The Princess Bride

after us within an hour. We should reach the Cliffs in fifteen minutes more and, with any luck at all, the Guilder frontier at dawn, when she dies. Her body should be quite warm when the Prince reaches her mutilated form. I only wish we could stay for his grief—it should be Homeric.'

Why does he let me know his plans, Buttercup wondered.

'You are going back to sleep now, my lady,' the Spaniard said, and his fingers suddenly were touching her temple, her shoulder, her neck, and she was unconscious again....

Buttercup did not know how long she was out, but they were still in the boat when she blinked, the blanket shielding her. And this time, without daring to think—the Sicilian would have known it somehow—she threw the blanket aside and dove deep into Florin Channel.

She stayed under for as long as she dared and then surfaced, starting to swim across the moonless water with every ounce of strength remaining to her. Behind her in the darkness there were cries.

'Go in, go in!' from the Sicilian.

'I only dog paddle' from the Turk.

'You're better than I am' from the Spaniard.

Buttercup continued to leave them behind her. Her arms ached from effort but she gave them no rest. Her legs kicked and her heart pounded.

'I can hear her kicking,' the Sicilian said. 'Veer left.'

Buttercup went into her breast stroke, silently swimming away.

'Where is she?' shrieked the Sicilian.

'The sharks will get her, don't worry,' cautioned the Spaniard.

Oh dear, I wish you hadn't mentioned that, thought Buttercup.

'Princess,' the Sicilian called, 'do you know what happens to sharks when they smell blood in the water? They go mad. There is no controlling their wildness. They rip and shred and chew and devour, and I'm in a boat, Princess, and there isn't any blood in the water now, so we're both quite safe, but there is a knife in my hand, my lady, and if you don't come back I'll cut my arms and I'll cut my legs and I'll catch the blood in a cup and I'll fling it as far as I can and sharks can smell blood in the water for miles and you won't be beautiful for long.'

Buttercup hesitated, silently treading water. Around her now, although it was surely her imagination, she seemed to be hearing the swish of giant tails.

'Come back and come back now. There will be no other warning.'

Buttercup thought, If I come back, they'll kill me anyway, so what's the difference?

'The difference is—'

There he goes doing that again, thought Buttercup. He really is a mind reader.

'—if you come back now,' the Sicilian went on, 'I give you my word as a gentleman and assassin that you will die totally without pain. I assure you, you will get no such promise from the sharks.'

The fish sounds in the night were closer now.

Buttercup began to tremble with fear. She was terribly ashamed of herself but there it was. She only wished she could see for a minute if there really were sharks and if he really would cut himself.

The Sicilian winced out loud.

'He just cut his arm, lady,' the Turk called out. 'He's catching the blood in a cup now. There must be a half- inch of blood on the bottom.'

The Sicilian winced again.

'He cut his leg this time,' the Turk went on. 'The cup's getting full.'

I don't believe them, Buttercup thought. There are no sharks in the water and there is no blood in his cup.

'My arm is back to throw,' the Sicilian said. 'Call out your location or not, the choice is yours.'

I'm not making a peep, Buttercup decided.

'Farewell,' from the Sicilian.

There was the splashing sound of liquid landing on liquid.

Then there came a pause.

Then the sharks went mad—

***

'She does not get eaten by the sharks at this time,' my father said.

I looked up at him. 'What?'

'You looked like you were getting too involved and bothered so I thought I would let you relax.'

'Oh, for Pete's sake,' I said, 'you'd think I was a baby or something. What kind of stuff is that?' I really sounded put out, but I'll tell you the truth: I was getting a little too involved and I was glad he told me. I mean, when you're a kid, you don't think, Well, since the books's called The Princess Bride and since we're barely into it, obviously, the author's not about to make shark kibble of his leading lady. You get hooked on things when you're a youngster; so to any youngsters reading, I'll simply repeat my father's words since they worked to soothe me: 'She does not get eaten by the sharks at this time.'

***

THEN THE SHARKS went mad. All around her, Buttercup could hear them beeping and screaming and thrashing their mighty tails. Nothing can save me, Buttercup realized. I'm a dead cookie.

Fortunately for all concerned save the sharks, it was around this time that the moon came out.

'There she is,' shouted the Sicilian, and like lightning the Spaniard turned the boat and as the boat drew close the Turk reached out a giant arm and then she was back in the safety of her murderers while all around them the sharks bumped each other in wild frustration.

'Keep her warm,' the Spaniard said from the tiller, tossing his cloak to the Turk.

'Don't catch cold,' the Turk said, wrapping Buttercup into the cloak's folds.

'It doesn't seem to matter all that much,' she answered, 'seeing you're killing me at dawn.'

'He'll do the actual work,' the Turk said, indicating the Sicilian, who was wrapping cloth around his cuts. 'We'll just hold you.'

'Hold your stupid tongue,' the Sicilian commanded.

The Turk immediately hushed.

'I don't think he's so stupid,' Buttercup said. 'And I don't think you're so smart either, with all your throwing blood in the water. That's not what I would call grade-A thinking.'

'It worked, didn't it? You're back, aren't you?' The Sicilian crossed toward her. 'Once women are sufficiently frightened, they scream.'

'But I didn't scream; the moon came out,' answered Buttercup somewhat triumphantly.

The Sicilian struck her.

'Enough of that,' the Turk said then.

The tiny humpback looked dead at the giant. 'Do you want to fight me? I don't think you do.'

'No, sir,' the Turk mumbled. 'No. But don't use force. Please. Force is mine. Strike me if you feel the need. I won't care.'

The Sicilian returned to the other side of the boat. 'She would have screamed,' he said. 'She was about to cry out. My plan was ideal as all my plans are ideal. It was the moon's ill timing that robbed me of perfection.' He scowled unforgivingly at the yellow wedge above them. Then he stared ahead. 'There!' The Sicilian pointed. 'The Cliffs of Insanity.'

And there they were. Rising straight and sheer from the water, a thousand feet into the night. They provided the most direct route between Florin and Guilder, but no one ever used them, sailing instead the long way, many miles around. Not that the Cliffs were impossible to scale; two men were known to have climbed them in the last century alone.

'Sail straight for the steepest part,' the Sicilian commanded.

The Spaniard said, 'I was.'

Buttercup did not understand. Going up the Cliffs could hardly be done, she thought; and no one had ever mentioned secret passages through them. Yet here they were, sailing closer and closer to the mighty rocks, now