The Princess Bride (29 page)

Westley lay dead by the Machine. The Prince kept the dial by the twenty mark long long after it was necessary, until the Count said, “Done.”

The Prince left without another look at Westley. He took the secret underground stairs four at a time. “She actually called me a coward,” he said, and then he was gone from sight.

Count Rugen started taking notes. Then he threw his quill pen down. He tested Westley briefly, then he shook his head. Death was not of any intellectual interest to him at all; when you were dead, you couldn’t react to pain. The Count said, “Dispose of the body,” because, even though he couldn’t see the albino, he knew the albino was there. It was really a shame, he realized as he mounted the stairs after the Prince. You just didn’t come across victims like Westley every day of the year.

When they were gone, the albino came out, pulled the cups from the corpse, decided to burn the body on the garbage pyre back behind the castle. Which meant a wheelbarrow. He hurried up the underground stairs, came out the secret entrance, moved quickly to the main tool shed; all the wheelbarrows were buried back at the rear wall, behind the hoes and rakes and hedge trimmers. The albino made a hissing sound of displeasure and began to pick his way past all the other equipment. This kind of thing always seemed to happen to him when he was in a hurry. The albino hissed again, extra work, extra work, all the time. Wouldn’t you just know it?

He finally got the barrow out and was just passing the false and deadly supposed main entrance to the Zoo when “I’m having the devil’s own trouble tracking that scream” was spoken to him, and the albino whirled to find, there,
there
in the castle grounds, a blade-thin stranger with a sword in his hand. The sword suddenly flicked its way to the albino’s throat. “Where is the man in black?” the swordsman said then. He had a giant scar slanting down each cheek and seemed like no one to trifle with.

Whispered: “I know no man in black.”

“Did the scream come from that place?” The fellow indicated the main entrance.

Nod.

“And the throat it came from? I need this man, so be quick!”

Whispered: “Westley.”

Inigo reasoned: “A sailor? Brought here by Rugen?”

Nod.

“And I reach him where?”

The albino hesitated, then pointed to the deadly entrance. Whispered: “He is on the bottom level. Five levels down.”

“Then I have no more need for you. Quiet him a while, Fezzik.”

From behind him, the albino was aware of a giant shadow moving. Funny, he thought—the last thing he remembered—I thought that was a tree.

Inigo was on fire now. There was no stopping him. Fezzik hesitated by the main door. “Why would he tell the truth?”

“He’s a zookeeper threatened with death. Why would he lie?”

“That doesn’t follow.”

“I don’t care!”
Inigo said sharply, and, in fact, he didn’t. He knew in his heart the man in black was down there. There was no other reason for Fezzik to find him, for Fezzik to know of Rugen, for everything to be coming together after so many years of waiting. If there was a God, then there was a man in black waiting. Inigo knew that. He
knew
it. And, of course, he was absolutely right. But again, of course, there were many things he did not know. That the man in black was dead, for one. That the entrance they were taking was the wrong one, for another, a false one, set up to foil those, like himself, who did not belong. There were spitting cobras down there, though what would actually come at him would be worse. These things he did not know either.

But his father had to be revenged. And the man in black would figure out how. That was enough for Inigo.

And so, with an urgency that would soon turn to deep regret, he and Fezzik approached the Zoo of Death.

Seven - THE WEDDING

Inigo allowed Fezzik to open the door, not because he wished to hide behind the giant’s strength but, rather, because the giant’s strength was crucial to their entering: someone would have to force the thick door from its hinges, and that was right up Fezzik’s alley.

“It’s open,” Fezzik said, simply turning the knob, peering inside.

“Open?” Inigo hesitated. “Close it then. There must be something wrong. Why would something as valuable as the Prince’s private zoo be left unlocked?”

“It smells of animals something awful in there,” Fezzik said. “Did I get a whiff!”

“Let me think,” Inigo said; “I’ll figure it out,” and he tried to do his best, but it made no sense. You didn’t leave diamonds lying around on the breakfast table and you kept the Zoo of Death shut and bolted. So there had to be a reason; it was just a matter of exercising your brain power and the answer would be there. (The answer to why the door happened to be unlocked was really this: it was always unlocked. And the reason for that was really this: safety. No one who had entered via the front door had ever survived to exit again. The idea basically belonged to Count Rugen, who helped the Prince architect the place. The Prince selected the location—the farthest corner of the castle grounds, away from everything, so the roars wouldn’t bother the servants—but the Count designed the entrance. The real entrance was by a giant tree, where a root lifted and revealed a staircase and down you went until you arrived at the fifth level. The false entrance, called the real entrance, took you down the levels the ordinary way, first to second, second to third, or, actually, second to death.)

“Yes,” Inigo said finally.

“You figured it out?”

“The reason the door was unlocked is simply this: the albino would have locked it, he would never have been so stupid as not to,
but
, Fezzik, my friend, we got to
him
before he got to
it
. Clearly, once he was done with his wheelbarrowing, he would have begun locking and bolting. It’s quite all right; you can stop worrying; let’s go.”

“I just feel so safe with you,” Fezzik said, and he pulled the door open a second time. As he did it, he noticed that not only was the door unlocked, it didn’t even have a place for a lock, and he wondered should he mention that to Inigo, but decided against it, because Inigo would have to wait and figure some more and they had done enough of that already, because, although he said he felt safe with Inigo, in truth he was very frightened. He had heard odd things about this place, and lions didn’t bother him, and who cared about gorillas; they were nothing. It was the creepers that made him squeamish. And the slitherers. And the stingers. And the . . . and the everything, Fezzik decided, to be truthful and honest. Spiders and snakes and bugs and bats and you name it—he just wasn’t very fond of any of them. “Still smells of animals,” he said, and he held the door open for Inigo, and together, stride for stride, they entered the Zoo of Death, the great door shutting silently behind them.

“Quite a bizarre place,” Inigo said, moving past several large cages in which were cheetahs and hummingbirds and other swift things. At the end of the hall was another door with a sign above it saying, “To Level Two.” They opened that door and saw a flight of stairs leading very steeply down. “Careful,” Inigo said; “stay close to me and watch your balance.”

They started down toward the second level.

“If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh at me or mock me or be mean to me?” Fezzik asked.

“My word,” Inigo nodded.

“I’m just scared to pieces,” Fezzik said.

“Be sure it ceases,” Inigo said right back.

“Oh, that’s a wonderful rhyme—”

“Some other time,” Inigo said, making another, feeling quite bright about the whole thing, sensing the pleasure in having Fezzik visibly relax as they descended, so he smiled and clapped Fezzik on his great shoulder for the good fellow he was. But deep, deep inside, Inigo’s stomach was knotting. He was absolutely appalled and astonished that a man of unlimited strength and power would be scared to pieces; until Fezzik spoke, Inigo was positive that
he
was the only one who was genuinely scared to pieces, and the fact that they both were did not bode well if panic time came. Someone would have to keep his wits, and he had assumed automatically that since Fezzik had so few, he would find retaining them not all that difficult. No good, Inigo realized. Well, he would simply have to do his best to avoid panic situations and that was that.

The staircase was straight, and very long, but eventually they reached the end of it. Another door. Fezzik gave it a push. It opened. Another corridor lined with cages, big ones though, and inside, great baying hippos and a twenty-foot alligator thrashing angrily in shallow water.

“We must hurry,” Inigo said, picking up the pace; “much as we might like to dawdle,” and he half ran toward a sign that said, “To Level Three.” Inigo opened the door and looked down and Fezzik peered over his shoulder. “Hmmm,” Inigo said.

This staircase was different. It was not nearly as steep, and it curved halfway, so that whatever was near the bottom of it was quite out of sight as they stood at the top preparing to go down. There were strange candles burning high on the walls out of reach. The shadows they made were very long and very thin.

“Well, I’m certainly glad I wasn’t brought up here,” Inigo said, trying for a joke.

“Fear,” Fezzik said, the rhyme out before he could stop it.

Inigo exploded. “Really! If you can’t maintain control, I’m going to send you right back up and you can just wait there
all by yourself
.”

“Don’t leave me; I mean, don’t make me leave you. Please. I meant to say ‘beer’; I don’t know how the
f
got in there.”

“I’m really losing patience with you; come along,” Inigo said, and he started down the curving stairs, Fezzik following, and as the door closed behind them, two things happened:

(1) The door, quite clearly, locked.

(2) Out went the candles on the high walls. “DON’T BE FRIGHTENED!” Inigo screamed.

“I’M NOT, I’M NOT!” Fezzik screamed right back. And then, above his heartbeat, he managed, “What are we going to do?”

“S-s-s-simple,” said Inigo after a while.

“Are you frightened too?” asked Fezzik in the darkness.

“Not . . . remotely,” Inigo said with great care. “And before, I meant to say ‘easy’; I don’t know how the ‘s-s-s-s-’ got in there. Look: we can’t go back and we certainly don’t want to stay here, so we just must keep on going as we were before these little things happened. Down. Down is our direction, Fezzik, but I can tell you’re a bit edgy about all this,
so
, out of the goodness of my heart, I will let you walk down not behind me, and not in front of me, but right next to me, on the same step, stride for stride, and you put an arm around my shoulder, because that will probably make you feel better, and I, so as not to make you feel foolish, will put an arm around your shoulder, and thus, safe, protected, together, we will descend.”

“Will you draw your sword with your free hand?”

“I already have. Will you make a fist with yours?”

“It’s clenched.”

“Then let’s look on the bright side: we’re having an adventure, Fezzik, and most people live and die without being as lucky as we are.”

They moved down one step. Then another. Then two, then three, as they got the hang of it.

“Why do you think they locked the door behind us?” Fezzik asked as they moved.

“To add spice to our trip, I suspect,” replied Inigo. It was certainly one of his weaker answers, but the best he could come up with.

“Here’s where the turn starts,” said Fezzik, and they slowed, making the sharp turn without stumbling, continuing on down. “And they took away the candles for the same reason—spice?”

“Most likely. Don’t squeeze me quite so hard—”

“Don’t
you
squeeze
me
quite so hard—”

By then they knew they were for it.

There has been, for many years, a running battle among jungle zoologists as to just which of the giant snakes is the biggest. The anaconda men are forever trumpeting the Orinoco specimen that weighed well over five hundred pounds, while the python people never fail to reply by pointing out that the African Rock found outside Zambesi measured thirty-four feet, seven inches. The argument, of course, is silly, because “biggest” is a vague word, having no value whatever in arguments, if one is serious.

But any serious snake enthusiast would admit, whatever his schooling, that the Arabian Garstini, though shorter than the python and lighter than the anaconda was quicker and more ravenous than either, and this specimen of Prince Humperdinck’s was not only remarkable for its speed and agility, it was also kept in a permanent state just verging on the outskirts of starvation, so the first coil came like lightning as it dropped from above them and pinioned their hands so the fist and sword were useless and the second coil imprisoned their arms and “Do something—” Inigo cried.

“I can’t—I’m caught—you do something—”

“Fight it, Fezzik—”

“It’s too strong for me—”

“Nothing is too strong for you—”

The third coil was done now, around the upper shoulders, and the fourth coil, the final coil, involved the throat, and Inigo whispered in terror, because he could hear the beast’s breathing now, could actually feel its breath, “Fight it . . . I’m . . . I’m . . .”

Fezzik trembled with fear and whispered, “Forgive me, Inigo.”

“Oh, Fezzik . . . Fezzik . . .”

“What . . . ?”

“I had such rhymes for you. . . .”

“What rhymes? . . .”

Silence.

The fourth coil was finished.

“Inigo, what rhymes?”

Silence.

Snake breath.

“Inigo, I want to know the rhymes before I die—Inigo, I really want to know—
Inigo, tell me the rhymes,
” Fezzik said, and by now he was very frustrated and, more than that, he was spectacularly angry and one arm came clear of one coil and that made it a bit less of a chore to fight free of the second coil and that meant he could take that arm and bring it to the aid of the other arm and now he was yelling it out,
”You’re not going anywhere until I know those rhymes”
and the sound of his own voice was really very impressive, deep and resonant, and who was this snake anyway, getting in the path of Fezzik when there were rhymes to learn, and by this time not only were both arms free of the bottom three coils but he was furious at the interruption and his hands grabbed toward the snake breath, and he didn’t know if snakes had necks or not but whatever it was that you called the part that was under its mouth, that was the part he had between his great hands and he gave it a smash against the wall and the snake hissed and spit but the fourth coil was looser, so Fezzik smashed it again and a third time and then he brought his hands back a bit for leverage and he began to whip the beast against the walls like a native washerwoman beating a skirt against rocks, and when the snake was dead, Inigo said, “Actually, I had no specific rhymes in mind; I just had to do something to get you into action.”