The Kidnapped Prince (Tales from the Land of Ononokin Book 5)

by John P. Logsdon

  “Blaze, I find it difficult to believe that you couldn’t drop Gespo and Henrik.”

  “Didn’t see ‘em coming,” Blaze said as if he’d rehearsed getting that question.

  “Oh, I see,” said Kwap, playing the game. “So they thumped you from behind?”

  “Exactly what happened, boss.”

  “And yet somehow, as you’ve just pointed out, you knew it was Gespo and Henrik?”

  “Uh...” Blaze was obviously grasping for a perch here. “Pilk told me afterwards.”

  “I don’t remember saying dat,” said Pilk, still rubbing his head. “You got any ice stuff?”

  “Blaze,” Kwap said, ignoring Pilk, “if you’re going to lie to me, at least give me enough respect to make it believable, yeah?”

  Blaze looked as though he had a few replies, but couldn’t seem to birth any of them. Finally, he just looked away and said, “Sorry, boss.”

  Kwap took a deep breath and calmed himself. It was his own fault for sending these two dullards on the mission in the first place.

  Regardless, he wanted to know what Kleeshay wanted with the prince. It wasn’t as if Jack had anything of worth that Kleeshay needed. Jack’s kingdom, small as it was, had only one export: rope. It was made of hemp, sure, but it was still rope. Kleeshay had access to stores of the stuff at the snap of his fingers.

  No, there had to be something else.

  “I don’t suppose that Gespo and Henrik mentioned why they were taking the prince?”

  “Not that I recall, boss,” said Blaze.

  “Maybe dem want him for same fing we want him for?” suggested Pilk. “Not dat I know what dat was. Just guessin’.”

  “No, that’s not it,” Kwap said as he threw his feet up on his desk. “I wanted Jack down here because he’s getting married soon.”

  “So?” said Blaze.

  “He was my roommate in college,” Kwap explained. “We were best friends. I was having you guys bring him down to Pren for a surprise bachelor party. He’d wig out, sure, but then he’d see it was me and we’d have a good laugh about it.”

  “Oh,” said Blaze.

  “I know,” Pilk said excitedly. “Maybe him went to collerge wif dat Kleeshay guy and dey is best pals, too.”

  “Shut up, Pilk,” said Blaze, shaking his head.

  Kwap ignored most of the exchange. For whatever reason, Kleeshay had picked up Kwap’s longtime pal. Obviously Kwap wasn’t going to sit idly by as this happened.

  “This is quite a problem, gentlemen.”

  “Already paid for the booze and the dancing girls, boss?”

  “No, Blaze... Well, yes, but that’s not the problem. I can always put a raincheck on that.” He took out a coin and started flipping it along his fingers. “The fact is that I can’t just sit idly by while Kleeshay has his hands on my best friend. I have to figure out what’s going on and get him out of there.”

  “How we do dat?” asked Pilk.

  “I don’t know, Pilk,” admitted Kwap. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  BOUNCING ABOUT

  Something had obviously happened, but Prince Jack Nubbins had no idea what precisely it was. He tried to replay everything in his mind as best he could, but it wasn’t easy because his head was throbbing, his thoughts were clouded, and his stomach was fighting to remain calm. He could have blamed this on the fact that his parents ran a hemp farm. While Jack rarely partook in smoking a special set of plants on the farm that were kept off to the side, he occasionally found himself feeling somewhat lightheaded when in the same room as those who did, and he had passed through a colossal hallway of sweet fog on his way out that evening. His parents were quite fond of inhaling the funny weed, and often offered to include him in the castle's merriment, but as Jack aged he felt that he was already laid back enough without it. He did quite enjoy the brownies his mother made with the product, though.

  As he remembered it, he’d left his room to go for his evening stroll through the woods. This was a ritual that he’d started in his early teens because his parents’ bedroom was directly next to his and they had signed up for something called “tantric loving.” At the time he had no clue what that meant, but the sounds that came from their room each night were rather disturbing, leading him to find a distraction outside of the house. Long walks ended up being just the ticket. Unfortunately, they had never ceased their participation in this endeavor, which meant that Jack continued his nightly strolls.

  The night had been clear and crisp. It was late summer, so the sun was dropping faster each evening, and the temperature was just right. In another month, he’d have to don a jacket. Once winter hit it’d be down to the basement to sit with the butlers and workers. But during this time of year, the weather was so flawless that he’d have taken this walk even if his parents weren’t on one of their love voyages.

  He’d gotten a late start that night because his mother was talking to him about his upcoming wedding with Princess Jill Henroot.

  He sighed at the thought.

  Jill was not really his type. She was rough, gruff, and tough, and Jack was not. Just as Jill was a product of her upbringing, he was a product of his. He was laid back, chilled, and non-confrontational. They say that opposites attract, but Jack didn’t feel that way regarding Jill. He doubted she found him attractive either. She may have seen him as someone she could easily push around, and that may have proved to make him a good husband in her eyes. But she would want adventures that he would find appalling, and he would want to go to spas and just sit on top of the mountains, contemplating life. She would be bored to death. Plus, Jill’s father, King Corbain, couldn’t stand Jack or the hemp farm. Corbain made it quite clear that he was not pleased that his daughter was “marrying into a commune of hippies.” To make matters worse, it was no fun being teased by people because of the old “Jack and Jill went up the hill” nursery rhyme.

  The truth was that Jack’s heart belonged to another, and she was who he’d been thinking about during his walk that evening. She had loving eyes, long dark hair, and a smile that could disarm a dragon. The sound of her voice could bring him calm in the midst of a tornado, and her touch could heal any anguish.

  It was then that he remembered stepping up the path and spotting two people lying on the ground. One of them had been an Ogre, which he’d found strange considering there were no Ogres in the Upperworld. None that he was aware of anyway. The other looked like an Elf, but his skin had been a dark blue color. This meant that he’d been a Dark Elf. Again, not a common thing to spot one of those in the Upperworld.

  And then, nothing. Until now, anyway.

  He refocused his attention as best he could on his current situation, trying to figure out precisely what it was.

  There was a lot of jostling and bouncing going on. Grunting, too. His stomach wanted to revolt. Another grunt and a massive bounce almost brought his dinner back up and into the world.

  “Careful, ya overgrown idiot,” yelled a sinister voice.

  “Sorry,” called back a dumber one.

  Jack’s head was pounding, which happened now and then. Maybe it was time to stop enjoying those brownies his mother made.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  “Sounds like our pal is awake, Henrik.”

  “Yeah,” said another, who Jack assumed was Henrik. “Maybe I should bonk him on the head again, Gespo?”

  “Why am I bouncing around?” Jack said.

  “Nah, Henrik,” answered Gespo. “Boss wants him to have a bit of sense to him, I’m thinkin’.”

  “Yeah, all right.”

  This is when Jack noticed that his hands were tied. As his head slowly cleared, it was becoming more apparent that this was not a hallucination. He struggled for a moment against the bindings.

  “Why are my hands tied?”

  “Because you’ve been kidnapped,” said Gespo.

  “Ah.” Jack was still coming to terms with everything. It wasn’t easy in his dulled state. “That makes sense.�
� And that’s when clarity took over. “Wait... Why have I been kidnapped?”

  “Because our boss wants to talk to ya.”

  “Got it,” Jack acknowledged. “Wait... Why does your boss want to talk to me?”

  “How are we supposed to know, wise guy?” said Henrik. “Boss don’t tell us everything.”

  “I see.” Jack didn’t see. Technically, he couldn’t see, what with this bag over his head. “Where are we, exactly?”

  “Underworld,” Gespo said. “On a piggyback ride with a giant from Wikr to Pren.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said, relieved to at least know his general whereabouts. For a moment anyway. “Wait... Where?”

  “You heard him, pal,” Henrik said as Jack struggled to get to his feet. “Now, just shut up before I have to thump you on the noggin again, yeah?”

  Another bounce landed him back on his rump.

  HERE'S YOUR BUNNY

  Whizzfiddle couldn’t help but smile whenever Gungren finished a quest. There was always a twinkle in the little Giant’s crossed eyes at the moment he presented his findings.

  “Thank you, mister!” said the little boy who had just gotten his beloved bunny back.

  “That okay,” Gungren said, patting the boy on the head. “I just glad him back home with you.”

  “It’s a her, mister!”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  The boy took off around back, leaving Whizzfiddle and Gungren standing with Mrs. Kelp.

  “That should keep him happy until the next time that blasted rabbit escapes,” she said in her surly way. Whizzfiddle imagined that the bunny was mostly trying to get away from her. “Blasted beast is always running off.”

  “Keep some carrots around,” suggested Gungren. “That how I got him—erm, I mean her—to come to me.”

  “Not worth it.” She pressed a couple of coins into Gungren’s hand. “Here are the two silvers that we agreed upon.”

  “Thank you,” Gugnren said as she shut the door in his face. He yelled at the door, “Tell all your friends that I are a good wizard!”

  “I don’t think she heard you,” Whizzfiddle noted. “Not to worry, though. You’ll have plenty of quests as the months roll on.”

  “I guess.”

  They began their walk back to the town of Rangmoon.

  From a distance it looked like any other town. Rickety buildings with various hues of paint that were layered on top of paints from years past. In fact, some of the buildings had so many coats that Whizzfiddle assumed it was as thick as the wood it was laid upon. The main entryway was filled with people strolling, horses trotting, and carriages bouncing, heading in both directions.

  He tipped his hat repeatedly as they joined the rush through the bottleneck that opened to the semi-circle that made up the main epicenter of Rangmoon.

  Nice weather made for a lot of activity on the streets and that meant that shopkeepers were opening their doors and sending workers out to offer samples. Not all the shops, of course, but those who sold cheeses, meats, and treats were calling out to everyone who walked within earshot.

  Whizzfiddle's heart pulled him towards Gilly's Pub, which was his favorite place to seek an ale or five. But he reserved it for when he was running a quest of his own, which he'd not done in some time. It was important for a wizard to keep rituals, in his estimation, and so he'd abstained from frequenting Gilly's except when he was seeking a quest, starting a quest, or celebrating the end of a quest. He'd often chastised himself for not choosing one of the cruddier taverns on the east side.

  There’d been a time when the pubs had tried handing out samples too, but that’d been squashed by the town council since teenagers were grabbing sips at every stop.

  “You’re doing well, Gungren,” Whizzfiddle said after waving away a young lady who was trying to get him to try a piece of dried ostrich. The living version of that bird reminded Whizzfiddle too much of his previous apprentice. “Not so much in the study of laziness, but we shall endeavor to, well, work on that.”

  “I want better quests,” Gungren complained. “These is boring.”

  “No, your pace is perfect.”

  “Why can’t I do something bigger, like stop an army?”

  Most apprentices had a streak of impatience. It was to be expected. They were getting an early taste of what their future selves would look like and it was intoxicating.

  Every living person has said at least once that if they could go back in time, knowing then what they knew now, things would be amazing. Whizzfiddle himself had said that very thing more times than likely any other person in the history of Ononokin. To be fair, he was also the longest-living person in the history of Ononokin. But what young people ceased to grasp was that there were others who had been where they are now. The experienced were capable of detailing knowledge that could aid the inexperienced in their immediate situations.

  He understood why the young didn’t listen. They already knew everything. To them, someone like Whizzfiddle was just an old coot. They’d show him respect because of who he was, but he knew that while they were nodding at the sage advice he was providing at any given moment, on the inside they were thinking something along the lines of, “When’s this old goat going to shut up so I can go and do it my own way?”

  Gungren, though, was directly in his charge. It was Whizzfiddle’s agreement as master that he would share his experience, which included managing the pace that his apprentice grew.

  “Getting a wee bit ahead of yourself, I’m afraid,” he said gently. “There’s a method to the ways of learning wizardry, my boy. It’s just like lifting rocks. You don’t start with the largest of the bunch, you work your way up.”

  “I guess so,” Gungren said sadly.

  “You’re progressing precisely as planned.” Whizzfiddle stopped and put his hand on Gungren’s shoulder. “You started out with finding a young girl’s pet mouse, then you moved on to a young man’s guinea pig, and now you’ve retrieved that lad’s bunny rabbit. Pretty soon you’ll be questing for cats, dogs, and birds.”

  “Birds?” Gungren said in shock. “They is smaller than cats and dogs!”

  “Not all of them, and remember they can fly. Tricky things to catch, birds.”

  “Oh, yeah. Okay, that makes sense.”

  Whizzfiddle turned and resumed his walk towards the guild house. They had to register each completed quest with the main office. It was in the rules.

  “Anyway, it’s all about laying the foundations, Gungren.”

  “Yeah. That what you always say.”

  Before walking into the guild building, Whizzfiddle had a thought. Now and then he’d have Gungren do a spell out of the blue. Nothing drastic. Just something that would put a smile on the little Giant’s face. Kind of like buying an ice cream for a child.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled forth some change, handing it over to his apprentice.

  “What these for?”

  “You know how I always magically transfer a bit of change into the pockets of those less fortunate when I’m in town?” Whizzfiddle asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Well,” he said, waving his arm in a wide arc, “why don’t you do it this time?”

  Gungren looked as though he’d just won the lotto. “Really?”

  “Yes, yes,” Whizzfiddle said with a smile. Then he wagged a finger at Gungren and added, “Just take your time and be careful about it.”

  The little Giant nodded and then dug into his own pocket to pull out some dirt. He studied the number of coins for a moment and then grabbed more dirt. Finally he stuffed his mouth full of his earthen power source.

  “How noo I noo it?” Gungren said with a squint.

  “Sorry?”

  “I non’t know duh spell.”

  “Ah!” Whizzfiddle said, catching on. “You should ask questions before eating dirt, you know?”

  “Mmm...hmmm.”

  Whizzfiddle leaned in and whispered, “The spell is transferum-da-coinum.”

&n
bsp; “Fank yoo.” Gungren turned and aimed a coin at one of the beggars. It wasn’t necessary to do this, but Whizzfiddle held back on correcting him. “Transferum-da-coinum.”

  An instant later the beggar was struck on the side of the head with the coin, knocking him to the ground. He rubbed his noggin while angrily looking around to see who the wise guy was, but soon changed his look to one of joy when he spotted the coin lying next to him.

  “Oh, whoops,” said Whizzfiddle. “I gave you the wrong spell. It’s transferum-da-coinum-toum-da-pocketum.”

  “Hope him is okay,” Gungren said, some of the dirt dissipating due to its use in the spell.

  “Seems happy enough,” Whizzfiddle pointed out. “I’m sure his headache will go away soon. May have a bit of a bump, but if you drop a few more coins in his pocket I’ve little doubt he’ll forget all about the mishap.”

  Gungren spent the next few minutes filling the pockets of the beggars. He seemed to be ecstatic about his participation in this event, too. That made sense to Whizzfiddle since he well knew his apprentice’s heart.

  With a skip in his step, Gungren bounced through the door that Whizzfiddle was opening for him.

  The walls were white and bland and there was an echo that resounded with each step as they walked down the hallway. It felt like a school hallway, which made sense considering the Guild was housed in a school. This side had that academic feel to it, unlike the gymnasium where the wizards actually met.

  They were headed into the main records room to sign the final documentation on Gungren’s bunny quest. This was the hub of all contracts for wizards. Whizzfiddle had been here so many times over his years that he was surprised he didn’t have his own cabinet.

  Agnitine sat behind the counter, as she always did. She was a behemoth of a woman, and her weight was only matched by her height. Imposing wasn’t strong enough a word to describe her. She was the reigning champion at the local wrestling house. In fact, she was undefeated. You may think that a combination of the way she looked and the manner in which she could fling people around in a ring would translate into her being somewhat mean-spirited in nature... and you’d be right. But for some reason, she’d taken a shine to Gungren.