How to Rescue a Dead Princess (6 page)

Sir William and Randall fished through their pockets and handed over all their coins.

“This is only fourteen.”

“I said I thought we had fifteen,” said Randall. “I didn't say for sure.”

“The deal was for fifteen. Fifteen dvorkins or I leave with the princess.”

“And just what are you going to do with her?” Sir William asked.

“Sell her to someone else.”

“You sick, twisted—”

“Okay, okay, I'll make you an offer. The leg, the fourteen dvorkins, and your clothes—but you get to keep the loincloths and shoes. Take it or leave it.”

A couple minutes later, Lawrence had left with his prizes. Sir William and Randall stood in their undergarments, glaring in the direction he had gone. Sir William picked up the sack.

“Let's go,” he said, throwing open the door to the Realm of Mystery.

AS HE STEPPED through the threshold, Randall was surrounded by a bright yellowish-periwinkle light. The air felt like it had transformed into a thick liquid, and there was a loud sucking sound as he passed through, reminding him of the king of Mosiman eating any type of solid food.

The place was much roomier on the inside. Flashing multicolored lights made it difficult to see much of anything, though. Reasonably bad music played in the background.

“Welcome to the Realm of Mystery!” said a very enthusiastic magically prerecorded voice. “Be sure to visit all of our fun-filled attractions! Test your wisdom and skill! And don't forget—if you mess up, you will be instantly vaporized by one of our many state-of-the-art wizard beams! No food, drinks, pets, epileptic fits, or children under twelve, please. Enjoy your visit, and have a
mysterious
time!”

Sir William passed through the threshold, and the message repeated. A glowing arrow on the marble floor directed them to walk forward to a large podium, upon which rested a stone tablet.

“Exhibit One,” Randall said, reading the tablet aloud. “Toucheth the blue dot when thou art prepared to answer this riddle: Why did the wizard throw his sundial out the window?” He considered that for a moment. “To see if time could fly.”

“No, no,” said Sir William. “Scar said the answer to the first riddle was ‘To get to the other side.'”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

“Perhaps he was throwing the sundial to the other side of the courtyard?”

“What kind of riddle would that be? How could anybody ever figure that answer out? I think Scar was wrong.”

“I don't think we should risk it.”

“Listen to me. ‘To see if time could fly.’ Good answer. ‘To get to the other side.’ Stupid answer.”

“Squire, I am in charge here, and I say we follow Scar's advice.”

“Like we followed Scar's map?”

“Damn good point. We'll use your answer.”

Randall touched the blue dot. A chorus of female voices began to sing “
You've got the answer, oh yeah you've got the answer, oh yeah tell us the answer, oh yeah or you'll be sizzled, oh yeah or you'll be crispy, oh yeah tell us the answer...
”

“To see if time could fly,” said Randall.

The very enthusiastic magically prerecorded voice spoke up. “And you've answered! Your answer is...”

Randall and Sir William held their breath. There was an incredibly long pause.

“Don't you just love suspense?” the voice asked.

Randall and Sir William began to grow faint from lack of oxygen.

“Correct!” said the voice.

The lights began flashing even more rapidly, and the female chorus began to sing again. “
You gave us the right answer, oh yeah gave the right answer, oh yeah we shall not kill you, oh yeah you shall not fester, oh yeah gave the right answer
!”

“I hope we don't have to listen to that every time,” muttered Sir William.

The podium suddenly vanished. A glowing arrow directed them to a second podium, this one also with a stone tablet.

“Exhibit two,” read Randall. “Thou shalt answer another riddle: ‘What doth walk on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?'”

“Why, the Shapeshifter of McIlveen, of course!”

“No, wait! I recognize this! This is the famous Riddle of the Sphinx. The answer is Man.”

“Man? What man?” asked Sir William.

“Any man. They crawl on all fours as a baby, walk upright as an adult, and use a cane when they're old and decrepit.”

“So, we're talking about a person who's gone from birth to old age in one day? Is there some disease out there I haven't been told about?”

“It doesn't mean morning as in a real morning. It's morning as in the morning of your life. It's symbolic.”

“Forget that. I vote for the Shapeshifter of McIlveen.”

Sir William reached for the blue dot. Randall hurriedly thrust his hand out and touched it first.

The voice sounded. “Yeah, what's your answer?”

“Man!” shouted Randall before Sir William could respond.

“
Bzzzzz
! Nope! Wrong-o! Incorrectomundo! The right answer is ... the Shapeshifter of Adamtroy!”

“Well, you were wrong, too,” said Randall, quietly.

There was a loud humming sound that drowned out the music. “Prepare to die!” announced the voice.

“Okay,” said Randall, “that would require making up a will, purchasing a tombstone, saying goodbye to loved ones...”

“...selling your body to magical research...” added Sir William.

“...running up a huge tab at Dee's Pub...”

The humming sound grew so loud that it hurt their ears. Then, abruptly, it disappeared, allowing them to hear a particularly annoying verse of the song currently playing in the background.

“Juuuuuust kidding,” said the voice. “'Man’ was correct. You'd be surprised how many idiots go with the shapeshifter. We lose 43% of our guests that way.”

Randall smiled and looked smug as the podium vanished.

“If you continue to look smug, I will make you the opposite of ‘smug’ by ripping out your gums.”

“What?”

“You know, smug ... gums ... opposites...”

“No offense, sire, but that has to be the most forced creative threat I've ever heard.”

“I know,” Sir William admitted. “It's always been at the bottom of my stockpile.”

“I hope you've never used it in an actual fight.”

“Oh no, of course not. I was waiting for a less important occasion to test it out. I figured you could give me your assessment of it.”

“That was good thinking. Really, it doesn't work. I'd say get rid of it.”

“I will. Thanks for your honesty.”

“No problem.”

“Shall we move on to the third test?”

“By all means.”

They followed the glowing arrow to yet another podium. Randall read the stone tablet. “Exhibit three. A man hath sixteen children. Each of these children hath twenty teeth, except for the eighth child, whose third tooth was struck by a sparrow and fell out. This tooth was sold to a very foolish miner for fifty-seven dvorkins. Four of these dvorkins were fake, however, and the miner was sentenced to ten years in the dungeon. In the dungeon, the miner ate six rats. These rats carried forty diseases, but the miner only caught thirty-nine of them. The thirty-fifth disease killed the miner, and he was buried in a cemetery with two hundred and fifteen tombstones. Twelve of these tombstones bore the inscription ‘Let me out.’ Which exhibit number is this?”

“Three,” answered Sir William.

“You think it's a trick question?”

“No, just a dumb one.”

“But the other two exhibits are gone. That could mean this is the first.”

“I've been wrong the past two times, and therefore the odds are in favor of me being right this time,” Sir William explained, touching the blue dot.

“What?” asked the voice.

“Three,” said Sir William.

“Yep,” said the voice.

The podium vanished. The glowing arrow led them to a cushioned bench. After doing his routine whoopee cushion check, Randall sat down. Sir William sat next to him.

“This is the fourth exhibit,” said the voice. “An endurance test. You are going to hear the story
Milton the Merchant and His Magical Number Adventure
. If you move from that bench, you will be destroyed.”

“Oh no ... no...” whispered Sir William. “I know of at least eight murders directly tied to somebody being read that story.”

The voice continued. “This will be the original, unabridged version.”

Randall whimpered. The original version was a 1570 page single-spaced manuscript handwritten in very tiny print that struck terror into the hearts of all who gazed upon it.

The voice began to speak in a monotone. “Milton the Merchant really liked numbers. He liked the number one, and the number two, as well as the number three. In addition, he had quite a fondness for the numbers four, five, and six. But he especially liked the number seven, because seven was bigger than one, two, three, four, five, and even six. The number eight was too big, however, and frightened him, but Milton cherished the number seven like his own child.

“One day, Milton woke up and decided he was going to count to seven. Counting like this made him ever so happy. He sat up in bed, and thought about whether or not he ought to start with zero this time. But zero wasn't really a number, at least not to Milton, and so he decided to start with one.”

Randall's breath was coming in quick gasps. Sir William put a comforting hand on his shoulder, though Randall noticed the hand was twitching.

“'One...’ he said. But, alas, he didn't really want to proceed to two, because that would mean leaving the number one behind. And he did love the number one. Not as much as the number seven, of course, but he loved it all the same.”

“Make it stop,” Randall pleaded.

“'Whatever shall I do?’ Milton worried. ‘I do so want to count to two, yet I also wish to stay on one.’ What would
you
do if you were Milton?”

“Drown myself,” said Sir William.

“Then Milton got an idea. It was a good idea, and made Milton smile nearly as much as he smiled when he thought of the number seven. ‘Why, it is simple!’ he declared. ‘I shall write the number one on this piece of paper, and then I can look at it while I count to two!'”

Sir William's grip on Randall's shoulder tightened, causing him to wince with pain.

“And Milton did. But when he finally counted to two, Milton grew sad again, for now he couldn't count to three without rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrwwwwwwwwwww....”

The voice faded away. A perky female voice sounded. “We are experiencing magical difficulties. This exhibit is now closed.”

“YES!” Sir William shouted. “PAR-TEE! PAR-TEE!”

The glowing arrow appeared, and they got up from the bench and proceeded to the next exhibit. It was a stone table, upon which rested a lobster, an avocado, and a piece of lint. A placard on the table read “Thou shalt determineth whicheth object doth not belongeth, and toucheth the blueth dotteth underneatheth. Got ith?”

“The lint,” suggested Randall. “You can eat the lobster and the avocado.”

“I agree about the lint,” said Sir William, “but it might be because both the lobster and avocado can be used as weapons, while the lint would be woefully ineffective.”

“No, no, you're wrong. The answer is the lint. It's the only man-made substance on the table.”

“It must be the lint. The lint is the only one that would burn right away if you thrust a torch at it.”

“Wait, I changed my mind. It's the lint, because that's the only one you can fit between your toes or in your belly button.”

Sir William touched the blue dot under the lint.

“Guess what?” said the voice.

Randall and Sir William waited.

“No, really, guess what?”

“Uh, what?” asked Randall.

“You know that dot you pressed?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, let's take a little quiz. What letter does lobster start with?”

“L,” Randall answered, his stomach sinking.

“And what letter does lint start with?”

“L,” Randall answered, his stomach continuing its downward trajectory.

“Soooooo ... it's my guess that the one thing not to belong would be the one that doesn't start with that wonderful letter L. And by golly, that would be the avocado, wouldn't it?”

The exhibit vanished. The humming sound started up.

“Any last words?” asked the voice.

“Rutabaga, trollop, and fleece,” said Randall.

“Good ones. And now, here comes the wizard beam!”

The humming grew louder, then abruptly died down.

“Just kidding again!” said the voice.

Randall wiped off the quart of sweat that had gathered on his palms.

The voice continued. “Actually, I was just kidding when I said I was just kidding.” The humming grew louder again. The lights all turned a dark red color.

“Sir William, can I tell you something?” asked Randall, shouted to be heard as the humming reached its loudest point.

“Of course you may.”

“If you'll look down at your loin cloth, you'll notice that there's been a bit of ... uh, slippage. I wouldn't want you to die like that.”

“Thank you,” said Sir William, making the necessary adjustments.

The wizard beam fired.

And missed by a good twelve feet.

“Not especially accurate, are they?” asked Randall. The humming died away. The background music was worse than ever, consisting of a man singing about the Tic-Tac-Toe game of love.

“No, they're not,” Sir William agreed.

They followed the next glowing arrow down a short hallway. At the end of it was an iron door, upon which were the words: “Here shalt thou find thy final test. Pass through this door, and confront thy True Self. If thou goest not loco, thou shalt move on in thy journey, and probably be killed by the witch Grysh.”

“Confront my true self?” asked Sir William. He snorted with laughter. “The only danger in this test is being overcome with the Happies from being too close to myself.”

He threw open the door, and they walked through. The air was like liquid again, although this time liquid of a much thinner consistency yet with more lumps.