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

by John P. Logsdon

  Henrik glanced up from his sandwich. “This table?”

  “I mean that we are keeping it on the down-low.”

  “Huh?”

  “Henrik," said Gespo with a sigh, "he's sayin’ that we’re acting like the information is supposed to be top secret, that way it’s easier for people to share it.”

  Henrik looked even more confused than before. “It is?”

  “You know what they say, Henrik,” Kleeshay stated conspiratorially. “Loose lips sink ships.”

  “I don’t know anyone who says that.” Henrik set his food down. “And now we’re talking about ships? I think it may be time for me to retire.”

  “So the prince obviously ain’t really going to be in the warehouse, boss?” Gespo said.

  “He’s not?” Henrik put his head in his hands and groaned. “I’m very confused by all this, you guys.”

  “Try to keep up, Henrik,” said Kleeshay in a mentoring way.

  He didn’t like having people on his payroll who weren’t that bright, but it was better than having people smart enough to challenge his position. Still, he had to make sure that his henchmen fully understood what was going on so they could spread the rumors effectively.

  “It’s a ruse,” he said. “We’re tricking Kwap into thinking his supplier is there so that he tries to save the man. But we’ll have our men in place to ambush him. He’ll quickly find that he’s bitten off more than he can chew.”

  Henrik looked constipated. “What’s he chewing, again?”

  “Let it go, Henrik,” said Gespo. “I’ll explain it all to you later with diagrams and stuff.”

  “That’d be good, ‘cause, as usual, I’m completely lost.”

  Kleeshay started to head out, feeling confident that Gespo had enough brains between the two to make sure that work got done. Gespo was the perfect middle manager. He could talk to the bosses and the henchmen. He stopped at the door and eyed Gespo for a moment.

  “We’ll get going on setting it all up, boss,” said Gespo, wearing a grin. “Don’t you worry.”

  “A man who worries before it is necessary, worries more than is necessary,” Kleeshay said pointedly.

  Gespo shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”

  WIKR

  Jill had led the troop through the Nubbins’s hemp farm, carefully skirting the edge until they got to the portal.

  It was difficult to see anything, being that the primary light source was the moon, but from what Whizzfiddle could see there appeared to be many rolling hills covered with bushes. It also had a funny smell that the elderly wizard knew but couldn't place. He had a feeling, though, that there was a tiny patch of memories in the recesses of his mind that were currently smiling.

  The main castle was small by royal standards. It may have had a larger front entrance, but the torches along the walls weren't doing much to overcome the darkness. The spot they were sneaking towards was naught more than that of an entrance to a rundown shed.

  They'd gone this way because Jill had explained that she'd no interest in a long conversation with either the king or the queen. Whizzfiddle had never had in-laws, but he’d had enough friends who did, meaning he quite understood her desire to be sneaky.

  With Jill leading everyone through, the guards stationed at the Nubbins portal didn’t ask questions. They stood and bowed as Jill told them their destination. They then motioned for everyone to stand on the portal disk, set a few knobs, and pressed a big, red button.

  An instant later everyone was standing in Civen station.

  Out of all the portal hubs connecting the Upperworld and the Underworld, Civen was the least crowded. This was due to the fact that there was nothing to do at this particular hub. On one side stood the security base for all portal operations, and on the other side was a hot-dog stand and a pretzel shack. Having missed his lunch and afternoon snack, Whizzfiddle felt his stomach pulling him towards the vendors.

  “I think I may just...” he began to say, when an officer approached them.

  The man was a tall Human, had blond hair and striking features, and he was holding a clipboard and scanner.

  “Business or pleasure?” the guard said, looking at Whizzfiddle.

  “Business.”

  “Are you carrying any dangerous weapons?”

  “Technically, I am a dangerous weapon. I’m a wizard, you see...”

  “So, no,” the guard said, putting a mark on his board. “Did you pack your own bags?”

  “I don’t have any bags.”

  “Again, no.”

  “We am on a quest to save a prince for this princess,” Gungren spoke up.

  “What?” said the guard dubiously. “Everyone knows the quest is always to help a prince save the princess, not the other way around.”

  “Excuse me?” said Jill, looking ready to get a bit medieval on the guard.

  “Yes?” said the man, and then he glanced at her sides before doing a double-take of Kelsa as well. “Are those swords you two are carrying?”

  “Of course they’re swords,” Jill said, being combative. “We can’t rightfully go on a quest without the ability to defend ourselves, you twit.”

  “Uh oh,” said Whizzfiddle.

  The guard closed his board and affixed his pen to it. “Twit?”

  “You shouldn’t have said ‘twit,’” moaned Whizzfiddle.

  “I call them like I see them,” Jill replied defiantly while keeping her stare leveled at the guard. “Again, I shall repeat that you, sir, are a twit.”

  “Uh...” Whizzfiddle coughed, “would you believe I’m not with them?”

  “I would not,” answered the guard with a face etched in stone. “I think you will all need to move over to that station for a more detailed search.”

  “How dare you treat a princess like this,” said Jill, shrugging away from his grip. “I’ll have your head for this.”

  The guard grabbed the microphone on his jacket, pressed the button, and said, “We have a set of difficult travelers at station four. I repeat, station four has a group of difficult travelers.”

  “I’m not being difficult,” whined Whizzfiddle.

  An avalanche of weapons spun from all positions and leveled on the group. Whizzfiddle instantly raised his hands, as did Gungren, Eloquen, and Kelsa. Jill, however, remained steadfast in her resolve.

  With a grin, the guard grabbed his microphone again and said, “Looks like we have a full-cavity search situation here.”

  § § §

  “Thanks for that, Princess,” Whizzfiddle said as they arrived at the portal station in Wikr.

  “I cannot believe what those baboons did. I’ll tell my father about this, I will.”

  Whizzfiddle huffed. “Well, I’m sure that will make the memory of that event go away, won’t it?”

  “The spring is sprung like the song sweetly sung,” said Eloquen.

  “Him say—”

  “I don’t want to know what him...he said,” Whizzfiddle interrupted. “What I want to do is try like mad to forget about what just happened.”

  “Yep.”

  “Maybe next time, my lady,” Kelsa said with a twitch, “you could choose your words more carefully?”

  “Stay your tongue, Kelsa. I shan’t be admonished by one of my guards.”

  “Then I’ll do it,” Whizzfiddle piped up. “Next time we’re in a situation where guards are about, don’t say anything that may rouse their desire to make our ability to comfortably sit a three-day impossibility!”

  The ground bounced about and Whizzfiddle searched for something to hold on to. The only thing within reach was Gungren’s head. Fortunately, the little Giant had the balance of a boulder.

  A shadow soon followed the bouncing and everyone looked up, and then up a bit farther. It was one of the jolly Giants of Wikr. Massive Human-looking creatures with big, gap-toothed grins and grimy hair.

  “Hi, widdle people,” the fellow said as if he’d just seen a flower for the first time. He then turned and called out, “Car
eful in dis area, everybody. Der is widdle people here!”

  “Okay!” came the unanimous reply.

  Whizzfiddle was amazed that the buildings were able to stay upright with the amount of quaking the ground suffered at the pounding of these enormous people. They’d obviously been made out of some type of triple reinforced materials, because doubly reinforced just didn’t sound like quite enough.

  “Now what do we do?” Jill uttered, looking a tad browbeaten.

  “You mean besides struggling to stand upright and not get crushed?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I’d say that we should just ask around to see if anyone has seen Jack,” Kelsa advised.

  “That would be my first thought, too, yes.” Whizzfiddle looked up at the Giant, but caught himself. “Actually, I think our quest leader should probably chime in on this, yes?”

  “Yep.” He moved to the front of the group and looked up, yelling, “Excuse me.”

  “Hey, widdle guy. Whatcha need?”

  “You seen three other little guys come through here today?”

  The Giant scratched his head for a moment. “I don’t fink so. Lemme ask around real quick.” He turned and hollered, “Dese widdle guys wanna know if we has seen any other widdle guys today.”

  “I fink dat Lub gave some widdle guys a piggyback ride, ain’t he?” said another.

  “Yep, him did,” called yet another.

  “Ah, dat right,” said the Giant they’d been talking to, while snapping his fingers. The sound reminded Whizzfiddle of a gunshot he’d once heard when vacationing in Dekmenhem. “Not sure if him back yet, doh.”

  “Him is,” said another Giant who had stopped to study the troop. “Saw him at da park.”

  “Where the park at?” asked Gungren.

  “It over dat way,” the first Giant said. “Want me to frow you der?”

  “No, no!” Whizzfiddle yelled before Gungren could answer. While his apprentice’s body could likely handle such a launch, Whizzfiddle’s would break into many pieces. “Thank you. I think we can manage the walk on our own.”

  “Okay, den.”

  Gungren nodded. “Thank you for the help.”

  “Dat okay. Have good one!”

  The lumbering fellow clomped away as everyone held on to something.

  Whizzfiddle was getting too old for this sort of thing. Technically, he’d been too old for hundreds of years, but it was the nature of people who were old to point out their body’s failings, even if only to themselves. He should have been basking in the Afterlife many years ago; instead, he was standing in the middle of Wikr doing his best to avoid becoming a pancake.

  “Last time I was here they had a path system set up for the smaller races,” he quipped. “There is a big industry down here, in a manner of speaking, and so they have to make sure that potential business customers don’t get squashed.”

  “Remember where that was?” asked Gungren.

  “No, but there’s bound to be a map or something around here.”

  “Wait,” said Jill, “are you honestly telling me that people hire these monstrous things?”

  Gungren tilted his head at her. “I happen to be one of them monster things.”

  “What?” said Jill, looking down at him.

  “I were a Giant before a wizard cast a spell on me.”

  “Oh...” The princess cringed. “Sorry. I meant no offense.”

  “Well, calling people ‘things’ is offensive,” Gungren replied. “Giants don’t call Humans ‘things.’”

  “Again, my apologies.”

  “We call you other names,” he admitted, “but not ‘things.’”

  “Right.”

  Eloquen pointed at one of the side walls. Everyone followed his finger, but Whizzfiddle wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to get them to see. To him it just looked like a massive set of boards that even the most experienced climber would find difficult to scale.

  “The edge of clearings has the meandering impresses of average footfalls.”

  “Him say that little people walk there.”

  They skittered to the side of the compound until they came to a park, of sorts. It was huge. There were Giants playing all sorts of games, including catch, baseball, kickball, and some were even using rollerblades and skateboards.

  At the entrance to the park stood the famous Jolly Giant Piggyback Company. They were known for running little folks all over the land of Wikr.

  Behind the counter stood a brown-haired Giant who wore a nametag that read “Lub.”

  “I believe that’s our man... Erm, Giant,” Whizzfiddle told Gungren.

  Gungren stepped right up to the podium and knocked on the wall. Lub’s enormous head looked out and down on the tiny Giant and smiled as though he’d just seen a long-lost relative.

  “Hi, widdle people! You need piggyback ride?”

  “You give ride to other little people today?” Gungren said, getting straight to the point.

  “Yup.”

  “Where you take them?”

  Lub’s face drooped. “Dat top-secret stuff. We got privacy rules we gotta follow.”

  “Excuse me,” said Jill in her royal voice, “I am the Princess Jill Henroot and I demand to be told where you took those people. I believe one of them is my fiancé!”

  “Is you really a princess?” said Lub, all agleam.

  “I am.”

  “Wow. Never met a princess people before.” He glanced at Gungren. “Do I supposed to bow or somefin’?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay, fanks.” Lub then grabbed a large Smart TalkyThingy—by Human standards, anyway—and said, “Can I take a selfie wif you?”

  “A what?” Jill replied irritably. “Look, you, this is of the utmost importance. I expect immediate assistance with this issue.”

  “Sorry, Princess, but I are not allowed.” Lub lowered the TalkyThingy. “I could lose my job for dat.”

  “Let me tell you something, you overgrown—”

  “If I may?” Whizzfiddle interrupted, silencing Jill, though she retained her uppity stare. The old wizard turned and smiled warmly at the Giant. “Lub, I understand that you’re not allowed to tell us where you took these people.”

  “Nope.”

  “But I wonder if you’re allowed to show us?”

  “Hmmm,” said Lub thoughtfully. “Dat a good question.”

  “Maybe you could point to it on a map or something?”

  “Let me check.” He lifted a massive book and slammed it on the table. After flipping through the pages and running his finger under each line, he clicked his teeth and frowned. “Nope, can’t point on map. Says right here on section 1.17a, ‘No pointing on map.’”

  “Rules are so persnickety,” said Whizzfiddle.

  “What about taking us to that same place where you took them?” asked Gungren. "That allowed?"

  Lub scanned again. “Dat not against the rules. I can do dat.”

  “Good,” said Gungren. “How much it cost?”

  “One silver per person, plus tip.”

  “How’s about I just give you ten gold pieces and we’ll call it fair?” said Whizzfiddle, reaching up and dropping the coins on the counter.

  Lub swallowed hard. “You sure about dis, mister?”

  “Only if you get us moving on the jiffy,” Whizzfiddle replied. “We’ve no time to waste.”

  “You got it, mister,” said Lub as he pointed at a box by one of the trees. “Just jump in dat crate der and we’ll start runnin’!”

  YOU GETTING THIS?

  It wasn’t easy being a Dwarf in this profession. Corg had risen through the ranks through hard work and tenacity. Plus, he didn’t take crap from anyone. The way he saw it was that if he was in charge then he was going to act like he was in charge. At the end of the project, it would be his neck if the production was anything less than stellar, so he did all he could to keep his reputation as solid as possible.

  “Yer a Fate, right?” he was saying t
o Aniok.

  “Obviously.”

  “And ye don’t know which way to point a blasted camera?”

  “Like I said,” explained Aniok, “we always look down on people.”

  “Even each other?”

  “Wherever possible, yes.”

  From his brief interaction with the Fates, he could see that this was factual. They were an arrogant group. Almost as arrogant as his Dwarven brothers and sisters. Well, maybe not his sisters. But Dwarves didn’t look down on people, mostly because they could only look up at them.

  “So ye ain’t after havin’ any TV shows up here?”

  “Well, sure, but...”

  “And do ye only see the tops of the heads of people on them shows?”

  “Yes.”

  “Exactly my point, and...” Corg paused. “Wait, what?”

  “Why would we want to see their faces?” asked Aniok, perplexed.

  “For expressions and such, ye screwy Fate!” Corg was walking around, pulling at his hair now. How could a race who was so powerful be so imbued with idiocy? “How’re ye supposed to get the emotion from a person if you’re only after lookin’ at the top of his head?”

  “I don’t appreciate your tone of voice, Dwarf.”

  “And I dinnae appreciate yer lack of sense, Fate.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Lornkoo, who had been sitting at a nearby table. “You two should both just relax. This isn’t about either of you, right? It’s about getting the job done.”

  “Shut up, Lornkoo,” snapped Aniok.

  “Aye,” agreed Corg. “Shut yer yap.”

  “Me?” said Lornkoo in shock. “I’m just trying to be helpful here.”

  Aniok looked at Corg. “Imagine him telling us how to behave.”

  “Exactly my sentiments,” Corg replied.

  “I can’t believe you two,” Lornkoo said after a few blinks.

  “Rude is what you are, Lornkoo.”

  “Well said, Ani,” said Corg.

  “Ani?” Aniok appeared to be swishing the name around in his mind. “Actually, I kind of like that.”

  “Yeah?”