How to Rescue a Dead Princess

freshest.”

Randall picked up the squirrel by the tail and lifted it out of the box. He swung it back and forth a few times, testing its weight. “I guess this one will do.”

“An excellent choice,” said Scar, taking a light brown squirrel from the box. The man holding the box replaced the lid and stepped out of the way.

The men on the sidelines began to applaud and cheer and whistle and make obnoxious nostril sounds and whoop and hiccup. Scar gave Randall an I'm-going-to-beat-you-to-a-gooshy-pulp-you-skinny-little-twerp-and-when- I'm-done-I'm-going-to-stomp-your-unappealing-face-eight-feet-into-the-dirt look. Randall suddenly wished he'd selected a different squirrel. This one felt like it was going to come apart.

“There's one rule,” said Scar. “Only squirrel contact is allowed. Aside from that, anything goes. We start ... NOW!”

Scar lunged forward and swung her squirrel. Randall cried out just as the squirrel smashed into his face. He staggered back a few steps, spitting out bits of fur. Scar rushed at him, striking him in the side of the head with incredible force. Randall dropped to the ground. The men roared with laughter.

“Get up!” shouted Sir William.

Randall rubbed the side of his head. He could feel the distinct imprint of a squirrel face there.

Scar chuckled and walked back to the center of the clearing. “I think we've set an all-time record here, gentlemen! Now let's kill the knight!”

“No!” Randall stood up. “Have a taste of this!” He swung the squirrel over his head, working up some velocity. The body of the squirrel chose that moment to detach from the tail, flying off to the side and knocking out one of the men. Randall stared at the worthless tail in his hand as his stomach did a figure- eight.

Scar laughed wickedly as she began spinning her squirrel behind her back and under her legs in a truly impressive display of skill. Randall's pulse quickened. Scar began to slowly advance toward him, the squirrel getting closer ... closer....

“Stop!” Randall shouted.

Scar stopped and gave him a questioning look.

Hey, it worked, thought Randall. That sure was easy.

Scar began to swing the squirrel again.

“Stop!” Randall shouted.

Scar continued to move forward, the squirrel spinning with deadly speed.

Crud, thought Randall.

He leapt out of the way at the third-to-last second, which was too early and gave Scar a chance to alter her direction and smack him in the face again. He hit the ground, his head coming into contact with a healthy-sized rock that, ironically, had been purposely placed in that very spot over two hundred years ago by the warrior Edmund the Untanned in the hopes that some day it would cause harm to somebody, or at least become a major inconvenience. Sadly, Edmund was long-dead and never got to see the seeds of his labor blossom into fruition. He would have been pleased.

Randall lay there for a moment, his head aching with so much pain that it blocked out the statement he wanted to make. He slowly sat up, waiting for his vision to de-blur. As Scar returned to sharp focus, he recalled what he wanted to say.

“Ow.”

“Do you surrender?” Scar inquired.

Then something bizarre happened. But it happened in some far-off kingdom and had no effect on Randall's current situation. He shakily managed to get back to his feet again, while his body put in a formal request for him to return to an unmoving position.

“Ready for more, then?” Scar sneered.

As he stared into her eyes, a change overcame Randall. His fear turned into anger. “That's right. I may only be a squire, but I will defend my princess to the death!”

“I don't think so. You're no hero. You're a pathetic little cretin, and you'll always be a pathetic little cretin, even when you're a dead pathetic little cretin.”

“Bite me,” Randall said.

“Eat me,” Scar replied.

“Lick me,” Randall suggested.

“Chew me!” Scar offered.

“Lap me!” Randall urged.

“Gnaw him!” Sir William pitched in.

“Ingest me!” Scar recommended.

“Masticate me!” Randall advised.

“Deglutiate me!” Scar proposed.

Without warning, Randall rushed toward the man holding the wooden box. Before the man could react, Randall had tackled him and knocked him to the ground. The other men weren't sure whether to intervene or not, so they pretended to have been paying attention to some birdies. Randall wrenched the box out of his grip, then got up just in time to dodge a squirrel attack by Scar.

He opened the box, grabbed the two remaining weapons, then tossed the box aside, hitting the unconscious guy who'd been struck by the tailless squirrel.

“Those don't frighten me,” said Scar. “It's like the old saying: It's not how many you have, it's how much use you get out of each one.”

“Say what?”

They rushed at each other, then attacked. The squirrels collided with a sickening plink! sound. Randall swung his other squirrel, bashing Scar in the face and knocking her back several steps.

“Oh no!” exclaimed the man who'd been holding the box. “That was the one that was foaming at the mouth!”

“You're through, squire!” said Scar through clenched teeth. The fact that these teeth were clenched around her tongue made the sight less pleasant. “You're dead! Worm chow! Necrophile bait!”

“Look, I just—” Randall began.

“Shut up! You're not talking your way out of this. What do you have to say to that, huh?”

“Nothing. ‘Look, I just—’ was all I wanted to say.”

Scar began to swing her squirrel once again. Randall tied the tails of his own squirrels together and began to swing them like a pair of nunchaku.

“Eeeeeyaaaaa!” he cried.

He flung the squirrels at her. Their connected tails wrapped around her neck, and their bodies slammed against each side of her head. Scar dropped to the ground and dreamed she had turned into a colony of lice.

“You did it!” shouted Princess Janice.

“Wow!” exclaimed Randall. “If I'd known I was this tough, I'd have started kicking butt years ago!”

The men started to discuss their plan of action amongst themselves. It was put to a vote. Three-fourths of them raised their hands for option one. One of them demanded a recount. They voted again. Option one passed again. They all readied their bows and arrows and aimed them at Randall.

“You scum-slurping wretches!” growled Sir William.

“You can't do this!” Randall insisted. “Whatever happened to honor? Whatever happened to being able to trust your fellow man? There was a time, not so long ago, when a person like me could knock someone unconscious with a set of dead squirrel nunchaku and walk away if that was what we'd agreed upon. Now, are you men so lacking in conscience that you would take part in destroying the bonds of faith?”

“I am,” said one.

“What are you, cattle?” asked Randall. “There was a time when men could think for themselves. They didn't have to follow the leader, do what everyone else did. They had minds! They had souls! If one of you decided to jump off the Kilpatrick Bridge onto that flagpole in the center of the river, would all of you? Are you lemmings? Don't