Abner and Dale shook their heads. “Gotta have the heart.”
Randall pounded on the creature's chest. “The heart is right here! This is ridiculous!”
Dale stifled a snicker. “I guess you could say this is a bunch of b—” Abner punched Dale in the jaw, knocking him unconscious before he could finish the sentence.
“Please,” begged Randall, “just show me some mercy!”
“You're wasting valuable time.”
So Randall returned to the Maze. After about half an hour of aimless wandering, he found the skeleton of somebody much more fortunate who had been put out of his misery. A sword and shield were still clutched in its bony hands. The diamonds in the sword hilt were only medium-sized, and the gold plating of the shield was fairly dusty, but they would have to suffice.
He returned to the entrance of the maze after another half hour of searching (as it turned out, the maze was only about ten feet square—but it was a very complicated ten feet). The bull creature was still dead.
“Have fun,” said Dale, holding a ice-filled cloth to his head.
Randall rushed forward, slicing Abner across the thigh with the sword. Abner dropped to his knees in pain. Randall spun around and pointed the sword at Dale. “I don't feel like getting the heart,” he said.
“That's okay,” said Dale. “We didn't really need it anyway. The Dark One may be evil, but he's not disgusting.”
“Take me to the Dark One,” Randall demanded.
“What if I refuse?”
“I'll find him myself and report your lack of cooperation.”
“Okay, I'll take you there, but you have to be nice to him, all right? You can't go calling him names or spitting at him or stuff that's going to make me look bad.”
Randall lunged backwards with the sword, poking Abner in the hip and preventing an ambush. “I wasn't gonna do anything!” Abner insisted. “Jeez!”
“The Dark One doesn't have a dress code, does he?” asked Randall, noting his torn, dirt-covered clothing.
“Nah. Just cover what needs to be covered and he's happy.”
“Good. Let's go.”
Chapter 23
A Collection of Words
THE DARK One looked up from his dastardly needlepoint as Randall and Dale entered the throne room. “Who dares enter my lair?” he demanded.
“Well,” Dale gulped, “there's me, and then there's the person next to me, who says his name is Randall. He could be lying, though! I take no responsibility for anything he says!”
“Take this Randall to be killed,” the Dark One ordered.
Dale's shoulders slumped. “We just did that. It's the redundancy of this job that makes it so unbearable sometimes. Oh well,” he motioned for Randall to follow him, “let's go.”
“I survived the Maze!” Randall said. “I think I deserve an audience with you!”
The Dark One leaned forward in his throne. “You defeated the Bull Creature?”
“I did.”
“Shall I order a new bull, Master?” Scrivener asked.
“No. Now I can convert that maze into the historical museum I've always wanted without all my laborers being killed by that smelly thing.” He pointed to Dale. “Servant, leave us!”
“Yes, Master.” Dale hesitated for a moment, unsure of the proper protocol, then settled for a curtsy and left the room.
The Dark One looked thoughtfully at Randall. “So, you must be quite a hero, then.”
“Not really. Just a squire with an attitude.”
“A squire?” The Dark One threw his head back and laughed. “After all the knights fed to the creature, his untimely end comes at the hands of a squire? How delightfully ironic! Of course, all those knights probably weakened it for you, but it's still quite amusing!”
“I'm not here to amuse you,” said Randall. “You've taken some of my friends. I want them set free.”
“Well, I desire a woman who won't immolate herself rather than play footsie with me, but we don't always get what we want. Do we, Scrivener?”
“I'm still waiting for a toothbrush to call my own,” said the dwarf.
“See? There's disappointment everywhere. Squire, I think someone of your courage might be perfect to rule at my side.”
“I'll never join you!”
“Okay.” The Dark One pressed a button on his throne, and the floor beneath Randall suddenly collapsed. He dropped ten feet into a room with an iron floor and walls. The walls to his left and right were covered with hundreds of sharp spikes.
Before Randall even got a chance to reflect upon this being a bad situation, it got significantly worse as the walls began to rapidly close in. He moved to the closest wall and began poking at the corner with his sword, trying to jam it. The eight other swords sticking out of the corner soon convinced him that his efforts were useless.
“Let me out immediately!” he demanded. “Or the cleaning bill will be astronomical!”
Scrivener peered down into the room. “It's self-cleaning. Pretty neat, huh? Won't rust, either.”
Less than five feet separated Randall from some excessive body-piercing. Then the walls abruptly halted.
“Darn it!” said Scrivener. “Hey, squire—will you do me a favor?”
“Will you let me out?”
“Sure. Go over to the north wall and give it a good kick.”
“Which one is the north wall?”
“That one.” Scrivener pointed to one of the non-spiked walls. “Just give it a big ol’ kick. Don't worry, you won't dent it.”
Randall went over to the north wall and kicked it. The walls began to close again, and he realized that he'd been tricked. “Curse you!” he shouted.
Only four feet remained before the spikes reached him.
Then he got an idea.
“I know!” he said aloud to help him remember it. “I'll
Moving quickly, he scaled the wall, using the spikes as steps and hand-holds. He emerged from the room just as the walls closed together. Scrivener and the Dark One stared at him, mouths gaping.
“You've
“No, we aren't,” said Randall. “Because I am good, and you are evil.”
“Oh, well, excuse me, Mister I-See-Everything-In-Black-And-White. The glass doesn't have to be half-full or half-empty. It could be half-flempty!”
“Listen, the only thing I want to do is complete my quest.”
“And what would that be?”
Randall gave him a condensed version of the quest notes. When he was done, The Dark One threw his head back and laughed again.
“What's so funny?” Randall asked, hoping it would be something he found hilarious as well, because he was desperately in need of a good guffaw.
“Ow! Scriv, my head's stuck again.” Scrivener hurried over to the throne and pushed the Dark One's head forward with a loud creak. “Ah, thank you. What's so funny is that there's no such thing as the Necklace of Power. You have no idea how to rescue a dead princess!”
Randall looked confused. “Why did that last sentence seem to take on a special resonance?”
“No idea. You fool, the witch Grysh has been worshiping me for ages, and I know for a fact that she gets off on that kind of thing! Now, perhaps she does need Jenstina and Shreddriff for some reason, but the rest of it's just a pointless quest! A pointless quest, I say!”
“You mean that Princess Janice can't be resurrected?”
