How to Rescue a Dead Princess

by Jeff Strand

  The guards stopped moving forward. All of them had their swords pointed at Randall's throat. "Give us one good reason why we shouldn't kill you," they said, in rather impressive unison.

  "Well," said Randall, "I've never knowingly practiced cannibalism."

  "That's an okay reason," admitted five of the guards in unison. The sixth was distracted by a caterpillar.

  An old crone dressed in rags and sponges pushed through the guards and took hold of Randall's necklace. "I recognize this accursed object!" she snarled. "This belongs to the Hey, Let's Kill Us A King underground movement! This man is a spy!" She moved to the side. "Slay him now!"

  "No!" said one of the guards in nothing resembling unison. "He must be made an example of! We will give him a public execution at dawn!"

  "Aw, why do we have to get up so early?" asked another guard.

  Randall tried to take a casual step backward. The guards immediately brought the tips of their swords even closer to his throat. "Stop that right now!" they said, sounding like a barbershop quartet. "Put your hands in the air!"

  Randall put his hands in the air, accidentally smacking the old crone in the process. "He's gone berserk!" shouted a commoner in the courtyard. A woman screamed.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, Randall ducked underneath the swords, and in the most important game of Red Rover, Red Rover he'd ever played, broke through the line of guards and took off running down the center of the courtyard toward a huge fountain. The center of the fountain contained a huge statue of Osiris, Goddess of Hot Loving.

  "Get him!" shouted one of the guards.

  "Oooh, good call," said a terribly sarcastic commoner, who was promptly trampled by seven pairs of guard's boots, including the one that went back and trampled him a second time.

  At the base of the fountain, Randall considered his options. Option #1: Find a way to escape. Option #2: Die. After taking a moment to think about it, he selected Option #1, which involved more effort but had a preferable outcome.

  He surveyed his surroundings.

  South: Six angry guards running toward him, swords raised. Bad direction to move.

  West: The horse-drawn carriage. A brick wall. A few random commoners. A cannon with the fuse lit. Bad direction to move.

  East: Another brick wall. A few more random commoners. A fat guy selling pudding. A ape-like man holding a six-foot-long sword with "Widow Maker and Breaker" carved on the blade. Bad direction to move.

  North: The fountain. Past the fountain, the gateway to another area of the kingdom, leading to dangers untold. Quality of direction to be determined later.

  Up: Top of the fountain. Good vantage point. Chance to say he climbed to the top of the Osiris statue. Optimum choice at this venture.

  He jumped into the cold, sparkling, tangy waters of the fountain, reached for the nearest Osiris curve, and began to climb.

  "He's done for!" said one of the guards. "With the temperature of that water and this unseasonably cool breeze, he'll have pneumonia before he knows it!"

  Several curves later, Randall reached the top of the fountain statue and stood on Osiris's shoulders. He looked out around the kingdom and realized he was doomed, though he did take a moment to admire the exquisite architecture and layout of this kingdom. The castle was a healthy run away, and most likely contained a guard or two. Aside from leaping over the walls, there didn't seem to be any exits beyond the way he'd come in.

  He noticed another statue next to the entrance of the castle. It was of Soderstrom, God of War and Pinochle. Then Randall wished he hadn't noticed the statue first, because the archers with arrows drawn were far more noteworthy. They fired.

  An arrow struck Randall in the right shoulder. Then another struck his left leg. Another struck his chest. Then one got him between the eyes. Randall especially disliked the one that got him between the eyes.

  As one of the archers favored his partners with a resounding "I told you so" regarding the ineffectiveness of foam arrows, despite the fact that they didn't break as easily, Randall decided his only possible course of action was to leap down upon the horse-drawn carriage. Four of the guards were climbing the statue after him, and even if they chose to savor the experience they'd be at the top soon.

  He took a deep breath...and jumped.

  ATOP THE highest mountain in the land, in a tiny hut made from dried mud and feathers, two wise old men sat cross-legged on the floor, both touching the crystal ball that rested between them. The image within the ball was that of Randall, taking a deep breath in preparation for his heroic jump.

  "Do ye think he'll make it?" asked the first.

  "Aye," said the second. "What think ye?"

  "I think nay," said the first. "But I accept your right to think aye, though it clashes with my thoughts of nay."

  "Why has the image stopped moving?" asked the second.

  "'Tis poor reception," said the first, "but it does offer a benefit for ye and I. By delaying our knowledge of whether or not the poor soul made his jump, the suspense is being heightened."

  "Aye," agreed the second. "And a fine benefit it is, too. Were he to simply make the jump, or fail to make it, as ye believe will be the case, t'would be a brief emotional reaction indeed. But since we know not the end result, every moment spent basking in this lack of knowledge increases our desire to know, and increases the excitement we feel deep within our hearts."

  "Aye. This delay 'tis a fine technique indeed."

  "Fine, fine indeed."

  "But perhaps 'tis being stretched out a bit too far."

  "Nay," said the second. "I still find the suspense heightened."

  "'Tis not my opinion at all," said the first. "I find myself growing weary, and soon I shan't care at all whether the squire lands upon the carriage or lands upon the solid ground in a broken heap."

  "I must admit, at the beginning of your last utterance I did not agree, though I certainly was aware of your right to an opinion, but as time passed and your utterance came to its natural conclusion, my feelings had changed to that of agreement."

  "Thank you," said the first.

  "You're welcome," said the second.

  "Of course, your opinions being your own, thanking ye was probably not necessary."

  "But t'was a gracious gesture."

  "Indeed."

  They returned their attention to the crystal ball, where Randall was three inches into his leap....

  "HE JUMPED! I can't believe it!" said Archer #1a.

  "Well, it's not like he had much choice," said Archer #1b.

  "I don't think he's going to make it to the carriage."

  "Oh, of course he will. It's not that big of a jump."

  "Bet you ten dvorkins he pops on impact."

  "You're on."

  Archers #1a and #1b watched for a moment.

  "Well, guess I won," said the one who won the bet.

  "Yep."

  "Where're my dvorkins?"

  "Double or nothing on the elf tossing tonight."

  "Cool."

  SIX INCHES INTO his leap, Randall knew that he was going to make it. Six feet into his leap, he noticed that the back of the carriage was filled with axes, spikes, spears, and hot coals.

  He began flapping his arms, desperately trying to disrupt his forward momentum. He said several dozen bad words. He went "Aaaaaaaarrrgh!"

  Then he landed on neither the ground nor the carriage, but a guard. Instead of providing a soft, fluffy landing spot, the guard provided a solid, bony landing spot, and Randall immediately fell from the guard's body to the ground. The unhurt guard pointed his sword at Randall's pinky.

  "You're dead," he said.

  "I feel that way," Randall agreed.

  Within seconds, Randall was surrounded by more guards and their swords. Then, a second later, he re-entered the familiar world of artificially induced unconsciousness.

  WHEN HE WOKE up, he was sitting on a chair in a small, brightly-lit room. He was still wearing the necklace, and was seated across
a table from a bald, intelligent-looking man with a waxed mustache. Two guards stood at the doorway.

  "Hello there," said the man. "My name is Alan. I'm the king's advisor. I understand you've gotten yourself in a bit of trouble, something along the lines of being caught attempting to assassinate our king. Is that true?"

  "No," said Randall. "I just needed to deliver a message regarding Sir William and Princess Janice from Mosiman Kingdom."

  "Why were you running from the guards?"

  "They were chasing me."

  "Why are you wearing that necklace?"

  "It helps my sore throat."

  "I'm sorry, but I just don't believe you," said Alan, crossing his arms in front of his chest in an I'm-sorry-but-I-just-don't-believe-you gesture. "Your eyes are rapidly blinking and avoiding contact with mine, a definite body language signal that you're lying. You're sweating, implying nervousness, and I've noticed a large number of carotid artery pulsations, also implying nervousness. Plus, there's the additional detail that your story sounds like total ka-ka."

  "I'm not lying," Randall insisted.

  "You put your finger between your lips when you said that," Alan noted. "Do you know what that means?"

  "I was sucking something out from under my fingernail?"

  "It means you're lying. If I had a torch handy, I'd ignite your pants just to make my point that much more clear. And because I'm a closet pyromaniac. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to turn you over to be executed. Unless..."

  Randall leaned forward.

  "Ah, you're expressing interest. Good. I've created a lie detector test. A magical one. Are you willing to take it?"

  Randall hesitated. A lie detector test was rather unappealing considering that he was lying. "I don't think so."

  "Wimp."

  "I don't like magic."

  "Pansy."

  "I had a bad experience with magic. My uncle was turned into a toad. Wrecked every social gathering with that tongue of his. Stuck it to everything and everyone."

  "Momma's boy."

  "Okay, I'll take the test! Jeez!"

  Alan nodded at one of the guards, who exited the room and returned a minute later holding a steel box. Attached to the box was a coil of golden wire, and what looked like a silver stake. The guard set the box down on the table in front of Alan, then returned to his post by the door and looked stern again.

  Alan picked up the stake. "First I have to shove this through your skull to make the connection with your brain."

  "I don't believe I'm going to let you do that."

  "Well, granted, that is the more inconvenient method. Holding it in your hand should work just as well." Alan handed the stake to Randall. "Now, it's very simple. If you tell the truth, the box will go 'beep.' If you lie, the box will go 'beep' but with more treble. Understand?"

  "Yes." Beep.

  "Ah, the truth. Very good. Is your name Randall?"

  "Yes." Beep.

  "Do you come from the kingdom of Mosiman?"

  "Yes." Beep.

  "Do you find me physically attractive?"

  "No." Beep.

  One of the guards stepped forward. "Do you ever get the urge to run around flapping your arms and going 'Awk, awk, awk!'"

  "No." Beep.

  The other guard also stepped forward. "Do you find the word 'wiener' inherently amusing?"

  "No." Beep with more treble.

  "You're lying to us," said Alan.

  "Sorry." Beep with even more treble.

  A guard spoke up. "Do you have an unnatural craving for tapioca?"

  "Have you ever put sawdust in your loin cloth?"

  "Do you ever wish you could change your name to Chuckles?"

  "Why you wanna do me so bad?"

  "Have you ever gotten your tongue stuck in a bottle of wine? I mean, really stuck."

  "If you could be any kind of tree, what kind would you be?"

  "Okay, that's enough," said Alan. "Now, time for the real question." He leaned forward and locked eyes with Randall. "Are you here to do harm to our king?"

  Chapter 13

  The Chapter With (Hopefully) The Fewest Typos

  "NO," SAID Randall, "I am not here to not do harm to your king." Beep.

  "What did you say?" asked Alan.

  Randall set down the spike. "I am not here to do harm to your king."

  "That's not what it sounded like. It sounded like there was an extra 'not' in there somewhere."

  "I sometimes hear extra 'nots' in sentences, too. It's very strange. Well, there must be some logical explanation for it. Can I go now?"

  "Pick up the spike," said Alan.

  "You don't trust me?"

  "Would I be giving you the lie detector test in the first place if I trusted you?"

  Hesitantly, Randall picked up the spike.

  "Now," said Alan, "tell me that you're not here to harm the king."

  "I'm not here to harm the king." Beep.

  "Why did you emphasize the word 'here'?" demanded Alan.

  Randall dropped the spike. "To make my voice more interesting."

  "That's the second time you've dropped the spike before speaking. That means you're nervous. I think you emphasized 'here' to fool the machine into thinking you didn't mean to cause harm to the king in this very room."

  "That's ridiculous."

  "Here's what you're going to do. You're going to pick up the spike. You're going to say 'I did not come to this kingdom with the intent of in any way, directly or indirectly, causing harm to the king.' Those words are to be said in a monotone. Understand?"

  Randall picked up the spike.

  "Say it," urged Alan.

  "I did not come to this kingdom with the intent of..." Randall trailed off as he stared at the steel box.

  "Finish the sentence!" said Alan. "Now!"

  "A tree fell in the woods, nobody was there, and it made a sound!" shouted Randall.

  The box, not knowing how to answer, began to quiver. As Alan gasped, the box suddenly began emitting a steady stream of beeps, alternating between those with and without extra treble. Then it began to melt.

  "My lie-detector!" Alan cried. "My precious box! Child of my loins!"

  The guards rushed forward. Randall stood up, waving the spike at them. "Stay back!" he ordered.

  "That spike is kind of pointy," said one of the guards, cautiously stepping back toward the door.

  "I want to talk to the king," said Randall, waving the spike some more because his newfound sense of power was intoxicating. "I'm not going to cause any problems like commenting on his dandruff or anything, I just need to talk."

  "You wrecked my box!" Alan said. "I can't believe you wrecked my box! Ten years I spent bribing wizards to make that for me!"

  "Shall I go get one of the others out of the storage room?" asked a guard.

  "No, don't bother. He'll just wreck that one, too." Alan glared at Randall. "I have to admit, I don't quite believe your story. But I'm a nice guy, and I'm just going to assume that your destruction of my lie detector was an expression of rage toward magical technology and not an attempt to get out of telling the truth. I'll grant you an audience with the king. You may join him for lunch."

  "What're we having?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "Can you find out?"

  "No. Had you not threatened me with a spike, perhaps I would make the effort, but as things stand you're going to have to go into the meal blind."

  "Well, that's okay." Randall set down the spike. "Do you think I could get a new set of clothes?"

  "Certainly," said Alan. "Clothes that tacky can always be replaced."

  IN ONE OF the more blatant coincidences of the land, almost all of the kings within a sixteen-kingdom area had the first name of Waldo. King Waldo of Mosiman, King Waldo of Lockhart, King Waldo of McNaughton, etc. Even King Herbert of Zulkosky ordered his subjects to call him Waldo because he felt it had great dignity. This use of the name Waldo had led to a terrible tragedy in the War That Happened Ten
Years Ago, when all the Waldos went to war over the numbers after their name. Finally, they had reached an agreement to drop the numbers, though a king would still try to refer to himself as Waldo the Thirteenth (widely considered the coolest name) on occasion.

  The king of Rainey, however, was named Irving. Irv for short, Irvington for long, Ir for very short. Feeling left out, he had decided to take the stance that Waldo was a rather silly name best reserved for nerds and the mentally ill. To make his point, he'd secretly formed the League of Waldos, a roving gang of thugs consisting of nerds and the mentally ill that went from kingdom to kingdom causing all kinds of trouble. It was his intent that this would give the name Waldo a bad name, which would then make him the most powerful king in the land.

  So far, his plan had achieved approximately squat.

  Which is why, as he sat at the table in the royal dining room, his thoughts were elsewhere.

  "Your Highness?" prodded Alan.

  "Huh? What?"

  "I believe your thoughts were elsewhere, as shown by your glazed eyes and lolling tongue."

  "Oh, I guess you're right. How unregal of me." He sat up and turned his attention to Randall. "So, squire, what was it you wished to tell me?"

  "Well, as you know, I was accompanying Sir William on his errand to bring Princess Janice here."

  "I'll be darned! I did know that!" King Irving wasn't used to knowing what was going on.

  "Anyway, there was a slight problem, and now they're lost in the Forest of Death."

  "Well, that doesn't sound so bad. I'll send ten of my best knights there to rescue them."

  "That won't be necessary," Randall insisted. "I'm sure Sir William can handle the situation, and would be insulted if you were to send help."

  "Well, then, I'll send help but tell the knights to pretend it was a coincidence."

  "Sir William is not the kind of person who appreciates a good coincidence. You should hear him talk about all the Waldo kings."

  King Irving's eyelid twitched. "We can't just have him wandering around the Forest of Death. I hear that a woman named Scar who hangs around there is in possession of a deadly magic crystal."