Meanwhile the Baron regarded the helpless questors.
‘Before you meet your destiny in the moat,’ he informed them, ‘I am prepared to teach you a little bit about realistic killing on the stage. You.’ The Baron indicated one of his officers. ‘Over here.’
The officer obediently got out of his chair and clambered over the table. It was obviously considered bad form amongst bloodthirsty soldiers to simply go round the table.
‘This is how you kill someone convincingly on the stage,’ said the Baron, and he drew his mighty sword and plunged it straight into the heart of the officer.
The officer collapsed backwards, clutching his chest and gurgling.
‘Wow,’ said Blart. ‘That is convincing.’
‘Or you could do this,’ said the Baron, and he swung round and thrust his sword straight into the neck of another officer, who was sitting dumbstruck at the table. Blood spurted from the horrendous wound and the officer fell from his chair.
Another officer rose from the table and reached for his own weapon.
‘Or even this,’ announced the Baron, using his sword like a spear and throwing it towards the man who had stood up, impaling him and sending him flying back into the wall, where his lifeless body slumped slowly to the floor.
‘Hurrah!’ said Blart somewhat tastelessly.
The Baron ignored him.
‘Is that all of them, Staunton?’ the Baron asked of the one remaining living officer in the room.
Staunton nodded.
‘That will teach them to plot against me,’ said Baron. ‘You will be well rewarded for alerting me to their terrible purpose.’
‘Thank you, Baron,’ said Staunton.
‘Why has he killed his own men?’ asked Blart, who was not keeping up with developments at all.
‘Because they plotted against me,’ snapped the Baron savagely. ‘It is the eternal problem of the bloodthirsty tyrant. You surround yourself with bloodthirsty officers and before you know it they want to be bloodthirsty tyrants too. If I hadn’t acted they would have killed me before the cock crowed.’
Capablanca saw an opportunity to save the questors.
‘Doesn’t this demonstrate the folly of endless slaughter?’ he suggested. ‘Surely now is the time to stop the killing. By not throwing us into the moat you could make a statement that you have embarked on a more peaceful approach to being a tyrant.’
‘A peaceful tyrant?’ The Baron’s fearsome eyebrows knitted together in anger. ‘There is no such thing. If my men down there were to hear that I was embracing peace they would chop me into pieces.’
He laughed raucously at his appalling pun.
‘Staunton,’ he bellowed. ‘Fetch my steward so these appalling actors can be dispatched into the moat.’
Staunton rushed to do the Baron’s bidding.
‘And tell him to bring a wedding dress when he comes. There should be one hanging in the Lady’s bedchamber.’
The Baron regarded Princess Lois with a leer.
‘You won’t mind the bloodstains around the neck I’m sure.’
Princess Lois gulped. She almost wished she were back in Illyria, being plied with fruit and compliments by Anatoly the Handsome.
Almost, but not quite.
‘Whilst we wait for the steward and my wedding dress,’ said the Princess, ‘can I try killing someone more realistically as you have shown us?’
‘Of course,’ said the Baron. ‘They can die in the moat or they can die here. It matters not to me.’
And so saying the Baron tossed his sword to the Princess, who turned to face the questors. Could it be that the Princess was prepared to kill them in order to improve her chances of surviving for longer with the Baron?
‘Who should I practise on?’ said the Princess.
‘Whoever you dislike most,’ answered the Baron.
Princess Lois picked out Blart.
‘But we’ve always been friends,’ protested Blart.
‘No, we haven’t,’ maintained the Princess. ‘You have been foul since the day we met.’
‘Get on with it,’ said the Baron. ‘I hate it when people delay a killing.’
The Princess raised her sword. Blart tried to look appealing.
‘Farewell, ferret-features,’ said the Princess, and she brought her sword down and stuck it firmly into Blart.
Everybody gasped.
‘No, no, no, no, no,’ said the Baron. ‘You missed. You’ve stuck your sword into the tiny gap between his body and his arm. Let me show you.’
It appeared Blart wasn’t stabbed at all.
The Baron strode over to the Princess. The Princess pulled the sword out from under Blart’s arm.
‘Let me have one more go,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I’ll be more accurate next time.’
‘Don’t try too hard,’ said Blart.
‘Go on, then,’ said the Baron.
‘I just need to get the sword right through the heart, don’t I?’ asked the Princess
‘That’s right,’ agreed the Baron.
‘Think of the good times we spent together,’ said Blart. ‘Think of the jokes we shared.’
The Princess thought.
‘I can’t remember any,’ she said.
And she spun round and stuck her sword firmly into his heart.
Chapter 39
The Baron’s heart, that is.
The Baron clutched his chest, made an unpleasant gurgling noise and collapsed dead on the floor. Underestimating a woman had undone him. Princess Lois had struck an unlikely blow for equality.
‘That’s what you get for trying to marry me,’ said the Princess.
‘Well done,’ said Capablanca. ‘Now cut us loose.’
With four swift flashes from the Princess’s sword the other questors were freed.
‘I thought you were really going to kill me,’ said Blart.
‘I was,’ said the Princess. ‘But I missed.’
Blart looked at the Princess. She stared right back at him. Blart couldn’t make up his mind whether she meant it or not.
‘What have you done?’
At the door was Staunton, the Baron’s officer, with a look of horror on his face.
‘Quick, Beo,’ said Capablanca. ‘Stop him.’
But a sudden burst of speed wasn’t among Beo’s attributes and before he could get to the door Staunton had fled, shouting ‘Murder!’ at the top of his voice.
There was a great uproar in the courtyard below. Blart and Capablanca rushed to the arrow slit and looked down. News of the killing was spreading through the Baron’s soldiers and they were standing, shouting, gesticulating, arming themselves and running into the tower to exact revenge.
‘Barricade the door,’ shouted Capablanca.
‘The table,’ suggested Uther.
The questors rushed to the massive table. They pushed. It wouldn’t move. They pushed harder – Beo’s huge muscles strained, Capablanca’s eyes bulged, veins stood out on Uther’s neck, beads of perspiration formed on the Princess’s forehead and Blart ground his teeth with effort.
For once the questors were truly working together. The huge oak table gave. It moved across the floor until it lay against the door to the great dining room. They heard the feet of the Baron’s men thundering up the tower.
‘Push against the table,’ Beo instructed, throwing his bulk against it.
All the questors obeyed. They braced themselves for the impact. Outside, the Baron’s soldiers reached the door. They heaved. The questors pushed back with all their might. The door didn’t move.
‘Push as hard as you like,’ shouted Beo triumphantly. ‘You will never defeat us. We have won.’
It was left to Capablanca to point out that being trapped in a tower surrounded by armed soldiers who all wanted to kill you was not commonly regarded as a victory.
‘Tush and pish,’ said Beo. ‘The staircase is too winding for them to use a battering ram. The door will hold. They can’t get us.’
‘What’s that smell?’ said Blart.
The questors sniffed.
‘It’s smoke,’ said Uther. ‘They’ve built a fire outside the door. They’re going to smoke us out.’
And as he spoke the first curl of smoke crept under the door.
‘We’re trapped,’ said Capablanca. ‘The room will fill with smoke and we will be choked to death. Can anybody think of a way out?’
‘I can,’ said Blart unexpectedly.
Blart’s reputation for coming up with workable plans was not high but as more smoke crept under the door they were prepared to try anything.
‘I heard this story once,’ explained Blart, ‘about a woman trapped in a tower. She escaped by growing her hair so long that it stretched to the bottom of the tower, cutting it off, tying it on to something and then climbing down it. We could do that.’
All the questors gaped at Blart in stunned disbelief.
‘My hair’s only shoulder length,’ said the Princess.
Blart sensed that they were not as impressed with his plan as perhaps they ought to be, and he stalked off to the arrow slit and looked out, feeling misunderstood.
‘We’ve forgotten about the tree imp,’ exclaimed Princess Lois suddenly. ‘She has been caged for many years. We must allow her to breathe the fresh air of freedom.’
‘The fresh air of freedom is rapidly filling with smoke,’ observed Uther. He was right – the fire outside was obviously getting stronger. More and more smoke poured into the room.
Ignoring Uther, Princess Lois rushed over to the tree imp’s cage.
‘Don’t be alarmed. We have come to rescue you.’
The tree imp’s response was scathing.
‘And you’re doing a rotten job of it.’
‘We’re doing our best, Marjoram.’
The tree imp started.
‘How do you know my name?’
‘There is no time to explain,’ said the Princess. ‘Can you help us escape?’
‘Why should I?’ said Marjoram.
‘She’s even worse than the other one,’ said Blart.
Marjoram’s eyes opened wider.
‘Another tree imp?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Blart. ‘Just as nasty as you.’
‘He’s called Sorel,’ said Princess Lois urgently.
‘I haven’t seen another one of my own kind for years,’ said Marjoram excitedly. ‘I will help you!’
More smoke was coming into the room.
‘The door has caught fire,’ shouted Beo. ‘It will burn through. If the smoke doesn’t kill us then the Baron’s soldiers will.’
‘What help could you be?’ said Blart scornfully to Marjoram. ‘You are nothing but a tree imp.’
‘I could tell you that a section of the left-hand wall is really a door,’ said Marjoram. ‘And if you push it in just the right place then it will reveal a staircase that leads up to the tower roof.’
‘Oh,’ said Blart, realising that might help.
‘Where is it?’ asked Princess Lois.
‘Pick up my cage and I’ll show you,’ Marjoram told her.
Princess Lois did as she was bid. She took Marjoram in her cage over to the wall. Smoke was now billowing into the room and the heat was unbearable.
‘We will fight to the death,’ shouted Beo through the burning door behind which, waiting on the steps, were scores of the Baron’s angry men.
‘Left a bit,’ said Marjoram as soon as Princess Lois got her cage to the wall. ‘Down a bit. And push there.’
Princess Lois pushed. Nothing happened.
‘Down a bit more,’ instructed Marjoram. ‘Push again.’
This time the wall moved. It swung open to reveal a stone staircase.
‘Capablanca, Beo, Uther,’ shouted Princess Lois. ‘Marjoram has shown us a way out. Come on.’
‘What about me?’ demanded Blart indignantly. ‘She wouldn’t have helped us if I hadn’t been rude to her.’
Princess Lois ignored Blart and ran up the steps carrying the tree imp. Capablanca, Uther and Beo swiftly followed her. Before Blart followed he took a last look round. The door was now burning fiercely and it would not be long before it collapsed and the Baron’s soldiers were able to force their way through.
The stone staircase was not too high and soon they emerged on the roof. The combination of the smoke and the sudden rush up the staircase had left them desperate for breath and they all took a moment to take in delicious lungfuls of clean air. Then they took in their situation.
‘We’re trapped again,’ observed Blart, saying, not for the first time, what nobody else wanted to hear. ‘As soon as the door collapses, the Baron’s men will charge up here and we will all be cut to pieces.’
‘Thank you, Blart,’ said Capablanca shortly. ‘If you can’t say anything useful then go and stand over there.’
Blart was about to refuse but he saw the dangerous look in Beo’s eye and decided to do as he was told. He looked over the battlements. The courtyard below was deserted. All the Baron’s men were inside the tower, standing squashed together on the high staircase, all waiting for the chance to avenge their master’s murder.
A slight figure appeared and began to walk across the courtyard. A slight figure that Blart recognised.
‘Stodge!’ he shouted.
It was indeed Stodge. He looked up.
‘Hello, Stodge,’ shouted Blart.
Stodge shook his head.
‘What’s the matter?’ Blart wanted to know.
Stodge looked all around him. Then, apparently having satisfied himself that there was nobody within earshot, he cupped his hands around his mouth.
‘I can’t talk to you,’ Stodge shouted. ‘You murdered the Baron. You are going to be hacked into a thousand pieces by the soldiers.’
‘It wasn’t me,’ protested Blart. ‘I quite liked the Baron.’
‘You’re disgusting,’ remarked Princess Lois from behind Blart.
Blart ignored her.
‘I’ve got to go now,’ shouted Stodge. ‘The horses need watering. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much when they kill you.’
Stodge headed off across the courtyard towards the stables, and at that moment an idea popped into Blart’s head.
‘Stodge,’ he shouted desperately.
Stodge turned round.
‘I would like one final request,’ Blart shouted. ‘Before I die let me see my horse one more time.’
Even in the distance Blart could see that Stodge looked puzzled.
‘I thought you preferred pigs,’ he shouted back.
‘I do,’ Blart assured him sincerely. ‘But as there are no pigs here a horse will have to do. And the horse is called Pig.’
Blart watched as Stodge considered this final request. He thought about it for a moment and then he looked up to the tower and regretfully shook his head.
‘I cannot do it,’ he said. ‘If the soldiers found out they would kill me too.’
And with a forlorn wave he turned away.
‘Don’t say no!’ shouted Blart to Stodge’s departing back. ‘Just one brief look before I die. Do it for our shared love of pigs.’
Stodge continued to walk away. He did not look back.
Behind Blart things were getting worse. The angry cries of the Baron’s soldiers grew louder as they anticipated the ever-nearing moment when they would be able to wreak a terrible vengeance on the questors. Beo had ventured back down the staircase to see what was happening below but all of a sudden he shot back up.
‘They are through,’ he bellowed. ‘The door is gone and they are pushing the table away. In seconds they will be upon us. We must take as many of them with us as we can.’
And so saying the warrior drew his sword.
‘If only I had a spell,’ cursed Capablanca. ‘But all I have is a staff. I will fight with it.’
‘I will fight with my dagger,’ said Princess Lois.
‘And I with mine,’ said Uther.
All of them moved to
wards the entrance to the turret. Blart was inspired by the nobility of his fellow questors to stay as far away from the entrance as possible.
He looked up at the sky. It was a clear deep blue. Blart thought that he could never remember seeing a sky so blue. Was it the last sky he would ever see?
‘Here they come,’ shouted Beo.
Blart heard the frenzied shouts of the Baron’s soldiers below. Their frustration was at an end and they scented blood.
Blart took one last lingering look at the deep blue sky. Then he looked down – to see Stodge the Lad leading Pig the Horse out of the stable.
‘I had to let you see him one last time,’ shouted Stodge. ‘Even though he’s not a pig he’s called Pig and that’s the next best thing.’
‘Pig,’ shouted Blart, not bothering to thank Stodge. ‘Help! We’re in danger. Rescue us.’
Blart waved his arms frantically.
Behind him he heard the clash of steel as the first of the Baron’s soldiers charged the turret.
‘Take that,’ he heard Beo shout.
‘Help, Pig,’ shouted Blart again, and he shook his head as well as waving his arms to try and emphasise the true desperation of the situation.
‘He can’t understand you,’ shouted back Stodge. ‘And even if he could he couldn’t help you.’
Blart heard a thwack behind him as the wizard’s staff connected with one of the Baron’s soldiers’ heads.
‘We can’t hold them off for much longer,’ yelled Uther.
Down below, Pig suddenly tugged at his reins.
‘Whoa!’ shouted a startled Stodge.
Pig tugged again.
‘Easy,’ shouted Stodge.
Stodge was a slight lad and Pig was a massive horse. The third tug dragged the reins from Stodge’s hands.
‘Hey!’ shouted Stodge.
The huge wings unfurled from beneath Pig’s belly and began to beat. Stodge watched, dumbfounded. As did Blart. He didn’t know how or why but somehow Pig the Horse had sensed his desperation and even now was rising to the rescue.
‘Capablanca!’ shouted Blart.
Higher rose Pig.
‘Don’t distract me when I’m fighting to the death, boy,’ snapped back the wizard.
‘But we’re going to be rescued,’ said Blart.
The Boy Who Was Wanted Dead Or Alive - Or Both Page 16