by Jeff Strand
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 Ran
dall. "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!"