How to Rescue a Dead Princess

The prisoner looked sheepish. “I told him to check out your boobs.”

Nancy smiled, flattered. “Why, thank you. I wax them daily, you know. Anyway, back to what I was saying.” She held up the first sign, which read Rule #5: No Calling the Dark One a Sissy. “Rule #1: No—”

“Wrong sign!” one of the prisoners called out.

Nancy glanced at the front of her sign, then sighed. “I'm so sorry. Apparently my kids were playing with the signs again. You know what rascals boys can be between the ages of two and eighteen.”

“Real whippersnappers,” agreed the prisoner.

Nancy bent down and flipped through the signs until she located the right one. “Ah, here we go. Rule #1: No Calling the Dark One a Pansy. Simple enough, I think.” She held up the next sign. “Rule #2: No Calling the Dark One a Wimp. Once again, fairly self-explanatory.”

“Can we call him a repugnant mammy-grabber?” asked a prisoner.

“What were you told about saving questions until the end?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

“No, let's make sure you're completely clear on this. What were you told about saving questions until the end?”

“To do it.”

“Very good. And you know what? Because you didn't follow the instructions, you're going to have to wait until everyone else has finished with their questions before you'll be allowed to ask one.”

“For crying out loud, I said I was sorry!”

“That will be quite enough out of you,” said Nancy. “Nobody likes a show-off.”

“Wench,” the prisoner muttered.

“What did you say?” Nancy demanded.

“I said ‘That wonderful person certainly isn't a wench.'”

Nancy smiled, flattered again. “Okay, let's have a quick review before we continue with the rules. We aren't to refer to the Dark One as a sissy, pansy, or wimp. Rule #3: No Calling—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Bamberg, stepping back onto the stage, “but I think the Dark One is ready to give his speech.”

“Well, as long as you're sorry,” said Nancy, moving out of the way. They waited expectantly for a moment.

Behind the curtain, the Dark One paced nervously. “I had no idea there would be so many people out there,” he said. “Look at all those people. Too many people.”

“But Master,” said Scrivener, “you need to address your minions! Show them what a mighty, merciless leader you are!”

“I can't. I'm good at one-on-one interactions, but public speaking scares the hell out of me!”

“Try this, then. Imagine them in their underwear.”

“What are you, some kind of pervert?”

“No, really. It works.”

“I can think of few things less comfortable than addressing a bunch of nearly-naked people. I'm not going out there. That's all there is to it.”

“Master, you need to gain their respect! Here, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out...”

“Did they prepare the cue cards?”

“Of course. Everything is ready. You'll do fine.”

The Dark One took a deep breath. “Very well. I shall speak to them, and make them tremble before me! Muahahahahahahaha!”

“Ooooh, do that laugh out there!” said Scrivener. “That'll freak them out good!”

The Dark One passed through the curtain and walked to the center of the stage. He looked down, realized that he was imagining himself in his underwear, and let out a squeak.

“Did he just squeak?” Yvonne asked Randall.

“I believe he did.”

The Dark One slapped himself on the side of the head, and he mentally re-dressed himself. Then he gazed out into the group of prisoners, who appeared to be in their undergarments. One woman had an iron loin cloth, while another had propellers on her brassiere. It was all terribly distracting.

“I am the Dark One!” he said. Bamberg held up an “applause” sign, and again the prisoners moved their hands as far as they were capable. The Dark One relaxed a bit. I've already won them over! he thought to himself with a smile.

Ignoring the man in the copper bra, the Dark One held up an egg that he'd carried on-stage. “See this egg? This egg stands for all of you!” He crushed the egg in his fist. “That shows what will happen to you if you betray me! The yolk represents your guts sliding down my glove! Got it?”

The prisoners nodded as one.

“Good. That is all.” He took a moment to ogle a woman in a particularly revealing lace teddy, then walked back through the curtain.

“Let's hear it for the Dark One!” said Bamberg, stepping back on the stage. “Now let's discuss what is going to happen to each of you. If you're a male, five-foot-eight or taller, in good health, not too old, with no open sores, please stand up.”

Just under half of the prisoners stood up. “You will all be joining the Dark One's Army, unless you choose to file for Conscientious Objector status, in which case you'll join the short males in the dungeon. To avoid confusion, when exiting the ballroom after the presentation please tell the guard at the door that you're letter A, and you'll be sent to the proper location. You may be seated.”

The men sat down. Bamberg checked his notes. “Next, I'd like the women to stand up.” They did. “Now, you'll be given a variety of domestic duties to choose from. Minor cleaning, meal preparation, occasional child- bearing, that sort of thing. It sounds sexist and demeaning, I know, but at least it keeps you out of combat. Your letter is B. Please remember that so we can keep the line moving smoothly. Now, I'd like all women who are virgins to remain standing. Everyone else sit down.”

All the women except Yvonne sat down. Bamberg looked over at her and nodded. “I was just curious. You can sit down as well. Now, men who haven't stood up, your letter is C. And that leaves only the children. You will all be schooled in the arts of Dark One worshiping, so that you might become productive citizens when you're old enough to quit being whiny brats. Your letter is D. Does that cover everyone?”

There was a general murmur of assent. “Good,” said Bamberg. “Now, for your entertainment, I'd like to present the musical stylings of Hirsch!”

Hirsch, Scrivener's twin brother, stepped onto the stage holding his lute. “I'd like to dedicate this song to everyone with good taste in music,” he said, as he began to play a downbeat melody. “Oh, I stepped on a weasel last night. It got scared and then it ran away. Oh why, oh why did it have to happen? I guess I'll never know.” He waved to the audience. “Thank you! There's one more where that came from!”

As Hirsch left the stage, Bamberg returned. “Now, it's time for our question-and-answer segment. Any questions?”

“When's dinner?” asked a female prisoner.

“Are you an A, B, C, or D?”

The woman paused. “I forget.”

“Well, then, no dinner for you, I guess. Anyone else?”

Randall raised his hand. “What are this Dark One's credentials for ruling us?”

“Oh, a troublemaker, huh? I'll have you know that the Dark One has plenty of credentials. Plenty!”

“Okay,” said Randall.

“Any more questions? No? Good. Now, I'm going to ask you all to file through the exit to your left, but first, I'd like to share with you a little tradition we've just started. Beneath this tower is the dreaded Maze where the dreaded Bull Creature lives. What we like to do is send people to test their heroism by attempting to slay the creature. Of course, none of them succeed, but that in no way diminishes the entertainment value. So, we'd like to