Long Live the Queen

by Gerry Swallow

  As he prepared to bring it around and as the witch leveled her finger at his rapidly beating heart, his foot caught a large root. Down to the slimy ground he fell as a white flare sped from Mary Mary’s finger, across the way to the trunk of a tall, thin tree.

  The blast snapped the tree in two, its upper half falling toward Cory as he raced up from behind. When the tree knocked him to the ground, Elspeth, Dumpty, and Maury gasped and sprang to their feet. Of their four-pronged attack, there was only one left, and he was nearly upon her.

  With muscles flexed and teeth clenched, Krool swung his sword at the witch’s neck. The steel sliced first through the air and then through the flesh. The wound spat blood across the swordsman’s face and into his eyes. And when he wiped the blood away with the sleeve of his shirt, those very eyes were met with the horrible realization that he had done precisely what Elspeth had told him not to. He had missed.

  The witch ran her hand across the superficial wound and inspected the sticky blood. Then she glowered at the man who had tried to chop off her head and raised a bright-red finger in his direction.

  “For you,” she said, “there will be something far worse than death.”

  “No,” pleaded Krool. “Please.”

  At the top of the hill, Elspeth, Maury, and Dumpty stood paralyzed in fear. The stress was such that Dumpty’s vertigo hit him hard and sudden, leaving Elspeth no chance of catching him before he fell forward and began to roll. All she could do was sprint after him as he bounded down the hill, picking up speed like a dislodged boulder. Dumpty’s scream alerted the witch to turn around but not in time to avoid the sprawling half man, half egg.

  With considerable force he barreled into the witch, knocking her back and to the ground before continuing on, only stopping when he collided with a large tree.

  The witch, stunned and in pain, sought to spring to her feet, but found her bloody neck pinned to the ground by the sole of a muddy shoe. The shoe belonged to Elspeth, who reached down, took hold of the rusted chain around the witch’s neck, and pulled sharply until the chain snapped.

  With her foot still planted firmly upon the witch’s neck, Elspeth raised the glimmering pear high into the air, as if she had just torn Mary Mary’s heart from her chest and was putting it on display. And in a way, that’s exactly what she had done. With the breaking of the chain came the severing of the witch’s ties to her supernatural powers and, as a result, victory.

  “Mary Mary,” said Elspeth. “You are hereby under arrest for robbery, attempted murder, and the kidnapping of Her Majesty, Queen Farrah.”

  One stunned witch has fallen down,

  Fallen down, fallen down.

  One stunned witch has fallen down,

  It’s my pear, lady.

  Chapter

  19

  With his sword, Cory sawed through several of the vines holding the cage together, then peeled the wall back and out climbed Farrah, thin and haggard but relieved and overjoyed. Winkie took her in his arms and gave what seemed to be too forceful a hug to someone so frail.

  “I was hoping you’d come,” she sobbed. “And I was hoping you wouldn’t. She could just as easily have killed you all.”

  “But she didn’t,” said Winkie. “And never will she hurt anyone again.”

  “Thank you,” said Farrah.

  “You must never leave me,” said Winkie. “I fear that I would die without you.”

  “Then you will live forever,” said Farrah. “Because I’m not going anywhere. You have my word on that.” She then broke the embrace so she could address the others. Rory and Maury, his sword returned as promised, were standing guard over the witch while Elspeth, Gene, and Bo-Peep tended to Dumpty and his many bumps and bruises. Krool, on the other hand, had only one thing in mind. By then, he was halfway up the tree in search of the stolen money.

  “For all you’ve done I will always be grateful,” said the queen. “And I hope one day to find a way to repay you for your bravery and selflessness.”

  “Long live the queen!” shouted Gene.

  “Long live the queen!” echoed the others several times as Winkie pulled Farrah close again. Eager to welcome the queen back herself, Elspeth started over toward Farrah, but Dumpty stopped her with an outstretched arm.

  “Maybe give them a moment.”

  “Sure,” said Elspeth. She twirled the golden pear around once before placing it in her jacket pocket, along with her house keys, for safekeeping. As she did, Dumpty suddenly looked unwell and lowered himself to a log. A low moan accompanied the movement.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Bo-Peep.

  Dumpty waved his hand dismissively. “Ah. No worse than falling off a wall. Just need to sit for a moment.” He grimaced then reached around and down the back of his pants. He pulled out a pinecone and tossed it aside.

  “And didn’t I tell you?” said Elspeth. “That sometimes a weakness can become a strength?”

  “What are you on about?” asked Dumpty while removing a twig from his ear.

  “Your vertigo. It saved the day. If you hadn’t toppled over and rolled down the hill, we’d all be dead.”

  “Or we’d all be pink armadillos,” said Bo-Peep.

  “Or dead pink armadillos,” said Gene.

  “I suppose,” said Dumpty. “Still, it would be nice to be able to say that it was by design and not by accident.”

  “Then that’s what we will say,” said Bo-Peep.

  Dumpty hemmed and hawed. “Well, I don’t know if I would feel comfortable saying—”

  “Then say what you want,” said Elspeth. “But we will say that you threw yourself down the hill to save us all. And that will be the official account.”

  With the sound of glass jars clinking together, Krool climbed down the tree, the sack slung over his shoulder. With several feet to go, he elected to jump and landed with a crunch on the shrubs below. He walked over to Elspeth and dumped the contents of the bag at her feet. “It’s all here,” he said. “She didn’t spend a single sixpence. Some people just don’t know how to live. I mean, at least hire a housekeeper. You should see the inside of that place. Disgusting.”

  With his foot, Krool separated the jars into two groups of ten. “Well, look at that,” he said. “Your king gets his queen and he gets to keep the ransom. It’s a win-win.”

  Krool crouched down and went to work opening the jars and removing the notes. “No sense in carrying all these jars around.” He stuffed the wads of bills into his pockets and stood once more. “Well then, I guess this is good-bye. It was lovely seeing you again.”

  “Yeah, it was a real scream,” said Elspeth. “And now that you have your money, just don’t forget your part of the bargain. You’re never to set foot in Banbury Cross again.”

  “You needn’t worry about that,” said Krool. “I’m off to far more interesting destinations, I assure you.”

  “If you make it there,” said Elspeth. “Remember, the Thick is crawling with terrible beasts.”

  “Of which I am one,” said Krool. “Don’t think that I don’t know that.” He offered Elspeth his hand. “Best of luck to you.”

  For a long moment, Elspeth just stared at the very hand that had once dropped her down a well and left her to die. Then she took it. “Same to you,” she said. “And by the way, how did you know? About the lambs?”

  At this Krool laughed, draped his free arm across Elspeth’s shoulders, and gave her a very unwelcome shake and a pat on the back. “Silly girl. It is a fool who believes his dreams are his and his alone,” he said. “One day, perhaps you’ll know what that means.”

  Elspeth pulled away from Krool’s grasp. “I think it’s time for you to leave,” she said.

  Krool nodded his head briefly. “Very well. Until we meet again.” He offered his right hand to Dumpty and to Bo-Peep, and each in turn shook it as a common courtesy—a friendly exchange between sworn enemies allied against another. “It was a pleasure doing business with you,” Krool said. “And Dumpty
?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re a good egg.”

  Krool’s smile was not returned by Dumpty, who couldn’t be sure whether he was being praised or mocked. Then Krool turned on his heel and walked off into the Thick. And as Elspeth watched him go, she was surprised that she could not find the hatred she’d held for him for so long. Instead, she felt some strange combination of relief and foreboding—a strong sense that the long nightmare had either finally ended or was really just beginning.

  Once Krool had vanished among the trees, Elspeth and Bo-Peep went to work removing the money from the jars and stuffing it into Bo-Peep’s pockets.

  “Hello, Elspeth,” said Farrah.

  Elspeth looked up to find the queen standing hand in hand with Winkie. Elspeth put her work aside and hugged her friend carefully. “Are you okay? Did she harm you in any way?”

  “I’m fine,” said Farrah. “Thanks to you.”

  “Oh, I didn’t do anything,” said Elspeth. “I was hiding in the bushes while everyone else did all the work. Bo-Peep attacked the witch head on, and Dumpty here threw himself down the hill like a bowling ball.”

  “Actually, that’s not entirely true,” said Dumpty.

  “Yes,” said Elspeth. “It was more like a cannonball. Anyway, these two and the three brothers over there are your real heroes.”

  “Agreed,” said Winkie. “Their acts were indeed noble. But you rallied us together. With your determination and leadership.”

  “And your kick-butt attitude,” said Gene.

  “And, in addition to saving the queen, I see you’ve recovered the money,” said Winkie.

  “It’s all here,” said Bo-Peep. “I’m a bit surprised that Krool didn’t try and take more than his share. He was alone with it in the shack, so he certainly could have.”

  “Hmm,” said Winkie. “Not nearly enough to change my opinion of the man.”

  “Well, he’s gone now,” said Elspeth. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get going. I told Jack and Jill I’d try to stop by for dinner at their place before going home.”

  “Very well,” said Winkie. “Home it is.”

  Of course Elspeth had no way of knowing that by the time she and the others started out toward Banbury Cross, Jack had managed to limp his way across Torcano Alley and into the forest on the other side.

  The path he took meandered through the trees and, in time, brought him to the place where Manuel, the grand, sweeping willow, had stood for as many years as his trunk had rings.

  “Hola, Señor Jack,” said Manuel, upon seeing Jack, the limp making him easily identifiable even at a distance.

  “Hello, Manuel,” said Jack as he lumbered up and gave a hearty handshake to an outstretched branch. “How have you been keeping?”

  “Getting old,” Manuel replied. “I think I’m losing my bark. And my roots are receding. Oh well. Happens to the best of us. So what brings you to my neck of the woods, señor?”

  “Looking for Elspeth,” said Jack. “You haven’t seen her, have you?”

  “Indeed,” said Manuel. “Twice in the last couple of days. Once going that way, once going this way.” He used his branches to point first toward the castle and next toward the Thick.

  “When?” asked Jack. “How long ago?”

  “Couple of days,” said Manuel. “It’s a shame about Krool. That they had to let him out of prison.”

  “She told you about that, did she?”

  “Didn’t have to,” said Manuel. “He was standing right there. So close I could have stuck a twig up his horrible little nose.”

  “He’s still traveling with them?” said Jack. He tried hard to think of a good reason for such a thing but came up empty. “Why?”

  “I don’t ask a lot of questions,” said Manuel with a shrug of his branches. “It’s better that way.”

  “Yes,” Jack agreed. “Sometimes I wish there were things I didn’t know. Well then, wish me luck.”

  “Vaya con Dios,” Manuel replied. “Be sure to stop by on your way back.”

  “You can count on it.”

  And with that, the willow shook Jack’s hand once more and watched as he continued on, deeper and deeper into the forest.

  Now there was no clear demarcation between the forest and the Thick. There were no signs indicating where one ended and the other began. It was a change gradual enough that it could catch a person off guard, like a swimmer realizing too late that he’d drifted too far from shore and had been caught up in the pull of the riptide. It was every bit as easy to realize too late that you had left the forest behind and entered the Thick.

  And that’s exactly what happened to Jack. The first thing he noticed was that his feet did not come up quite so easily from the ground, which had become increasingly moist and sticky. The canopy slowly became denser, and the sunlight from above, more obscured.

  The lack of natural light made it difficult to search out footprints that might keep him on the trail of Elspeth’s traveling party. Leaning low and forward and brushing ferns and shrubs aside, he studied the ground closely each time he came to a place where the path split into two. So focused was he on looking that he completely forgot to listen, for if he had, he might have noticed the distinct swishing sound that can only be made by the tail of the Germese Stranglerat as it scurries through the undergrowth.

  By the time Jack noticed the noise, it was far too late to do much in the way of self-defense. He straightened up and turned just in time to see the massive pink tail slicing through the fog and swinging toward him. It hit him chest high with a sharp slap and wrapped around his middle, pinning his arms to his side. In an instant, the grip tightened, pushing the air from his lungs.

  Unable to scream as the tail swung him close to the animal’s beady black eyes and long white teeth, Jack could only watch until the lack of oxygen began to blur his vision. And then, with his last bit of reasoning, he opened his mouth, stretched out his neck, and bit the end of the tail.

  The stranglerat screeched in agony. Its tail whipped about spasmodically as Jack clenched his jaw with every bit of strength he had left. Finally, the rat’s grip loosened and the wild motion of its tail sent Jack flying through the air.

  Before he could draw in a much needed breath, he hit the ground with force and tumbled through the mud and down a steep ravine, over rocks and roots all the way to the bottom where he lay in a patch of thick mud. When he was finally able to inhale, it became instantly apparent that he had broken several if not all of his ribs in the fall. Or perhaps they had been broken by the grip of the stranglerat’s powerful tail.

  How they’d become cracked was of little consequence. All that mattered now was that he was completely unable to move anything more than his eyes, which were now focused on the top of the hill where the angry stranglerat stared back with hunger in its eyes and gurgling in its stomach.

  Jack’s flat upon his back,

  His life hangs in between.

  If he can’t quickly bolt he’ll be

  A stranglerat’s cuisine.

  Chapter

  20

  The famously sharp, telescopic vision of an owl is surprisingly ineffective when that same owl is soaring above the unchecked growth of the Thick while trying to spot something in the darkness far below it.

  Searching only on instinct and on the limited information Manuel was able to provide, Fergus glided just inches above the tops of the deformed and fiendish-looking trees. In just moments it became apparent that to have any chance of finding Jack he would have to dive down, beneath their twisted branches and the cover of their broad leaves. The transition into the Thick may be a gradual one when traveling by foot, but to plummet straight into it from above was to go instantly from day to night.

  Fergus’s pupils quickly adjusted to the darkness as his flapping wings propelled him in random directions just above that heavy, loitering fog. Negotiating the labyrinth of thick trunks and contorted branches was made all the more difficult by his complete
inability to turn to the right.

  In the end, it was this very affliction that led to Jack’s discovery. Fergus, forced to circle left in order to turn in the direction he thought he should be going, heard a faint and desperate sound just ahead. Though it was only noise with no words to accompany it, Fergus felt instantly that he knew the source of it.

  By the time his eyes landed upon his friend, Jack was still flat on his back at the bottom of the ravine, engaged in a desperate bid to fend off the stranglerat with a large stick, who was none too happy about his inclusion in any of this.

  “Put me down,” the stick demanded as Jack jabbed it sharply toward the beast. “I don’t want to be involved. This is between you and the rat.”

  But Jack held firmly to the stick and continued to thrust it in the stranglerat’s direction as the hungry predator’s tail sliced through the air with the sound of a bullwhip.

  Without caution or a plan of attack, Fergus let out a screech so fierce it caused the stranglerat to turn quickly away from Jack, just in time to see two fully flexed talons coming toward its puzzled face. Its beady eyes widened, and it let out a squeaky sort of growl.

  The owl’s claws caught the rat’s nose and scratched it badly as Fergus banked sharply away and circled back for a renewed attack. And as the stranglerat shook its head, trying to expel the pain from its bleeding snout, Jack stretched his arm forward, as far as his broken ribs would allow, but still he could not reach the animal’s tail. He would have to sit up.

  With a good deal of abdomen but little abdominal muscle, Jack would have had a hard time even without a collection of cracked ribs. As it was, he could barely lift his head. The pain nearly caused him to black out as finally he willed himself to a sitting position. He took hold of the tail and quickly tied it around the stick in a tight knot.

  “Whoa now,” said the stick. “Just what do you think you’re doing here?”

  Jack did not answer, instead using what little breath he had to let out a groan of agony as he fell back onto his bed of mud.