by Aron Lewes
Rank tap-danced to the head of the table, but he didn't sit. Instead, he lightly blew on a harmonica to get their attention.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” Rank began. “My name's Rank, and I'll be providing the entertainment for your feast.” He opened a bag, pulled out a threadbare marionette, and plunked it on the table. Judging from its dress and tangled blonde locks, the puppet was supposed to be female. “Believe it or not, in addition to being a master swordsman, reaver mage, dragon slayer and aspiring artist, I'm also a puppeteer.”
“Aspiring artist?” Terra spoke up. “You're an artist?”
“Aye. I dabble in scribbles every now and then... when I find the time. I'm a very busy man, you know.”
Cinda barely paid attention to him. Her eyes kept wandering to Fenix, who winced as the witch's lips were buried against his neck. Then her gaze drifted to the urn, where her tiny Fairy Godmother was trapped.
“Or rather... witch,” Cinda whispered the correction to herself. “How did I not realize my Fairy Godmother was a witch?”
Rank realized he was losing her attention, so he tooted his harmonica a second time. As soon as Cinda's eyes were back on him, Rank cleared his throat and continued. “I'm going to perform a puppet show for you lot. I hope you enjoy it. I call this tale, Little Slipper Girl.”
Rank's usual grin was plastered across his lips as he began his story. “Once upon a time, there was a girl who hated her life and everyone in it. She lived with her stepmum and stepsisters, who made her sweep the floors and wash their soiled knickers. Well... one stepsister was at least halfway decent, but the other one was a hag and a shrew.”
Terra gasped at his description of her. “Halfway decent? Surely I'm more than halfway decent?”
Ignoring Terra's complaint, Rank made his blonde puppet stomp across the table. In a high-pitched voice, he made the puppet speak, “I hate my life! I hate it, hate it, hate it and I'm sad, sad, sad! I wish I could go to the ball and snag myself a handsome hunk of a prince!”
“It wasn't really like that,” Cinda apathetically noted. “I never really threw tantrums like that.”
Rank continued to narrate, “The sweeping beauty dropped to her knees and screamed at the heavens...” He changed his voice again, “Please god, let me go to the ball and snag myself a gorgeous, rich, royal piece of arse!”
“I'm pretty sure I never said that,” Cinderella spoke up. Realizing her protests had no effect on his story, she capsized with a sigh, “Oh well.”
“An empathetic old witch overheard our heroine's plea,” Rank continued as he walked another puppet across his makeshift stage. “The witch called herself a fairy and rushed to Sweeping Beauty's rescue. She liked to hook up desperate girls with handsome princes.”
Cinda briefly turned away from the puppet show and checked on Fenix. Donnabella was feeding him green beans from her fork. Every now and then, the witch dragged a hand through his hair. She seemed to be obsessed with his hair. “Poor Fenix,” Cinda whispered to herself.
“I'll make you the most eye-catching girl at the ball!” Rank's witch puppet declared. “To do that, you'll need a fancy schmancy dress. That pompous prince would never notice you if you weren't in a shimmery silver gown. He's shallow like that.”
“Sharman isn't shallow,” Cinda weakly defended her beau.
Rank didn't reply. He just grinned again. Before continuing, he ripped off his puppet's tatty dress, revealing a fancy one beneath it. “With the witch's help, Sweeping Beauty made it to the ball, where she could meet her handsome Princey.” Rank tossed his Fairy Godmother puppet and exchanged it for a prince. Wooden Sharman had messy brown hair and a smile painted on his face. “As soon as he saw her, time stopped. His mind went blank. He almost fainted. His jaw dropped. He couldn't breathe. His heart was barely beating. He had tears in his eyes. He--”
“Enough,” Terra interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “We get the point.”
Rank's princely puppet faced the audience and croaked, “I don't think I've ever been more aroused.”
Cinderella's face landed in the palm of her hand. Rank's retelling made her groan.
“Naturally,” Rank's narration continued, “Princey wanted to dance with her. So he swaggered over and said... waltz with me, love.”
While the puppets were waltzing, Cinda checked on Fenix again. This time, Donnabella was kissing him. Her red lipstick smeared across his mouth as she suckled his lips. When she realized Cinderella was watching them, Donnabella turned to her and purred, “Isn't Fenix a beautiful, delicious boy?”
When Cinderella spun away from them, her body tensed. The witch had turned him into her love slave, and he looked miserable because of it. Suddenly, she wanted to save Fenix as much as she wanted to save herself.
Rank's puppet show was paused by technical difficulties. During their dance, the marionettes' strings had somehow gotten tangled. With a grumble, he threw them on the table and plucked at the knots.
“Oh well...” Terra exaggerated her disappointment with a heavy sigh. “I guess the show's over.”
“Nope. The show's still on!” Rank declared. As soon as his puppets were disentangled, they went back to dancing, and his story continued. “Unfortunately, the half-assed witch cast a half-assed spell, and at the stroke of midnight, Sweeping Beauty's fancy dress was doomed to disappear. She had to run away, leaving her smitten Princey behind.”
As his Cinderella puppet bolted across the stage, Rank reverted to his high-pitched voice. “Oh no! I lost a wee slipper!” He knocked off one of his puppet's clog-like shoes. “Oh well... I've got to keep running. I wouldn't want him to see me in my ugly old dress. That bastard's so shallow, he'd fall out of love with me for sure!”
“Right,” murmured an unamused Cinda. “I'm pretty sure those were my exact words. Verbatim.”
Rank winked at Cinda and continued his tale. He set his Cinderella puppet aside and brought the prince forward.
“I need to find my girl,” puppet Sharman declared. “To do that, I'm going to have every woman in my kingdom try on this shoe! It's tedious as hell, but it's the best plan I can come up with.”
Terra finished her supper, pushed her plate away, and laid her head on the table. She was tired of watching Rank's show.
Rank pulled another puppet from his bag and had her waddle over to the prince.
“You're not my girl!” puppet Sharman growled. “You're ugly! Bye!”
Rank swapped the rejected puppet for a different one.
Once again, puppet Sharman yelled, “You're not my girl! You're ugly! Bye!”
“Is this almost over, Rank?” The question was asked by Donnabella, whose lips were stretched by a yawn as she watched the puppet play. “I'd really like to retire for the evening. I don't have time for your silly games.”
“I'm getting to the climax! Be patient!” Rank assured her as he reached for Cinderella's puppet. In a clear voice, he went on, “At long last, Princey arrived at the right cottage. Sweeping Beauty wasn't in her silver dress anymore, so he barely recognized her. However, when her foot fit the shoe, that's when he knew... he was looking at the woman he wanted to have precious little babies with.”
Puppet Sharman got down on his knees and asked, “Will you be my wife and have precious little babies with me?”
Puppet Cinda replied, “I'd love to be your wife and have precious little babies with you!”
As the puppeteer brought his marionettes' faces together, he made obnoxious kissing noises. He tugged on Sharman's strings, manipulating his arm to stroke Cinderella's hair.
“And they both lived happily ever after!” Rank finished with a bow. “The end.”
Rank got a smattering of applause from Jostle and Pitch, only because they were afraid of him. Everyone else was bored or vexed.
“Well, what did you think?” Rank asked as he sank into an empty chair. “Did no one enjoy that?”
“No,” Donnabella answered first. As she buttered a roll and shoved it through
her lips, she looked weary. “I couldn't wait until it was over.”
Rank tried to defend his puppet show. “I thought it was a riveting reenactment, myself. It was full of pulse-pounding action and fascinating characters.”
“Pulse-pounding action?” Terra spoke up, chuckling at his word choice. “Pfft! I barely have a pulse after watching that!”
Rank's next question was directed at Cinda. “Well, what did you think? Your opinion matters most.”
“I actually felt like I was living my life all over again,” Cinda sarcastically replied. “Word for word.”
As Rank stuffed his face with fish, Donnabella lifted the lid from Gloriosa's urn. “Gloriosa?” the wicked witch called to her. “Gloriosa, are you alright down there? It's not getting difficult to breathe, is it? Are you hungry?” Gloriosa didn't answer, so Donnabella dropped a bean into the urn. “Well, if you are hungry, there's your meal for the day. As tiny as you are, I think a single bean should be sufficient.”
Pitch felt sorry for her, so he pitched a piece of turkey into the urn. His act of kindness earned him a slap on the wrist from his mentor.
“No, Pitch. Do not take pity on her!” Donnabella admonished him. “Gloriosa deserves her punishment. She needs to know there are consequences for crossing me.” She turned her attention to Fenix, who had been ordered to caress her thigh. His hand would continuously grope her until she gave him a new command. “I'm tired. Fenix, carry me to my bedchamber.”
As he rose from his chair, the enslaved Fenix lifted Donnabella into his arms. His eyes were downcast as he carried her away.
It was Rank who spoke next. He had already stuffed his face and was swabbing his mouth with a handkerchief. “Well, ladies... I'm taking you back to the cellar. Let's go.”
“Why?” Cinderella pouted at him. “Why are you helping Donnabella and not us?”
“I'm not helping Donnabella. I'm not helping you either.” Rank stuffed his dirty handkerchief into the pocket of his trousers. “You need to understand something, sweetheart. Rank only helps Rank.”
“Rank!” Donnabella called to him. She was using magic to stir her morning tea. When the witch wiggled her finger, the teaspoon moved on its own. “Rank, I need you for something.”
Rank preferred unusual attire, and his chosen clothing continued the trend. He paired a pale gray coat with a blindingly bright yellow tie and brown leather breeches. Beneath his checkered newsboy cap, his hair was slightly messier than usual. And, of course, he never went anywhere without his mad grin. “What do you need, ma'am?” Rank asked, dipping into an obedient bow.
“There's a Ruby Wyrm slumbering on Rainer's Crag, and that's a bit too close to home. I need someone to drive it away.” When her tea was ready, she magically moved the spoon to a basin of dirty dishes. “You're good at handling dragons. Would you mind?”
Rank rubbed his chin as he contemplated. After a short pause, he answered, “Sure. I s'pose I could do that. I'll need to borrow one of the girls, though.”
“That would be fine. Take the stepsister, though.” A smile flitted across Donnabella's lips as she sipped her tea. “I don't care if that one gets eaten by a dragon.”
Rank whistled merrily as he lowered the hatch and bounded down the stairs. He didn't bother with a greeting—he just lifted Terra into his arms and walked away with her.
“Hey!” Terra shrieked. “What are you doing? Where are we going?”
“That's a lot of questions,” Rank complained as he carried her up the steps. “I don't like questions... unless they're riddles. Riddles are fun.” When they reached the top, he closed the hatch with a kick.
“But... surely you can give me some kind of clue?” Terra whined. “Are you dumping me in the middle of nowhere like you always wanted to?”
“No.”
She tried to guess again. “Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?”
“No. I'd never do that, love,” Rank assured her as he plopped her into the driver's seat of a tiny curricle.
“Is this...” a horrified expression passed over Terra's face, “a date?”
“It can be a date, if that's what you want.” Rank's eyebrows wiggled suggestively as he fastened a horse to the curricle.
“I most certainly don't!” Terra's hands folded in her lap. As he climbed into the seat beside her, the vehicle lurched. “Please tell me where we're going. I'm tired of guessing.”
“We're just taking a little trip, sweetheart,” Rank answered. With a gentle flick of the reins, he urged the horse into a trot. “We're taking a little ridesy-widesy around the area.”
“A ridesy-widesy,” she apathetically repeated. “For no purpose whatsoever?”
“Nah. We have a purpose.”
“What purpose?” Terra could feel her eyes narrowing. She was beyond frustrated, and now her face was reflecting it.
“I couldn't spoil the surprise. That wouldn't be any fun.” Rank started whistling again. As his left hand held the horse's reins, his right arm slid around Terra's shoulders.
“What are you doing?” she snarled at him. “Don't touch me, you creep!”
“Can I put my hand here?” Rank's hand dropped to her knee.
“No! You most certainly may not!”
“How about here?” His fingers traced the curve of Terra's neck. This time, the touch was so intimate, she swatted his hand away.
“No! Stop touching me!”
Within a few minutes, he found the Ruby Wyrm. The massive, jewel-encrusted red dragon was slumbering on top of a tall plateau.
“Oh my god... a dragon!” Terra gasped. “I'm so tired of dragons. Why are there so many of them? It's getting a bit ridiculous, don't you think? Are all humans fated to be food for giant--”
Rank silenced her with a kiss. As soon as she felt his mouth on hers, Terra's fist bashed against the side of his head.
“What are you doing?” she roared. “I never gave you permission to kiss me! For goodness sake, I don't even like you!”
Rank seized the stewing stepsister's wrist and twirled his wand a few times. When the stick stopped twirling, massive icicles soared from its tip. The icicles attacked the sleeping dragon, which awoke with a ground-shaking roar.
“It's weak against ice,” Rank casually told her as the dragon soared into the sky.
“I know that already,” grumbled a scowling Terra. “I study dragons. Remember?”
“Aye.” Rank watched the retreating dragon until it disappeared over a cliff. “I used your anger to make my ice bigger and better. I figured you'd be angry if I tried to kiss you. I was right.” He smirked at her. “I'm glad it worked.”
* * *
“I sent the ransom note two days ago. Should I be concerned that I have yet to receive a reply?” Donnabella was asking the question to no one in particular. Fenix was standing behind her. His blue-gray eyes were dripping with sorrow as he rubbed his mistress' shoulders. Pitch and Jostle were sitting in front of her, secretly snickering about Fenix's massage. Cinderella was in the back of the room, handcuffed and chained to the floor.
“You sent the letter with a carrier pigeon, right?” Fenix asked. “It probably took the bird a full day to fly there, and it will probably take it another day to fly back.”
“Perhaps.” As Fenix's hands expertly kneaded her shoulders, Donnabella closed her eyes and moaned. “Still, I'm surprised I haven't heard something by now. The wait is killing me.” She suddenly pointed at Gloriosa's urn, which was set beside her feet. “Oh well. While I wait, I might as well entertain myself. Pitch... rub the urn and ask for a wish.”
“Really?” The stockier twin's eyes were wide with anticipation. “You're letting me ask for a wish?”
“Certainly. And make it a good one. You don't want to make it too easy for Gloriosa to fulfill.”
Pitch grabbed the urn and stroked it three times. By the end of the third stroke, there was a loud popping noise. Tiny Gloriosa, freed from the urn, was floating around the room in a ball of light.
&nb
sp; “I'm here to grant your wish,” Gloriosa morosely reported. “What would you like?”
“Ooo, ooo! I know!” Pitch exclaimed. He made the decision so quickly, his brother was glaring at him. “I need a new pair of trousers! These have a hole in the bum.”
Gloriosa's eyelashes fluttered. She was expecting something more complex—like a house or a massive bag of money. “Are you... sure?”
“Aye. There's nothing I need more,” Pitch insisted. “Oh... and can they be brown? I like brown trousers.”
“V-very well...” With a wave of Gloriosa's hand, new brown breeches appeared on the spotty twin's stumpy legs. As soon as the wish was granted, she disappeared. Cinderella assumed she was back in the urn.
“Ohhhhh!” Pitch cooed as he studied his new trousers. “These ones fit so much better than the last ones! It's like they was tailored to fit me!”
“Pitch...” Donnabella disapprovingly clicked her tongue. “I'm disappointed in you. You could have asked for anything, you know.”
“I know.” When Pitch nodded, a sheaf of red hair tumbled into his eyes. “There was nothing I needed more than a new pair of trousers, though.”
With a disappointed grumble, Donnabella turned her attention to her second red-haired student. “Now it's your turn, Jostle,” she announced. “Rub the urn and make a wish.”
Jostle silently collected the urn from his brother. As one hand rubbed the unpolished surface, his other hand scratched his head.
Once again, there was another loud pop, and Gloriosa reappeared. This time, she apathetically asked, “What do you want?”
“Hmm...” Jostle scratched his chin, which was covered in tiny ginger bristles. “Dunno.”
“Well, you'll have to think of something,” Gloriosa encouraged him. “To be honest, I'm ready to go back to the urn. I'd rather not be subjected to Donnabella's face, ugly as it is.” For a few tense seconds, the witches glared at each other.
“I guess...” Jostle clenched his teeth and hesitated. “I guess... maybe... I'd like a box of sweets? Chocolates, preferably.”