by Jon Etter
When no response came, Shade nudged a couple more times. There was a snort, a groan, and then loud snoring.
“Okay, good talk,” Shade said to the sleeper in the darkness. “Guess I’ll just see if I can find my way out.”
Shade resumed her quiet and slow exploration of the dark, this time in the opposite direction of the sleeper. Eventually, Shade felt something other than stone. It was metal bars. She ran her hands over them, feeling hinges and eventually a keyhole. She tugged at her underground prison door but it barely budged.
“Hey! Get me out of here!” Shade shouted, rattling the door. “I’m a guest of the dingle-dangle queen! That slug-licker Perchta locked me up! Get me the donkle out of here!”
Shade stopped, hoping to hear someone rushing to free her. But all she heard were her own words echoing through what sounded like long, empty tunnels. She tried again and again, each time louder and with more colorful language. And still no one came.
Shade slumped against the bars of her prison. Her situation didn’t seem like it could grow any darker, figuratively or literally. And it was just then that things began to lighten, both figuratively and literally, as lines began faintly glowing in the floor. As she watched, the light coming from a grate in the middle of the floor grew brighter and brighter. She was able to make out the stone walls and bronze bars imprisoning her and the large figure of a slumbering human, his face turned to the wall.
Shade walked cautiously toward the grate. It lifted up and slid noisily aside. Shade watched warily as a hand clutching a lantern rose from the hole in the floor, followed by a battered short-brimmed brown hat perched atop a head of curly brown hair.
“’Ey, it’s-a the little Sprootshade!” Ginch scrambled out of the hole. “Professor, c’mon up! The little Sprootshade’s here!”
With a two-note whistle, the Professor sprang up, several burning candles stuck to the top of his hat with melted wax.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m so glad to see you knuckleheads,” Shade said. The Professor put his hand on his heart and pretended to wipe away a tear. “How did you know where to find me? How did you even know that I had been captured?”
Ginch and the Professor looked at each other and then back at Shade. “Whatta you mean you get captured?”
“Lady Perchta and a couple goons grabbed me, drugged me, and locked me up in this dungeon cell.”
The two fairies turned in a circle, gazing at the walls and locked door. “Fatcha-coota-matchca, blobbit!” Ginch cried, throwing up his hands. “When we skeedeedle from the guards, we find-a the cave in the cliffside, so we run in to hide, but the guards, they follow, so we go deeper and deeper and we follow the twists and the turns and we go and we go until finally we find this big, big cavern with the creepy pool of ugly fish and we meet this skinny little guy with the big eyes who sound like he got the something stuck in his throat. Anyway, we ask him if he know the way out, but he keep asking, ‘Do you wanna do the riddles?’ and telling us it’s-a his birthday until the Professor, he give the little gulpy guy the ring—” The Professor nodded and opened his coat to show a bunch of rings, necklaces, and bracelets hanging on the inside. “—which he think is so, so precious, but really it’s-a just the cheap little tin thing, and so he tell us the way out but instead it looks like it just lead us to the prison cell! Why, I hope the little gulpy guy lose that ring! That would teach him a thing or two!”
“Do you think you can find your way back?” Shade asked. “That might be our only way out of here.”
Ginch and the Professor smirked and snapped their fingers. “Like that we can find our way back! We gotta the perfect recall and the infoolable sense of direction. Follow us!”
The two turned and banged right into the door of the cell.
“Okay, looks like we’ll just have to go down into those tunnels and hope for the best,” Shade sighed as the two rubbed their heads. “First, we should try to wake that guy up. If Perchta locked him in here, he must be a threat to whatever she has planned.”
Shade walked over and rolled the prisoner away from the wall. And there, lying on his back, his unconscious face turned up toward her, was the brave, noble, chivalrous, handsome, and far-too-good-for-this-dreadful-series-and-yet-so-criminally-underused-thus-far Sir Justinian du Bilgewater, with drool, rather unfortunately undercutting the dramatic effect, glittering in his beard.
In which escapes are made and cheeses are mumbled about …
“Sir Justinian!” Shade gasped. She grabbed his tabard and shook him. “Wake up! Sir Justinian, wake up!”
But he did not awaken. He merely gave a little moan and murmured, “… doan wanna … sell yer … stinky cheeses … Uncle Stinkcheese … not the brie … not the cheddar … and I’ll tell ya … what ya kin do … with yer bloomin’ … limburgergurgglegoo … ” Then he went back to snoring even more loudly than before.
Shade shook him harder but to no effect. The Professor whistled and shooed her back, then took a stethoscope out of his pocket. He listened to Justinian’s stomach and chest and frowned. Pulling out a little rubber mallet, he whistled and motioned for Ginch to stand by Justinian’s feet. Once Ginch was in place, the Professor turned him so that he was facing away from the good knight, knelt down, and tapped on Sir Justinian’s knee. Instantly, Justinian’s foot shot up and kicked Ginch in the seat of the pants. As the Professor pointed and silently laughed, Ginch whipped around and shoved him. “Whatta you do, fatcha-coota-matchca, quack! You’re supposed to wake him up!”
The Professor held up a finger then slapped Justinian lightly on each cheek. When that failed to rouse him, he slapped a little harder. Justinian did not wake. Then the pixie tweaked his nose, pulled his beard, tickled his ribs, and slapped him on the belly a few times. Nothing. The Professor pulled a tin whistle from a pocket and played a shrill tune next to Justinian’s ear. Still nothing. The Professor reached into his coat and pulled out a pitcher of ice water, which he dashed in the knight’s face, eliciting a slight sputter, a cough, and then … even louder snoring.
The Professor stroked his chin and nodded slowly. Getting down on one knee, he took off a shoe, revealing a very threadbare sock out of which poked the pixie’s big toe. The Professor yanked off the sock, held it at arms length, and it dangled next to Justinian’s nose.
At first nothing happened. Then the knight’s nostril twitched. His eyes flew open. “The stench of death!” he cried. In a whirl of motion, he was on his feet, grabbing at the empty sheath on his belt. Finding no sword, he raised his fists, ready to strike.
“Sir Justinian—it’s okay! It’s okay! It’s us, your friends,” Shade reassured him as the Professor put his sock back on.
Justinian blinked several times at them, shook his head, then slowly lowered his fists. “My good Lady Shade?” Justinian asked blearily. “Signore Ginch? Esteemed Professor? What are you … ? I came here to check security for the … The princess! Where is she? She must be in peril! Come, we have but a few days before she is to depart on the Grand Rade!”
“What do you mean? The rade is today,” Shade said.
“Actually, we been on the run for at least a half of the day, so it might already be tomorrow,” Ginch said.
“Then I have been down here for … days?” Justinian put his hand to his head and closed his eyes.
“Whatta you mean you been down here for the days? We see you just yesterday. Or the day before the yesterday—it’s-a really hard to tell the time when you no see the outside. Anyway, we see you when King Juicylus have the big, big meeting and you give Shade the medal and—”
“’Twas not me, my friends. It … it must be an imposter! An evil changeling—”
“Changelings don’t get that big,” Shade pointed out. “They can only mimic babies and kids, not full grown—”
“Then it must be someone in a disguise or an especially good glamour or—the means matters not, my friends. By some treachery, I have been imprisoned and replaced in some vile plot to do S
t. Figgymigg knows what to the fair Princess Viola. Oh, I curse thee, Queen Modthryth and thy villainous machinations!” Sir Justinian shook his fist up at the ceiling then wobbled and staggered back a few steps.
Shade and the others rushed over to steady the woozy knight. “I don’t think Queen Modthryth had anything to do with this. I talked with her—all she wants is to keep the peace.”
“She has deceived you, my trusting and kind-hearted little sprite. Deception is but one of the many vile practices Modthryth and all the Sluagh Horde excel at.”
“I really don’t think so,” Shade said. “Perchta’s the one who nabbed me. I think it’s her and some Sluagh working with her, and maybe even some members of the Seelie court. When we were there, I overheard—”
“The Seelie Court may have its share of fools, ‘King’ Julius being the greatest amongst them, but I will never believe them capable of such dastardly dealings, especially if it means working with those Sluagh serpents, just as I will never believe that the vile Sluagh queen does not know of every evil act performed in her name.”
Shade could feel her face getting flush and she really wanted to argue but she took a deep breath before she spoke. “I think you’re wrong—really and stupidly wrong—but we don’t have time to fight about this right now. We have to get out of here and track down the Grand Rade before whoever has it out for the prince and princess do whatever it is they plan to do.”
“On this, we can agree, my boon companion.” Justinian again reached for the sword that was not strapped to his hip, frowned at his empty sheath, then raised a fist. “For Princess Viola, the Seelie Court, and all the good fairies of Elfame, onward! To … oooooo!”
“Let’s ‘onward’ a little slower until you’re less wobbly,” Shade suggested as they kept him from toppling over. “Professor, why don’t you head down first and lead the way through the tunnels. Ginch, you bring up the rear—yes, I said ‘rear,’ and stop giggling about it—and keep an eye out in case someone comes up from behind—and now stop giggling because I said ‘behind.’ Honestly! Sir Justinian, just try not to fall on me if you pass out.”
And so, the four friends climbed down through the grate and slowly made their way through the bowels of the earth. On second thought, let me rephrase that—“bowels” is rather disgusting (no doubt it crept in because of all the time I’ve been forced to spend with Mr. Etter and his deplorable bathroom humor). They slowly wound their way through labyrinthine tunnels deep beneath the earth’s surface (yes, much more appropriate that!), the good knight growing more strong and steady the farther they went. At times they paused, stopped in their tracks by the growls and pants of unknown beasts lurking somewhere in the darkness. Enthusiastic adventurer that he was, Justinian’s first instinct was to seek out and wrestle with these unseen creatures, but gentle, not so gentle, and blunt bordering on hostile reminders from Shade of his duty to protect the princess kept Justinian focused on his mission. And so on they marched.
Hours later, they emerged from the side of a grassy hill. The moon, a great shining sickle, hung low in the sky, its light shimmering on the gentle waves of the eastern sea just a little ways away.
“All right, based on the position of the moon, I’d guess that the Grand Rade has at least a twelve hour head start on us,” Shade said. “That’s not good, especially since they’re on ponyback.”
“True, but they will have gone slow to show themselves off to their subjects in the scattered small towns in the Hollow Hills and encamped for the night at sundown. If we follow the coast and march through the night, we may be able to catch up to them at the southern tip of the hills before they swing west toward the Merry Forest. And after days of sleep, I feel up for a nighttime stroll. What say you, my stout-hearted champions of the righteous?” The white teeth of Justinian’s confident smile gleamed in the moonlight.
“I think I’m up for it, especially since I don’t think we have any other choice if we’re going to stop whatever that slug-licker Perchta and her partners have cooked up.” Shade turned to Ginch and the Professor. “You two think you can keep up?”
Ginch elbowed the Professor. “Hey, partner. You gotta the keep-up juice?”
The Professor pulled two steaming mugs of coffee from the pockets of his coat and handed one to Ginch. The brownie took a sip then spat it out. “Whatta you do, eh? You know I no can drink the coffee without the half-and-the-half.”
The Professor nodded knowingly, took a little white pitcher out of his pants pocket, and poured cream into Ginch’s mug. “Okay, now I think we can keep up.”
“Then let us ride … er … walk briskly, my friends! For evil is afoot!” Justinian declared and marched quickly south along the seacoast.
The Professor reached into a pocket, took out a foot, and squinted at it while scratching his head. After a moment, he waggled his finger disapprovingly at it and tossed it out into the ocean before following Sir Justinian.
“If only it were that easy,” Shade sighed as she followed, knowing very well that overcoming evil never was.
In which insults are hurled and potions are sprayed …
After walking for hours, the morning sun was just rising over the eastern sea when a rider galloped into view. He wore the ceremonial armor of a Sluagh nobleman. A look of surprised recognition showed on the goblin’s beaver face as he drew near. Reigning his pony to a stop, he pointed at Justinian. “You! How did you get here? I saw you ride south on the King’s Highway toward—”
“It wasn’t him,” Shade interrupted. “He’s been—”
“Save your lies for someone else, you … surprisingly small and out-of-shape flunky!”
“Hey!” Shade objected. “Number one, rude. Number two, I’m not lying. He—”
“Blabber all you want, villain! When I tell the queen what you’ve done, every loyal Sluagh will come tear down Dinas Ffaraon!” The goblin shook his reins and dug his heels into the sides of his pony.
“Come back and fight, thou dishonorable Sluagh wretch!” Justinian shouted after him.
“No, don’t fight but come back! We’re not your enemy!” Shade called, taking flight.
“Yes, we are thy enemy, thou cowardly worm!” Justinian cried.
“That’s not helping, you doof!” Shade flapped her wings with all her might, but she couldn’t keep up with the pony and its rider. Shade said a few rude words under her breath and then, not fully satisfied, out loud, and quite loudly. When she was done, she called down, “I’m going to fly in the direction Sir Jerkington came from and see if there’s any sign of the rest of the rade party.”
Shade flew high above the southern tip of the Hollow Hills, wheeling and circling as she searched for some sign of Beow, Viola, and their retinue. Below her ran the dirt road littered with gravel that was the King’s Highway, a once-great network of roads established by an ancient Seelie king now reduced to a shadow of their former glory by generations worth of neglect. A small group of ponies grazed near a wooded grove just a little ways off the road. She swooped down low and spotted Sluagh nobles and guards, some sitting with their backs to the trees, others sitting back to back with each other. She soared back up into the sky and returned to the others.
“I found a bunch of Sluagh, probably from the rade. I think they’re tied up,” she reported.
“Do not be fooled, good sprite,” Justinian said. “Surely they just lie in wait to guard against anyone ruining whatever dastardly deed they have planned.”
A quick jog followed by a slow, stealthy creep, however, proved Shade right. Through the trees, Shade and the others could see every last Sluagh noble and guard with their hands tied behind their backs and bound by the waist to either tree or fellow elf or both. The guards, distinguishable by their unadorned armor and plain helmets, struggled to free themselves, while the nobles sat in what looked to Shade like weary acceptance.
“—could have at least cut the rest of us loose before poncing back to old Ande, the swine!” a wrinkled old elf, her long hair
streaked with white and gray, griped.
“Again, his love of the prince made him act in haste,” sighed one of the other noblewomen. “By the insults of St. Mencken, how much longer do we have to listen to you attack young Ingeld’s character?”
“As soon as everyone stops defending Ingeld and admits he’s a thoughtless, self-centered pig!” the noblewoman snapped.
A young nobleman rolled his eyes. “He did toss you his knife before he left.”
“It was a terrible toss.”
Justinian strode out from the trees. “What perfidy is this?” he demanded.
The Sluagh started. “What perfidy is this?” a young noblewoman fired back, nodding toward Justinian.
“What’s ‘perfidy’ mean?” whispered a nobleman.
“I’ll tell you later,” the guard he was tied to whispered back. “I think we’re having a very dramatic moment here and I don’t want to spoil it.”
“What have you and your henchmen done with Princess Viola?” the good knight demanded.
“Have you gone soft in the head?” the crabby old Sluagh noblewoman asked.
“Sometimes we wonder that ourselves,” Shade replied, eliciting nods of agreement from the Professor and Ginch.
“Is this some new, more devious trick?” demanded a blue-bearded guard. “First, you have us encamp separately from the Seelie. Then you and your henchmen knock us out and tie us up and sneak off. But you botched it, you creep, because some of us came to early enough to hear you bragging about how you and Princess Viola came up with this whole rade business so that you could hold our beloved Prince Beow hostage until Modthryth submitted to Seelie rule. And, what’s more, when you took our weapons, you overlooked Ingeld’s knife and now he’s free and on his way back to Ande-Dubnos. Hope you and all those fancy-pants Seelie aren’t too attached to Dinas Ffaraon, because it’s going to burn!”
“Thou shalt choke on thy lies!” Furious, Justinian raised his hand to strike the guard.