Mitch and Remmaline finally arrived at Dor-ko’s castle late the following day. The stench grew increasing noxious as they drew closer to the castle. The ride was quiet, long, and grim. Mitch was visibly disturbed during the entire journey. Remma heard him mutter to himself several times, “Where is everyone? Why aren’t these miserable people cheering me?” As he continued to grouse, Remma couldn’t stand it any more. With the castle looming in sight, Remma bellowed out, “Mitch, don’t you realize that you’re answering your own question? The people aren’t cheering you on because they are miserable! For people to cheer, they have to be cheerful! And I can’t imagine that anyone serving tyrants like Dor-ko and Slumbutter would ever be cheerful!”
Mitch grew silent.
But Remma, who loved to keep talking once she got started, wasn’t content to just leave Mitch alone. She continued on relentlessly. “Besides, what do you expect the people to do? Cheer you on for kidnapping a helpless little girl? Do you expect them to sing the praises of Courageous Mitch the Great, the Grabber of Girls and Purloin-er of Princesses? Don’t you have to do great things for people to tell you how great you are? What do you expect?”
Mitch stopped the wagon. He dismounted and opened the door. He held a thick staff in his hand. Staring at Remma, he said, in a low but penetrating voice, “You’d better shut up, kid, or I’ll beat with this stick right now. There is no one to hear your cries now, Remma. No one.”
But Remma called his bluff. “Look, Mitch, you didn’t kidnap me to kill me. You only get your dumb little reward if you bring me safe and sound into the castle. So go ahead--beat me up and deliver my bruised and battered body to your pathetic little boss. See what kind of reward he gives you for handing over a package of damaged goods.”
Mitch raised his staff, but Remma didn’t back down. She knew that she was right. Mitch couldn’t do anything at this point. So instead he reached into the wagon, thrust his hand over Remma’s mouth, and said, “Not another word, okay!”
As he withdrew his hand and re-mounted the wagon, he heard Remma’s voice again. “Not okay, Mitch!” she declared. “I don’t care where you take me, or what you do to me. The king will save me. And you know what, Mitch? I think you know it! You know the king, and you know he doesn’t forget anyone. He’ll save me!”
Remma sat back down, exhausted. She wished she was as brave in her heart as she was with her voice. As the wagon pulled up to the castle gate and came to a halt, she truly wondered how she would ever be saved. After all, her father didn’t even know where she was. Remma fought within herself to hold on to some semblance of hope.
Mitch ordered Remma out of the wagon, and Remma quickly obeyed. Mitch grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her to the gate. The entry to the castle was guarded by two tall, stout, oafish-looking men, one on either side of the gate. The guards stood stock still with a spear in their right hand and a shield in the left. They kept their expressionless stare forward, never seeming to look at either Mitch or Remma. They neither moved nor spoke. Finally Mitch spoke up. “Don’t you know who I am?” he asked.
“Yes indeed,” said the guard on the right side of the gate. “You are the ugliest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Then the second guard pitched in. “But you’ve got a mighty fine looking wife!” he declared. “She’s a bit young for you, but that’s good, ‘cause she’s probably too young to recognize just how homely you really are!” With that, both guards laughed, though they never diverted their gaze for an instant.
Mitch bristled with indignation. “Why, I am Mitch! I am the former servant of King Maximilian, and I’ve come to complete my secret mission for Slumbutter.” The guards immediately bent over double, coughing and gagging and spitting. Remma thought it looked like the guards had instantly been struck with a stomach flu that made them writhe in utter agony. Finally, one of the guards grabbed his spear and swung it toward Mitch, striking him in the head with the butt end and felling him to the ground. As Mitch grabbed his jaw, the guard said, “Don’t you ever--EVER--mention the name of that man again, do you hear me? His rule is not recognized here, and his name is not spoken. Take that as a lesson.”
The guards resumed their position, and Mitch climbed back to his feet. “You’d better let me in, or I’ll tell Slumbutter and he’ll skin you alive, you miserable wretches,” he said.
The second guard said, “Well, today is your lucky day. We’ll do as you say and let you in. But guess what? We’re also the royal executioners. If you are NOT who you say you are, we’ll get to see you again later today! Only that time, it won’t be so pleasant. Because instead of just hitting your ugly little head, we’ll be removing it. So go on in, hero. Lord Slumbutter’s throne-room is down the corridor to the left.” The guards lowered the gate, and Mitch and Remmaline entered.
Remma had all she could do to keep from vomiting as she entered the putrid castle. She gagged involuntarily a couple of times. She was glad that she hadn’t eaten anything for so long, because she was sure that she wouldn’t have kept it down. Mitch pulled her down a long, dimly-lit corridor. The entire castle was deathly quiet. Strangely, she was glad she was next to Mitch. If she’d had to walk down a hallway like this all by herself, her imagination would go wild and she’d be horribly frightened. But with Mitch beside her--well, he was a thug and a meanie, but at least she could keep her wits about her.
After about a minute of walking, they came to a large door that was guarded by an extremely fat man who almost seemed to be asleep while standing up. Mitch approached the guard and said, “I must see Slumbutter.”
The guards eyes opened. Remma thought his eyes were very small, but that was probably because their were embedded in a very pudgy face. As Remma stared at the guard, she thought that he didn’t look all that unfriendly. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but he wasn’t wearing the perpetual frown that seemed to characterize most people in Dor-ko’s country. After looking at Mitch for just a moment, he asked, “Who are you?”
“I am Mitch.”
“Well, I am Fred,” the guard replied. “It’s good to meet you.” He extended his hand toward Mitch. Mitch looked at it and cautiously shook it.
“Why are you so afraid?” said the guard. “Gee, you acted like I had a poisoned dagger stuck in my hand.” Then the guard chuckled to himself, as though he’d just made a tremendous joke. His entire body jiggled like a bowl of pudding in an earthquake.
Mitch wasn’t prepared for small talk. “This girl is the daughter of the ruler of Aberdeen,” he said. “I told Slumbutter that I would deliver her to him, and I have come to complete my mission. I insist that I be able to see him.”
“All right,” replied Fred the guard. He opened the door and peered in without entering. “Lord Slumbutter, sire, forgive the interruption and permit your humble servant to speak for just a moment,” he declared. “A man by name of Mitch is here to see you.”
“Who?” rang out a voice from inside the throne-room. Remma figured that it had to be Slumbutter himself.
“He says his name is Mitch, sire. He said something about delivering the daughter of King Maximilian.”
There was a brief moment of silence, followed by the sound of a sort of missile flying through the air. Remma then heard a splat, followed by a slight grunt from Fred. The guard turned his head. Remma could tell that he’d just been struck in the eye by a tomato. A voice then bellowed, “How many times do I have to tell you to never mention that name! Are you not the stupidest, slowest-learning servant in all of my realm?”
Fred turned his head back toward the room and said, “Uh, sorry about that, boss.”
“Apologies are a sign of weakness, you oaf,” declared the voice from inside the room. “But since you indeed are exceedingly weak, I will accept it. Now escort your guests in.” Fred turned and beckoned to Mitch and Remma, and they entered the throne-room.
As Remma gazed around, she was thoroughly unimpressed. The room was large but dark--not like her father’s throne-room, which was well-lit and had windows on two sides. The throne was not majestic at all. It was made of stone and was not ornate at all, except for a carved snake on either armrest. A rickety wooden table had been pulled in front of the throne, and three people were sitting at it. Sitting on the throne was a rather small, pathetic looking man. Remma figured it had to be Slumbutter. He was skinny with wiry dark hair that looked like it hadn’t been combed in a month. As he looked up when Mitch and Remma entered, Remma detected a faint smile. But it wasn’t the kind of smile that said, “I’m glad to see you.” Rather, it was a sinister smile that hid more than it revealed.
Next to Slumbutter was a tall man with a crooked jaw and a perpetual scowl. His nose was long and his skin was rough; Remma thought he looked like a baked potato that’s been left in the oven an hour too long. He seemed to growl in disgust at the sight of his new guests. Speaking up, he said in disgust, “Fred you dimwit, why are they walking freely in the presence of Lord Slumbutter? Put them in leg-irons over in the corner.”
Now this didn’t bother Remma too much, who was used to being a prisoner after a couple of days with Mitch. But Mitch was indignant as Fred grabbed his wrist and led him over to the corner of the room. Unable to control himself, he cried out, “O Lord Slumbutter, please--you, O Great One, were the one who sent me on this mission! I have delivered for you! I insist that you let me go! What kind of reward is this?”
Slumbutter replied, “What kind of fool do you think I am? You turned on me four years ago, and now you have turned on your new master. Why should I think that you won’t turn on me again? Now keep your mouth shut, or else I will remove it--and the rest of your head--from your feeble body.”
Fred clapped Mitch’s and Remma’s legs in irons in the corner of the musty throne-room. He then offered them a bench to sit on. They could do nothing but sit in silence as the three men before them talked and plotted. Remma did not like the site of what appeared to be her new home.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Chapter 19 - A Servant in Rebellion
Remmaline was full of fear as her coach barreled downhill, heading deeper and deeper into Dor-ko’s country. The road was bumpy, and the road made several high-speed hairpin turns through the mountains. At times, she could glance out her window and see hundreds of feet down over the edge of the road. And she didn’t trust the driver at all. In fact, the only one she could trust was the horse. It was Darius, and he was one of the king’s best horses in the stable. Remma was sure that Mitch had chosen Darius because he was fast, strong, and safe.
After what seemed like an eternity, Remma finally felt Darius slow down and come to a halt. She stood up and peered outside. She saw Mitch grab the king’s flag and tear it down off the coach. Remma was mortified. How could he treat the flag that way? Mitch then spit on it, opened the door to the coach, and tossed it inside. “Here you go, Remma,” mumbled Mitch. It seemed to Remma that his voice was darker than she had ever heard before. “This wretched thing is no good to me.”
Remma quickly picked up the flag and dusted it off as best she could. She loved the flag, as much for how it looked as for what it represented. The flag was deep purple, with a golden lion emblazoned in the middle of it. A golden border surrounded the flag. Her brothers would have been outraged to see the flag treated this way. They no doubt would have vaulted out of the wagon and commenced wrestling with Mitch on the spot. This thought made Remma feel even worse, as she stared outside feeling totally helpless.
As she stared, she saw Mitch grab a different flag. Although she couldn’t see very clearly, it looked like the flag was totally black. It appeared to have two letters on it--and “S” and a “D”. Underneath the letters, there appeared to be a picture of a bear standing up, with his foot lying on the throat of a lamb. Remma grimaced when she saw it. She couldn’t help herself as she yelled at the top of her lungs, “That’s the dumbest flag I’ve ever seen!” Mitch didn’t answer. Instead, he commanded Darius to begin his trot, and the coach lurched forward.
It was horribly cold and windy in the mountains. Remmaline couldn’t stay warm. Her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. Hunger pains gnawed at her stomach. As this interminable ride continued, Remma began to sink into utter misery and despair. How could she possibly stay warm? As the hours wore on, the chill became even deeper. The western side of the mountains seemed to be perpetually cloudy and cold. The sun never appeared, and the incessant wind pierced through the wagon mercilessly. Finally, Remma set her eyes on the flag. She reached over and touched it. It had a smooth, velvety feel to it. She asked herself, “Would Daddy be upset with me if I used his flag like a blanket?” She knew her brothers might get mad, but she figured her daddy would be more understanding. So she carefully unfolded the banner and wrapped it around her. She instantly felt relief from the cold. She then lay down and tried to sleep again.
As she laid down, she felt a slight pain in her side. Puzzled, she reached down into the pocket of the cloak that Mitch had thrown on her the night before. She felt a hard object in her pocket and pulled it out. It looked like a hardened brownie. When she smelled it, she realized that it had come from Skittlechip’s kitchen. Only Skittlechip could make a brownie that smelled good, even a few days or weeks after he’d made it! Then Remmaline realized what must have happened. Mitch must have stolen one of Butch’s cloaks when he dressed her up during the kidnapping. And Butch the stable boy was always grabbing treats from Skittlechip’s kitchen. This was a great relief to Remma, for not only was she hungry, but she also had an insatiable sweet tooth. She warmed the cookie in her hands for a few moments and then took her first bite. In her opinion, it was the best brownie she’d ever tasted. After devouring the brownie, Remma closed her eyes and slept for a couple of hours.
When Remma awoke, it was still daylight. The journey continued. Mitch stopped briefly on two occasions to let everyone (including the horse) get a drink, but Remma barely was able to stretch her cramped legs before Mitch pushed her back onto the wagon and started moving again. Remma was afraid that Mitch might fall asleep and totally get them lost. But the journey went on, and on, and on. It wasn’t until just before nightfall that Mitch settled down for an extended stop. After crossing a stream, Mitch pulled off the road and followed a trail that went into the woods. Once he was out of sight of the road, he unhitched the wagon, told Darius to go get a drink, and then opened the wagon door. “Get out, girl,” he mumbled to Remmaline.
Remma’s legs were stiff, and her back was sore. Once again, hunger pains gnawed at her stomach. She stumbled over to a tree and plopped to the ground, leaning her back against the tree-trunk. She turned to Mitch and asked, “Do you have anything to eat? I think I’m going to die of hunger.”
Mitch came over to her. But instead of bringing food, he brought a rope. He tied one end around her foot, and he tied the other end around the tree. He then went back to the wagon and pulled out a bag. He grabbed some strips of dried deermeat and started to eat. All Remma could do was watch. Normally, Remma had no appetite for meat whatsoever. But after going a whole day with eating nothing but a brownie, she was ready to sink her teeth into anything that was remotely edible. When she could stand it no longer, she piped up and asked, “Mitch, why are you doing this?” She figured that if she couldn’t eat, she could at least keep him from eating by getting him to talk.
“You wouldn’t understand,” replied Mitch.
“What do you mean?” asked Remma.
“Look, kid, you’ve got everything. You’re a princess, the daughter of the king. You have no idea what it’s like to be a nobody, to be a common servant. I’m sick of it, kid. It’s time for a change--for me, and for you.”
“But Mitch, what do you mean that you are a ‘nobody’?” asked Remma. “You serve the king himself! Some people in the kingdom will go a whole lifetime without ever speaking personally to the king, and you get to see him every day!”
“I told you that you wouldn’t understand!” bellowed Mitch, who become suddenly very agitated. He stood up and began to pace around. “All I do is follow orders. The king tells me to do something, and I have to do it. I’m nothing but a slave, condemned to spend my whole life doing menial labor! I’m sick of it!”
“How can you say that your labor is menial?” queried Remma. “I mean, you serve the greatest king in all the land! Really, is there anything more important that doing what the king asks?”
“Shut up!” yelled Mitch, replying to Remma’s calm question with fire in his eyes. “Before I came here, I was a knight in Slumbutter’s Army. I commanded hundreds of soldiers, and they did what I told them. Now I command no one. I’m done with it, kid! I’m going back to Slumbutter.”
“But Mitch, tell me,” asked Remma, “did the king ever mistreat you? Were you not comfortable? Did he not respect you? What did he do to make you so...so bitter?”
Mitch paused before replying. “I’ll tell you the king’s problem,” he said at last. “He thinks he is so great. He thinks that nobody has anything better to do than to just do what he says. I’m sick of his...his arrogance. I mean, why should he be king? What makes him better than any of the rest of us?”
Remma was pleased that Mitch was starting to ask her questions. Although she hated being kidnapped, she prefer having a conversation to simply sitting in solitary confinement in a wagon. She replied to Mitch’s question by posing another question. “Mitch, let me ask you something. Did the king ever keep you against your will? Has he ever threatened you if you didn’t do what he asked?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” snapped Mitch.
Remma felt a little indignation swell up inside her. “Actually, I think I do!” she replied. “Look, I don’t live a perfect life. Sometimes I get upset with my daddy, even though I know he loves me. And he loves you too, by the way, even though you may not realize it. He told me once how much he thinks of you! But anyways, here’s what I’m trying to say. If I get upset, I have nowhere to go. He’s my father, and he’ll always be my father. But you--you came to him by choice! He didn’t make you come, and he’s not making you stay. In fact, if you’d just told him that you were headed back to your old Master, he’d have probably let you just go without another word. You are not a slave at all, and you know it!”
Mitch just stared at Remma. She couldn’t tell whether he was listening and thinking about what she’d said, or whether he was just plain angry.
Then, unable to stand the silence, Remma spoke up again. “In fact, I think you know that the king has treated you well. The only problem is, he hasn’t made you to be king. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You want to be king! The problem isn’t the king’s arrogance--it is yours!”
Remma had a way of putting her finger on the real problem. LIke a master swordsman penetrates through an adversary’s defences and pierces his heart , so did Remma’s words strike at Mitch’s heart. But instead of responding with understanding, he stood up and walked over to Remma. He glared at her and raised his arm as if to strike her. But before he moved, brave little Remma spoke once more. “Go ahead and hit me, Mitch,” she said, with tears streaming down her face. “You’ve already taken away everything that is important to me. You’ve taken away my family and my home. You’ve made me hungry and thirsty and cold. And...and you’ve taken away my hair. So go ahead and hit me, Mitch. You can’t make me feel any worse than I do already.”
Mitch continued to stand over Remma with his hand raised. He was motionless for what seemed like several minutes. Then finally he relented. Without saying a word, he reached down and untied the rope around Remma’s leg. He then lumbered over to his bag, grabbed a few pieces of dried deermeat, and tossed them over to Remma. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said in a subdued voice. “There are wolves out there, and they’ll have you for dinner if you try to run away.”
Then Mitch grabbed a blanket and laid down on the ground. Without looking at Remma, he said, “Slumbutter has promised to put me in one of the highest positions in his kingdom if I deliver you to him. It’s too late to back out now. Tomorrow we’ll reach his castle. I’ll get my reward, and you--well, you’ll get taken care of. So stop talking and get some sleep.”
Within moments, Mitch was alseep. Remma walked back to the wagon and grabbed the banner. Wrapping herself up in its surprising warmth, she laid down. As she looked up at the trees above her, she thought she saw the faint outline of an owl staring down at her. Comforted by the sight, Remma closed her eyes. Before descending into slumber, she mumbled the words, “It’s never too late.”
After what seemed like an eternity, Remma finally felt Darius slow down and come to a halt. She stood up and peered outside. She saw Mitch grab the king’s flag and tear it down off the coach. Remma was mortified. How could he treat the flag that way? Mitch then spit on it, opened the door to the coach, and tossed it inside. “Here you go, Remma,” mumbled Mitch. It seemed to Remma that his voice was darker than she had ever heard before. “This wretched thing is no good to me.”
Remma quickly picked up the flag and dusted it off as best she could. She loved the flag, as much for how it looked as for what it represented. The flag was deep purple, with a golden lion emblazoned in the middle of it. A golden border surrounded the flag. Her brothers would have been outraged to see the flag treated this way. They no doubt would have vaulted out of the wagon and commenced wrestling with Mitch on the spot. This thought made Remma feel even worse, as she stared outside feeling totally helpless.
As she stared, she saw Mitch grab a different flag. Although she couldn’t see very clearly, it looked like the flag was totally black. It appeared to have two letters on it--and “S” and a “D”. Underneath the letters, there appeared to be a picture of a bear standing up, with his foot lying on the throat of a lamb. Remma grimaced when she saw it. She couldn’t help herself as she yelled at the top of her lungs, “That’s the dumbest flag I’ve ever seen!” Mitch didn’t answer. Instead, he commanded Darius to begin his trot, and the coach lurched forward.
It was horribly cold and windy in the mountains. Remmaline couldn’t stay warm. Her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. Hunger pains gnawed at her stomach. As this interminable ride continued, Remma began to sink into utter misery and despair. How could she possibly stay warm? As the hours wore on, the chill became even deeper. The western side of the mountains seemed to be perpetually cloudy and cold. The sun never appeared, and the incessant wind pierced through the wagon mercilessly. Finally, Remma set her eyes on the flag. She reached over and touched it. It had a smooth, velvety feel to it. She asked herself, “Would Daddy be upset with me if I used his flag like a blanket?” She knew her brothers might get mad, but she figured her daddy would be more understanding. So she carefully unfolded the banner and wrapped it around her. She instantly felt relief from the cold. She then lay down and tried to sleep again.
As she laid down, she felt a slight pain in her side. Puzzled, she reached down into the pocket of the cloak that Mitch had thrown on her the night before. She felt a hard object in her pocket and pulled it out. It looked like a hardened brownie. When she smelled it, she realized that it had come from Skittlechip’s kitchen. Only Skittlechip could make a brownie that smelled good, even a few days or weeks after he’d made it! Then Remmaline realized what must have happened. Mitch must have stolen one of Butch’s cloaks when he dressed her up during the kidnapping. And Butch the stable boy was always grabbing treats from Skittlechip’s kitchen. This was a great relief to Remma, for not only was she hungry, but she also had an insatiable sweet tooth. She warmed the cookie in her hands for a few moments and then took her first bite. In her opinion, it was the best brownie she’d ever tasted. After devouring the brownie, Remma closed her eyes and slept for a couple of hours.
When Remma awoke, it was still daylight. The journey continued. Mitch stopped briefly on two occasions to let everyone (including the horse) get a drink, but Remma barely was able to stretch her cramped legs before Mitch pushed her back onto the wagon and started moving again. Remma was afraid that Mitch might fall asleep and totally get them lost. But the journey went on, and on, and on. It wasn’t until just before nightfall that Mitch settled down for an extended stop. After crossing a stream, Mitch pulled off the road and followed a trail that went into the woods. Once he was out of sight of the road, he unhitched the wagon, told Darius to go get a drink, and then opened the wagon door. “Get out, girl,” he mumbled to Remmaline.
Remma’s legs were stiff, and her back was sore. Once again, hunger pains gnawed at her stomach. She stumbled over to a tree and plopped to the ground, leaning her back against the tree-trunk. She turned to Mitch and asked, “Do you have anything to eat? I think I’m going to die of hunger.”
Mitch came over to her. But instead of bringing food, he brought a rope. He tied one end around her foot, and he tied the other end around the tree. He then went back to the wagon and pulled out a bag. He grabbed some strips of dried deermeat and started to eat. All Remma could do was watch. Normally, Remma had no appetite for meat whatsoever. But after going a whole day with eating nothing but a brownie, she was ready to sink her teeth into anything that was remotely edible. When she could stand it no longer, she piped up and asked, “Mitch, why are you doing this?” She figured that if she couldn’t eat, she could at least keep him from eating by getting him to talk.
“You wouldn’t understand,” replied Mitch.
“What do you mean?” asked Remma.
“Look, kid, you’ve got everything. You’re a princess, the daughter of the king. You have no idea what it’s like to be a nobody, to be a common servant. I’m sick of it, kid. It’s time for a change--for me, and for you.”
“But Mitch, what do you mean that you are a ‘nobody’?” asked Remma. “You serve the king himself! Some people in the kingdom will go a whole lifetime without ever speaking personally to the king, and you get to see him every day!”
“I told you that you wouldn’t understand!” bellowed Mitch, who become suddenly very agitated. He stood up and began to pace around. “All I do is follow orders. The king tells me to do something, and I have to do it. I’m nothing but a slave, condemned to spend my whole life doing menial labor! I’m sick of it!”
“How can you say that your labor is menial?” queried Remma. “I mean, you serve the greatest king in all the land! Really, is there anything more important that doing what the king asks?”
“Shut up!” yelled Mitch, replying to Remma’s calm question with fire in his eyes. “Before I came here, I was a knight in Slumbutter’s Army. I commanded hundreds of soldiers, and they did what I told them. Now I command no one. I’m done with it, kid! I’m going back to Slumbutter.”
“But Mitch, tell me,” asked Remma, “did the king ever mistreat you? Were you not comfortable? Did he not respect you? What did he do to make you so...so bitter?”
Mitch paused before replying. “I’ll tell you the king’s problem,” he said at last. “He thinks he is so great. He thinks that nobody has anything better to do than to just do what he says. I’m sick of his...his arrogance. I mean, why should he be king? What makes him better than any of the rest of us?”
Remma was pleased that Mitch was starting to ask her questions. Although she hated being kidnapped, she prefer having a conversation to simply sitting in solitary confinement in a wagon. She replied to Mitch’s question by posing another question. “Mitch, let me ask you something. Did the king ever keep you against your will? Has he ever threatened you if you didn’t do what he asked?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” snapped Mitch.
Remma felt a little indignation swell up inside her. “Actually, I think I do!” she replied. “Look, I don’t live a perfect life. Sometimes I get upset with my daddy, even though I know he loves me. And he loves you too, by the way, even though you may not realize it. He told me once how much he thinks of you! But anyways, here’s what I’m trying to say. If I get upset, I have nowhere to go. He’s my father, and he’ll always be my father. But you--you came to him by choice! He didn’t make you come, and he’s not making you stay. In fact, if you’d just told him that you were headed back to your old Master, he’d have probably let you just go without another word. You are not a slave at all, and you know it!”
Mitch just stared at Remma. She couldn’t tell whether he was listening and thinking about what she’d said, or whether he was just plain angry.
Then, unable to stand the silence, Remma spoke up again. “In fact, I think you know that the king has treated you well. The only problem is, he hasn’t made you to be king. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You want to be king! The problem isn’t the king’s arrogance--it is yours!”
Remma had a way of putting her finger on the real problem. LIke a master swordsman penetrates through an adversary’s defences and pierces his heart , so did Remma’s words strike at Mitch’s heart. But instead of responding with understanding, he stood up and walked over to Remma. He glared at her and raised his arm as if to strike her. But before he moved, brave little Remma spoke once more. “Go ahead and hit me, Mitch,” she said, with tears streaming down her face. “You’ve already taken away everything that is important to me. You’ve taken away my family and my home. You’ve made me hungry and thirsty and cold. And...and you’ve taken away my hair. So go ahead and hit me, Mitch. You can’t make me feel any worse than I do already.”
Mitch continued to stand over Remma with his hand raised. He was motionless for what seemed like several minutes. Then finally he relented. Without saying a word, he reached down and untied the rope around Remma’s leg. He then lumbered over to his bag, grabbed a few pieces of dried deermeat, and tossed them over to Remma. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said in a subdued voice. “There are wolves out there, and they’ll have you for dinner if you try to run away.”
Then Mitch grabbed a blanket and laid down on the ground. Without looking at Remma, he said, “Slumbutter has promised to put me in one of the highest positions in his kingdom if I deliver you to him. It’s too late to back out now. Tomorrow we’ll reach his castle. I’ll get my reward, and you--well, you’ll get taken care of. So stop talking and get some sleep.”
Within moments, Mitch was alseep. Remma walked back to the wagon and grabbed the banner. Wrapping herself up in its surprising warmth, she laid down. As she looked up at the trees above her, she thought she saw the faint outline of an owl staring down at her. Comforted by the sight, Remma closed her eyes. Before descending into slumber, she mumbled the words, “It’s never too late.”
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Chapter 18 - Unwanted Journey through the Jagged Mountains
It was Mitch.
Remmaline couldn’t believe her eyes. The man who had just blindfolded her, thrown her under the bed, cut her hair, and handled her so roughly was the man that had helped care for her over the past four years. Remmaline’s eyes filled with tears again. “How could you?” she asked.
Mitch ignored her as he reached and grabbed a pouch that had been attached to his belt. He reached into the pouch with his right hand and pulled out something black and smelly. Before Remma could even react, he started to smear the substance all over her face. It was mud. Remma grimaced as the gritty substance was crudely spread over her cheeks, her nose, and her chin. Some of it got into her eyes, but Mitch obviously didn’t care. Remmaline blinked and tried to rub it out so that she could see again, but as soon as she raised her arms, Mitch slapped her. “Listen, Remma,” he muttered in a low but sinister voice, “If you want to make it out of here in one piece, you’d better do what I tell you, and ONLY what I tell you. Do you understand?” Remmaline nodded.
After covering her face with mud, Mitch reached under Cable’s bed and grabbed something. It was a ragged cloak that was filthy and tattered. Remma couldn’t recognize it--she figured Mitch must have brought it with him and left it there earlier. Mitch then ordered Remmaline to stand up. When she did, he took the filthy cloak and draped it over her dress. Remma bowed her head in shame. “Oh Mitch,” she cried. “This was Daddy’s favorite dress.”
“I couldn’t care less about your father,” Mitch said. “Now listen to me. When we walk out that door, we’re going to head to the royal stables. I’m going to pretend that you are Butch the stable boy, and you are going to do whatever I say. All right? Believe me--you won’t want to find out what happens if you decided to scream or run away.” Then, without waiting for a response, Mitch grabbed her by the arm and led her outside.
Mitch led them to the left as they exited the bedroom. The hallway was deserted; it appeared that everyone had gone to Julianna’s birthday party. Remmaline was heartbroken. Who would be able to save her? After going down the hallway a ways, they entered a door to their right. The door led to a stairway. Their footsteps echoed eerily in the cavernous stairwell. When the reached the bottom, they turned to the right. After they walked for about 100 feet, they came to a door. As Mitch started to push it open, he stopped abruptly. Remmaline thought she heard footsteps behind them. She started to turn, but Mitch grabbed her arm and said, “Don’t move.” Mitch then slowly turned around and stared.
The hallway was empty. Remma grimaced. It must have simply been her imagination. Of course, if the footsteps had simply been in her imagination, how could Mitch have heard them as well?
When they passed through the doorway, they entered the stable. Night was falling, and the stables were nearly enveloped in darkness. Mitch dragged Remmaline along as he walked briskly to the back to the stable. Remmaline, unable to see and unfamiliar with the stables, tripped over a bucket. The sound seemed deafening, after the intense silence of the past few moments. Mitch raised his voice. “Watch where you’re going, Butch!” he bellowed. “Now get me my horses!”
Remmaline remained silent and stumbled along behind Mitch. Once they reached the back of the stable, Mitch grabbed the horse that he was looking for. Moving swiftly, he led the horse out of the stable with one hand while maintaining a firm grip on Remmaline with the other hand. Mitch then led them toward one of the king’s wagons that was positioned just outside the stable. He opened the door to the wagon and rudely grabbed Remma and threw her inside. “Just sit there and be quiet. We’re in for a long ride,” he said as he shut the door.
Mitch then hitched up the horse to the wagon, mounted up in the driver’s seat, and gave the command. The horse obediently started to trot. The wagon circled behind the castle and headed west, toward the Jagged Mountains. Remmaline’s heart sank. As she saw the silhouette of the mountains in the moonlight, she realized where Mitch was taking her. She was heading toward Dor-ko’s land.
Mitch drove the horse onward, and the wagon moved down the road with great speed. Once the sun had completely set behind the mountains, the wagon reached the foothills and started to climb. The road was well-marked, and Mitch had no trouble navigating by the moonlight. Remma hoped that someone would stop them, for several outposts of soldiers were positioned on this road in order to provide a warning in case any enemy soldiers tried to invade. But no one stopped them. Remma then realized that there was no reason to stop them, for they were riding in the king’s wagon. No one suspected a thing.
As the miles dragged on, Remmaline’s heart filled with despair. She felt completely hopeless. No one knew where she was. She hadn’t even thought to leave behind a clue about what had happened, or where she was going. And now, as the earth cooled after sunset, she began to feel very cold. Her body shivered, gently at first, but then uncontrollably. She was scared and exhausted and hungry and frigid, and there was nothing she could do about it. Once again, the tears started to flow. “Oh Daddy,” she mumbled quietly, “if only you knew...”
At that point, Remmaline felt a strange warmness next to her. She opened her eyes and looked beside her. To her great surprise, an owl--a big, fluffy, feathery owl--was sitting at her side. Remmaline was scared at first, and she immediately backed away. But as she continued to stare at the silent owl, she realized that he meant her no harm. In fact, she felt strangely and suddenly calm in his presence. She had never seen an owl this close before, although she could remember the boys talking about an owl they had met on their adventure about four years ago. Could this be the same owl? Did owls live that long?
Remmaline continued to stare. The owl didn’t move, neither did he glance back at Remma. He just sat there, peering into the darkness outside. Remmaline then slid back over and wrapped her arms around the owl. To her amazement, the warmth was almost too great. So she let go, turned sidewise, and leaned her back against him, like a camper might do at a campfire that was too hot to face. Then, as she leaned back against the owl, her heart grew calm and she fell asleep.
When Remmaline woke up, she was lying flat on the floor of the wagon. The owl was no longer there. Remma was puzzled. Had he left? Or had he also just been a part of her imagination? She thought that maybe she’d dreamt the whole thing. But then again, how could she have managed to have such a peaceful sleep in a wagon while being taken captive? She hadn’t even had a blanket on her! Emmaline scratched her head in wonder.
As she peered outside, she could see the darkness starting to retreat as the sun slowly crept upward in the east. The wagon seemed to be high up in the mountains. The air was crisp and cold, and the view of the surrounding mountains and the plains plains below was stunning. In fact, it almost felt like they were preparing to start going down again. Remma cautiously stood up in order to get a better view. Then she almost fell down as the wagon came to a halt. Remma crouched down. Peering through a small peephole, she saw a soldier carrying the king’s flag approach. The soldier planted the flag and the ground and saluted. “Greetings, sir!” he declared cheerfully as he saluted.
Remmaline couldn’t see Mitch, but she could hear him as he replied brusquely. “What do you want?” he said.
The soldier, whose face Remmaline could clearly make out, approached closer. “Sir,” he declared, “this is our furthest outpost. Once you pass this point, we can offer you no more protection. That is Dor-ko’s country. King Maximilian will one day conquer him, but until that day comes, there is still great danger. I would urge you to go no further.”
“Don’t you know who you’re talking to?” asked Mitch. “I work for Maximilian himself! Who are you to stop me?”
“Look sir, I mean you no harm,” replied the soldier. “I too serve the king. But my orders are to let no one pass unless they have orders from Prince Dorian or the King. So I would ask you to please turn around. We have provisions for you here, if you need a meal or some sort of refreshment.”
“All right, buddy. Do you need orders? Let me show you my orders.” Remma saw the soldier come still closer. She was torn. Should she jump out now? The soldier was almost close enough to touch! But Remmaline was paralyzed with fear and spellbound by the story that was unfolding before her eyes. Her mind told her to move, but her body wouldn’t budge.
Then, to her shock, she heard a great thud, and she saw the soldier crumple to the ground. Instead of grabbing orders, Mitch had grabbed a wooden staff that was hidden on his seat. He had then clubbed the unsuspecting soldier on the side of the head. Remma gasped, but no words escaped her mouth. She watched in wide-eyed fear as Mitch grabbed the reins and urged his horse onward. Remma looked backward as they careened down the road. Her last hope--the king’s brave soldier at this remote outpost--lay motionless on the road as she descended into Dor-ko’s country. She wept again. That owl must have simply been imaginary after all. She was a prisoner and there was no going back. She lamented once again that she had failed to leave the least clue. She was gone, and nobody knew a thing.
***************************************
But of course, Remmaline was wrong. For the footsteps that she thought she heard just before they’d entered the stable were not imaginary. They were real. And they belonged to the real Butch, the one who tended the stable. Butch hated parties, and so he was skipping out on Julianna’s party. But before he left the party, he had stolen a few handfuls of cake from Skittlechip’s kitchen. He knew the Skittlechip wouldn’t mind--he always left extra food around for the faithful stable boy.
As Butch made his way back to the stable, he walked on tip-toes to avoid being noticed. He didn’t want to have to share his cake with anybody besides his horses. But as he slinked through the hallways, he heard someone else’s footsteps heading toward the stable just ahead of him. Stalking these people like a cat, Butch managed to make out the figures of Mitch and Remmaline. What could he be doing? Butch thought to himself. He followed them down the stairwell before tripping on the final stair and stumbling a bit. That was what Mitch and Remmaline had heard. But before they could turn, Butch leaped back into the stairwell. He hadn’t been seen after all.
Butch then followed them into the stable. He saw Mitch grab the horse, and he saw him throw Remmaline into the wagon. Most startlingly, he heard Mitch call her “Butch. This was particularly odd, since he knew that he was the real Butch, not Remmaline! As he saw the wagon tear off around the corner of the castle, he tossed the cake to the other horses in the stable and ran upstairs to tell the king.
The king listened intently to Butch. Butch always loved to talk to the king. Though he was a humble stable boy, he always felt like the most important person in the world when he talked with Maximilian. After listening to his tale, the king walked upstairs. He went to the boys’ room. He walked over to Cable’s bed. Stooping down, he looked at the floor. He reached down and felt the tears. And then the king wept. His tears fell to the floor and formed a small puddle that covered Remma’s tears. Yes, Remma had indeed left a message for her father king--a message of tears. And the king would not fail to answer her plea for help.
Remmaline couldn’t believe her eyes. The man who had just blindfolded her, thrown her under the bed, cut her hair, and handled her so roughly was the man that had helped care for her over the past four years. Remmaline’s eyes filled with tears again. “How could you?” she asked.
Mitch ignored her as he reached and grabbed a pouch that had been attached to his belt. He reached into the pouch with his right hand and pulled out something black and smelly. Before Remma could even react, he started to smear the substance all over her face. It was mud. Remma grimaced as the gritty substance was crudely spread over her cheeks, her nose, and her chin. Some of it got into her eyes, but Mitch obviously didn’t care. Remmaline blinked and tried to rub it out so that she could see again, but as soon as she raised her arms, Mitch slapped her. “Listen, Remma,” he muttered in a low but sinister voice, “If you want to make it out of here in one piece, you’d better do what I tell you, and ONLY what I tell you. Do you understand?” Remmaline nodded.
After covering her face with mud, Mitch reached under Cable’s bed and grabbed something. It was a ragged cloak that was filthy and tattered. Remma couldn’t recognize it--she figured Mitch must have brought it with him and left it there earlier. Mitch then ordered Remmaline to stand up. When she did, he took the filthy cloak and draped it over her dress. Remma bowed her head in shame. “Oh Mitch,” she cried. “This was Daddy’s favorite dress.”
“I couldn’t care less about your father,” Mitch said. “Now listen to me. When we walk out that door, we’re going to head to the royal stables. I’m going to pretend that you are Butch the stable boy, and you are going to do whatever I say. All right? Believe me--you won’t want to find out what happens if you decided to scream or run away.” Then, without waiting for a response, Mitch grabbed her by the arm and led her outside.
Mitch led them to the left as they exited the bedroom. The hallway was deserted; it appeared that everyone had gone to Julianna’s birthday party. Remmaline was heartbroken. Who would be able to save her? After going down the hallway a ways, they entered a door to their right. The door led to a stairway. Their footsteps echoed eerily in the cavernous stairwell. When the reached the bottom, they turned to the right. After they walked for about 100 feet, they came to a door. As Mitch started to push it open, he stopped abruptly. Remmaline thought she heard footsteps behind them. She started to turn, but Mitch grabbed her arm and said, “Don’t move.” Mitch then slowly turned around and stared.
The hallway was empty. Remma grimaced. It must have simply been her imagination. Of course, if the footsteps had simply been in her imagination, how could Mitch have heard them as well?
When they passed through the doorway, they entered the stable. Night was falling, and the stables were nearly enveloped in darkness. Mitch dragged Remmaline along as he walked briskly to the back to the stable. Remmaline, unable to see and unfamiliar with the stables, tripped over a bucket. The sound seemed deafening, after the intense silence of the past few moments. Mitch raised his voice. “Watch where you’re going, Butch!” he bellowed. “Now get me my horses!”
Remmaline remained silent and stumbled along behind Mitch. Once they reached the back of the stable, Mitch grabbed the horse that he was looking for. Moving swiftly, he led the horse out of the stable with one hand while maintaining a firm grip on Remmaline with the other hand. Mitch then led them toward one of the king’s wagons that was positioned just outside the stable. He opened the door to the wagon and rudely grabbed Remma and threw her inside. “Just sit there and be quiet. We’re in for a long ride,” he said as he shut the door.
Mitch then hitched up the horse to the wagon, mounted up in the driver’s seat, and gave the command. The horse obediently started to trot. The wagon circled behind the castle and headed west, toward the Jagged Mountains. Remmaline’s heart sank. As she saw the silhouette of the mountains in the moonlight, she realized where Mitch was taking her. She was heading toward Dor-ko’s land.
Mitch drove the horse onward, and the wagon moved down the road with great speed. Once the sun had completely set behind the mountains, the wagon reached the foothills and started to climb. The road was well-marked, and Mitch had no trouble navigating by the moonlight. Remma hoped that someone would stop them, for several outposts of soldiers were positioned on this road in order to provide a warning in case any enemy soldiers tried to invade. But no one stopped them. Remma then realized that there was no reason to stop them, for they were riding in the king’s wagon. No one suspected a thing.
As the miles dragged on, Remmaline’s heart filled with despair. She felt completely hopeless. No one knew where she was. She hadn’t even thought to leave behind a clue about what had happened, or where she was going. And now, as the earth cooled after sunset, she began to feel very cold. Her body shivered, gently at first, but then uncontrollably. She was scared and exhausted and hungry and frigid, and there was nothing she could do about it. Once again, the tears started to flow. “Oh Daddy,” she mumbled quietly, “if only you knew...”
At that point, Remmaline felt a strange warmness next to her. She opened her eyes and looked beside her. To her great surprise, an owl--a big, fluffy, feathery owl--was sitting at her side. Remmaline was scared at first, and she immediately backed away. But as she continued to stare at the silent owl, she realized that he meant her no harm. In fact, she felt strangely and suddenly calm in his presence. She had never seen an owl this close before, although she could remember the boys talking about an owl they had met on their adventure about four years ago. Could this be the same owl? Did owls live that long?
Remmaline continued to stare. The owl didn’t move, neither did he glance back at Remma. He just sat there, peering into the darkness outside. Remmaline then slid back over and wrapped her arms around the owl. To her amazement, the warmth was almost too great. So she let go, turned sidewise, and leaned her back against him, like a camper might do at a campfire that was too hot to face. Then, as she leaned back against the owl, her heart grew calm and she fell asleep.
When Remmaline woke up, she was lying flat on the floor of the wagon. The owl was no longer there. Remma was puzzled. Had he left? Or had he also just been a part of her imagination? She thought that maybe she’d dreamt the whole thing. But then again, how could she have managed to have such a peaceful sleep in a wagon while being taken captive? She hadn’t even had a blanket on her! Emmaline scratched her head in wonder.
As she peered outside, she could see the darkness starting to retreat as the sun slowly crept upward in the east. The wagon seemed to be high up in the mountains. The air was crisp and cold, and the view of the surrounding mountains and the plains plains below was stunning. In fact, it almost felt like they were preparing to start going down again. Remma cautiously stood up in order to get a better view. Then she almost fell down as the wagon came to a halt. Remma crouched down. Peering through a small peephole, she saw a soldier carrying the king’s flag approach. The soldier planted the flag and the ground and saluted. “Greetings, sir!” he declared cheerfully as he saluted.
Remmaline couldn’t see Mitch, but she could hear him as he replied brusquely. “What do you want?” he said.
The soldier, whose face Remmaline could clearly make out, approached closer. “Sir,” he declared, “this is our furthest outpost. Once you pass this point, we can offer you no more protection. That is Dor-ko’s country. King Maximilian will one day conquer him, but until that day comes, there is still great danger. I would urge you to go no further.”
“Don’t you know who you’re talking to?” asked Mitch. “I work for Maximilian himself! Who are you to stop me?”
“Look sir, I mean you no harm,” replied the soldier. “I too serve the king. But my orders are to let no one pass unless they have orders from Prince Dorian or the King. So I would ask you to please turn around. We have provisions for you here, if you need a meal or some sort of refreshment.”
“All right, buddy. Do you need orders? Let me show you my orders.” Remma saw the soldier come still closer. She was torn. Should she jump out now? The soldier was almost close enough to touch! But Remmaline was paralyzed with fear and spellbound by the story that was unfolding before her eyes. Her mind told her to move, but her body wouldn’t budge.
Then, to her shock, she heard a great thud, and she saw the soldier crumple to the ground. Instead of grabbing orders, Mitch had grabbed a wooden staff that was hidden on his seat. He had then clubbed the unsuspecting soldier on the side of the head. Remma gasped, but no words escaped her mouth. She watched in wide-eyed fear as Mitch grabbed the reins and urged his horse onward. Remma looked backward as they careened down the road. Her last hope--the king’s brave soldier at this remote outpost--lay motionless on the road as she descended into Dor-ko’s country. She wept again. That owl must have simply been imaginary after all. She was a prisoner and there was no going back. She lamented once again that she had failed to leave the least clue. She was gone, and nobody knew a thing.
***************************************
But of course, Remmaline was wrong. For the footsteps that she thought she heard just before they’d entered the stable were not imaginary. They were real. And they belonged to the real Butch, the one who tended the stable. Butch hated parties, and so he was skipping out on Julianna’s party. But before he left the party, he had stolen a few handfuls of cake from Skittlechip’s kitchen. He knew the Skittlechip wouldn’t mind--he always left extra food around for the faithful stable boy.
As Butch made his way back to the stable, he walked on tip-toes to avoid being noticed. He didn’t want to have to share his cake with anybody besides his horses. But as he slinked through the hallways, he heard someone else’s footsteps heading toward the stable just ahead of him. Stalking these people like a cat, Butch managed to make out the figures of Mitch and Remmaline. What could he be doing? Butch thought to himself. He followed them down the stairwell before tripping on the final stair and stumbling a bit. That was what Mitch and Remmaline had heard. But before they could turn, Butch leaped back into the stairwell. He hadn’t been seen after all.
Butch then followed them into the stable. He saw Mitch grab the horse, and he saw him throw Remmaline into the wagon. Most startlingly, he heard Mitch call her “Butch. This was particularly odd, since he knew that he was the real Butch, not Remmaline! As he saw the wagon tear off around the corner of the castle, he tossed the cake to the other horses in the stable and ran upstairs to tell the king.
The king listened intently to Butch. Butch always loved to talk to the king. Though he was a humble stable boy, he always felt like the most important person in the world when he talked with Maximilian. After listening to his tale, the king walked upstairs. He went to the boys’ room. He walked over to Cable’s bed. Stooping down, he looked at the floor. He reached down and felt the tears. And then the king wept. His tears fell to the floor and formed a small puddle that covered Remma’s tears. Yes, Remma had indeed left a message for her father king--a message of tears. And the king would not fail to answer her plea for help.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Chapter 17 - Another Captive Taken
Remmaline sat in the corner of her room and wept. She cried and cried until she thought she would run out of tears. And when she ran out, she paused and walked around the room and looked out the window. And as she stared outside--looking at the great mountains and dense forests off to the east--she grew even more hopeless, and she cried some more. Then she would walk over to the door and try to open it again, only to see that it was still locked. And then the tears would continue to flow. And as they did, a miserable grumpy man across the room with a bag of coins at his feet would yell at her and tell her to be quiet. She wasn’t afraid of the man, since his legs were in chains, but she was miserable--utterly miserable. Only the hardest of hearts could look at this girl and not be moved to great pity. Poor Remmaline!
Where was she? And how did she get here?
To answer those questions, we have to go back in time, back to when we first met Remmaline. She was in her brothers’ room, frantically getting ready for her sister Julianna’s birthday party. If you recall, she had locked her brothers out of the room so that she could use their large room to get dressed. She figured that her brothers were slobs (compared to her, anyway), and so it made much more sense to mess their room up instead of her own.
So while her brothers were waiting for her to get dressed (which was not something that happened particularly quickly), 13-year-old Remmaline worked on her hair. She had beautiful, long golden hair; her daddy always told her it was hair fit for a princess. Her hair was her pride and joy. She loved to play with it, though most of all she loved to have her mama play with it. Sometimes she liked to put it up, and sometimes she liked to braid it, and sometimes she just liked to have it dangle down all around her. As she stared at the mirror, she honestly couldn’t decide what to do with it. The time was approaching for the party to start, but in her own mind, time stood still. What should she do with her hair?
As she thought about that, she danced across the room and grabbed her beautiful blue-and-white dress. Her daddy said he liked that one best, so she figured she’d wear it today. She threw her other clothes on the floor and then gingerly put on the dress. If this had been her room, of course, she’d have neatly folded her clothes and placed them carefully in her bed. But that was what was so fun about getting dressed in her brothers’ room. She could be messy, and they’d have to clean it up! Oh, they’d be grumpy of course, but old Mitch would growl right back at them and tell them to get cleaning.
After donning the dress, Remma pranced back across the room and back into the boys’ bathroom. She stared at the mirror again. Which hairdo would go best with this dress? she asked herself. Then she just started to dance. She sang a tune and danced away, staring at herself all the while. She figured she’d be much better able to make a decision after she’d danced for a few minutes. She could see how her hair behaved as she moved and then figure out which one to choose.
As she twirled around with her imaginary dance partner, she thought she heard the bedroom door open. That was strange--she knew the boys didn’t have a key. Who could it be? Did the boys manage to find a key from somewhere? Oh well, it didn’t matter; she still had to get ready, and the boys couldn’t throw her out of the room now. They’d be too busy getting themselves ready to bother with her.
As Remma continued to ponder her hair, she was suddenly started as someone grabbed her from behind. In an instant, the person wrapped a blindfold tightly around her eyes, enveloping her in darkness. She started to scream, but the person quickly put a hand over her mouth. A man’s voice whispered into her ear: “If you make one more noise, it will be your last, kid. Do you understand?” Remmaline shook her head in terror. The man then dragged her out of the bathroom and rolled her under something--she figured it was probably Cable’s bed. Her head banged into the bedpost. It hurt terribly, and she started to cry out in pain. But again a hand roughly grabbed her face over her mouth. The whispered voice said once again, “Not a sound, kiddo!” Then she heard the man back away from the bed.
At this point, Remmaline was terrified. Her life in the castle had been so peaceful for her entire life. How could anyone want to harm her? Oh, her boys would tease her and torment her sometimes, but she knew that this couldn’t be one of their practical jokes. They would never be this rough. No, this man really wanted to hurt her. She was scared.
Though she couldn’t see, she could still hear what was going on, and her ears were straining to hear what happened next. After a few moments, she heard the door burst open, and then she heard someone tumble onto the floor. She grimaced--it sounded like someone’s face must have landed right onto the stone floor. She hoped that whoever it was at least managed to land on a rug. When she heard no cry or expression of pain, she figured it had to be Andres. It would take a lot more than a face-plant on solid rock to get the best of him.
Her guess was confirmed when she heard footsteps heading toward the back of the room, where a window faced the back side of the castle. Yes, those were Andres’ footsteps. She would recognize them anywhere. And then she heard his voice say, “Cable, are you here yet?” She knew that Andres hated to go places--even his own bedroom--all alone. She hoped that Cable wasn’t far behind!
Then, as she continued to listen, she heard more scuffling. The man that had grabbed her must now be grabbing Andres! She wanted to scream, but she didn’t dare to do a thing. And she knew Andres wouldn’t scream. He was a silent fighter. The only time he would scream was if he was being tickled. And he most definitely wasn’t being tickled right now.
Remmaline feared the worst when the scuffling quickly ended. She didn’t know what had happened, but she figured it couldn’t be good. She wondered if maybe that cruel man had tossed Andres out the window. As she continued to listen, she heard more footsteps, and they definitely didn’t belong to Andres. It seemed as though someone was picking stuff up around the room. The man that had blindfolded her must be cleaning up the mess that she’d left. That didn’t make sense to her. Since when did meanies decide to be cleanies? she asked herself. Somehow, in the midst of this present tragedy, she managed to laugh at her own silly little rhyme.
Moments later, she heard footsteps leave the room, with the door gently closing behind. She didn’t know what to do. Should she get up and run? Or should she stay still and hope to be rescued? She didn’t know what to do! Before she could decide to move or stay, she was frozen again in place as she heard more footsteps approach. These footsteps were very slow and deliberate. It must be Cable! He was never in a hurry. And if something like a big party was coming up and he really needed to rush--well, those were the times when he really didn’t hurry.
Remma heard the door open, and a voice softly called out, “Andres, are you in here?” Yes, it was Cable’s voice. Oh, how she wanted to yell out! But she just couldn’t muster up the courage to say a word. What if that horrible man was somehow around the corner? He said that her next noise would be her last! Oh, what was a little girl to do?
As Remma continued to listen, she heard more rustling around the room. For the first time in her life, she sensed that Cable really was in a hurry. She heard him grab some things from a closet. Then she heard him reach underneath the bed--for some reason, he seemed to be fumbling around the bedpost. What could he be doing? She wanted to yell out his name, but she just didn’t dare to!
A few moments later, there was silence again. It was like Cable had just disappeared. She hadn’t heard him walk out of the room, so what had he done? Had he climbed out the window? Or had someone snuck up on him and tossed him out the window? She just didn’t know. However, one thing she did know--her one chance of escape had just gone. “Why didn’t I say anything?” Remmaline asked herself. And then she began to cry, and her tears soaked through her blindfold and pooled up on the floor below.
After what seemed like years, but was probably only a few minutes, the door opened again. These footsteps were familiar--they belonged to the evil man that had blindfolded her and handled her so roughly. The footsteps were strangely familiar, but she couldn’t seem to recall where she’d heard them before. They came right toward the bed. She felt hands reach down and grab her feet. She was roughly dragged out from under the bed. Her head struck one of the bedposts on her way out. The tears continued to flow, but she stifled her cry as best she could.
Just when she thought it could get any worse, the man whispered again, “Stay perfectly still, and don’t say a word.” The next thing she heard was a pair of scissors, snipping away with quick and careless motion. Her hair! The man was cutting away her hair! “Oh, please don’t do that,” she pleaded silently. The man rudely slapped her. “Not a word!” he whispered harshly.
Then the voice spoke once more. “I’m going to take off your blindfold, kid. Then you’re going to see me. But you won’t say a word, and you’ll do exactly as I say. Do you understand?” Remma nodded. Then the blindfold came off. Remma gasped as she saw the face of her captor.
Where was she? And how did she get here?
To answer those questions, we have to go back in time, back to when we first met Remmaline. She was in her brothers’ room, frantically getting ready for her sister Julianna’s birthday party. If you recall, she had locked her brothers out of the room so that she could use their large room to get dressed. She figured that her brothers were slobs (compared to her, anyway), and so it made much more sense to mess their room up instead of her own.
So while her brothers were waiting for her to get dressed (which was not something that happened particularly quickly), 13-year-old Remmaline worked on her hair. She had beautiful, long golden hair; her daddy always told her it was hair fit for a princess. Her hair was her pride and joy. She loved to play with it, though most of all she loved to have her mama play with it. Sometimes she liked to put it up, and sometimes she liked to braid it, and sometimes she just liked to have it dangle down all around her. As she stared at the mirror, she honestly couldn’t decide what to do with it. The time was approaching for the party to start, but in her own mind, time stood still. What should she do with her hair?
As she thought about that, she danced across the room and grabbed her beautiful blue-and-white dress. Her daddy said he liked that one best, so she figured she’d wear it today. She threw her other clothes on the floor and then gingerly put on the dress. If this had been her room, of course, she’d have neatly folded her clothes and placed them carefully in her bed. But that was what was so fun about getting dressed in her brothers’ room. She could be messy, and they’d have to clean it up! Oh, they’d be grumpy of course, but old Mitch would growl right back at them and tell them to get cleaning.
After donning the dress, Remma pranced back across the room and back into the boys’ bathroom. She stared at the mirror again. Which hairdo would go best with this dress? she asked herself. Then she just started to dance. She sang a tune and danced away, staring at herself all the while. She figured she’d be much better able to make a decision after she’d danced for a few minutes. She could see how her hair behaved as she moved and then figure out which one to choose.
As she twirled around with her imaginary dance partner, she thought she heard the bedroom door open. That was strange--she knew the boys didn’t have a key. Who could it be? Did the boys manage to find a key from somewhere? Oh well, it didn’t matter; she still had to get ready, and the boys couldn’t throw her out of the room now. They’d be too busy getting themselves ready to bother with her.
As Remma continued to ponder her hair, she was suddenly started as someone grabbed her from behind. In an instant, the person wrapped a blindfold tightly around her eyes, enveloping her in darkness. She started to scream, but the person quickly put a hand over her mouth. A man’s voice whispered into her ear: “If you make one more noise, it will be your last, kid. Do you understand?” Remmaline shook her head in terror. The man then dragged her out of the bathroom and rolled her under something--she figured it was probably Cable’s bed. Her head banged into the bedpost. It hurt terribly, and she started to cry out in pain. But again a hand roughly grabbed her face over her mouth. The whispered voice said once again, “Not a sound, kiddo!” Then she heard the man back away from the bed.
At this point, Remmaline was terrified. Her life in the castle had been so peaceful for her entire life. How could anyone want to harm her? Oh, her boys would tease her and torment her sometimes, but she knew that this couldn’t be one of their practical jokes. They would never be this rough. No, this man really wanted to hurt her. She was scared.
Though she couldn’t see, she could still hear what was going on, and her ears were straining to hear what happened next. After a few moments, she heard the door burst open, and then she heard someone tumble onto the floor. She grimaced--it sounded like someone’s face must have landed right onto the stone floor. She hoped that whoever it was at least managed to land on a rug. When she heard no cry or expression of pain, she figured it had to be Andres. It would take a lot more than a face-plant on solid rock to get the best of him.
Her guess was confirmed when she heard footsteps heading toward the back of the room, where a window faced the back side of the castle. Yes, those were Andres’ footsteps. She would recognize them anywhere. And then she heard his voice say, “Cable, are you here yet?” She knew that Andres hated to go places--even his own bedroom--all alone. She hoped that Cable wasn’t far behind!
Then, as she continued to listen, she heard more scuffling. The man that had grabbed her must now be grabbing Andres! She wanted to scream, but she didn’t dare to do a thing. And she knew Andres wouldn’t scream. He was a silent fighter. The only time he would scream was if he was being tickled. And he most definitely wasn’t being tickled right now.
Remmaline feared the worst when the scuffling quickly ended. She didn’t know what had happened, but she figured it couldn’t be good. She wondered if maybe that cruel man had tossed Andres out the window. As she continued to listen, she heard more footsteps, and they definitely didn’t belong to Andres. It seemed as though someone was picking stuff up around the room. The man that had blindfolded her must be cleaning up the mess that she’d left. That didn’t make sense to her. Since when did meanies decide to be cleanies? she asked herself. Somehow, in the midst of this present tragedy, she managed to laugh at her own silly little rhyme.
Moments later, she heard footsteps leave the room, with the door gently closing behind. She didn’t know what to do. Should she get up and run? Or should she stay still and hope to be rescued? She didn’t know what to do! Before she could decide to move or stay, she was frozen again in place as she heard more footsteps approach. These footsteps were very slow and deliberate. It must be Cable! He was never in a hurry. And if something like a big party was coming up and he really needed to rush--well, those were the times when he really didn’t hurry.
Remma heard the door open, and a voice softly called out, “Andres, are you in here?” Yes, it was Cable’s voice. Oh, how she wanted to yell out! But she just couldn’t muster up the courage to say a word. What if that horrible man was somehow around the corner? He said that her next noise would be her last! Oh, what was a little girl to do?
As Remma continued to listen, she heard more rustling around the room. For the first time in her life, she sensed that Cable really was in a hurry. She heard him grab some things from a closet. Then she heard him reach underneath the bed--for some reason, he seemed to be fumbling around the bedpost. What could he be doing? She wanted to yell out his name, but she just didn’t dare to!
A few moments later, there was silence again. It was like Cable had just disappeared. She hadn’t heard him walk out of the room, so what had he done? Had he climbed out the window? Or had someone snuck up on him and tossed him out the window? She just didn’t know. However, one thing she did know--her one chance of escape had just gone. “Why didn’t I say anything?” Remmaline asked herself. And then she began to cry, and her tears soaked through her blindfold and pooled up on the floor below.
After what seemed like years, but was probably only a few minutes, the door opened again. These footsteps were familiar--they belonged to the evil man that had blindfolded her and handled her so roughly. The footsteps were strangely familiar, but she couldn’t seem to recall where she’d heard them before. They came right toward the bed. She felt hands reach down and grab her feet. She was roughly dragged out from under the bed. Her head struck one of the bedposts on her way out. The tears continued to flow, but she stifled her cry as best she could.
Just when she thought it could get any worse, the man whispered again, “Stay perfectly still, and don’t say a word.” The next thing she heard was a pair of scissors, snipping away with quick and careless motion. Her hair! The man was cutting away her hair! “Oh, please don’t do that,” she pleaded silently. The man rudely slapped her. “Not a word!” he whispered harshly.
Then the voice spoke once more. “I’m going to take off your blindfold, kid. Then you’re going to see me. But you won’t say a word, and you’ll do exactly as I say. Do you understand?” Remma nodded. Then the blindfold came off. Remma gasped as she saw the face of her captor.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Chapter 16 - Escape!
Andres paused for a moment as Gregorex implored him to go on. “Gee whiz,” he declared, “if I think any harder, I swear I’m going to pull a brain muscle.”
“What did you say?” replied Gregorex. “What in the world is a brain muscle?”
“Just hold on and let me think! It’s hard to think when it’s light out, let alone when it’s pitch dark!” Andres bellowed. Then, after a few more awkward seconds, he said, “Okay--I almost forgot. When I first got there, Pipes said something like, ‘It’s another nasty laborer,’ which wasn’t a very nice thing to say. But then the girl agreed and said, ‘Another nasty laborer indeed.’ For someone that’s supposed to be all nice and everything, I don’t think she should have just agreed with that! I mean, she doesn’t even know me!” Andres voice kept rising as he talked.
“But she does know you!” Gregorex retorted. “You’re Prince Andres. Everybody knows you! But she’s not saying you’re nasty or anything. And besides, why are we yelling at each other? We’re jailed up in a cell that is smaller than most outhouses! Let’s quiet down!”
Andres nodded in agreement, and then realized that Gregorex couldn’t see him nod, so he said, “All right! I’ll quiet down. But tell me this--if she’s not saying I’m nasty or anything, why did she call me ‘another nasty laborer’?”
“It’s another word game,” Gregorex said. “If you take the first two letters from each of the words ‘another nasty laborer’, you spell ‘Annala’. You see, it’s just another way to let me know that she’s still alive. Wow, is she incredible or what?”
“Yep, she’s incredible,” Andres replied in a relative monotone. He didn’t figure that it would do much good to argue with Gregorex. But to tell the truth, he was getting pretty excited about the prospect of getting out. After only an hour or so of captivity in this dark and smelly dungeon, he was ready to escape.
“Okay, so what else did she say?” pressed Gregorex, his voice rising again. “Remember, we’ve got to figure out where this dumb key goes. And it’s pretty hard to find a little keyhole in the dark. Keep thinking!”
“Now who’s the one yelling?” asked Andres, only slightly irritated. “Look, I can’t remember everything. For goodness’ sake, I’m just a teenager that’s been captured! That is pretty traumatic stuff for someone who hasn’t even started to shave yet!” Andres caught his breath, then piped up again. “Oh yeah, she said something weird about how I’ll try to ‘match them’. She said it three times, I think. ‘Will you be able to match them?’ she asked. What kind of foolish question is that?” Andres was getting kind of irritable at this point. It had been a long time since he’d had a good night’s sleep, and it was catching up to him. And he really did hate the dark.
Gregorex then spoke up. “Oh, Andres, you are so right,” he declared, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Lowering his voice, he continued, “Yes, what a foolish question. She couldn’t possibly be giving a hint like...like that THERE IS A MATCH IN THE CELL!”
“Oh,” replied Andres as he slapped himself on his forehead. It hadn’t occurred to him that ‘match’ could be used as both a verb and a noun. But his frustration with himself didn’t last long. “Well gee whiz, if there is a match in here, let’s find it and get some light in here! I can’t even see myself think!”
“All right, genius, let’s see if she gave us any other clues that might tell us where the match is,” replied Gregorex in a surprisingly calm voice. “Can you think of anything else?”
“No...no, I just can’t,” said Andres. “After she talked about how ‘she is carried on our new eastern road’, she kind of wrapped things up. I think I’ve already told you all the mysterious stuff.”
A few more moments of silence ensued. Andres hated it. “Hey Gregorex, are you there?” he asked, for no other reason than to break the silence.
“Yeah, yeah,” Gregorex replied. Then his voice rose once again. “I’ve got it! It’s hidden in another corner!”
“How did you figure that out?” Andres asked.
“Well, it’s another acronym. The first letters of the words in the phrase ‘carried on our new eastern road’ spell ‘corner’. It’s another clue. Oh, my babes is so doggone smart. Let’s start looking, pal.”
“Hold on,” said Andres. “Don’t get so excited. It spells ‘cooner’, not ‘corner’. Can’t your girlfriend even spell?”
Dead silence ensued. Andres wondered if maybe he’d said the wrong thing. Then he felt two hands grab his shoulders. It wasn’t the friendliest embrace he’d ever felt. Then he heard Gregorex say, in a low but strong voice, ‘Don’t ever insult my Annala again, do you hear? I don’t care if you’re the prince or not. You be careful what you say, okay?”
Andres nodded. Of course, it didn’t matter, because Gregorex couldn’t see a thing. So he added, “Okay, Mr. Gregorex. You’ve got it. No insults.”
Gregorex quickly relented. “Look, Andres, my Annala is one of those free-spirited artistic types. They like to take what’s called ‘artistic license’ sometimes. Well, pretend that the word ‘our’ should really be represented by the letter ‘R’. When you do that, the phrase spells ‘corner’. Does that make sense?”
The next thing Andres noticed was the sound of certain objects striking the wall. “What is that sound?” he asked.
“Oh, that’s just my pillow,” Gregorex responded. “I can’t stand sleeping without a pillow.”
“How many pillows do you have?”
“Oh, just one. But it’s made up of about 80 dead rats that I’ve stomped on and piled into the corner. It’s kind of gross, but you get used to it after awhile. And it beats laying your head on hardened dirt.” Andres cringed at the thought, and he continued to cring as he heard the thud of rats being tossed against the wall. Finally, Gregorex spoke again. “All right, I’ve gotten them out of the corner, but I don’t feel a thing in here. No matches, nothing. Hmmm...maybe the match is in another corner.”
“Wait!” interjected Andres. “Remember, she said ‘match’ three times. Maybe that is another clue--like, maybe the match is not on the ground. Maybe it’s three feet off the ground! I mean, think about it. If she snuck in here when you were sleeping, she couldn’t very well sneak a match in under your...uh...pillow. She’d have to put it somewhere else.”
“It’s about time you started thinking!” bellowed Gregorex. Andres could hear Gregorex pound his hands against the wall. Then he heard him say, “Hey, I found it! There was a loose rock in the wall, and behind it was a match.” Without pausing to think, Gregorex struck the match. Immediately the cell was seemingly flooded with light. In reality, it wasn’t much light at all. But when your eyes have seen nothing but complete darkness, any light at all can seem blinding.
Just then, Andres did something he didn’t think he’d be able to do. He got down on his hands and knees and started gathering the rats together in a pile. “What are you doing?” asked an incredulous Gregorex.
Andres said, “Well, you keep telling me to think, so I am. You see, that little match of yours is going to go out in less than a minute, and then we’ll be plunged in darkness again! So we’ve got to light something. And I’m figuring a pile of dead rats might work as well as anything.”
Gregorex swallowed hard. He hadn’t thought of that. “Uhh...good thinking, Andres,” was all he could muster. He lowered the match into the hastily-gathered pile of rats. A couple of them slowly burst into flame. “I don’t think I’ll grill any deermeat over it,” Gregorex mumbled. “But hopefully it’ll give us enough light to find the dumb keyhole.”
Gregorex and Andres then frantically looked around the cell for the elusive keyhole. Their urgency grew as they realized that dead rats didn’t make much of a fire. Even a pile of 80 rats can be consumed fairly quickly. As the light grew dimmer, the search grew more urgent. Sweat was dripping off Andres’ brow as he felt time running out and darkness descending once again. Finally, Andres yelled out, “I think I found it!”
Gregorex ran over toward Andres, and together they looked at the keyhole. Gregorex inserted the key and turned. A single stone, positioned on the dungeon floor, mysteriously moved outward. It left a hole--large enough for a man to crawl through, but no larger. Then Andres noticed something else. “Hey Gregorex, look at the floor. There’s a piece of paper!”
Gregorex grabbed the paper and brought it closer to the fire. In the fading light, the writing was just barely legible. Andres stared and read it aloud. It said:
Gregorex and Andres stared and pondered. As the darkness returned to the cell with the last of the burning rats, both pondered what could be meant by this mysterious message. Andres said, “Man, who says ‘aye’ anymore? Don’t most people just say ‘yes’?”
Gregorex then replied, “It’s one last message for us, Andres. This is Annala’s handwriting. Focus on the last four words. Focus, I said! ‘Aye, Will fined U.’ is another way of saying, ‘I will find you.’ In other words, Andres, she’s saying that when we get out of here, we can’t worry about her. She’ll find us. And I don’t know exactly how she’s going to do that, but we’ve got to trust her.
“All right, Andres. Now let’s get out of here.”
“What did you say?” replied Gregorex. “What in the world is a brain muscle?”
“Just hold on and let me think! It’s hard to think when it’s light out, let alone when it’s pitch dark!” Andres bellowed. Then, after a few more awkward seconds, he said, “Okay--I almost forgot. When I first got there, Pipes said something like, ‘It’s another nasty laborer,’ which wasn’t a very nice thing to say. But then the girl agreed and said, ‘Another nasty laborer indeed.’ For someone that’s supposed to be all nice and everything, I don’t think she should have just agreed with that! I mean, she doesn’t even know me!” Andres voice kept rising as he talked.
“But she does know you!” Gregorex retorted. “You’re Prince Andres. Everybody knows you! But she’s not saying you’re nasty or anything. And besides, why are we yelling at each other? We’re jailed up in a cell that is smaller than most outhouses! Let’s quiet down!”
Andres nodded in agreement, and then realized that Gregorex couldn’t see him nod, so he said, “All right! I’ll quiet down. But tell me this--if she’s not saying I’m nasty or anything, why did she call me ‘another nasty laborer’?”
“It’s another word game,” Gregorex said. “If you take the first two letters from each of the words ‘another nasty laborer’, you spell ‘Annala’. You see, it’s just another way to let me know that she’s still alive. Wow, is she incredible or what?”
“Yep, she’s incredible,” Andres replied in a relative monotone. He didn’t figure that it would do much good to argue with Gregorex. But to tell the truth, he was getting pretty excited about the prospect of getting out. After only an hour or so of captivity in this dark and smelly dungeon, he was ready to escape.
“Okay, so what else did she say?” pressed Gregorex, his voice rising again. “Remember, we’ve got to figure out where this dumb key goes. And it’s pretty hard to find a little keyhole in the dark. Keep thinking!”
“Now who’s the one yelling?” asked Andres, only slightly irritated. “Look, I can’t remember everything. For goodness’ sake, I’m just a teenager that’s been captured! That is pretty traumatic stuff for someone who hasn’t even started to shave yet!” Andres caught his breath, then piped up again. “Oh yeah, she said something weird about how I’ll try to ‘match them’. She said it three times, I think. ‘Will you be able to match them?’ she asked. What kind of foolish question is that?” Andres was getting kind of irritable at this point. It had been a long time since he’d had a good night’s sleep, and it was catching up to him. And he really did hate the dark.
Gregorex then spoke up. “Oh, Andres, you are so right,” he declared, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Lowering his voice, he continued, “Yes, what a foolish question. She couldn’t possibly be giving a hint like...like that THERE IS A MATCH IN THE CELL!”
“Oh,” replied Andres as he slapped himself on his forehead. It hadn’t occurred to him that ‘match’ could be used as both a verb and a noun. But his frustration with himself didn’t last long. “Well gee whiz, if there is a match in here, let’s find it and get some light in here! I can’t even see myself think!”
“All right, genius, let’s see if she gave us any other clues that might tell us where the match is,” replied Gregorex in a surprisingly calm voice. “Can you think of anything else?”
“No...no, I just can’t,” said Andres. “After she talked about how ‘she is carried on our new eastern road’, she kind of wrapped things up. I think I’ve already told you all the mysterious stuff.”
A few more moments of silence ensued. Andres hated it. “Hey Gregorex, are you there?” he asked, for no other reason than to break the silence.
“Yeah, yeah,” Gregorex replied. Then his voice rose once again. “I’ve got it! It’s hidden in another corner!”
“How did you figure that out?” Andres asked.
“Well, it’s another acronym. The first letters of the words in the phrase ‘carried on our new eastern road’ spell ‘corner’. It’s another clue. Oh, my babes is so doggone smart. Let’s start looking, pal.”
“Hold on,” said Andres. “Don’t get so excited. It spells ‘cooner’, not ‘corner’. Can’t your girlfriend even spell?”
Dead silence ensued. Andres wondered if maybe he’d said the wrong thing. Then he felt two hands grab his shoulders. It wasn’t the friendliest embrace he’d ever felt. Then he heard Gregorex say, in a low but strong voice, ‘Don’t ever insult my Annala again, do you hear? I don’t care if you’re the prince or not. You be careful what you say, okay?”
Andres nodded. Of course, it didn’t matter, because Gregorex couldn’t see a thing. So he added, “Okay, Mr. Gregorex. You’ve got it. No insults.”
Gregorex quickly relented. “Look, Andres, my Annala is one of those free-spirited artistic types. They like to take what’s called ‘artistic license’ sometimes. Well, pretend that the word ‘our’ should really be represented by the letter ‘R’. When you do that, the phrase spells ‘corner’. Does that make sense?”
The next thing Andres noticed was the sound of certain objects striking the wall. “What is that sound?” he asked.
“Oh, that’s just my pillow,” Gregorex responded. “I can’t stand sleeping without a pillow.”
“How many pillows do you have?”
“Oh, just one. But it’s made up of about 80 dead rats that I’ve stomped on and piled into the corner. It’s kind of gross, but you get used to it after awhile. And it beats laying your head on hardened dirt.” Andres cringed at the thought, and he continued to cring as he heard the thud of rats being tossed against the wall. Finally, Gregorex spoke again. “All right, I’ve gotten them out of the corner, but I don’t feel a thing in here. No matches, nothing. Hmmm...maybe the match is in another corner.”
“Wait!” interjected Andres. “Remember, she said ‘match’ three times. Maybe that is another clue--like, maybe the match is not on the ground. Maybe it’s three feet off the ground! I mean, think about it. If she snuck in here when you were sleeping, she couldn’t very well sneak a match in under your...uh...pillow. She’d have to put it somewhere else.”
“It’s about time you started thinking!” bellowed Gregorex. Andres could hear Gregorex pound his hands against the wall. Then he heard him say, “Hey, I found it! There was a loose rock in the wall, and behind it was a match.” Without pausing to think, Gregorex struck the match. Immediately the cell was seemingly flooded with light. In reality, it wasn’t much light at all. But when your eyes have seen nothing but complete darkness, any light at all can seem blinding.
Just then, Andres did something he didn’t think he’d be able to do. He got down on his hands and knees and started gathering the rats together in a pile. “What are you doing?” asked an incredulous Gregorex.
Andres said, “Well, you keep telling me to think, so I am. You see, that little match of yours is going to go out in less than a minute, and then we’ll be plunged in darkness again! So we’ve got to light something. And I’m figuring a pile of dead rats might work as well as anything.”
Gregorex swallowed hard. He hadn’t thought of that. “Uhh...good thinking, Andres,” was all he could muster. He lowered the match into the hastily-gathered pile of rats. A couple of them slowly burst into flame. “I don’t think I’ll grill any deermeat over it,” Gregorex mumbled. “But hopefully it’ll give us enough light to find the dumb keyhole.”
Gregorex and Andres then frantically looked around the cell for the elusive keyhole. Their urgency grew as they realized that dead rats didn’t make much of a fire. Even a pile of 80 rats can be consumed fairly quickly. As the light grew dimmer, the search grew more urgent. Sweat was dripping off Andres’ brow as he felt time running out and darkness descending once again. Finally, Andres yelled out, “I think I found it!”
Gregorex ran over toward Andres, and together they looked at the keyhole. Gregorex inserted the key and turned. A single stone, positioned on the dungeon floor, mysteriously moved outward. It left a hole--large enough for a man to crawl through, but no larger. Then Andres noticed something else. “Hey Gregorex, look at the floor. There’s a piece of paper!”
Gregorex grabbed the paper and brought it closer to the fire. In the fading light, the writing was just barely legible. Andres stared and read it aloud. It said:
Question: Did Judge William punish Ulysses for his insolence?
Answer: Aye, Will fined U.
Gregorex and Andres stared and pondered. As the darkness returned to the cell with the last of the burning rats, both pondered what could be meant by this mysterious message. Andres said, “Man, who says ‘aye’ anymore? Don’t most people just say ‘yes’?”
Gregorex then replied, “It’s one last message for us, Andres. This is Annala’s handwriting. Focus on the last four words. Focus, I said! ‘Aye, Will fined U.’ is another way of saying, ‘I will find you.’ In other words, Andres, she’s saying that when we get out of here, we can’t worry about her. She’ll find us. And I don’t know exactly how she’s going to do that, but we’ve got to trust her.
“All right, Andres. Now let’s get out of here.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)