Well, see who updated! (Sorry, was changing countries again and what not...)

Uh, I have to say that I feel like I'm the luckiest fanfic writer *snorts at that* out there, because I seriously have the best bunch of followers. Thanks to all of you who dropped a review despite my immensely irregular updates (and my damn cliffies! I like them too much, sorry not sorry!). I love you! (n.n)/ Don't worry, I will finish the fic C:

A/N: I can finally introduce more characters! (plus a mysterious one, bwahaha!) Unfortunately, following the book, they're called by their "nationalities" and not their names until the very end (hope it's not too annoying!). Poor Elsa, she never gets a break *sighs*

Personal thing: Thank you for helping me to help/cheer my friend stormy raindrops up by taking a look to her Jelsa fic "1000 Nights and a Day of Snowfall and Moonlight" (it's in my favs). Again, you guys are the best!

So, as always, kindly let me know what you think of it! Hope you have a fun read ^-^

-Ael


Chapter VIII - A Strange Trio


That same day, toward mid-afternoon, Elsa changed into her riding clothes and went to fetch Horse (her parents had been given as many horses as they needed in return).

This was the one aspect of her life that had not changed: she still loved to ride, and every afternoon, weather permitting or not, she rode alone for several hours in the wild land beyond the castle.

As she rode through woods and streams and heather, her brain was a whirl. The walk through the crowds had moved her, and in a way most strange. For even though she had done nothing for three years now but train to be a princess and a queen, today was the first day she actually understood that it was all soon to be a reality.

'And I just don't like Hans', she thought. 'It's not that I hate him or anything. I just never see him; he's always off someplace.'

To Elsa's way of thinking, there were two main problems: (1) was it wrong to marry without like, and (2) if it was, was it too late to do anything about it.

The answers, to her way of thinking, as she rode along, were (1) no and (2) yes.

It wasn't wrong to marry someone you didn't like, it just wasn't right either. If the whole world did it, that wouldn't be so great, with everybody kind of grunting at everybody else as the years went by. But, of course, not everybody did it; so forget about that. The answer to (2) was even easier: she had given her word she would marry; that would have to be enough. True, he had told her quite honestly that if she said "no" he would have to have her disposed of, in order to keep respect for the Crown at its proper level; still, she could have, had she so chosen, said "no."

Everyone had told her, since she became a princess-in-training, that she was very likely the most beautiful woman in the world. Now she was going to be the richest and most powerful as well.

'Don't expect too much from life', Elsa told herself as she rode along. 'Learn to be satisfied with what you have.'

Dusk was closing in when Elsa crested the hill. She was perhaps half an hour from the castle, and her daily ride was three-quarters done. Suddenly she reined Horse, for standing in the dimness beyond was the strangest trio she had ever seen.

The man in front was short and slender, Weseltonian perhaps, with the gentlest face, almost angelic. He had pink skin, a large pointy nose and a gray mustache and toupee. He was old, but moved forward toward her with surprising speed and nimbleness. The other two remained rooted. The second, probably Australian, was as tought and slender as the boomerang that was attached to his side. The third man, mustachioed, perhaps a Russian cossack judging for his clothes, was easily the biggest human being she had ever ever seen.

"A word?" the Weseltonian said, raising his arms. His smile was more angelic than his face.

Elsa halted. "Speak."

"We are but poor circus performers," the Weseltonian explained. "It is dark and we are lost. We were told there was a village nearby that might enjoy our skills."

"You were misinformed," Elsa told him. "There is no one, not for many miles."

"Then there will be no one to hear you scream," the Weseltonian said, and he jumped with frightening agility toward her face.

That was all that Elsa remembered. Perhaps she did scream, but if she did, it was more from terror than anything else, because certainly there was no pain. His hands expertly touched a place on her neck, and unconsciousness came.

She awoke to the lapping of water.

She was wrapped in a blanket and the giant Russian was putting her in the bottom of a boat. For a moment she was about to talk, but then when they began talking, she thought it better to listen. And after she had listened for a moment, it got harder and harder to hear, because of the terrible pounding of her heart.

There was the sound of ripping cloth.

"What is that?" the Russian asked.

"The same as I attached to her saddle," the little man replied. "Fabric from the uniform of an officer of Guilder. She must be found dead on the Guilder frontier or we will not be paid the remainder of our fee. Is that clear enough for you?"

"I just feel better when I know what's going on, that's all," the Russian mumbled.

There came the sound of a flapping of sail. "Watch your heads," the Australian cautioned, and then the boat was moving. "The people of Florin will not take her death well, I shouldn't think. She has become beloved."

"There will be war," the Weseltonian agreed. "We have been paid to start it. It's a fine line of work to be expert in. If we do this perfectly, there will be a continual demand for our services."

"Well I don't like it all that much," the Aussie said. "Frankly, I wish you had refused."

"The offer was too high."

"I don't like killing a girl."

Through all this, Elsa had not moved.

The Australian continued, "Let's just tell her we're taking her away for ransom."

The Russian agreed. "She's so beautiful and she'd go all crazy if she knew."

"She knows already," the Weseltonian said. "She's been awake for every word of this."

Elsa lay under the blanket, not moving. 'How could he have known that?', she wondered.

"How can you be sure?" the Australian asked.

"The Weseltonian senses all. Are you giving it full sail?" he asked.

"As much as is safe," the Australian answered from the tiller.

"We have an hour on them, so no risks yet. It will take her horse perhaps twenty-seven minutes to reach the castle, a few minutes more for them to figure out what happened and, since we left an obvious trail, they should be after us within an hour. We should reach the Cliffs in fifteen minutes more and, with any luck at all, the Guilder frontier at dawn, when she dies. Her body should be quite warm when the Prince reaches her mutilated form. I only wish we could stay for his grief, it should be Homeric."

'Why does he let me know his plans?', Elsa wondered. Well, it didn't matter. Suddenly, she threw the blanket aside and dove deep into Florin Channel. She stayed under for as long as she dared and then surfaced, starting to swim across the moonless water with every ounce of strength remaining to her. Behind her in the darkness there were cries.

"She jumped! Go in, go in!" yelled the Weseltonian.

"I only dog paddle" said the Russian.

"Well, you're better than I am" from the Australian.

Elsa continued to leave them behind her. Her arms ached from effort but she gave them no rest. Her legs kicked and her heart pounded.

"I can hear her kicking," the Weseltonian said. "Veer left."

Elsa went into her breast stroke, silently swimming away.

"Where is she?" shrieked the Weseltonian.

"The sharks will get her, don't worry," cautioned the Australian.

'Oh dear, I wish you hadn't mentioned that', thought Elsa.

"Princess," the Weseltonian called, "do you know what happens to sharks when they smell blood in the water? They go mad. There is no controlling their wildness. They rip and shred and chew and devour, and I'm in a boat, Princess, and there isn't any blood in the water now, so we're both quite safe, but there is a knife in my hand, my lady, and if you don't come back I'll cut my arms and I'll cut my legs and I'll catch the blood in a cup and I'll fling it as far as I can and sharks can smell blood in the water for miles and you won't be beautiful for long."

Elsa hesitated, silently treading water. Around her now, although it was surely her imagination, she seemed to be hearing the swish of giant tails.

"Come back and come back now. There will be no other warning. It'll be better for you, because I give you my word as a gentleman and assassin that you will die totally without pain. I assure you, you will get no such promise from the sharks."

The fish sounds in the night were closer now.

Elsa began to tremble with fear. She was terribly ashamed of herself but there it was. She only wished she could see for a minute if there really were sharks and if he really would cut himself.

The Weseltonian winced out loud.

"He just cut his arm, lady," the Russian called out. "He's catching the blood in a small cup now. There must be a half-inch of blood on the bottom."

The Weseltonian winced again.

"He cut his leg this time," the Russian went on. "The cup's getting full."

'I don't believe them', Elsa thought. 'There are no sharks in the water and there is no blood in his cup.'

"My arm is back to throw," the Weseltonian said. "Call out your location or not, the choice is yours."

'I'm not making a peep', Elsa decided.

"Farewell."

There was the splashing sound of liquid landing on liquid.

Then there came a pause.

Then the sharks went mad.


"She does not get eaten by the sharks at this time," Jamie's mother said.

He looked up at her. "What?"

"You looked like you were getting too involved and bothered so I thought I would let you relax."

"Oh, for Pete's sake," he said, "You think I'm a baby or something?"

Jamie really sounded put out, but the truth was that, indeed, he was getting a little too involved and he was glad his mom told him. Now he could stop grabbing the blanket that hard.


Then the sharks went mad. All around her, Elsa could hear them beeping and screaming and thrashing their mighty tails. 'Nothing can save me', Elsa realized.

Fortunately for all concerned save the sharks, it was around this time that the moon came out.

"There she is!" shouted the Weseltonian, and like lightning the Australian turned the boat and as the boat drew close the Russian reached out a giant arm and then she was back in the safety of her murderers while all around them the sharks bumped each other in wild frustration.

"Keep her warm," the Australian said from the tiller, tossing his cloak to the Russian.

"Don't catch cold," the Russian said, kindly wrapping Elsa into the cloak's folds.

"It doesn't seem to matter all that much," she answered, "seeing you're killing me at dawn."

"He'll do the actual work," the Russian said, indicating the Weseltonian, who was wrapping cloth around his cuts. "We'll just hold you."

"Hold your stupid tongue," the latter commanded. Then he stared ahead. "There!" The Weseltonian pointed. "The Cliffs of Insanity."

And there they were. Rising straight and sheer from the water, a thousand feet into the night. They provided the most direct route between Florin and Guilder, but no one ever used them, sailing instead the long way, many miles around. Not that the Cliffs were impossible to scale; two men were known to have climbed them in the last century alone.

"Sail straight for the steepest part," the Weseltonian commanded.

The Aussie said, "I was."

Elsa did not understand. Going up the Cliffs could hardly be done she thought; and no one had ever mentioned secret passages through them. Yet here they were, sailing closer and closer to the mighty rocks, now surely less than a quarter-mile away.

For the first time the Weseltonian allowed himself a smile. "All is well. I was afraid your little jaunt in the water was going to cost me too much time. I had allowed an hour of safety. There must still be fifty minutes of it left. We are miles ahead of anybody and safe, safe, safe."

"No one could be following us yet?" the Australian asked.

"No one," he assured him. "It would be inconceivable."

"Absolutely inconceivable?"

"Absolutely, totally, and, in all other ways, inconceivable," the Weseltonian reassured him. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," the Australian replied. "It's only that I just happened to look back and something's there."

They all whirled.

Something was indeed there. Less than a mile behind them across the moonlight was another sailing boat, small, painted what looked like black, with a giant sail that billowed black in the night, and a single man at the tiller.

A man in black.

The Australian looked at the Weseltonian. "It must just be some local fisherman out for a pleasure cruise alone at night through shark-infested waters."

"There is probably a more logical explanation," the little man said. "But since no one in Guilder could know yet what we've done, and no one in Florin could have gotten here so quickly, he is definitely not, however much it may look like it, following us. It is coincidence and nothing more."

"He's gaining on us," the Russian said.

"That is also inconceivable," the Weseltonian commented. "Before I stole this boat we're in, I made many inquiries as to what was the fastest ship on all of Florin Channel and everyone agreed it was this one."

"You're right," the giant agreed, staring back. "He isn't gaining on us. He's just getting closer, that's all."

"It is the angle we're looking from and nothing more," said the Weseltonian.

Elsa could not take her eyes from the great black sail. Surely the three men she was with frightened her. But somehow, for reasons she could never begin to explain, the man in black frightened her more.

The Cliffs of Insanity were very close now.

The Australian maneuvered the craft expertly, which was not easy, and the waves were rolling in toward the rocks now and the spray was blinding. Elsa shielded her eyes and put her head straight back, staring up into the darkness toward the top, which seemed shrouded and out of reach.

Then the Weseltonian bounded forward, and as the ship reached the cliff face, he jumped up and suddenly there was a rope in his hand. Elsa stared in silent astonishment. The rope, thick and strong, seemed to travel all the way up the Cliffs. As she watched, the Weseltonian pulled at the rope again and again and it held firm. It was attached to something at the top: a giant rock, a towering tree, something.

"Fast now," the little man ordered. "If he is following us, which of course is not within the realm of human experience, but if he is, we've got to reach the top and cut the rope off before he can climb up after us."

"Climb?" Elsa wondered out loud.

"Hush!" the Weseltonian ordered her. "Get ready!" he ordered the agile Aussie. "Sink it," he ordered the giant.

And then everyone got busy. The Australian took a rope, tied Elsa's hands and feet. The Russian raised a great leg and stomped down at the center of the boat, which gave way immediately and began to sink. Then he went to the rope and took it in his hands.

"Load me," he said.

The Australian lifted Elsa and draped her body around the giant's shoulders. Then he tied himself to his waist. Then the little Weseltonian hopped, clung to the Russian's neck.

"All aboard," the latter said.

With that the giant began to climb. It was at least a thousand feet and he was carrying the three, but he was not worried. When it came to power, nothing worried him, since strength had never been his enemy. He could take the kick of a horse on his chest and not fall backward. He had once held an elephant aloft using only the muscles in his back. But his real might lay in his arms. There had never, not in a thousand years, been arms to match Nicholas's (For that was his name, but friends called him Nick for short or North, due to his origins).

And so, even with the Weseltonian on his neck and the Princess around his shoulders and the Australian at his waist, North did not feel in the least bit put upon. He was actually quite happy, because it was only when he was requested to use his might that he felt he wasn't a bother to everybody. Up he climbed, arm over arm, arm over arm, two hundred feet now above the water, eight hundred feet now to go.

The Weseltonian could only think of the man in black. There was no way anyone could have been quick enough to follow them. And yet from some devil's world that billowing black sail had appeared. How? How? The little man flogged his mind to find an answer, but he found only failure. In wild frustration he looked back down toward the dark water.

The man in black was still there, sailing like lightning toward the Cliffs. He could not have been more than a quarter-mile from them now.

"Faster!" he commanded.

"I'm sorry," North answered meekly. "I thought I was going faster."

"Lazy, lazy," spurred the Weseltonian.

North's arms began to move faster than before. "I cannot see too well because your feet are locked around my face," he went on, "so could you tell me please if we're halfway yet?"

"A lil' over, I should think," said the Aussie from his position around the giant's waist. "You're doing wonderfully, mate."

"Thank you, Aster" said the giant.

"And he's closing on the Cliffs," added the Weseltonian.

No one had to ask who "he" was. Six hundred feet now. The arms continued to pull, over and over. Six hundred and twenty feet. Six hundred and fifty. Now faster than ever. Seven hundred.

"He's left his boat behind," Aster said. "He's jumped onto our rope. He's starting up after us."

"I can feel him," North added. "His body weight on the rope."

"He'll never catch up!" the little Weseltonian cried. "Inconceivable!"

"Mate, you keep using that word!" Aster snapped. "I don't think it means what you think it does."

"How fast is he at climbing?" North asked.

"I'm frightened" was Aster's reply, as he really was not fond of heights. Still, he gathered his courage again and looked down.

The man in black seemed almost to be flying. Already he had cut their lead a hundred feet. Perhaps more.

"I thought you were supposed to be so strong!" the Weseltonian shouted. "I thought you were this great mighty thing and yet he gains."

"I'm carrying three people," North explained. "He has only himself and-"

"Excuses are the refuge of cowards," the Weseltonian interrupted.

He looked down too. The man in black had gained another hundred feet. He looked up now. The cliff tops were beginning to come into view. Perhaps a hundred and fifty feet more and they were safe.

On the other hand, tied hand and foot, sick with fear, Elsa wasn't sure what she wanted to happen. Except this much she knew: she didn't want to go through anything like it again.