The Princess Bride

On the sixth stair, Fezzik put his arm around Inigo's shoulder. 'We'll go down together, step by step. There's nothing here, Inigo.'

To the fifth step. 'There has to be.'

'Why?'

'Because the Prince is a fiend. And Rugen is his twin in misery. And this is their masterpiece.' They moved to the fourth step.

'That's wonderful thinking, Inigo,' Fezzik said, loud and calmly; but, inside, he was starting to go to pieces. Because here he was, in this nice bright place, and his one friend in all the world was cracking from the strain. And if you were Fezzik, and you hadn't much brainpower, and you found yourself four stories underground in a Zoo of Death looking for a man in black that you really didn't think was down there, and the only friend you had in all the world was going quickly mad, what did you do?

Three steps now.

If you were Fezzik, you panicked, because if Inigo went mad, that meant the leader of this whole expedition was you, and if you were Fezzik, you knew the last thing in the world you could ever be was a leader. So Fezzik did what he always did in a panic situation.

He bolted.

He just yelled and jumped for the door and slammed it open with his body, never even bothering with the niceties of turning that pretty green handle, and as the door gave behind his strength he kept right on running until he came to the giant cage and there, inside and still, lay the man in black. Fezzik stopped then, relieved greatly, because seeing that silent body meant one thing: Inigo was right, and if Inigo was right, he couldn't be crazy, and if he wasn't crazy, then Fezzik didn't have to lead anybody anywhere. And when that thought reached his brain, Fezzik smiled.

Inigo, for his part, was startled at Fezzik's strange behavior. He saw no reason for it whatsoever, and was about to call after Fezzik when he saw a tiny green speckled spider scurrying down from the door handle, so he stepped on it with his boot as he hurried to the cage.

Fezzik was already inside the place, kneeling over the body.

'Don't say it,' Inigo said, entering.

Fezzik tried not to, but it was on his face. 'Dead.'

Inigo examined the body. He had seen a lot of corpses in his time. 'Dead.' Then he sat down miserably on the floor and put his arms around his knees and rocked back and forth like a baby, back and forth, back and forth and back.

It was too unfair. You expected unfairness if you breathed, but this went beyond that. He, Inigo, no thinker, had thought—hadn't he found the man in black? He, Inigo, frightened of beasts and crawlers and anything that stung, had brought them down the Zoo unharmed. He had said good-by to caution and stretched himself far beyond any boundaries he ever dreamed he possessed. And now, after such effort, after being reunited with Fezzik on this day of days for this one purpose, to find the man to help him find a plan to help him revenge his dead Domingo— gone. All was gone. Hope? Gone. Future? Gone. All the driving forces of his life. Gone. Snuffed out. Beaten. Dead.

'I am Inigo Montoya, the son of Domingo Montoya, and I do not accept it.' He sprang to his feet, started up the underground stairs, stopping only long enough to snap commands. 'Come, come along. Bring the body.' He searched through his pockets for a moment, but they were empty, from the brandy. 'Have you got any money, Fezzik?'

'Some. They pay well on the Brute Squad.'

'Well I just hope it's enough to buy a miracle, that's all.'

WHEN THE KNOCKING started on his hut door, Max almost didn't answer it. 'Go away,' he almost said, because lately it was only kids come to mock him. Except this was a little past the time for kids being up—it was almost midnight—and besides, the knocking was both loud and, at the same time, rat-a-tatty, as if the brain was saying to the fist, 'Hurry it up; I want to see a little action.'

So Max opened the door a peek's worth. 'I don't know you.'

'Aren't you Miracle Max that worked all those years for the King?' this skinny guy said.

'I got fired, didn't you hear? That's a painful subject, you shouldn't have brought it up, good night, next time learn a little manners,' and he closed the hut door.

Rat-a-tat—rat-a-tattt.

'Get away, I'm telling you, or I call the Brute Squad.'

'I'm on the Brute Squad,' this other voice said from outside the door, a big deep voice you wanted to stay friendly with.

'We need a miracle; it's very important,' the skinny guy said from outside.

'I'm retired,' Max said, 'anyway, you wouldn't want someone the King got rid of, would you? I might kill whoever you want me to miracle.'

'He's already dead,' the skinny guy said.

'He is, huh?' Max said, a little interest in his voice now. He opened the door a peek's worth again. 'I'm good at dead.'

'Please,' the skinny guy said.

'Bring him in. I'm making no promises,' Miracle Max answered after some thought.

This huge guy and this skinny guy brought in this big guy and put him on the hut floor. Max poked the corpse. 'Not so stiff as some,' he said.

The skinny guy said, 'We have money.'

'Then go get some great genius specialist, why don't you? Why waste time messing around with me, a guy who the King fired.' It almost killed him when it happened. For the first two years, he wished it had. His teeth fell out from gnashing; he pulled the few loyal tufts from his scalp in wild anger.

'You're the only miracle man left alive in Florin,' the skinny guy said.

'Oh, so that's why you come to me? One of you said, 'What'll we do with this corpse?' And the other one said, 'Let's take a flyer on that miracle man the King fired,' and the first one probably said, 'What've we got to lose; he can't kill a corpse' and the other one probably said—'

'You were a wonderful miracle man,' the skinny guy said. 'It was all politics that got you fired.'

'Don't insult me and say wonderful—I was great—I am great—there was never—never, you hear me, sonny, a miracle man could match me—half the miracle techniques I invented—and then they fired me....' Suddenly his voice trailed off. He was very old and weak and the effort at passionate speech had drained him.

'Sir, please, sit down—' the skinny guy said.

'Don't 'sir' me, sonny,' Miracle Max said. He was tough when he was young and he was still tough. 'I got work to do. I was feeding my witch when you came in; I got to finish that now,' and he lifted the hut trap door and took the ladder down into the cellar, locking the trap door behind him. When that was done, he put his finger to his lips and ran to the old woman cooking hot chocolate over the coals. Max had married Valerie back a million years ago, it seemed like, at Miracle School, where she worked as a potion ladler. She wasn't, of course, a witch, but when Max started practice, every miracle man had to have one, so, since Valerie didn't mind, he called her a witch in public and she learned enough of the witch trade to pass herself off as one under pressure. 'Listen! Listen!' Max whispered, gesturing repeatedly toward the hut above. 'Upstairs you'll never guess what I got—a giant and a spick.'

'A giant on a stick?' Valerie said, clutching her heart; her hearing wasn't what it once was.

'Spick! Spick! A Spanish fella. Scars and everything, a very tough cookie.'

'Let them steal what they want; what do we have worth fighting over?'

'They don't want to steal, they want to buy. Me. They got a corpse up there and they want a miracle.'

'You were always good at dead,' Valerie said. She hadn't seen him trying so hard not to seem excited since the firing had all but done him in. She very carefully kept her own excitement under control. If only he would work again. Her Max was such a genius, they'd all come back, every patient. Max would be honored again and they could