How to Rescue a Dead Princess

“Who are you?” Sir William demanded.

“My name is Lawrence. I'm a traveling salesman.” He extended his hand and Sir William shook it. Lawrence had a thin mustache, slicked-back hair, and was carrying a large black pouch. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I'm Sir William. Are you familiar with this forest?”

“Yep. In the short time it's been around, I've acquainted myself with every square inch of this place. I'm a remarkably good person to have around if you were to, say, become lost.”

“May I ask a stupid question?” Randall inquired.

“There are no stupid questions,” said Lawrence. “Only stupid people.”

“How can you make a living as a traveling salesman hanging around a forest like this?”

“I find people such as yourselves, of course. You have money, right?”

“A little,” Sir William said. “But we're not interested in buying anything.”

“Oh, I think you'll change your mind,” said Lawrence, reaching into his pouch. “Listen to me, William—may I call you William?—this here is the best offer since mankind came up with the concept of offering.”

“Listen, idiot—may I call you idiot?—I said I'm not interested in buying anything.”

“But look!” Lawrence pulled out the contents of the pouch: a wooden leg. “I'm going to sell you this leg!”

“You can't be serious,” said Sir William. “I'm not going to buy that.”

“Ah, but this isn't just any leg. This is the Smith Model KL7-RA Prosthetic Locomotion Assistance Device.”

“It looks like a cheap wooden leg.”

“Will you buy it?”

“Of course not. I've got two real ones of my own!”

“At the moment, maybe, but a wise knight such as yourself knows the importance of planning ahead. Suppose you're off defending the kingdom and one of your legs were to become severed. Instead of losing hours of valuable work time lying around whimpering, you could merely strap on the Smith Leg and return to being a productive warrior.”

“I'd bleed to death!”

“Ah, but you wouldn't. The Smith Leg comes equipped with its very own tourniquet.”

“But it's only a right leg,” Sir William pointed out. “What if I lost my left one? I'd be walking in circles for the rest of my life!”

“Buy two.”

“I don't need two. If I only lost one leg, I'd look pretty stupid walking around carrying a second fake one.”

“Listen,” Lawrence explained, “I obviously can't guarantee that you'll lose both legs in the accident. But there's still a fifty-fifty chance that it will be your right leg, making this a low-risk purchase.”

“Is it durable?”

“Oh, yes indeed. Keep it out of direct light and it'll last you for months.”

“There's a big crack in it!”

“That's supposed to be there. It's for ventilation.”

“I'm not buying a cracked leg.”

“Will you forget about the leg?” screamed Randall, having listened to exactly three more syllables of this conversation than his brain could handle. “Lawrence, we need your help. Do you know how to get to the lair of the witch Grysh?”

“Why, have you got a terminal disease?”

“No. Can she cure them?”

Lawrence shook his head. “I just figured you wanted to commit suicide.”

“Answer the question,” said Sir William. “Can you direct us there?”

“Sure I can.”

“Thank you.”

“If you buy the leg.”

“You little weasel!”

“Come on, I'm making you a great deal here. I'm actually losing money on this sale!”

“I'm not buying that useless leg, and that's final.”

“Uh, sire?” said Randall. “If that's the only way he'll direct us to Grysh's lair, I think you should buy it.”

“But it's the principle of the whole matter!” declared Sir William. “I refuse to pay my hard-earned money for shoddy merchandise! If I buy this leg now, where will it end?”

“Right at your waist,” said Lawrence. “Ha-ha, just a little traveling salesman humor there.”

“I'm going to slay him,” said Sir William. “Don't try and stop me.”

“I won't.”

“All right, all right,” said Lawrence. “How about this. I'll sell you the leg for a dvorkin. One lousy dvorkin. You can't even get a glass of water without dead bugs in it for a dvorkin, and here I am offering to sell you this wonderful leg for one.”

“Fine!” snapped Sir William, digging in his pocket until he found one of the tiny coins. “Here!”

Lawrence took the dvorkin. “Not a very shiny one, is it?”

“Shut up! Gimme the leg!” Sir William snatched the leg out of his hand, then heaved it as far away as he could. “Now where does the witch live?”

“That's not fair,” protested Lawrence. “How are customers supposed to see how superb the Smith Model KL7-RA Prosthetic Locomotion Assistance Device is if you just threw it away?”

“I'll spread the word,” Sir William told him.

“But verbal advertising is much less effective than visual.”

Sir William stepped forward, arms reaching toward Lawrence's neck. The salesman quickly took the hint. “Okay, let me see your map.” He took the parchment then began making various notations on it. “Whoever did this had no clue how the forest is organized. You're lucky you found me.” He gave the map back to Sir William. “There you go.”

Sir William looked the map over. “Yes, this is much clearer now. Thank you.”

“Could I come with you gentlemen?” Lawrence asked. “Now that I've finally sold that leg, my purpose in life is sort of missing.”

“No,” said Sir William.

“Please?”

“No.”

“You'll need me!” Lawrence insisted. “I can help you! I'm a valuable asset!”

“Tough shinola,” said Sir William. “Go away.”

Lawrence gave them a sorrowful look, then walked off, muttering something about how people who purchased legs from salesmen and then refused to let them tag along were jerks.

“Let's go,” Sir William told Randall.

* * * *

FIFTEEN MINUTES later, they were completely lost again.

Chapter 5

Some Stuff Happens

“NO, THE LEG would not have come in handy,” Sir William snarled. “He said nothing about a compass being attached to it. Now be quiet and let me think.”

Randall was quiet. Sir William began to think.

“You're not being quiet enough,” Sir William said.

“I didn't say a word!”

“I don't care. Shut up.”

Sir William began to think some more. Then he got an idea.

“I've got an idea!” he announced.

“What?”

“That was the idea. That I've got an idea.”