The Fall of Troy
Never be afraid to try something new. Remember, amateurs built the Ark. Professionals built the Titanic.
~ Anonymous
It was midnight that the mice in the belly of the horse began to act. Carefully, they unbuckled the straps holding the door in the horse closed, then one by one, they slipped out.
One of the guards at the gate sat with his back against cold stone. He had watched the horse most of the night, delighted with the precision and beauty of it. Narnian craftsmen, he thought, were unsurpassed.
He had been one of the men who had helped drag the horse in that morning, what a feeling of victory they felt! Perhaps at last the fighting was over and the Narnians would be peaceable. Perhaps at last the Narnians would give up the Fife of Yngleswood to its rightful owners.
The guard wiggled his back against the damp stones behind him, then started. Dark shadows seemed to be dropping from the wooden horse. He blinked, they were gone.
Must be dreaming, he thought, he rubbed his eyes. The next moment, he saw stars, then blackness.
Squeekacheep stood over the unconscious body of the guard and signaled to the other mice. They all approached, having silenced their target guards in their own manner.
Peepacheep was already climbing up the great wooden doors to inspect the bar laid across them. There was no portcullis, only these heavy wooden doors.
Standing on each other's shoulders, the mice managed to lift the wooden bar. It creaked, then dropped to the ground with a muffled thud. To the mice it was like thunder and lightning. They all hit the ground, expecting every guard in the city to converge upon them.
There was silence. No one came.
Squeekacheep signaled the other mice and they all went to the door again. Straining every muscle, they opened the door; a crack, an inch, a foot. Squeekacheep slipped out.
Squeekacheep unshouldered his pack and rummaged through it while the other mice crouched ready on the other side of the door, swords in paws. Squeekacheep pulled a rocket from his pack, lit the end and watched it shoot into the air, then explode into a ball of colored fire. Quickly he slipped back through the gate.
~o*o~
"There's the signal," Eustace said.
"Good," Lucy said, putting her helmet on. "Signal the charge."
Eustace put a hunting horn to his lips and blew a merry blast. He and Lucy gave a loose rein to their destriers and the horses leaped forward, the army galloping or running behind them down the hill toward Drachenberg.
Lucy leaned low over Ashquar's neck as they thundered over the bridge leading over the moat. The gates were wide open and she swept through, Eustace on her right, Martin on her left.
Eagles and hawks had learned the layout of the city and she knew at once where the capital lay. Ashquar redoubled his speed as she made for it. They swept past the wooden horse and started up the long row of steps leading to the front entrance of the palace. She saw that Eustace and Martin had drawn their swords and were cutting down the palace guards.
She guided Ashquar through the entrance; there ahead of her was the grand staircase. Ashquar leaped up it.
The servants were running about screaming as Lucy guided her stallion down the hallway. The King's bedroom was at the end of the hall, she had been told. She saw Eustace was right behind her.
Ashquar skidded around the corner; there ahead of her was the door. Lucy dismounted while her steed was in mid gallop. She burst through the door into the darkened room, pulled an arrow from her quiver and notched it onto her bowstring.
It was just light enough to see that a very fat someone was sitting up in the bed.
"Hello," she said. "You are the King? I'm Queen Lucy and I'm not pleased to meet you."
~o*o~
"You see, this is most extraordinary."
"I'll say it is," Eustace said. "When you go invading somebody else's boarder you've got to expect things like this."
"I'm not well," the king flapped his hand in his face to show how ill he was.
"What's wrong?" Lucy asked with genuine concern as she sat down on the edge of the bed. "You see, the faster you surrender, the faster you can go back to bed."
"Which rooms are your chief ministers?" Eustace asked.
But he got no answer. At that moment, Martin came in, hauling with him a few lords by the ears.
"Your majesty," he said, bowing to Lucy. "The city is secured."
"Wonderful, thank you, Martin," Lucy said. "Now, who has the surrender?"
"I have," Eustace said, pulling it out of his doublet, he bowed and handed it to her. "Your majesty."
"Thank you, Lord Eustace, now," she turned to the king, "…no, no, you don't have to get up…will you sign our terms of surrender? Oh! Do we have anything to write with?"
"I have a charcoal pencil," Eustace said helpfully.
"That won't do at all," Lucy said, "we must have pen and ink."
"Downstairs, perhaps?" Eustace said. "Oh good man, Martin."
Martin had galloped out the door. Minutes later, he returned carrying a handful of quill pens and an ink jar. Somehow, he'd managed to splash himself with ink.
"Now," Lucy turned again to the king, "will you sign our terms of surrender?"
The king held out his hand and she handed the paper to him. The king read it though, gradually getting rather blue in the face.
"Surrender…disarming…tribute!" the King sighed. "Where's the pen?"
"So you will sign?" Lucy asked eagerly, handing him the pen. "It's the first term of surrender I've ever drawn up and I'm rather proud of it."
The king signed with a flourish and Lucy signed after him.
"That's perfectly lovely," Lucy said, looking at it. "Now, will you shake hands now that it is all over?"