Slay and Rescue

by John Moore

  At that point, the dragon awoke.

  “Time to fall back on plan B,” said the Prince, but unfortunately the dragon seemed to have the same plan and charged.

  Charming left the room quickly, but not so quickly that he didn’t have the presence of mind to lead the dragon in the opposite direction from Ann and Wendell. The dragon roared through the door like a green flash flood, eyes bloodshot and angry, lips curled back from fangs in a vicious snarl. It caught a glimpse of Charming ducking into another doorway and followed at full speed, the sinewy body moving in a snake-like ripple, neck extended and scale-armored head held low like a battering ram. As it charged it let loose a roar, a shattering, grinding snarl that resounded with pure animal hatred.

  Dragons are very territorial.

  The Prince ducked into the next room he found with a simple plan in mind. He was going to stand by the doorway and jab the dragon in the eye as its head came though the door. Unfortunately, the room he chose happened to be filled with tapestries. Not just one but several layers covered the floor and hung from all of the walls. As Charming pressed himself against the cloth, the dragon skidded to a stop outside, scanned the opening suspiciously, and filled the doorway with a blast of flame that instantly ignited the rugs on the floor and both sides of the doorway. Caught in the crossfire, so to speak, and momentarily blinded by the smoke, the Prince was forced deeper into the room by the flames. Coughing, he threw down a book case and stood behind it, ready to make his stand.

  The dragon did not appear.

  “Oh, bloody hell,” said the Prince. The room was burning up fast and he had to get out. With three quick strokes of his sword, he cut a tapestry down from the wall and draped it over himself, using it for protection while he dashed through the flames and into the hall again. Tossing the smoking rug aside, he saw the dragon trotting down the hall, turning its head from side to side as it sniffed the air.

  “Damn. He’s sniffing her out. Why do they always go for the maidens?”

  A sudden role reversal took place. The dragon broke into a full run, chasing down the female scent while the Prince followed in hot pursuit, waving his arms and yelling, trying to distract the beast away from its mission. To no avail. The dragon reached Ann’s hiding place with certainty, hesitating not a second as it reared on its hind legs and then brought its full weight to bear on the bolted door. The front claws shattered the wood into kindling; with a triumphant roar the animal tore the door from its frame.

  Inside, Ann was hanging from the top shelf of a bookcase, trying to open one of the casement windows. Wendell was balanced on the second shelf, maintaining a precarious foothold while both hands pushed upward on Ann’s bottom. As the door came crashing down, he let go and leaped to grab one of the extra swords. It was not a well-planned move, however, for the immediate effect was to have Ann lose her grip and come down on his head. A few books sprang loose and thumped down on them, then the whole shelf toppled over, showering them with manuscripts and then burying the unfortunate couple. All this happened in less time than it takes to tell, of course, and the sudden collapse of the shelf, along with the disappearance of the two intended victims, threw the dragon’s feeble brain into confusion. It stopped its headlong charge, sniffed the air suspiciously, and opened its mouth to blast the area with flame. At this point Prince Charming arrived.

  He was running down the hall at full speed and could only see the dragon’s tail protruding from the doorway. Spying a bare patch where the scales had molted away, he bore down on it with both hands on his sword. The tempered steel bit deep into the armored flesh, stopped when it hit bone. A thin geyser of blood erupted from the wound and the spikes on the thrashing tail scored deep gouges in the wood of the door frame. The animal choked off its fire to give a blood-curdling screech, then forgetting the room’s two occupants, it whipped around in a tight arc and galloped out the door.

  Charming was waiting for it.

  After chopping at the dragon’s tail he sprang back, out of the way of the deadly spikes. Now he charged back at full speed, sword held up and angled downward, aimed where he estimated the dragon’s eyes would appear. The beast’s head, eyeballs red with rage, crooked teeth bared, came through the door like it had been fired from a catapult. Charming ran straight at it, striking at the malevolent eye with every ounce of strength he could muster. He missed.

  It was a difficult thrust, even for Charming, a running stab attempted under stress at a palm-sized target emerging from a room at right angles to the attack. It is amazing, in fact, that he was able to come as close as he did. Endeavor’s steel scored a deep groove in the scaly plating just above the dragon’s eye socket, causing the beast to howl with rage again. The sword then glanced off the tough hide and Charming ran headlong into the dragon’s neck.

  The beast was charging too fast to stop, or even to turn its head and fry him. Reflexively it shrugged its assailant off and batted at him with a clawed foot, but Charming caught and blocked this blow with his sword. The dragon checked its charge by crashing into the wall in front of it, fourteen feet of armored fury piling up against the masonry, sending loosened bricks and bits of mortar flying. By the time it got itself straightened out, Charming had his back to it and was leading a healthy retreat down the hall and away from Ann. The dragon shot a lungful of flame after him but the Prince was already down the hall. The reptile succeeded only in setting fire to the wooden molding.

  Charming found himself in a long hallway, hung with oil paintings and lined with an array of white painted doors with tarnished brass knobs. Unfortunately, they all seemed to be locked. The bare hallway offered little in the way of protection and nothing in the way of concealment. Around the corner he could hear the approaching clackety-clack of clawed feet on the stone floor. He bounced from door to door, trying the knobs, pausing once to look at a tiny door with a keyhole. It had been meant to set flush with the wall and be almost invisible, but the door and the wall around it had been so scored with teeth and claw marks that it stood out like a sore thumb. Charming passed it after a moment and proceeded directly to end of the hall. It held a fireplace, topped by a marble mantelpiece, over which hung a painting of a beautiful, young, blond, girl in a simple white dress. Charming glanced at it, then reached into the fireplace, filled with twenty-year-old ashes, and pulled out a fire iron. It was black and heavy, and when he swung it against the nearest door the wood splintered with a satisfying crack.

  The sound of the dragon’s claws at the opposite end of the hall slowed down and stopped. Having been cut once, the animal was wary. The Prince stopped and waited. The dragon’s snout appeared around the corner and it sprayed the hallway with flame, igniting a few portraits and peeling the paint from the walls. Charming started on the door again. Three more good whacks with the fire iron and the bolt split from the frame. He jumped inside as the dragon began another charge.

  The door did not open up into a room. Instead, it led to a narrow staircase that spiraled up to the second floor. It was meant simply to be a set of utility stairs for the servants, for the stone was rough, unfinished, and the width was barely larger than the Prince’s shoulders. Charming ran up the first six steps, until he was almost out of sight behind the curve of the spiral, and waited. He didn’t think it was likely that the dragon would try to squeeze itself into the narrow staircase, but he could hope.

  His hope was fulfilled. The dragon did indeed follow Charming. It jammed its shoulders into the staircase, after spraying the entrance with flame. The Prince ducked up the stairs, but he could feel the heat at his back. He got to the second floor landing and waited, breathing heavily. He could hear the scraping of the dragon’s scales on the stone as the animal slowly forced its body between the walls. He waited confidently. He would go for the eye again. It was really the only kill spot. The dragon had nowhere to go but up and the stairs were too narrow for it to take evasive action. It would be almost too easy now. Certainly nothing to brag about. He waited at the exit to the second floor landin
g, sword ready. When the dragon’s head appeared he drove the blade in deep.

  This time he did not miss, but the results were far from what he expected. The dragon roared furiously, whipping its head from side to side, banging it against the door frame and ripping the sword from Charming’s hand. The Prince backed away quickly as the wounded animal set loose torrents of flame in all directions. All in all, it appeared far from dead. It stretched out its front feet, dug the claws into the wooden floor, and began leveraging itself out of the stairwell. Charming took off.

  He found the main staircase with no problem, but descended into a thick curtain of smoke for the dragon’s fire had spread rapidly. Near the library the smoke was so thick that he ran into Wendell and Ann before he saw them. Ann threw her arms around his neck and Wendell threw his arms around his waist and they hugged him. The Prince disentangled himself.

  “Wendell, remember all those stories we heard about killing a dragon by stabbing it through the eye?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re all nonsense. Listen.”

  Upstairs they could hear the dragon roaring and stomping about. Downstairs the smoke was growing thicker and the crackle of flame was growing louder.

  “I think it’s time to fall back on plan B,” Ann shouted above the noise.

  “Good idea. You’re getting the hang of this.” The Prince grabbed a poker from the fireplace and took off. “But first, this way.”

  They followed him into the smoke, dashing through corridors lined with flame. After the first few corners, Ann shouted, “This isn’t the way out!”

  “I know.” The Prince didn’t stop.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The Princess.” Charming stopped in a hallway where white paint was blistering from the walls. “Princess Aurora. The sleeping babe, remember?” He pointed to a small door with a tiny keyhole.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Give me a hand here, Wendell.” The page helped him insert the fire poker into the door frame. They both threw their weight on the iron bar. “They always go for the maidens. Dragons, I mean. Look at all these claw marks.” The wood split and the door popped open. “He wanted to get in here badly.”

  “Maidens and dogs,” said Ann, as they started up the stairs “You better hope this isn’t the secret passage to the kennels.” This staircase was even narrower than the servants’ stairs; Charming had to turn sideways to negotiate it. But the steps, instead of being rough-hewn stone, were very finely finished, so the Prince was encouraged. They went up five flights, with smoke pouring past them and the air growing rapidly hotter.

  “This staircase is acting like a chimney,” Wendell said suddenly. “Sire, we may not be able to get back down.” The Prince pushed doggedly upward, feeling his way through the darkness and smoke, holding on to Ann’s arm, who held on to Wendell’s shoulder. His right hand, groping forward, found a door, then a door knob. The door was unlocked. He pushed it forward and all three companions tumbled inside, along with a billow of gray smoke. Wendell shut the door behind them and the smoke spread out and enveloped the room in a faint gray pall.

  They were in one of the corner towers of the castle, a round room about ten feet in diameter. Four large windows faced north, south, east, and west, giving it a light and airy spaciousness. Charming opened one of the windows and looked down. The waters of the moat sparkled below. A light breeze cleared away most of the smoke, revealing dainty, pink-lacquered furniture, and frilly clothing scattered about the floor or draped over chairs. A small, framed sketch of a young man stood on the vanity table along with a vase of dried and withered roses. A delicate Oriental jug and basin sat on one of the window sills, the water long since evaporated, the bright pinks and greens of the ceramic turned pastel by the thick coating of dust.

  There was something on the bed.

  It was a low, square bed with a pink canopy and lots of ruffles and lace on the coverlet. Ann knelt down next to it. “Look,” she said quietly, “She was wearing her wedding dress.”

  The dried remains of a young girl lay on the bed. She was dressed in white satin, a white lace veil across her face and the train of her gown spread out around her. Cracked and blackened skin stretched across her frame except at the joints where the white bones showed through. The lips had shriveled away from the teeth, giving her a rictal, death-mask grin, and the sightless, eyeless sockets still stared upward. Only the thick main of blond hair seemed untouched by time.

  “That’s really gross,” said Wendell.

  “Shut up, Wendell,” said Ann. “This is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.” A thin gold chain looped around the corpse’s neck, holding a locket that rested on her chest. Ann unclasped it. It held a miniature portrait of a handsome young man. “Her prince. I wonder if he ever came.”

  “Probably downstairs in the pile of bones.”

  “He looks like you,” said Wendell.

  “I’m better looking.” Charming’s eyes were still fixed on the corpse. His brow furrowed as though wrestling with a weighty problem.

  Wendell checked the stairway. It was like opening the door to a blacksmith’s furnace. He slammed it shut again. Ashes that blew in settled to the floor. “Sire, I think we have to get out of here.”

  “I’m not going to do it,” said Charming, loudly and suddenly.

  “What?”

  “Kiss the girl. I’m not going to do it.”

  “Of course not,” said Ann. “What are you talking about?”

  “Kiss the girl. Break the spell. What Mandelbaum said.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake! She’s dead. She’s not sleeping, Charming. Whatever spell was cast over her is long past breaking.”

  “Right,” said Charming, but his voice lacked conviction. “She’s dead. A lifeless bag of bones. A dried-out husk. No way she’s going to be revived. Right, Wendell?”

  “Well,” said Wendell hesitantly, “Mandelbaum said…”

  “I don’t believe you two,” said Ann. “You have to be really sick even to think about kissing this… thing.”

  “Yeah, right,” said the Prince. “Stupid idea. Well, I guess we better get out of here.” He didn’t move, though. Neither did Wendell.

  “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  “But, it is my duty.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “You never wanted me to kiss her anyway, did you? You were jealous.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake!” Ann stamped away from the bed. “I assure you I’m not jealous now. Go ahead and kiss the darn thing, already. This is too disgusting to argue about any further.”

  Charming approached the bed and knelt by its side. He leaned over the corpse. Empty sockets stared at him. Teeth grinned mirthlessly. He pursed his lips and lowered his head.

  “What if it really wakes up?” said Wendell.

  “This is grotesque; this is absolutely grotesque,” said Ann.

  The Prince snapped his head up. “This is my job. You’re not making it any easier. Suppose it was you on this bed. Would you want me to quit before I’d examined every recourse?”

  “I’m not going to watch this.” Ann turned away and stared out the window.

  “Fine.” The Prince took a deep breath and held it, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to the corpse.

  In a flash the bony arms folded around his neck and locked his head in place.

  “Mmmmph! Mmmmph!” Charming flailed his arms in panic, his face still pressed against the monstrosity. He grabbed the shoulder bones and pushed, but the skeleton held him in an iron grip. “Mmmph!”

  Ann still had her back to him. “Oh, you’re getting off on this, eh? I knew from the first day we met you were some kind of pervert…”

  The skeleton had wrapped its legs around Charming’s waist and pulled him onto the bed with superhuman strength. Wendell, too, had leaped on the bed and was trying to pry the bony fingers off Charming’s neck. The Prince got his hands into the ghoul’s blond hair and tried to pull the
face off him. Instead the jaws opened and something wet and squirmy emerged from between the teeth and penetrated his mouth. “Ooooomph!” In a frenzy of disgust the Prince rolled off the bed, carrying Wendell and the skeleton with him. The three of them landed in a heap on the floor, Wendell on the bottom, Charming on top of him, and the blond girl sitting on his chest.

  The blond girl. She released her grip on the Prince and Charming sat up just in time to see the last of the restoration. The color returned to her cheeks; her eyes turned red, then white, then pale blue; her lips grew full and pink; the luster returned to her hair; the flesh blossomed beneath her dress. It all happened in an instant and Prince Charming found himself looking into the eyes of the young, beautiful, and very much alive Princess Aurora.

  “… and I suppose when you’re not engaging in necrophilia you’re off fondling farm animals,” continued Ann. She was still looking out the window.

  Charming stared at Aurora. Her eyes were bright as the day. Her teeth shone like pearls in moonlight. She ran the tip of a small pink tongue across her lips and stared back at the Prince.

  Then she opened her mouth and screamed bloody murder.

  Ann jumped a foot in the air. She turned around in time to see a lithe blond teenager leap onto the four-poster and burrow under the coverlet. A very frightened face emerged from the far corner. “Who are you?” her voice quavered. “What are you doing in my bedroom? Get out, or I’ll scream.”

  “You already did,” said Wendell.