How to Rescue a Dead Princess

TWO HOURS later, their journey took them to a small town. A sign read “Welcome to Manget Town. Population: 37 nice people, 4 jerks, 2 major jerks, 6 people ugly enough to melt mirrors, and one guy who sits around all day counting his arms to be sure they're both there.”

“How nice,” said Bug. “They welcomed us.”

They proceeded down the main/only street, which contained a few small houses. But the primary attraction, taking up more space than all of the houses combined, was Madame Taylor's Hall of Supreme Exotic Dancers. A sign out front read “All private! All nekkid! All right!”

“I don't think the maidens run fast and free in these parts,” said Jack.

“Nor do I,” agreed Randall. “I guess we should ask around, though.” He gestured to a pug-nosed, middle- aged man seated on a rocking chair up on his front porch. “Let me do the talking so we don't accidentally start Armageddon.”

They crossed over to the house. Randall stepped up onto the first of two stairs.

“That stair ain't for walking on,” said the man.

“Oh, sorry.” Randall stepped down.

“That ground ain't, either.”

“Look,” said Randall, “we are two men and one bug questing for a virtuous woman to worship. Who in this town might serve our purpose?”

“Oh, that's easy. Try Yvonne over at the dance hall.”

“No, no, obviously your standards of virtue are demented. What we're looking for is—”

“Her name is Yvonne the Pure,” said the man. “She's just the hostess. She's less than brilliant, if you're into that kind of thing.”

“Is she working now?” Randall asked.

“For another half hour. Then she'll go to bed, so she can fall asleep and breathe deeply.”

“Convenient. Thanks for your help.”

“I love you,” Bug told the man.

“Yeah, well, that and two thousand dvorkins will get me a rushed nose job.”

They began walking towards the brothel. “Bug, I think you'd better wait outside,” said Randall. “I have a feeling this place may take your ‘I love everyone’ philosophy in a whole new direction.”

“Okay, I'll go bring happiness to somebody who's feeling a touch of sorrow,” said Bug, flying away.

“That is one upbeat insect,” said Jack.

They approached the front door. “Have you ever been in a place like this?” Randall asked.

“No. What about you?”

“Never. But, I mean, it's not like we're going in to watch the dancing. We have a very serious mission here. It's a matter of life or death. It's not our fault there's going to be nakedness, is it?”

“It certainly isn't,” Jack agreed.

“We'll just have a nice conversation with Yvonne the Pure, and ... uh ... I guess see if she'll let us come into her room while she's asleep and fill a small jar with her breath.”

“Do we have a jar?”

“No. Guess I should've saved the one Bug was in. But they'll have jars in an exotic dance hall, won't they?”

“I don't know. What would they store in them?”

“Let's not think about it.”

Randall opened the door, and they both stepped into the hall. The walls of the waiting room were covered with clown faces, and brightly-colored balloons and ribbons dangled from the ceiling. There were several striped couches upon which sat potential audience members, all wearing party hats.

“Welcome!” said a young woman in an extremely enthusiastic voice, walking toward them with a hat in each hand. She was in her late twenties, with curly black hair and a sequined white dress.

“Uh, thanks,” said Randall. “Is it always like this?”

“Of course it is! Because this is the happiest place in town!” She placed a hat on each of their heads. “Would you gentlemen care to see a dance menu?”

“Actually, no,” said Randall. “To be completely honest, I find this place degrading to women. It sends the message to society that the female of the species is nothing more than a slab of meat.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” said the woman.

A voice called out: “Number fifty-seven, your dancer is ready. Number fifty-seven, your dancer is ready.” A party of four got up and walked through a curtained doorway together.

“If you're not going to place an order, I want the hats back,” said the woman. Jack clung to his protectively.

“We're looking for somebody,” said Randall. “Are you Yvonne?”

The woman shook her head.

“Do you know where we could find her?”

“Her? Oh, you said Yvonne. I thought you said Ferdinand. Yes, that's me.”

“Ferdinand?”

“No, Yvonne.”

“Is there somewhere we could talk? This is very important.”

“Yeah, okay, but your friend will have to cover for me.” She pointed to a dresser against the wall. “The hats, menus, fireworks, and kazoos are in there. Seat the customers, and offer them a glass of wine. It tastes like whoever stomped on the grapes had Athlete's Foot, but it's complimentary. If a customer has any questions, give them one of the Madame Taylor's Q&A pamphlets from the dresser, or just make something up. Oh, yeah, one more thing.” She removed the If I don't greet you with a smile, your visit is free button from her dress and pinned it on Jack. “You're all set.”

A loud buzzer sounded. “Special announcement! Jerome the Meek, over in cubicle eight, has just set a new Madame Taylor's Hall of Supreme Exotic Dancers drool record! Let's all give him a big hand!”

Yvonne led Randall past the applauding guests, through a polka-dot curtained doorway, and down a hallway filled with the sounds of tap-dancing feet and squeak toys. She opened the last door on the end, and led Randall inside a bedroom decorated entirely in white, with ruffles everywhere.

There was a moan from the next room. “Oh, baby, take it off! Take it off! Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, take it off! That's right! Oooooh yeah! Now throw that fake mustache over here!”

Yvonne shut the door. “Have a seat,” she said, motioning toward the bed. Randall sat down upon it, and Yvonne sat down next to him. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“This may be kind of embarrassing. Especially for me.”

“I work in an exotic dance hall. I think I can handle embarrassing.”

“I understand you're known as Yvonne the Pure.”

“Yes. I believe the body is a temple, one to be protected from invaders. And I really like the color white.”

“Okay, well, I have a very unusual request. Would it be possible, when you're asleep tonight, for my friend and I to catch some of your breath in a jar?”

“I know this isn't the most wholesome place in the Generic Fantasy Land, but that's a little—”

“No, I have an honorable purpose.” He proceeded to tell her the entire story, except for the accidental omission of the part where Sir William shouted “Check it! Check it!”

“That's awful!” Yvonne exclaimed.

“I know.”

“I mean, you can't tell a story to save your life! Ramble a little more, why don't you?”

“The point is, we need your sleeping breath.”

“You actually think I'll be able to sleep with two freakozoids in my room waiting to take my breath away?”

“We're not freakozoids. We're desperate. If I don't get the princess back, I'll be hunted down like a dog. A dog that's done something really bad, of course.”

Yvonne shook her head. “I'm not interested.”

“You hold my life and the future of an entire kingdom in your mouth. Please, don't turn me away.”