How to Rescue a Dead Princess (16 page)

“Then shut up.”

A few minutes later, they stopped underneath the trap-door labeled “The King's Bedroom.” Roderick reached up, unhooked the latch, and the door swung downward. He retrieved a ladder that was resting against the wall and braced it firmly against the edge of the opening.

“Only one person on the ladder at a time, for safety's sake,” he whispered, as he began to climb.

After Roderick had made it to the top, Maverick prodded Randall with the dagger. Randall climbed up the ladder as well, and found himself in the center of the king's immense lavatory.

“Trap-door was mislabeled,” Roderick grumbled.

“I like those little soap animals,” Randall commented.

Jack emerged from the trap-door. “You mean to tell me the king sleeps amongst his chamber pots? How twisted!”

“Quiet,” said Roderick. “We're in the wrong room is all. Once Maverick gets up here, we'll all head over to the bedroom together.”

There was a loud
snap
down below, then a loud
crunch
that sounded suspiciously like Maverick's body slamming down upon the hard floor of the tunnel. They all rushed over to the trap-door and peered downward. Maverick lay on the floor, the broken ladder next to him, a trickle of blood running down the side of his mouth like incompetently-applied lipstick. Rick crouched next to him, helplessly.

“I ... did what you said,” Maverick wheezed. “One at a time on the ladder ... just like you told me...”

“Maverick!” said Roderick. “Just stay calm! You're going to be okay!”

Rick looked up at them and shook his head.

“I'm sorry...” said Maverick, “I let you down. I haven't always been the greatest friend in the world, I know, but I'm going to become a better person in these last few moments before I die, I promise you that!”

“Darn it, Maverick! We haven't got time for another death soliloquy!”

The door to the lavatory swung open, and King Irving entered. Roderick, Randall, and Jack froze.

“I can see now all the things I should have done with my life,” said Maverick. “All the people I could have helped, all the—” He noticed Roderick's frantic gesturing to be quiet. “Oh, sorry.”

King Irving, half asleep, seemed unaware of their presence. He looked into the mirror and began plucking his eyelashes.

“Is it clear?” Maverick asked from below. “Can I continue with my dying words?”

“Shhhh! Not yet!” Roderick hissed.

The king batted his eyelashes a few times, then staggered sleepily back into his bedroom.

“Now?” asked Maverick.

“Okay, now. But hurry up!”

“I forgot what I was going to say.”

Roderick sighed with frustration. “These are your last words! Say something profound, for crying out loud!”

“Ummmm ... if you're going to stick your tongue in a woman's ear, make sure you have a Q-Tip handy.”

And then he died.

“What's a Q-Tip?” asked Roderick.

Rick shrugged. “Perhaps he saw into another world in those last seconds before he passed on?”

“Nah. The guy was just delirious. We're going to need you up here, Rick.”

With Roderick keeping his dagger pointed at them, Randall and Jack helped pull Rick up into the lavatory. “Interesting bedroom decor,” Rick said. “Almost creepy in a way.”

“Everyone be quiet,” said Roderick. “We're heading through that door,” he pointed to the door the king had gone through, “and then we're going to dispose of the tyrant. Let's go.”

Silently, they passed through the door and entered the king's bedroom. It was exquisitely furnished, with gold plating on everything from the bed frame to the royal slippers. There was a huge gold-plated chandelier in the shape of several gout-suffering mermaids hanging from the ceiling, just perfect for dropping on somebody's head if the situation got tense.

Jack glanced up at the chandelier. “That's probably the ugliest piece of decor I've ever seen in my life. But I guess everyone's entitled to their own lack of taste.”

King Irving lay in his bed, sleeping soundly, surrounded by a collection of stuffed animals that made Randall twitch with envy. Roderick went over to the window and held up his knife so that the moonbeam made the blade shine dramatically.

“Nice touch,” admitted Randall.

“Since Maverick's dead, I'll do the honors,” said Roderick, moving with great stealth toward the king's bed. He stopped right next to where the king lay sleeping, then slowly moved the blade toward his exposed throat.

“Ow!” Rick cried out, falling to the ground. “A splinter! I stepped on a splinter!”

“Quiet!” Roderick said. “You'll wake him up!”

Rick pulled off his shoe. “Look at it!” he said. “It's sticking right out of my little toe.” He gazed at Roderick soulfully. “I guess that's it for me. I lived a good life, haven't I?”

“Give me a break, you whiny little cross-section of bat guano!” said Roderick. “It's a lousy splinter!”

“Shock can be just as bad as the physical injuries,” Rick told him. “I know I didn't accomplish everything I wanted to during my stay on this world, yet I feel a certain satisfaction when I look back at what I have done.”

“Shut up!” shouted Roderick. “Just shut up! I haven't got time to listen to this! I'm trying to kill a king here!”

“I know it's none of my business,” said Jack, “but you might want to give some consideration to the current volume level of the discussion.”

A tear trickled down Rick's cheek. “Hold me, Roderick. I'm cold. So cold.”

“I'm in the middle of something!”

“Please, Roderick! It's my last request!”

Muttering surprisingly vulgar things under his breath, Roderick walked over to Rick and crouched down next to him. “Okay, okay, what do you want me to do?”

“I don't want to die with that thing in me,” Rick said. “Please, take it out. I can't stand the pain, please, just pull it out.”

Roderick reached over and plucked the splinter out of his toe. Rick began to breathe in huge, agonized gasps.

“Can I go kill the king now?” Roderick asked.

“I've always respected you,” said Rick. “In fact ... I think I may even have loved you. Purely platonic, but still impressive considering how rarely we sat down and really talked to one another.”

“Good. I love you too. Get on with it.”

“Won't you hug me?”

“Oh, for crying out loud, man! Do you understand the concept of ‘bad timing?'”

“Just one hug ... then I can die in peace.”

“Go on, give the poor guy a hug,” Jack urged.

The king let out a snore, then rolled over in bed.

“All right,” said Roderick. “One hug. Then whether you're dead or not, I'm going to slit the tyrant's throat.” He lifted Rick to a sitting position, then gave him a tender hug.

“Thank you,” said Rick. “Now I'm at peace, and can die.”

“When?”

“Any day now.”

Roderick released the hug, dropping Rick on his back. His head struck the floor much harder than Roderick had intended. Randall quickly knelt down and checked for a heartbeat.

“Nice move,” he said.

“Is he dead?”

“Close enough.”

Roderick stood up. “Forget it. He was a goober anyway. And now, the moment we've all been waiting for...”

“Stop!” ordered Randall, also standing up. He held Rick's dagger. “If you want to kill the king, you're going to have to go through me!”

“No, I won't. You're on the wrong side of the room.”

Randall hurriedly moved to a position in front of the king's bed.

“You cretin!” Roderick snarled.

“That really was pretty low,” Jack admitted.

“C'mon, Roderick, let's go for it,” said Randall, taunting him. “Think you've got what it takes? I'll have you know—
I've
beaten people in hand-to-hand dead squirrel combat before!”

Roderick slashed his own dagger through the air a few times, implying if Randall had been that air, he'd be all slashed up now. “You want to duel? Great, let's duel!”

“I'm ready whenever you are.”

“I'm ready right now.”

“Therefore, I'm ready right now as well.”

“So let's go!”

“Okay, let's go!”

Randall and Roderick lunged at each other. Stainless steel struck stainless steel with a sound like thunder.

“Ow, crud!” said Randall, dropping the knife and massaging his throbbing hand.

“Do you surrender?” Roderick asked, giving him a grin that failed to disguise the amount of pain he was in himself.

“Never!” said Jack. “He'll fight to the death!”

“So be it! Since I am an honorable man, I will allow you to retrieve your weapon before I slay you.”

“You're just saying that to give your hand time to de-numb.”

The king rolled over. “A little higher ... yeah, that's right...” he moaned in his sleep.

“What did he just say?” asked Jack.

“Sounds like he's having an interesting dream,” said Roderick. “I never get to have cool dreams like that. I always dream that I'm solving mathematical equations. It bites.”

“You guys want to call a truce so we can mess with his dream?” Jack asked. “Or ... hey, better yet, somebody get a glass of warm water to put his hand in!”

“The time for frivolity has passed,” said Roderick. “A few minutes ago, I would've short-sheeted his bed with a wink and a giggle, but we have entered darker times now.”

Jack lowered his head next to the king's ear. “Rain ... rivers ... waterfalls ... floods ... oceans ... leaky drain pipes...”

“You know,” said Randall, “you're carrying immaturity to a previously uncharted level.”

“C'mon, you can't tell me it hasn't been one of your lifelong fantasies to make royalty wet the bed.”

“Is it absolutely necessary that your mouth be open so frequently?” asked Randall.

Suddenly Roderick lashed out with his dagger. Randall dodged. Roderick lashed out again. Randall dodged again. Roderick lashed out a third time. In keeping with the continuity of the situation, Randall dodged again. To fool him, Roderick didn't lash out a fourth time. To show that he wasn't fooled, Randall didn't dodge a fourth time.

Jack whispered into the king's ear again. “Your legs have turned into spaghetti, and now you're playing leapfrog ... on the moon.” King Irving writhed uncomfortably in his sleep.

Roderick lowered his dagger. “How about we call a time-out so I can kill Jack first?”

“Nah. Hey, is that thing about me getting to retrieve my weapon still in effect?” Randall asked.

“I guess so. But if I lose my own weapon after that, I get to pick it up one time for free, okay?”

Randall nodded, then picked up his dagger. “Let's go! To the
corpus delicti
!”

They rushed at each other, then began an incredibly exciting duel. It was so impressive that no mere words could truly describe it, and therefore no mere words will be wasted.

It ended with Randall up against the wall, and Roderick's knife up against Randall's throat. “You lose,” said Roderick, rather unnecessarily in everyone's opinion, even his own.

“Don't kill me,” Randall requested. “I'll do anything.”

“Will you shave my back?”

“Changed my mind.”

Suddenly Jack sprung into action. Mustering all his courage, he rushed forward, hurrying to the other side of the room where no blood would get on him.

“How does it feel to have only ten seconds left to live?” Roderick asked.

“Not as bad as having only five seconds, I guess.”

“Stop!” said Bug, flying into the room. “You don't need to fight!”

“Yes we do,” Roderick corrected.

“No, you don't!” Bug insisted. “The twelve guards right behind me said so!”

The pause was a little too lengthy to make the moment truly dramatic, but shortly after Bug's statement twelve guards burst into the room, swords drawn.

“What's all this racket?” demanded King Irving, sitting up. “Best dream of my life, and you guys have to interrupt it!”

“Don't come any closer!” shouted Roderick. “I'll kill him! I mean it! I'm not lying! Don't mess with me! This is not a joke! I'm not kidding! If you come closer, I'll stab him! That's the truth! No bluffing here! Don't make me do it! I will! This is no deception! He'll die!”

“We're just here to save the king,” explained one of the guards. “You can waste the squire—we don't care.”

“Oh, really?” asked Roderick. He pulled the knife away from Randall's throat, then immediately spun around and pressed it against the king's throat. “Don't come any closer! I'll kill him! I mean it!”

“You're bluffing,” said one of the guards.

“Want me to prove that I'm not?”

“No, not really.”

“Then shut up! Okay, here are my demands! I want to assassinate King Irving of Rainey for his unspeakable atrocities without interference, and then I want to be provided with a horse to help me escape the kingdom! Understand?”

One of the guards stepped forward. “Okay, okay, just don't do anything crazy. We'll get you your horse, but it's going to take some time.”

“I don't
have
time!” Roderick shouted. “If the horse isn't ready in ten minutes, the king dies!”

“Do what he says!” ordered King Irving.

Four of the guards filed out of the chamber. One of them returned a moment later. “A horse, right?”

Roderick nodded. The guard left again.

“You can't get away with this, you know,” said Randall. “After you kill the king and get on your horse, they'll follow you to the ends of the Generic Fantasy Land. There's nowhere you'll be safe, not the Caverns of Despair, not the Pits of Searing Hellfire, not even the Slaughter Tombs of Agonized Shrieking and Bloodshed!”

“Says you.”

One of the guards raised his hand. “I say it, too.”

“Face it, Roderick,” said Randall, “there's no way you can escape. You might as well give up right now.”

Roderick was silent for a long moment, considering what to do. He moved the knife away from the king's throat. “Okay, suppose I let the king go and give myself up. What will happen to me?”

The guard with his hand still in the air spoke up. “Why, you'll be tortured and executed, of course.”

Roderick pressed the knife against the king's throat again.

“No, no—he was just joking!” Randall insisted. “You were just joking, right?”