Charming, Volume 2

by Jack Heckel

  A flutter of emotions passed over her face, but she settled on annoyance. “What are you doing? Get back in bed.” She crossed the room and grabbed him but full strength hadn’t returned to her injured arm, and she couldn’t heft him back onto the bed.

  Charming grabbed on to her, still vainly trying to stand. His face was contorted with pain, but he squeaked out, “Please, it could be Gwendolyn sending more men.”

  “No! I’m not letting you anywhere near a sword until you are well. Now, get into that bed.”

  He managed to drag himself up to his feet, but a deep horrible pain wracked him and he rocked forward into Elizabeth’s body, knocking them both flat. “You’re going to kill both of us thrashing about like this,” she grunted from beneath him.

  The door to the room opened, and both Charming and Liz looked up from the ground to see Lady Rapunzel standing there. She tapped her foot and crossed her arms, but, despite herself, a smile broadened across her face. “I’ll warn you, I’ve been in the same position, Liz, and you’ll be lucky if you don’t lose your hair.”

  “Elle!” shouted Liz with a smile of joy. She struggled out from under Charming, gathered herself, and went over to her friend, pulling her into a tight hug.

  Charming grabbed hold of the bedcovers in another attempt to stand, but only managed to pull the blankets on top of himself. With a sigh, he managed a muffled but audible, “Good to see you again, Lady Rapunzel.”

  Eventually, with the help of Alain and Rapunzel’s huntsman-­cum-­valet, Collins, Charming was returned to bed. Rapunzel took Liz by the shoulder and, along with the two men, left the room. The door swung shut. Charming lay his head back down against his pillow, exhausted. He had never felt so weak and helpless. He began to fall asleep, but then the door to his room swung open again. Liz stood there, eyes flashing with anger. “Didn’t Gwendolyn say that she had Will and the King under her power?”

  Charming blinked his eyes open, swallowed, and managed a quick, “Yes.”

  “She’s controlling Will. She’s going to marry him. We have to stop her,” she said and then, turning abruptly, strode back through the door, closing it behind her with a bang. Almost immediately it opened again, slowly. Liz looked in with a gentle smile. “Sorry, are you going to sleep?”

  “I think so,” he answered.

  “I’ll tell you everything in the morning. Sleep well.”

  He nodded. “Elizabeth, if your brother is in danger, I will do everything I can to help him.”

  “Of course you will,” she said kindly.

  “However, I’ll need a sword.”

  She chuckled, then with a serious look said, “No. Now, good night.” The door shut for the last time.

  Chapter 8

  The Magnificent Seventh

  WHEN MORNING CAME, a loud, incessant, and mindless chirping woke Charming. He blinked open his eyes and saw a half-­dozen birds in a rainbow of colors perched on his windowsill, twittering at him. “Lady Elizabeth,” he called.

  At her name, the birds fell silent and flew away in a great flutter. Charming shrugged and, using the headboard for support, levered himself until he was sitting up. After catching his breath, he swung his legs off the bed and tried to stand. With great effort, he managed to pull himself to his feet. The room spun a few times and he braced himself against the wall to keep from falling. He was still leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, when Liz entered the room.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in exasperation.

  “I’m going to Castle White to save your brother and my father, the King, from the Princess. That is, as soon as you bring me a sword.”

  “Get into that bed.”

  He managed to sit down without collapsing, but only just.

  Rapunzel made her way into the room, arms folded. “What is he doing?”

  “Miladies, I need to go to Castle White. I owe it to Lady Elizabeth’s brother, and, well, she has the King and his kingdom under her sway.”

  Liz and Elle shared a look. Rapunzel spoke first. “What would you propose to do? March up to the castle and bleed on everyone?”

  Charming wasn’t sure what to say. It was quite an odd feeling.

  Liz forced him to lie back down, then arranged the pillows and blankets around him. “What we shouldn’t do is rush. I am not entirely healed, and Edward shouldn’t be moving at all.”

  Rapunzel rolled her eyes. “We don’t need him, and Will’s going to be married in a few days. We should leave immediately.”

  Liz glowered back at her friend. “That’s just ridiculous . . .”

  The two women began a very heated exchange about the best way and time to make their assault on the castle. It was apparently the continuation of a much longer argument they’d had for most of the previous night. Finally, Charming interjected, “If there is to be a wedding, then all we need is an invitation.”

  The two women looked at him like he was mad.

  “And how are we going to get an invitation to Princess Gwendolyn’s wedding?” Elle asked sardonically. “I would imagine that ­people she’s trying to kill would be left off the guest list.”

  Charming smiled his most obnoxious smile. “If the King left every nobleman he hated off his guest lists, we would never have parties at all. Besides, royals never actually spend time looking at the guest list. It is usually left to some minor official, like the Royal Steward. I’m sure he will have invited me and, likely, also Lady Rapunzel.”

  Liz looked thoughtful, but Rapunzel said sharply, “You’ve been disowned and I am a court outcast.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily mean that someone wouldn’t let us in, after all—­”

  “WALKERS APPROACH!” shouted Alain.

  Charming tensed, but then Collins yelled right after, “BLOODY HELL, IT’S A MARCH OF DWARVES!” Then, in a lower voice, they heard Collins tell Alain, “Watch yourself, friend, or they’ll have you chopping wood and weeding their garden. Lazy little blighters, dwarves.”

  The faint sound of voices raised in argument reached the cottage.

  “The dwarves are back!” exclaimed Liz.

  A loud, angry voice, which Charming recognized from the performance at the Beast’s, shouted, “WHO ARE YOU? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH ELIZABETH? IF YOU’VE TOUCHED HER . . .”

  “Uh-­oh,” Liz said as something shattered in the front room of the house and a man bellowed in pain. Both women raced for the door. Charming heard a muffled shout and someone, maybe Alain, cursing, followed by what could only be a china cupboard crashing to the floor. He strained to see what was happening, but the angle was all wrong.

  “Stop this instant,” he heard Liz shout among the clatter of falling crockery.

  “Collins,” came Elle’s voice, “put that dwarf down.” There was a loud thud and then someone grunted in pain.

  “I saw that, Sloane,” Liz chastised, “it is not very gentlem—­dwarfly to kick Mr. Collins there. Now, if you will all calm down, I can explain everything.”

  Charming called out as loud as he could, “MILADY, IF I COULD BUT HAVE A SWORD, I’M SURE I COULD CALM THE SITUATION.”

  He heard an audible groan in response and then Liz mutter loudly, “Pig-­headed fool . . . Okay, everyone, into the bedroom before Edward decides to try and get out of bed again.”

  They all marched in. Seven little dwarves, Liz, Rapunzel, a limping Collins, and Alain, who was rubbing at a spot on the back of his head and glaring at Grady. Liz spun on the group, shaking her index finger. “I’ll have no more of this fighting and biting—­”

  “And bloody kicking ­people in the bloody—­” Collins began, only to have Liz cut him off with a stare. “Thank you, Collins.”

  “You’ll get more than that next time, beanpole,” Grady said under his breath.

  “That will be quite enough, Grady,” Liz said as she turned back to the dwarves. “
And, what did you six . . . seven? Wait, where did you come from?” she asked a skinny, big-­eared dwarf standing in the back of the room.

  “What?” Grady challenged. “We can’t bring a friend over to our own house now?” He turned to Dorian. “See, I warned you, you let a woman in, and suddenly she’s telling you what to do and tidying up your underwear.”

  “Calm down, Grady,” Dorian sighed. He bowed to Liz. “Lady Elizabeth . . .” He stopped himself and stared at her arm. “What happened to your cast?”

  Her lips disappeared into that now telltale thin line. “It wasn’t broken.”

  Sloane murmured, “Told you.”

  Dorian blushed, and seeking somehow to change the subject, turned back to the newcomer. “As I was saying, Lady Elizabeth, may I introduce our missing member, Dop—­” He sighed. “I almost forgot, those lawyers. Our missing member, Dominic.”

  Elle and Liz gasped together. He was comically striking and absolutely singular in appearance. His hair was straw straight and cut in a perfect circle around his head so that his bangs hung down in front of his eyes in a curtain of brown. His freckled face was graced with a soft mouth and a small nose, which would have been fine and fitting but they were made ridiculous by his ears, which were enormous and stuck out from the sides of his head like the handles of a pitcher.

  Dominic stepped forward and bowed low, which made his ears flap and wobble like the sails of a ship in a light breeze. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Elizabeth.” The others in the room stifled a collective giggle as Dominic rose and turned to Charming. “And, if I’m not mistaken, this is Prince Edward Charming.”

  He started to bow again, but Grady caught him by the back of the collar and kept him from bending. “Stop showing off and tell us why you’re here.”

  “Gently now, Grady, gently,” soothed Dorian.

  “No!” Grady shouted. “We all deserve an answer as to why he was lurking on the path to our house. After all, he left us, and I think his exact words at the time were, ‘I need to get away from you losers.’ ” Dominic opened his mouth to say something, but Grady cut him off. “Well, isn’t that what you said?”

  But it wasn’t Dominic that answered, instead Hayden said cheerfully, “Actually, I don’t think it was. You and he were arguing about something, and I think his exact words were, ‘I need to be on my own. I’ll never have the chance to do anything great working with a no-­talent writer like you, Grady.’ ”

  “No, he called Gr . . . Gr . . . Grady a talentless hack,” sneezed Sneedon.

  “I beg to differ, Sneedon. I distinctly remember that Dominic called Grady a ‘no-­talent hack,’ ” Dorian said authoritatively.

  “ ‘Washed-­up,’ ” yawned Sloane.

  “What?” Dorian asked.

  Sloane’s eyes popped open just long enough for him to say, “He called Grady a ‘washed-­up, no-­talent hack.’ ”

  “Oh, yes. That was it,” Dorian said with satisfaction. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

  “I’m confused.” Baldwin’s voice sounded from behind a curtain. “Is he a ‘washed-­up, talentless hack’ or a ‘no-­talent, washed-­up hack’?”

  Grady, who had been gradually turning brighter and brighter shades of red, finally erupted, “IT DOESN’T MATTER! The point is he stabbed us all in the back!”

  “Funny that,” Hayden interrupted with a big smile.

  “What’s funny about him stabbing us in the back?” Grady demanded.

  “No, not that,” Hayden said with a rare frown. “I think it’s funny that he would call you a washed-­up, no-­talent hack.”

  Grady grinded his teeth audibly. “I’m having trouble seeing the humor.”

  “Well,” Hayden said cheerfully, “if you have ‘no-­talent’ and are a ‘hack,’ then what got ‘washed-­up’?”

  “Maybe he meant that Grady once had talent, but that he got ‘washed-­up,’ and is now, as a result, a ‘no-­talent hack,’ ” Dorian suggested helpfully.

  “Oh, that makes more sense,” Hayden agreed.

  “Thank you for clarifying, Dorian,” Grady said between clenched teeth. “Now, if we can get back to the point.” He turned on Dominic and growled, “Why are you here?”

  “Is it to gloat over our lousy reviews?” asked Hayden.

  “Or to th . . . th . . . threaten us, because we sold all the rights to That Play?” Sneedon sneezed violently.

  “Or maybe to murder us all in our sleep in some demented vengeance ritual?” Grady asked, pantomiming in graphic detail someone getting simultaneously stabbed and strangled.

  “No, no. And what?” Dominic answered. “It’s nothing like that, it’s . . .” He ground his foot into the ground and stared at the floor. “I came to ask if you’ll have me back.”

  “Why would you want to come back here?” Grady asked suspiciously. “You had everything, if you go in for success and money and all that.”

  “Did you get tired of the fame?” asked Hayden.

  “No . . .” Dominic said slowly.

  “With rolling in dough?” suggested Sneedon, remarkably without sneezing.

  “No, that was okay,” Dominic said after some thought.

  “With the women?” the invisible Baldwin asked.

  “Definitely not,” he replied quickly, which led to scowls from Liz and Elle.

  “Well, what then? What was so awful about being rich, famous, and surrounded by loose women?” Grady snapped.

  “I missed arguing with you, you daft twit,” he bellowed. “You wouldn’t believe how obnoxious it is to have ­people bowing and scraping to you all day.” Dominic shook his head sadly. “No one to put a rise in. No one to disagree with. I’m telling you fellows, it’s no way to live.”

  The others nodded along with him, and Dorian murmured, “That would be tough to take.”

  “Besides,” he said brightly, “we have a gig!”

  “What do you mean ‘we’,” asked Grady, emphasizing the we with air quotes.

  “Yeah, I ‘mean,’ we haven’t ‘been’ we for years,” said Dorian, trying to mimic Grady’s air quotes, but somehow getting his fingers badly out of sync.

  “I think you meant to say, ‘we,’ ” Hayden said and then added, “unless you meant to suggest an ambiguity in the meaning of the word mean.”

  “We all know that meaning is prone to ambiguity in postmodern society,” Grady noted.

  “Did you”—­Sloane said, yawning widely—­“Did you . . . know that ambiguity is by definition an inexactness in the meaning of . . .” He fell asleep midsentence.

  “Language,” Dorian finished. “Yes, everyone knows that. My question is, why would someone air quote been, the past perfect progressive tense of the verb to be. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Wait, wasn’t that you?” Baldwin asked, sticking his head out from the curtain he was hiding behind.

  There was a moment of confusion, and Dominic took advantage. He held up a gilt scroll. “The ‘we’ I mean is ‘we’ the SEVEN players, because ‘we’ the SEVEN players have been invited to play Castle White.”

  The dwarves were so busy admiring Dominic’s deft use of air quotes that it took them a moment to realize what he’d said. Then, “What? A royal invitation?” they all said in unison, ending with a long drawn out multi-­tonal whistle that came out like the worst flute symphony ever.

  “Why didn’t you say so from the beginning?” asked Dorian.

  “Well, I was afraid you’d think it was selling out.”

  “Which it is,” spit Grady.

  “Shut up,” the others said, then Dorian added, “A royal invitation means big money.”

  The others nodded again in mutual agreement, but Grady frowned. “How can we be sure this invitation is legitimate?”

  “Well, it is made of gold.” Dominic waved the scroll in the air.
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  “Wow!” Hayden said in open admiration.

  “Nice!” Sloane said between yawns.

  “Classy!” Dorian added.

  Grady produced a jeweler’s lens from his sleeve and examined the invite. “I’ll grant you, that is a nice touch. So, when is our performance?”

  Dominic cleared his throat. “About that, it’s in seven days.”

  “Seven days!” the dwarves said in unison.

  “Th . . . that’s no time at all,” protested Sneedon between sniffles.

  “What’s the rush?” asked Dorian.

  “Apparently, we are going to be the entertainment at some royal’s wedding,” Dominic said casually.

  Liz, who had been as patient as she could be with the dwarves’ interruption (this was after all their house) immediately recognized that this could be their key to getting into the castle. “Wait a minute,” She snapped. “Are you saying this is an invitation to the Princess’s wedding?”

  “I think so.” Dominic opened the scroll and squinted at it. “Damned hard to read. Whoever wrote it used gold ink on gold paper.”

  Dorian pulled it from his hand. “Why, this is incomprehensible!”

  Hayden peered over his right shoulder. “Illegible!”

  Sneedon crowded in on Dorian’s left, blew another trumpet sound into his handkerchief, and sniffed. “Unreadable!”

  Grady snatched it away from Dorian. “And gaudy to boot. This is why you should never trust a woman to plan a wedding.”

  Liz grabbed the invitation from Grady mid-­critique. She ignored his glare and studied it. “It is. This invites ‘The Seven Players’ to perform at ‘the celebration of the wedding of Princess Gwendolyn Mostfair to King—­’ ” She stopped in midsentence, her mouth open, and her face suddenly pale.

  Instinctively, Charming tried to rise in aid of her. Elle, also sensing her sudden distress, moved closer. “Liz, what is it?”

  Silently, Liz handed the invitation over to her friend and sat down next to Charming on the bed. He wrapped his hand around hers. “What is it, milady?”