergy to all straw-based products currently had him in a sneezing fit.

The remainder of the flying machine smashed into a large group of men in black armor—some servants of the Dark One who were in the process of making prisoners of the town's residents. But there were plenty more. The town had been overtaken by them, and citizens were being chained together and marched toward an unknown destination.

“It's them!” shouted one of the town's residents. “They who are prophesized to fall from the sky and defeat the Dark One!”

“You moron!” shouted another resident. “The prophecy was for a guy in a duck suit to defeat the Dark One, and he drowned in the pond!”

Randall sat up and tried to squirm his way out of the tomato cart. Two men in the black armor approached him, swords drawn.

“Seize the others!” one of the men shouted to his comrades. “We'll take care of this one.”

“Don't come any closer!” Randall said. “I am the great and powerful magician Slurpy, here to wreak my vengeance upon those who would dare attempt to take me into custody!”

“Hold on,” said the man, who wore a name tag reading ‘Nichols.’ “You mean to tell me that you crashed here just so you could wreak vengeance upon people who might try and capture you after you crashed?”

“Indeed.”

“Hello? Mr. Brain? Are you home? What kind of moronic thinking is that, crashing into a tomato cart just on the off-chance that we might try to kidnap you? Can you say ‘ninny?'”

“Don't test him!” said Nichols’ partner, Gelder, nervously. “The ways of magicians are truly mysterious.”

“If this guy really is a magician, then he's the biggest dork-maestro I've ever met.” He pointed the end of his sword at Randall's face. “If you're such a good magician, do something about my sword before I poke it into that little dent in between your nose and upper lip.”

“You mean my philtrum,” said Randall.

“Of course I mean your philtrum!”

“Such a vulgar display of power would be beneath my standards,” said Randall. “But heed my warning. If any section of my philtrum is damaged by your blade, the repercussions will be swift and painful.”

“For who?”

“For you.”

“Oh.” Nichols hesitated. “Okay, fine. I won't use my sword. But we're going to take you and your friends to see the Dark One, and he will punish you as he sees fit.”

“You will take us nowhere!” said Randall in a booming voice. “You will release us, and you will release the citizens of this town, or I shall become very, very angry!”

“If you're such a golly-gee-whiz great magician, how come you're still standing there with tomato gook all over you?”

Suddenly a hangman's noose was thrown around Randall's neck from behind. He clutched at it and gagged as he was dragged to the rear of the tomato cart. After he managed to turn around, he saw a group of five or six of the black-armored warriors, one of them holding the end of the rope.

“He lies!” shouted the rope-holder. “A real magician would have escaped by now!”

“Kill him!” shouted Nichols. “I want him dead!”

“Ah, you want everybody dead,” muttered Gelder.

Randall, trying to keep from being strangled, was pulled out of the cart and thrown to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Yvonne being chained to the end of the line of prisoners. Out of the other corner of his eye he noticed the same thing happening to Jack and Toby. About twenty of the men in black armor remained behind, excluding the ones that had been hit by the machine and were moaning in pain.

“Leave him alone!” said Bug, flying into the crowd of men. One of them quickly reached up and plucked Bug out of the air.

“I'll put it with the other insects,” he said.

Nichols walked around the cart. “Get him to his feet!”

Randall was yanked to a standing position. “I get one more warning, right?”

“The warnings have ended,” said Nichols. He raised his sword again. “Okay, which eye should I gouge out first?”

One of the men raised his hand. “The right! The right! Ooh! Ooh! Please do the right!”

Gelder glanced over his shoulder. “Did you guys hear something? Like an approaching group of marauders?”

Everyone stopped and listened. There was definitely a large number of footsteps approaching. “Who could it be?” asked one of the men.

Then the group, thirty strong, came into view at the other end of the street, running at top speed. “Oh no,” whispered Nichols. “Not them.”

“We are the League of Waldos!” the leader shouted as they continued rushing forward. “We are here to...” The leader trailed off, and quit running. The others did as well. “Where are you taking those people?”

“They are prisoners of the Dark One!” Nichols announced.

“Well, we're on a mission of destruction from King Irving of Rainey, who outranks your Dark One. So bring those people back and let us get to work!”

“We were here first,” said Nichols.

“First doesn't mean anything! Did Sir Frey of Grabien get credit for discovering the Isles of Paradise, just because he was there first? No, it was Sir Ronald of Burgin, who kicked his butt!”

“Wrong!” said Nichols. “Sir Ronald did not kick Sir Frey's butt! Sir Ronald never even made it to the real Isles of Paradise—he actually visited the Sinking Isles, which were already inhabited, and tried to tell everyone he'd found the Isles of Paradise and that he'd taken Sir Frey out in three rounds. The writers of the history books were prejudiced against Sir Frey because he was an albino, which is why we have this distorted view of history now!”

“Attack!” the League of Waldos leader shouted.

“React!” Nichols shouted.

The two groups of warriors rushed towards each other. Randall, now without anyone watching him, began running off after the line of prisoners to save his friends.

Chapter 21

YOU Try Naming These Things

BEING SURE to keep out of sight, Randall followed the prisoners as they were marched across the countryside by the warriors. One of the warriors walked up and down the line, leading them in a chant.

“We are slaves of the Dark One!” he said in rhythm.

“We are slaves of the Dark One!” the prisoners repeated.

“The Dark One is number one!”

“The Dark One is number one!”

It went on like that for hours. Randall kept waiting for an opportunity to perform a daring rescue, but there was never an opening, and he was unable to think of something clever to shout at the warriors just before freeing the prisoners. The best he could come up with was “Hey, you warriors—watch this!” which seemed inadequate.

Then they approached the dark tower, which was dark enough to pose a serious safety hazard. It was at the top of a poorly-lit mountain lacking even guardrails. The prisoners were led up the mountain path, and through a tunnel labeled “Prisoner Entrance: Please Watch Your Head.” Realizing that the tunnel's gate was going to be closed after the last prisoner passed through, Randall waited for the nearby warrior to look away, then hurriedly moved into position directly behind Yvonne, Jack, and Toby.

“Take my hand so they'll think I'm chained to you,” he whispered to Toby, who did so.

The nearby warrior glanced at Randall and did a double-take. “Where did you come from?”

“Not you too!” Randall wailed. “Nobody ever notices me! It's like nobody even knows I exist! I sat behind Raven Goingback for two years in reading class and she never once acknowledged my presence! What's wrong with me? Somebody please say what's wrong with me so I can change!”

“Ah, shut up,” said the warrior. “She was probably just ignoring you.”

They passed through the mouth of the tunnel, and the gates were slammed shut behind them. They continued to march down the winding tunnel, as the chanting warrior added a third verse.

“He's number one, he's number one!” he chanted.

“He's number one, he's number one!” the prisoners repeated.

“I can't believe you risked your life for us!” Yvonne said. “You're a true hero!”

“Well, let's not get carried away,” said Jack. “I'd be willing to call him brave, but to be a hero he needs to actually save somebody.”

“Okay, so he's a martyr,” said Yvonne. “That's almost as good.”

“Depends on how prolonged his death is.”

“I'm not here to be a martyr!” Randall snapped. “Believe me, it won't take much for me to make like a donkey carrier and haul ass!”

“Uh, Randall,” said Jack. “Do me a favor. Next time you feel the urge to say something like ‘make like a donkey carrier and haul ass,’ count to ten first. Slowly.”

“Sorry. I'm just going to play this by ear, okay?”

A fist pounded into Randall's ear, knocking him to the ground and revealing that he wasn't chained. “No talking!” said the warrior. “Hey ... what happened to your chains?”

“The other warrior said that I could leave them off because of my skin condition,” Randall explained.

“What have you got? Leprosy?”

“That's right. Talk about wrecking one's social standing!”

“I have a friend who's working on a cure for leprosy,” said the warrior. “He's going to finish it once he pulls himself together.”

“I think we have a winner for the Comment Most Suitable For Eternal Ignoring,” said Jack.

“Unfortunately,” said the warrior, grabbing Randall by the arm and pulling him to his feet, “I'm going to have to overrule my co-worker on this one.” He snapped a chain around Randall's wrist. “Just don't jiggle your hand around much and it should stay on.”

“Definitely a martyr now,” said Jack.

The prisoners filed into a huge ballroom, where they were seated on uncomfortable stone benches. There were convenient drink holders, but no drinks seemed to be forthcoming. In the front of the room was a stage, the backdrop of which was a giant picture of the Dark One giving the thumbs-up sign and the slogan “The Dark One: If You Had A Choice, He'd Be The Best One.”

After a few anticipatory moments, one of the warriors removed his helmet and walked up onto the stage. “Down in front!” a voice cried out.

“Ooh, a nice crowd tonight,” said the warrior, peering out into the audience. “How many of you are from out of town? Ha-ha, just kidding, all of you are, of course.”

“I'm not,” said one of the prisoners in the second row. “I live two blocks away, but I was in Warfield visiting my mother.”

“And this serves you right for coming to see me so rarely,” said the old woman next to him. “Maybe if you'd stopped by more than once every couple years this wouldn't have happened.”

“Fight! Fight!” shouted another prisoner.

“No fights, please,” said the warrior on the stage. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Bamberg, your host for this educational and hopefully entertaining evening.”

The prisoners tried to applaud, but there wasn't enough slack on their chains.

“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!”

Chapter 22

Excitement Out The Wazoo

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?”

There was no answer. He listened carefully for any sounds that might clue him in about which direction to take, but there were none. He began pointing his finger from one side to the other.

“Jelly beans, jelly beans, in a dish, how many pieces do you wish?” He considered that for a moment. “Three. T-h-r-e-e spells three and you are not it.” He was pointing to the left, so he entered the path to his right, which promptly dead-ended.

“Dang!” he said. “I knew I should've picked four jelly beans!” He went down the opposite path, which also dead-ended. “Oh, now this is interesting.”

He shrugged, turned around, and went back up the stairs. “Sorry, game's over,” he told the warriors.

“Ah, but it isn't,” said Abner. “There's a little secret you have to figure out.”

“Then how about telling me what it is?” Randall asked.

“No, but I'll give you a clue. It involves the wall at the end of the path.”

“Not a good enough clue,” said Randall. “Just tell me.”

“It involves something you do with your hands.”

“You have no idea what I do with my hands.”

“It involves motion of something that you didn't realize was movable,” Dale elaborated.

“I'm really not in the mood for this,” said Randall. “Tell me what to do so I can get on with it.”

“We're not allowed to tell you. But you need to do something with your hands, something that might cause something else to move and open the pathway for you to continue.” Abner raised his palms and mimed a pushing motion.

“Come on, I'm tired. Forget the clues and tell me.”

“It rhymes with bush,” said Dale.

“Lots of things rhyme with bush,” said Randall. “You're not helping me.”

“And it starts with the sixteenth letter of the alphabet,” Abner told him.

“If I had time to go through the sixteen letters, I wouldn't have bothered to come back here to question you guys. Please tell me so I can get to work and not waste any more time?”

* * * *

“PUSH THE WALL, IDIOT!” Dale shouted.

“You gave it away!” whined Abner.

“Thanks,” said Randall. “I don't see why that was so difficult.” He went back down the stairs, down the hallway, and into the right path. He gave the wall a good push, and it fell over, revealing six paths containing approximately seventy-five sub-paths.

He began to walk straight ahead, realizing that it would take about ten seconds to get hopelessly lost in this place, even if the walls didn't blurmple. “Hey, Bull Creature!” he called out again. “Mind saving us both a lot of time and letting me know where you are?”

“Nyahh, nyahh!” cried a distant, moderately bovine-sounding voice. “You can't catch me! Neener neener neener!”

“Let's just get together for a chat!” Randall suggested. “I'm sure there's a way we can work this out without either of us losing our lives!”

Suddenly the Bull Creature burst out of one of the passages. It grabbed Randall by the neck, lifted him a foot off the ground, and slammed him into the wall hard enough to make his lips rattle, knocking the torch out of his hand. It looked just like a bull, except it was standing upright, and it had a sphere of fluff on the end of its tail like a poodle.

“Thought I was further away, didn't ya?” sneered the creature. It raised its hand, revealing sharp claws. “How about a nice game of Name That Organ?”

“Listen, Mr. Bull, I have no desire to cause you any harm! What I was thinking is that maybe you have some extra hearts lying around in your previous victims that I could borrow!”

The creature shook its head. “Nope. The only heart you're going to see is your own.”

“Please! I have to save my one true love! And a bug. And this annoying guy named Jack. And this incompetent guy named Toby.”

“True love, huh? I don't believe in the stuff. No woman wants to be seen at a public gathering with a bull creature.”

“Perhaps you could try somebody in a cow motif?”

“I don't speak cow. At least, when I say ‘moo’ they just stare at me. Dullards, all of them!”

Without warning, Randall drove his knee up toward the creature's groin. It missed completely, but the mere thought of what might have occurred was enough to cause the creature to drop him. Randall took off running down one of the paths, making several turns as he did so.

“Go ahead and run!” shouted the Bull Creature. “You have to fight me sooner or later!”

Randall, whose choice of turns had accidentally taken him right back to where he'd started, rammed into the bull at top speed. He felt a sensation similar to if his brain had been jettisoned into his stomach. With a weak groan, he staggered around for a few seconds, unknowingly performing a move that would bring millions of dvorkins to a young dancer years in the future, then collapsed.

“Death, please,” he requested.

The Bull Creature knelt down next to him. “You're so pathetic it's cute. Let me know when you want to try again.”

Randall grabbed the creature's ankle. It pulled its foot free, then smashed that very same appendage into Randall's face. Even without the hoof aspect, it would have been painful.

“Yep,” said the creature, “they just keep sending them, and I just keep kickin’ their cracks. What a boring life I lead.”

Randall forced himself to stand up, then rushed at the creature again. It grabbed him by the mouth with one hand, by the navel with the other, and began to rapidly spin around. After ten seconds it let Randall go, sending him crashing into the wall. The bull, now terribly dizzy, began to stagger around, until it fell to the ground as well.

“Oh, jeez ... why do I do that?” the creature asked.

Randall did a quick count of body parts that weren't hurting. Since he could come up with two, his hair and his eyelashes, he got up again and stood over the creature.

“Do you give up?” he asked.

The bull creature answered in the negative by jamming its fist upward into Randall's gut. It was a hard enough punch that its hand got stuck, and it took some effort to pull it free. Randall made a noise approximating “Mmffffgrrroooo” and waited for his eyes to start pointing toward the outside of his head.

The creature stood up and looked down at Randall with disdain. “I've fought some unworthy opponents in my time, but you top them all. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“I can't,” Randall managed to say. “I hurt too much.”

“Well, the great thing about pain is that you can always have a little more.” It picked Randall up by the hair, subtracting one more item from his body-parts-that-don't-hurt list, and threw him against the other wall. As he struck the floor, his foot landed on top of the torch.

“Ow! Ow!” said Randall, jumping up in a burst of adrenaline. “Bad pain! Bad pain!”

And then, seeing his chance, he slammed his foot into the creature's groin, this time connecting with an almost supernatural accuracy. The flame instantly transferred from foot to groin.

“GAAAAHHHH!” the creature shouted.

It began bouncing around, shrieking, trying to pat out the flames. Then it clutched at its chest and let out a gasp.

“Oooh, my heart!”

The creature fell face-down on the floor, then lay motionless. Randall prodded it with his non-smoldering foot. The Bull Creature was, as far as he could tell, dead. Unfortunately, its heart remained on the inside of its body.

* * * *

“NO, NO, NO, no, no!” said Abner. “We have to see it! We can't just take your word for it!”

“People have lied to us before,” Dale explained. “And it wounds me inside.”

Randall clenched his fists with frustration. “Look, the bull is dead! All you have to do is walk ten feet into the lousy maze and you'll see it!”

“Nope, sorry,” said Abner. “Gotta have the heart.”

“I don't have anything to dig with! Won't you morons just follow me down there for a few seconds so I can show you?”

“Not if you're going to be grumpy about it, no.”

Randall seriously considered pounding his head against the wall, but in his current condition there was no guarantee that the skin would hold everything inside.

“Just lend me a knife, or some false teeth, anything!”

“Nope. Gotta follow the rules. Weren't you paying attention to the lecture? We'd hate to have to make you listen to it all over again.”

After glaring at both of them to ensure they knew he was not in any way pleased with the current situation, Randall went back down the stairs and into the area with the Bull Creature.

Except that the creature was gone.

“Oh, defecation,” said Randall.

The creature burst out of hiding and caught Randall in a bear hug. “I'm gonna crush you like an elderly woman!” it snarled, as it squeezed tighter and tighter.

Seeing no other option, Randall jerked his face forward and bit the creature on the cheek with all the dental prowess he could muster, filling his mouth with the taste of raw beef. The creature let out a squeal and began hopping up and down, trying in vain to dislodge Randall's teeth. Finally it pried him away and threw him against the wall once more.

“Ah, that stung!” said the creature, feeling the imprint on its cheek. “And your teeth aren't even straight—I look like some kind of freak!”

Randall got up, feeling as if he were leaving several bones behind, and went down one of the paths. He wove his way around in what seemed to be a circle, and emerged right behind the bull.

He tapped it on the shoulder. “Booga-booga!”

“Aaacck!” The creature clutched at its heart again. “Don't do that!” Then it fell to the floor, unmoving.

* * * *

“I DON'T believe this!” Randall cried out, clenching his fists, feet, and teeth in frustration. “I went to all the effort of dragging this very unlight bull halfway up these stairs and it's still not good enough?”

Abner and Dale shook their heads. “Gotta have the heart.”

Randall pounded on the creature's chest. “The heart is right here! This is ridiculous!”

Dale stifled a snicker. “I guess you could say this is a bunch of b—” Abner punched Dale in the jaw, knocking him unconscious before he could finish the sentence.

“Please,” begged Randall, “just show me some mercy!”

“You're wasting valuable time.”

So Randall returned to the Maze. After about half an hour of aimless wandering, he found the skeleton of somebody much more fortunate who had been put out of his misery. A sword and shield were still clutched in its bony hands. The diamonds in the sword hilt were only medium-sized, and the gold plating of the shield was fairly dusty, but they would have to suffice.

He returned to the entrance of the maze after another half hour of searching (as it turned out, the maze was only about ten feet square—but it was a very complicated ten feet). The bull creature was still dead.

“Have fun,” said Dale, holding a ice-filled cloth to his head.

Randall rushed forward, slicing Abner across the thigh with the sword. Abner dropped to his knees in pain. Randall spun around and pointed the sword at Dale. “I don't feel like getting the heart,” he said.

“That's okay,” said Dale. “We didn't really need it anyway. The Dark One may be evil, but he's not disgusting.”

“Take me to the Dark One,” Randall demanded.

“What if I refuse?”

“I'll find him myself and report your lack of cooperation.”

“Okay, I'll take you there, but you have to be nice to him, all right? You can't go calling him names or spitting at him or stuff that's going to make me look bad.”

Randall lunged backwards with the sword, poking Abner in the hip and preventing an ambush. “I wasn't gonna do anything!” Abner insisted. “Jeez!”

“The Dark One doesn't have a dress code, does he?” asked Randall, noting his torn, dirt-covered clothing.

“Nah. Just cover what needs to be covered and he's happy.”

“Good. Let's go.”

Chapter 23

A Collection of Words

THE DARK One looked up from his dastardly needlepoint as Randall and Dale entered the throne room. “Who dares enter my lair?” he demanded.

“Well,” Dale gulped, “there's me, and then there's the person next to me, who says his name is Randall. He could be lying, though! I take no responsibility for anything he says!”

“Take this Randall to be killed,” the Dark One ordered.

Dale's shoulders slumped. “We just did that. It's the redundancy of this job that makes it so unbearable sometimes. Oh well,” he motioned for Randall to follow him, “let's go.”

“I survived the Maze!” Randall said. “I think I deserve an audience with you!”

The Dark One leaned forward in his throne. “You defeated the Bull Creature?”

“I did.”

“Shall I order a new bull, Master?” Scrivener asked.

“No. Now I can convert that maze into the historical museum I've always wanted without all my laborers being killed by that smelly thing.” He pointed to Dale. “Servant, leave us!”

“Yes, Master.” Dale hesitated for a moment, unsure of the proper protocol, then settled for a curtsy and left the room.

The Dark One looked thoughtfully at Randall. “So, you must be quite a hero, then.”

“Not really. Just a squire with an attitude.”

“A squire?” The Dark One threw his head back and laughed. “After all the knights fed to the creature, his untimely end comes at the hands of a squire? How delightfully ironic! Of course, all those knights probably weakened it for you, but it's still quite amusing!”

“I'm not here to amuse you,” said Randall. “You've taken some of my friends. I want them set free.”

“Well, I desire a woman who won't immolate herself rather than play footsie with me, but we don't always get what we want. Do we, Scrivener?”

“I'm still waiting for a toothbrush to call my own,” said the dwarf.

“See? There's disappointment everywhere. Squire, I think someone of your courage might be perfect to rule at my side.”

“I'll never join you!”

“Okay.” The Dark One pressed a button on his throne, and the floor beneath Randall suddenly collapsed. He dropped ten feet into a room with an iron floor and walls. The walls to his left and right were covered with hundreds of sharp spikes.

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-full 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.

* * * *

Reader Participation Segment!

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.

Chapter 24

Maturity Wasteland

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

~The End~

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

~The End~

(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?”

“I'm on a quest to resurrect Princess Janice of Mosiman. Without her, a realm stretching for six kingdoms will suffer.”

“Oh.” The lion looked sheepish. “Listen, I'm sorry I gave you so many problems. I don't know what comes over me sometimes. I was on Thorazine, but the prescription ran out, and, well, we never got around to refilling it. You know how it is.”

“Of course.”

“Hey, J!” the lion shouted. “Some people here want to talk to you! Get your boondocks out here!”

The door swung open, revealing Jenstina the Ogre.

“Wow...” said Yvonne, as she and Randall both stared.

Jenstina looked uncomfortable. “Ummm ... may I help you?”

“Sorry,” said Randall. “I guess we didn't expect you to be quite so much of a stud muffin.”

Jenstina struck a pose that accented his manly body, and gave a smile that accented his handsome face. “I know, I know, ogres are supposed to be grotesque. Well, I always say that you should always try to look your best, which is why I use Momma Helga's Beauty Ooze.”

“It's very impressive,” said Randall.

“Go on—look me up and down. You'll be glad you did.”

Randall and Yvonne looked him over. As Randall's eyes lowered to his sandaled feet, he made an observation. “You don't have any toes.”

“Nope. Toes just get in the way.”

“I guess it goes without saying that since you don't have any toes, you probably don't have any toenails, either.”

“Nothing goes without saying if you're dumb enough.”

Randall sighed. “Sorry to have wasted your time. We'll be going as soon as the Dark One teleports us out of here.”

“Say, you two wouldn't happen to be interested in seeing my toenail collection, would you?” asked Jenstina. “It's the fourth largest-one in the land! I've got toenails from far and wide! Human toenails! Dwarf toenails! Kiriki toenails! Toenails that have been chewed on! Toenails that have grown so long that they curl around! Hang-toenails! I've got them all!”

“I'd love to see it!” exclaimed Randall.

“Well, come on in!” Jenstina stepped back into his hut, gesturing for Randall and Yvonne to follow. Toenails, thousands of them, hung from the walls, all of them clearly labeled. The dinner table was fashioned from one giant toenail, with a second toenail split into four parts functioning as the legs. The place smelled rather bad, but that had little effect upon its glory.

“This is incredible,” said Randall, overcome with emotion. “I mean, I've never seen so many toenails in one place before!”

Jenstina beamed with pride. “I plucked them myself.”

Yvonne was truly awestruck. “Amazing. Just amazing.” She put her hand on Jenstina's shoulder. “You are truly a great man.”

“Thanks,” said the ogre. “My father always said, son, you've got to have a purpose in life. His was to cross a moose and a bullfrog.”

“What did he hope to get?”

“A really ugly bullfrog.”

“So what made you start collecting toenails?”

“Well, I started with fingernails, simply because you see them more frequently on a daily basis. But something was lacking, the spark just wasn't there. Then one day I pulled off some guy's toenail by mistake—my morning cider had fermented a little too much, I guess—and there it was! The spark! The thunder! This was what I wanted to do with my life! And here I am, three weeks later.”

“Is this stuff insured?” Randall asked.

“You better believe it. For both theft and potential health hazards.”

“I want to remember this visit for the rest of my life. Do you give out souvenirs?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. Surely you can part with just one of them.”

“No toenail will leave this hut.”

“Please?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, look, here's the deal,” said Randall. “I need one of your toenails to give to the witch Grysh! If I don't get it, Princess Janice will stay dead forever! This is vital!”

Jenstina folded his arms. “No.”

“Please! You don't understand how important this is!”

“Yes, I do. I just don't care all that much.” The ogre thought for a moment. “I guess we'll just have to find a toenail that I haven't had time to grow attached to yet.”

“Great! Which one?”

Jenstina held up a pair of pliers. “Yours.”

Randall went pale. “I beg your pardon?”

“It's simple. You give me one of your toenails. It becomes mine. I give it back to you. You then own a toenail from Jenstina the Ogre.”

“Look, man, you've got toenails everywhere! Why can't you just give me one of them!”

“I don't want to.” Jenstina snapped the jaws of the pliers shut. “This is your only chance.”

“I've went through a lot of pain these past couple days,” said Randall. “But this ... this is just too much. I'm begging you! Don't force me to give up my toenail!”

Yvonne stepped forward. “I love Randall with all of my heart. If I have to make a sacrifice for him, then I will.” She kicked off her shoe, and held her foot up to Jenstina. “Take mine.”

“Yvonne, you don't have to do this!”

“Yes, I do. I have to do it for us.” She looked at the ogre. “You use anesthesia, right?”

Jenstina shook his head.

“Oh ... well ... do it anyway. I will suffer the pain!”

Jenstina lowered the pliers and clamped the jaws shut upon the toenail of Yvonne's big toe. She squeezed her eyes shut. Randall took her hand and held it tight.

“Sacrifice...” she whispered.

“We'll be together always,” Randall told her. “Always.”

“Always...” Yvonne whispered.

“I love you so very much,” Randall said.

“Love...” Yvonne whispered.

“It'll grow back, for crying out loud,” said Jenstina.

“Do it!” said Yvonne. “Do it now! Do it while I can feel the love pouring through my being! Do it while the strength of a thousand martyrs flows through my veins, giving me the power to make this eternal sacrifice in the name of Love!”

Jenstina's grip on the pliers tightened.

“The time has come,” he said.

“The time is now,” Yvonne whispered.

The room seemed to darken. Randall felt an aching in his very soul that he thought might never vanish.

And then....

With all his might....

Or at least most of his might....

Jenstina....

The ogre....

Yanked!

“OW!” screamed Yvonne. “Damn that hurt! Son of a bitch!” She began limping around the room, wincing with each step. “Criminy! Ow, ow, ow! Freakin’ crap! Dang!”

“Are you okay, my love?” Randall asked.

“Hell no I'm not okay! That jerk pulled out my friggin’ toenail! Ouch! Jeez, it stings like a bastard!”

“Here you go,” said the ogre, handing the toenail to Randall. “It's a fine specimen. I don't suppose she'd let me have one for my collection?”

“Ow! Farkin’ jeepers!”

“No,” said Randall, “I wouldn't think so.”

POOF!

Suddenly they were back in the lair of the Dark One.

“Excellent! You got it! That leaves only Shreddriff the Berserker.” The Dark One considered that. “Do you think he'll misbehave? Should I have some guards ready to subdue him?”

“Might be a good idea,” said Randall. “You never can tell with these berserkers.”

“Very well, it shall be done. Now, off with you!”

POOF!

Suddenly they were on a small island out in the middle of the ocean. Across from them, maybe fifteen feet away, was another small island, containing a palm tree and little else. A man with long, wild hair and filthy rags for clothing stood upon the island, frantically scribbling something on a piece of bark. He rolled up the bark, shoved it into a bottle, then heaved the bottle as far as he could into the ocean. It promptly sank.

“Wooga wooga!” shouted the berserker in frustration. He fell to his knees and began digging.

“That would be our berserker,” said Randall.

Shreddriff dug up another bottle, tore a strip of bark from the palm tree, and began writing on it again. Once again he shoved it into the bottle and threw it into the ocean. Once again it sank. “Wooga wooga!”

“Pardon us for interrupting!” Randall called out. “But if you closed up the bottle, it wouldn't sink.”

The berserker looked over at Randall and immediately went nutzo, running around the island screaming incoherent babble. He started biting the tree.

Randall and Yvonne exchanged concerned looks. “So, who wants to swim across and say hi?” asked Yvonne.

Shreddriff bit a huge chunk out of the tree, swallowed, and then began jumping up and down, flapping his arms. “Wooga wooga! Wooga wooga!” After a few moments, he calmed down a bit and began breathing deeply. “Breathe in ... breathe out...ahhhh.”

“Are you okay?” Randall asked.

The berserker screamed at the top of his lungs and began clawing at the air. Finally he dropped onto his back and closed his eyes. “Just relax ... you're on a sunny beach ... no cares in the world...”

“I hate to disturb you,” said Randall. “But we can get you off that island and bring you back to civilization!”

Shreddriff sat up. “Civilization made me like this!”

“Then why were you trying to send messages?”

“To tell those civilized punks I don't need them!” He began screaming and turning cartwheels. Then he ran around the tree a few times, ending with an impressive triple axle.

“We need your help,” said Randall. “If you'll come back with us, I'll see to it that you're returned safely.”

“Fine, no problem,” said the berserker. “But when you swim over here, be careful.”

A great white shark thrust its head out of the water and snapped its mighty jaws shut. Then it swam off, satisfied that it had made its point.

“Your turn to sacrifice,” Yvonne told Randall.

“Look, we're a little short on disposable limbs,” said Randall. “Is there another way over there?”

Shreddriff thought about it. “I guess I could part the waters.”

“I'll go for that,” said Randall.

“Promise not to call me a show-off?”

“I promise.”

“Because the last guy, he called me a show-off.”

“I won't call you a show-off.”

Shreddriff dramatically raised his arms. The ocean between the two islands parted. Unfortunately, there was still more water beneath that which had been parted. A shark stuck its head out and growled.

“Guess it's too deep,” said Shreddriff, lowering his hands. The ocean spilled back into place. Shreddriff began screaming and juggling some bottles that he hurriedly dug up. “Wooga wooga!”

“What does wooga wooga mean?” Randall asked.

“I don't know,” said Shreddriff. “I think it's Italian.”

Randall pointed at the palm tree. “If you managed to knock that over, we could walk across it!”

Shreddriff looked at the tree. “You've gotta be kidding!”

“It was just an idea.”

“I should hope so. Do you know how much work it is to put this thing back up every time it falls over?”

“I can have somebody help you with it,” promised Randall.

“All right, all right.” Shreddriff gave the tree a good flick with his index finger and it toppled over, landing in the water with a huge splash.

“Ummm,” said Randall, “I kind of meant that it was supposed to fall toward us.”

“It's missing details like that which make civilization such a crock,” Shreddriff told him.

“If we all swam and met each other half-way, that would reduce our chances of getting eaten by the sharks,” said Yvonne.

“Who's worried about the sharks?” asked Shreddriff. “These don't eat humans. I was concerned about getting my clothes all wet. These things weren't inexpensive, you know.”

With a sigh, Randall and Yvonne dove into the water and swam over to the other island. “Take my hand so you'll teleport back with us,” Randall said to Shreddriff.

“Does it hurt?”

“Nope.”

“Will it make my stomach feel gooshy?”

“Not at all.”

“Will the sudden change in surroundings startle me?”

“I doubt it.”

“Okay.”

POOF!

“Eeep!” said Shreddriff as they reappeared in the lair of the Dark One. “You lied about the gooshy stomach part!”

Several guards immediately grabbed the berserker. “Leave him alone!” Randall shouted. “He's tame ... mostly...”

“So, you have everything you need,” said the Dark One. “Now, we shall join forces and rule this entire land!” He extended his wicked hand. “Let us shake to clench the deal!”

Randall reached out and clasped his hand.

“To evil,” said the Dark One.

“To your demise,” said Randall, yanking his hand away.

And then, all heck broke loose.

Chapter 25

The Almost-Final Conflict

“CAN'T YOU calm that berserker down?” demanded the Dark One. “I missed what the squire said!”

“Wooga wooga!” shouted Shreddriff, kicking one of the guards in the face with a foot that shouldn't have been anywhere near a human face, for reasons of hygiene alone. The other guards struggled to contain him, but were having serious difficulties in doing so.

“He said, ‘to your demise,'” Scrivener told the Dark One.

“What? But that's a bad thing! Have I joined forces with somebody who doesn't know the difference between good things and bad things?”

“Guess so,” said Scrivener.

“Then ... kill him! And her! And the berserker! And that bug next time you see it!”

Shreddriff threw one of the guards against the others, knocking all of them to the floor. “Run!” he yelled.

Deciding that the idea had merit, Randall and Yvonne ran for the doorway, with Shreddriff following closely behind. The Dark One stood up and grabbed a huge battle axe that had been resting next to his throne for use in killing mosquitoes. “They shall not escape!” he thundered. “Sound the alarms! Set the traps! Release the termites! It's gonna be Squire Shishkabob tonight!”

“Go, Dark One!” yelled Scrivener. “Woo! Woo! Woo!”

Randall & Co. ran down the hall, speeding past several guards. “Where are we headed?” Yvonne asked.

“To rescue the prisoners, and then to find a way out of this place!” said Randall.

“Sounds like a plan. Where are the prisoners?”

“Don't you know? You just came from there!”

“I wasn't paying attention! I was too busy trying to think happy thoughts!”

Shreddriff smiled. “I always like to think of Flippy, the Happy Chipmunk. He could always make me grin with his wild adventures and useful lessons about morality.”

Randall picked up his pace. “Forget Flippy! Flee from furious foes first! Faster, fellow fugitive friends, faster!”

“Alas,” said Yvonne, “alliteration almost always acts as an annoyance and an ardent aggravation. Any authentic admirable aesthetic attributes are admittedly absent at all articulate analysis. Anyway, abscond and accelerate adequately, allowing apprehension avoidance, admirable acquaintances and accomplices!”

“Big baddie!” said Shreddriff, as a guard that had to have been seven feet tall and three hundred pounds stepped into the hallway in front of them.

“You aren't going anywhere,” snarled the guard.

Randall glanced over his shoulder. The Dark One was rushing at them, battle axe high over his head. “Look!” Randall shouted at the guard. “Psycho lunatic with an axe at six o’ clock!”

“Run!” shouted the guard, turning around and fleeing.

“Attention all who serve the forces of evil!” announced a voice through the magical intercom system. “We have a code red!”

“Oh no!” exclaimed the fleeing guard. “That's the bad one!”

“I repeat, we have a code red. Be on the lookout for a squire, in decent physical shape, no noteworthy deformities. With him is a woman, also in good shape, recognizable by the cute way her nose crinkles when she smiles. They are to be terminated with extreme prejudice. Pretend they're those singing elves we all hate. This is your magical announcement system, signing off. Have a productive day!”

At the next intersection, Randall, Yvonne, and Shreddriff veered to the right. Randall gasped as his foot snapped a wire that stretched across the hall. “You have just activated the self-destruct mechanism for this lair of doom,” said a perky female voice. “Ka-boom in ten minutes.”

They continued running. Another wire snapped. “You have just activated the flooding mechanism for this lair of doom. A dangerously high level of water will begin rushing through the corridors in five minutes, starting with the prison.”

“We don't have much time!” said Randall, as they reached another left-right intersection.

“Wrong!” said the Dark One, stepping into the hallway. “You don't have any time!” He threw the axe with both hands. It sailed right in between Randall and Yvonne and thunked into the wall behind them. “Okay, you have a little more time.”

A huge, clawed fist broke through the wall, grabbed the axe, and pulled it back through. Something roared. “See what you made me do?” said the Dark One. “You've awakened the Beast With Tentacles and Sharp Teeth!”

A clawed foot broke through the wall. Randall, Yvonne, and Shreddriff took this as their cue to run down the left corridor at top speed. As they ran, Randall broke a beam of light, causing darts to start firing from the floor and ceiling.

They rushed around the corner, and immediately screeched to a halt at the sight of the ten-foot-wide pit in front of them. The bottom and sides were lined with hundreds of needle-sharp spikes with thorns attached to them.

“We'll never be able to jump that far!” said Yvonne.

“Look!” shouted Randall, pointing to the other side. The only exit was a doorway, with a iron gate slowly descending, just about to close it off and prevent their escape.

The Beast burst into view. It was a truly disgusting creature, all tentacles and teeth and slime and eyes and suckers. Its tentacles shot forward, wrapping around Yvonne and Shreddriff, holding them tight.

“It's got us! We're trapped!” shrieked Yvonne.

Another tentacle shot out, wrapped around Randall's leg, and began pulling him toward the creature's open mouth.

Then Randall remembered that he was still holding the sword and shield. With a quick lunge he cleaved off the tentacle, then swiftly lopped off the ones holding Yvonne and Shreddriff. As the Beast yelped in pain, Randall swung the tentacle, wrapping it around a hook in the ceiling just over the pit.

“Grab a hold of me!” Randall said. “We'll swing across!”

Yvonne and Shreddriff wrapped their arms around him, and they swung across the pit. Until the tentacle broke.

“Whew!” said Randall. “Good thing we were on the other side when it broke.”

The iron gate continued to drop.

“Crawl under it!” said Shreddriff. “Quickly!”

They all dropped onto their stomachs and crawled under the gate, an instant before it slammed onto the floor, sealing off the exit.

“We're safe!” said Randall.

“Except for that giant stone boulder rolling towards us!” Yvonne cried out. They took off running down the rounded corridor, as the boulder got closer and closer.

“Oh no!” shouted Shreddriff. “It's a dead end!”

Suddenly the boulder burst into flames, making it even deadlier.

“Dive into a corner!” said Randall.

The three of them dove into the corners, pressing themselves in tightly to avoid being crushed. The boulder passed over them, igniting them but not squishing them, and smashed into the dead-end wall, breaking through and letting loose a huge flood of water that doused the flames and began carrying Randall, Yvonne, and Shreddriff back down the hallway at a perilous speed.

“Oh no!” shouted Randall. “Watch out for the spears protruding from the ceiling just ahead!”

“And the ones protruding from the walls!” added Yvonne.

“And the ones protruding from the floor!” added Shreddriff.

They hurtled past the spears, narrowly avoiding certain death at their tips. The water carried them around several curves, until—

“Watch out!” shouted Randall. “The floor drops out!”

“We're going to plummet to a place unknown!” cried Yvonne.

They went over the edge, falling fifty or sixty or seventy feet until they landed in a cavern with stone walls and a floor covered waist-deep with mud. It took almost a minute for the water from above to quit pouring down upon them.

“Okay, let's not panic,” said Randall. “It could be worse.”

“It's worse,” said Shreddriff. “This isn't mud.” He swallowed a mouthful. “No, wait, I guess it is. My mistake.”

There was one exit, at the far end of the cavern. “Hurry!” said Randall. “We've got to reach the prison before it floods in five minutes from when I accidentally set off the flooding mechanism back about three or so minutes ago!”

“We'll never make it!” Yvonne declared.

“We can't give up now! We just have to move quickly!”

“Especially since something with fangs just brushed past my leg,” said Shreddriff. “And there goes another one!”

It took them a full minute to reach the exit. “Oh no!” said Yvonne. “I just realized something! This isn't regular mud! This is the Poison Mud of Ferrenz! If we don't get the antidote in two minutes, we'll die!”

“No time for that now!” said Randall. “To the prison!”

“I just remembered!” said Yvonne, pointing forward. “The prison is that way!”

“That's the only way this path goes.”

“I know, but it's the right way! Let's go!”

Thirty seconds later, they rounded a corner which led to the prison. The latest group of women, children, and short men were being locked in cells by a crew of six guards.

“Do either of you know how to do that thing where you stick your little fingers in your mouth so that you can do a really loud whistle?” Randall whispered.

“Not me,” said Shreddriff.

“I do,” said Yvonne. “Want me to teach you?”

“Yeah, would you?”

“Okay, first extend your pinkies. Yeah, just like that, you're doing great. Now stick one in each end of your mouth, keeping your lips just a little bit apart. Perfect. Now, when you blow, you're going to need to vibrate your tongue against the roof of your mouth. Try it.”

Randall did, but nothing but soundless air came out.

“Vibrate your tongue a little more.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah, you've got the idea. Now try it with all the elements in place, and you should be able to do the whistle.”

Randall let out a piercing whistle, getting the attention of the guards and prisoners.

“Everyone, listen to me! Any second now this prison is going to be flooded! And then, a few minutes later, this whole place is going to blow up! It would behoove you guards to get everyone outside, or you're going to lose everything you've worked for these past couple days!”

“And why should we believe you?” asked a guard.

“The Dark One said so.”

“Oh. Okay.” He turned to his co-workers. “Let's get ‘em out of here.”

“One question,” said Randall. “Where are the other prisoners? The ones in group A, I think it was called.”

“The new group would be up on the third floor, in the Training Room. To get there, you need to go out the north exit, go up two flights of stairs, go down the hall past the Inservice Room, make a right, go past the gymnasium, make a left, and it's the first door on your right.”

“No, no,” said another guard. “You turn before you reach the gym.”

“Are you sure? I could've sworn it was after the gym.”

“Well, if you're that certain, I could very well be mistaken. It's happened before, as you'll remember.”

“Turn left after the gym,” the guard told Randall.

“Thanks.” Randall gestured for Yvonne and Shreddriff to follow him, and they hurried through the prison and out the north exit. “Yvonne, where would we find the antidote for the mud?”

Yvonne shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Well, what's it called?”

“Water.”

Randall sighed. “Okay, everyone keep your eyes open. Some water is bound to show up eventually. Be on the lookout for a mop bucket or something.”

They rushed up the stairs, when ssssssssssssssssuddenly aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa....

* * * *

HI, THIS IS the author talking to you. I know, I really shouldn't be breaking in so late in the book, and I've probably messed up all the momentum of this action sequence, but we had a bit of a computer error here. I won't get into the details, except to say that about 48 pages accidentally got deleted. If I had time, I'd retype them, but my editor already has a big crab up his fanny because I'm a few months over deadline. The guy is in serious need of relaxation techniques. Increase the dosage, buddy! Anyway, I figured I'd just summarize what happened. And I won't lie to you—it's not like the missing pages were all that great. There were a couple decent bits here and there, and another tongue joke that was fairly well-written, but character development took a nosedive and the symbolism was kind of heavy-handed.

Okay, so you've got Randall and Yvonne and Shreddriff going up the stairs, right? They found some water up there, which took care of the poison problem with only a minor cop-out on my part. Then this guy came out and ... no, wait, that was later. First there was this dragon, and Randall had a really big fight with it, finally slaying it. Unless it was Shreddriff that killed it...? I threw my notes away, so bear with me. No, I just remembered, it was Randall that got the dragon, and then they were looking for the prisoners, and then that guy came out and, no, sorry, I messed up again. I know that guy appeared somewhere, though.

Ah, who cares? They found the room where the prisoners were being trained, and that's where there was this big fight. A war, actually. I'm not lying when I say that this was one cool battle scene. You should've seen the guts fly! Whoa-mama! Then there was a sex scene, which I kind of wish hadn't been deleted, although I have to admit that I was overly enthusiastic and ended it too soon. You know what? I just realized that I never explained why the place didn't blow up! What a goofball I am sometimes! Okay, well, the magical self-destruct system had a malfunction. That'll work. So ... where was I? We've got Randall, Yvonne, Shreddriff, Toby, and Jack all free. Oh, yeah, I guess I should've mentioned that Toby and Jack were freed in the battle scene, along with the other prisoners. Oh, and before that, they found Bug and freed him, too.

Dang! I can't remember what happened right after that. Hold on, let me think. Ah, forget it. I know! You, the reader, can use your imagination! Just make it really good, okay? Thanks. So, right before the computer mess-up, we were at the final confrontation with the Dark One. Randall is standing at the edge of a huge pit of lava, and lots of guards are pointing arrows at him. The Dark One is saying all this weird stuff to play with Randall's mind, and get hidden memories to return, and that kind of evil deeds.

So ... back to the story!

No, wait, not yet. I don't know if I should make this a new chapter, or just let this one run kind of long. Hmmmmm. Ah, what the heck? A long chapter won't hurt anyone.

Now, back to the exciting conclusion!

* * * *

RANDALL HELD his arms out to keep his balance. The Dark One stepped closer. “Look within yourself,” he said. “Search for a secret long-kept. A revelation you have yet to accept.”

Randall closed his eyes, and the memories surfaced....

* * * *

GRANDMA UNFASTENED the final lock, and swung the attic door open. She took young Randy by the hand and led him upstairs.

The attic was filled with hundreds of crumpled pieces of parchment. Seated in a corner, holding a quill and scroll, he sat, unshaven and bleary-eyed. Sir Randall. Randy's father.

“Darn it, Mom! How am I supposed to get any writing done if you keep bothering me like this?” he hollered. “The muse was here and you scared it away! You scared my muse! How many times do I have to tell you that I need my muse! Go away! Go away and leave me in peace!”

Grandma led Randy back down the stairs, but not before the boy had a chance to grab one of the crumpled papers. Grandma began to relock the door. “I'm sorry,” she said, “but you had to see that. You had to know what your father's become.”

Randy uncrumpled the paper. The words, written in shaky handwriting, were so horrible to witness that Randy let out a cry. No. That couldn't be right. Not his own father! The characters on the page were kissing!

“That's right,” said Grandma, solemnly. “Your father writes girl books!”

And then Randy screamed and screamed.

* * * *

“YES,” SAID the Dark One. “Your father was a failed romance novelist. It became an obsession. It poisoned him inside. And now for another revelation...”

“Oh, I know this one,” said one of the guards. “I bet his father also ate slugs.”

Jack let out a whimper.

“Silence, you fool! Randall...I'm your father.”

“Daddy!” said Randall, stepping forward with open arms.

“Randall, no!” shouted Yvonne. “He's the bad guy!”

“Oh, yeah, that's right. And why should I believe anything I've been told?”

“Here is why,” said the Dark One, removing his mask. There was a collective shudder, and then various gagging and retching noises. And the Dark One stood, his face bare.

It was Sir Randall, no question about it. And he looked just like a slightly uglier version of his son.

“Eeeewwww!” said Yvonne. “Look at that chin—the cleft is crooked! And his nose is a little too wide ... his eyes are beady and too close together! It's grotesque!”

“Dad, how could you do this? You were such a big hero!”

“Listen to me, Son. I had finally got eight pages done on a book. Eight whole pages. Good ones! For the first time in my life, I was actually producing literature!”

“And then...?”