Buttercup regained slight consciousness to find herself in the arms of the fuzzy-bearded giant. She could hear the three men discussing their plans, as the one who had spoken in the woods - the leader, presumably - explained things to the other two.

The leader was ripping cloth of the uniform of an army officer of Guilder. He tucked it under her horse's saddle and set the beast off at a gallop.

"Who's Guilder?" asked the giant.

"The country across the sea. The sworn enemy of Florin." The giant placed Buttercup's barely conscious body into a boat, where the group leader joined him. The third man was still on the shore, untying the boat from the dock.

The leader continued his explanation. "Once the horse reaches the castle, the fabric will make the Prince suspect that the Guilderians have abducted his love. When he finds her body dead on the Guilder frontier, his suspicions will be totally confirmed."

"You never said anything about killing anyone," objected the giant.

"Yes, well, it happens," snapped the leader. "We're being paid well for it, too. She's not a real Princess, she's not even a real witch, so what do you care?"

The giant shook his head. "I just don't think it's right, killing an innocent girl."

"I agree with Fezzik," said the third man, jumping into the boat.

"That's the last I want to hear about either of you thinking!" roared the leader. "You work for me, and don't forget it. I will do the actual killing, neither of you have the nerve."

So they set sail. Buttercup regained full consciousness after some time, and learned that her captors were Vizzini the Sicilian, Fezzik the giant Turk, and Inigo the Spaniard. Vizzini, clearly, was the boss; the other two appeared to be good friends and even behaved kindly toward her, which she found both comforting and unsettling.

The moon rose, casting her rays across Florin Channel. The boat slipped silently through the water, and Inigo kept looking back over his shoulder.

"Why do you keep doing that?" asked Vizzini.

"I'm making sure nobody's following us."

"That would be inconceivable. Nobody in Guilder knows what we've done, and nobody in Florin could have gotten here so fast." He smiled smugly at the Princess. Inigo continued to look back.

"Are you sure nobody could be following us?" he asked.

"As I told you before, it would be totally, completely, and in all other ways inconceivable," Vizzini assured him. "But just for the sake of argument, why do you ask?"

"No reason. It's just that suddenly I happened to look back and something's there."

"What?" Vizzini jumped up and joined Inigo at the prow of the ship. There, gleaming in the moonlight, was another ship some distance behind them, with a black-robed figure at the helm.

"Probably some local fisherman, out for a pleasure cruise...at night...through eel-infested waters," he concluded. There was a sudden splash, and the three kidnappers stared into the waters of the channel, where their royal prisoner was making a desperate bid for freedom.

"Go in after her!" cried Vizzini, but neither he nor the other two could swim. They watched as she swam away from the ship, then paused, treading water, as an eerie high-pitched wail pierced the night.

"Do you know what that sound is, Highness?" Vizzini called. "Those are the shrieking eels! If you don't believe me, just wait...they always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh!"

Dark figures swirled around Buttercup in the water, and she gasped in horror.

"If you come back now," Vizzini continued, "I promise, your death will be swift and painless. One speedy little Killing Curse and it'll all be over in a heartbeat. I doubt you'll get such an offer from the eels."

Buttercup turned and watched in terror as one of the eels charged toward her, mouth open wide, ready to snap its jaws around her. She was about to scream with panic...death was imminent...


"She does not get eaten by the eels at this time," Dumbledore said abruptly. Hermione looked at him, puzzled.

"I know that."

"I know you know that, but I'm supposed to say it," he said with good humor. He took this chance to clear his throat and take a sip of hot chocolate, which had been graciously provided by the fanfic writer.


Just before the eel could make a meal of Buttercup, Inigo managed to steer the ship close enough to her that Fezzik could lean over the side and whack the eel on the head with a club. He then hoisted the Princess out of the water and back into the boat, where Vizzini irritably tied her wrists together to prevent future escape attempts.

The sun arose, and Inigo continued to watch the progress of the ship behind him. "I think he's getting closer," he observed.

"Whoever he is, he's too late! See?" cried Vizzini, pointing. "The Cliffs of Insanity!" And there they were, rising straight up into the sky, a sheer rock face at least a thousand feet high that no one in the history of Florin had ever climbed.

But climb they did. A rope had been put there for that very purpose. Inigo fastened a leather harness around Fezzik, with which he secured Buttercup to the big man's side, then tied himself on as well. Vizzini jumped up onto the giant's shoulders, and with every ounce of strength in his enormous body, Fezzik began to climb the rope.

Below them, the black-robed, black-masked mystery figure jumped onto the rope and began to climb after them.

"Faster!" roared Vizzini.

"I thought I was going faster," Fezzik said plaintively.

He pulled and climbed and gripped and pushed his body to the limit, and before much longer, they were at the top. Inigo unbound Buttercup and dropped her gently to the ground, where she lay gasping with relief at having survived the climb. Vizzini whipped out a knife and began to saw through the rope until at last it snapped, and hurtled over the side of the cliff. Pleased with himself, Vizzini went to the cliff's edge, where Inigo and Fezzik were staring down in amazement.

Several feet below them, the wizard in black clung precariously to the side of the cliff. He looked up at them, his expression inscrutable.

"He didn't fall? Inconceivable!" said Vizzini peevishly.

"You keep using that word," said Inigo. "I'm starting to think it doesn't mean what you think it means." They looked down again, where the man in black began to find hand- and footholds in the sheer rock face.

"Look at that. He's climbing!" said Inigo.

"You! Carry her," Vizzini told Fezzik. To Inigo he said, "Catch up with us when he's dead. If he falls, fine; if not, the wand."

Fezzik picked up the Princess, then patted Inigo gently on the shoulder with his giant hand. "You be careful, then," he told his friend. "People in masks canna' be trusted." He followed Vizzini toward Guilder.

Inigo made a few practice moves with his wand. It responded to his every command, pulsing in his hand like a living thing. Finally his curiosity got the better of him and he looked over the cliff edge to where the man in black was still climbing.

"Hello there!" he said, cheerfully. "Slow going?"

"I don't mean to be rude," replied the wizard in black, "but this is not as easy as it looks, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't distract me."

"Sorry." Inigo stepped away again, did a few more showy manuevers with his wand, then came back. "I don't suppose you could speed things up?"

"If you're in such a hurry," snapped the climber, "you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do."

"I could do that," Inigo admitted. "In fact, I've got a piece of rope right here. But I didn't think you would accept my help, since I'm only waiting around to kill you."

"That does put a damper on our relationship," acknowledged the WIB, who from here on in will be identified by that acronym in order to save the fanfic writer a little bit of exertion.

"But," Inigo said earnestly, "I promise I will not kill you until you reach the top."

"I can't tell you how comforting that is," replied the WIB dryly. "You're just going to have to wait."

"I hate waiting," mused Inigo. "Isn't there any way you trust me?"

"Nothing comes to mind."

Inigo's face became very serious. "I swear on the soul of my father, James Montoya," he said quietly. "You will reach the top alive."

The WIB studied him. "Throw me the rope."

Inigo did, and in a matter of seconds the WIB stood beside him on the cliff. He began to pull his wand from its sheath, ready to duel, but Inigo stopped him. "We'll wait until you're ready."

"Thank you." The WIB sat down and removed some rocks that had become lodged in his boots, breathing heavily.

Inigo watched him. "I don't mean to pry," he said, "but you don't by any chance have red eyes behind that mask?"

The WIB looked at him curiously. "Do you always begin conversations this way?"

"My father was slaughtered by a wizard with red eyes."

Frowning slightly at this revelation, the WIB shook his head. "They're blue."

Inigo nodded; he had expected as much. "He was a great wand maker, my father," he said nostalgically. "When the red-eyed wizard appeared and requested a special wand, my father took the job. He slaved a year before he was done." He held out his wand, a smooth branch of holly wood, which the WIB took and inspected admiringly.

"I've never seen its equal," he remarked, handing it back. Inigo sheathed it once more.

"The red-eyed wizard returned and demanded it - but at one-tenth his promised price. My father refused. Without a word, the red-eyed wizard raised his old wand and leveled a deadly spell at my father, killing him instantly. I loved my father, so naturally I challenged his murderer to a duel. The red-eyed wizard left me alive...but he gave me this." Inigo pulled the hair back from his forehead, revealing a jagged lightning-shaped scar.

"How old were you?" asked the WIB.

"I was eleven years old." Inigo smiled wistfully. "When I was strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of dueling, so that the next time we meet, I will not fail again. I will go up to the red-eyed wizard and say, 'Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.'"

"You've done nothing but study dueling?" asked the WIB, amazed. "Eh...more pursue than study, lately," admitted Inigo. "You see," he continued, sitting down beside his adversary, "I can't find the git. It's been a very long time now and I'm starting to get rather irritated with him. I'm just working for Vizzini to pay the bills. It's surprising, but you can't make much money in the revenge business."

"You probably could if you branched out," suggested the WIB. "You know, going after revenge for other people. I'm sure there are some who would pay a lot of money for that."

Inigo looked thoughtful. "I guess you could say that's what we do, the three of us. It's not fun, I'll tell you that. Fezzik's a real mate, but Vizzini rubs me the wrong way. I'd much rather have a best friend who's less interested in murder-for-hire and more interested in, say, games you can play on broomstick. Maybe after I've finally avenged my father, things will improve."

"Well," said the WIB, standing up, "I certainly hope you get the chance someday."

"You're ready then?"

"Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair."

"You seem a decent fellow," said Inigo regretfully. "I hate to kill you."

"You seem a decent fellow," said the WIB. "I hate to die."

Inigo nodded. "Begin."

They each held their wands in readiness, circling each other. Neither seemed prepared to make the first move...then suddenly, the cliff was alive with the duel. It was like an exquisite dance between the two combatants, the magic flying through the air as they each dodged the spells issued by the other.

It was an evenly matched duel, which surprised Inigo. He had trained for many years in the art of dueling, so that he would be prepared to avenge his father when the time came. To be facing off with someone whose skill was so parallel to his own was a refreshing change of pace, a glorious challenge. He thought once he held the upper hand, but it quickly switched to the WIB's advantage, then back again, then back once more. For a split second, his concentration slipped.

"Expelliarmus!" cried his adversary. The beloved wand of his father flew from Inigo's hand. He was beaten. He was done. Distraught, he dropped to his knees.

"Kill me quickly," he begged.

"Don't be stupid!" said the WIB. "I'd sooner destroy a brand-new Firebolt than an artist like yourself. However...since I can't have you following me either...petrificus totalus." Inigo's body siezed up in a full-body bind, and the WIB placed his wand carefully on the ground not too far away. Inigo would be able to reclaim it when the spell wore off.

"Please understand," he added, "I hold you in the highest respect." With that, he took off, following the trail left by the others.


"Inconceivable!" cried Vizzini when he saw the WIB approaching from a distance. He turned to Fezzik. "Give her to me!"

The giant obediently set Buttercup down, and Vizzini grabbed the rope that still bound her wrists. "Catch up with us quickly!" he shouted, and began to walk away.

"What do I do, then?" Fezzik asked, perplexed.

"Finish him. Finish him. Your way." "Oh, righ'...my way...ta, Vizzini." Fezzik frowned. "Er...which way's my way?"

Vizzini sighed, exasperated. "Pick up one of those rocks," he ordered, pointing. "Get behind that boulder. In a few minutes, the wizard in black will come running around the bend. The moment his head is in view, hit it with the rock!" He turned and marched the Princess down the path. Fezzik looked distressed.

"My way's not very fair an' all."

The WIB made his way cautiously along the path, listening intently. Two inches from his nose, a rock the size of his head sailed through the air and smashed against a boulder. He pulled out his wand and looked in the direction from which the rock had come; the giant stepped into view.

"I did that on purpose," he said. "I didn' have ter miss."

"I believe you," said the WIB. "So what happens now?"

"Well, near as I kin figger," said the giant pleasantly, "we're goin' ter figh' each other. Man ter man, no magic, no weapons. It's the only fair way."

"You mean...you'll put down your rock and I'll put down my wand and we'll try and kill each other like civilized people?"

"I could kill yer now," said Fezzik, holding up another rock.

The WIB slowly set down his wand. "Frankly," he said, "I think the odds are slightly in your favor at hand fighting."

As before, they danced around each other a bit. The WIB decided to go for it, and dashed in to slam against the giant's stomach. It didn't seem to faze him at all. He grappled for a moment, trying to get a firm grip, then gave up and backed away. "Look," he said angrily, "are you just fiddling around with me, or what?"

"I jes' want yer to feel yer doing well. I hate for people to die embarrassed an' all." Fezzik made a grab for the WIB then, but his opponent slipped away and rolled under the giant's legs. "Yer quick," he said admiringly.

"And a good thing too," said the WIB. He clambered up onto a boulder and leaped onto Fezzik's back, wrapping his arms around his adversary's throat. In a few minutes, the giant lay sprawled on the ground; the WIB had released his throat at the crucial instant, sending him into unconsciousness but not into death. He rolled the giant over and listened to his heartbeat to be sure.

"I do not envy you the headache you will have when you awake," he said. "But in the meantime, rest well...and dream of large women." He jumped to his feet, snatched up his wand, and once more picked up Vizzini's trail.


At the site of Inigo and the WIB's duel, Prince Humperdinck and a contingent of Florinese soldiers were surveying the area. Inigo had by this time recovered from the body bind, and he and his wand were gone. Count Rugen, the Prince's most trusted right-hand man, and the soldiers watched as Humperdinck traced out the footprints left by the fray.

"There was a mighty duel," he mused, his velvet dress tabard swirling around his legs as he followed the tracks. "They were both masters."

"Who won?" asked the Count, pretending to be interested. "How did it end?"

Humperdinck studied the scene. "The loser ran off alone...while the winner followed those footprints...toward Guilder."

"Shall we track them both?" ventured Count Rugen.

"The loser is nothing," Prince Humperdinck replied. "Only the Princess matters." His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the soldiers, whom he then addressed. "Clearly, this was all planned by warriors of Guilder! We must all be ready for whatever lies ahead." He climbed back into the saddle of his white horse.

"Could this be a trap?" wondered the Count.

"I always think everything could be a trap," said the Prince, "which is why I'm still alive."


Vizzini did not seem at all disturbed by the approach of the WIB. He was seated beside a rock, upon which rested a flagon of wine and two goblets. Next to him sat Buttercup, bound and blindfolded, and against her throat he held the blade of a long, thin knife.

"So," he proclaimed cheerfully, "it is down to you, and it is down to me."

The WIB slowed his pace but continued moving toward Vizzini.

"If you wish her dead, by all means, keep moving forward," said the Sicilian. The WIB immediately halted.

"Let me explain," he said.

"There's nothing for you to explain," said Vizzini. "You're trying to kidnap what I've rightfully stolen."

"Could we perhaps make a deal?" The WIB began to move again.

"There will be no deals," said Vizzini darkly, "and you're killing her." He pressed his knife more harshly against her skin, and she gasped. The WIB froze again.

"Well, if there can be no arrangement, then we are at an impasse," he said.

"I'm afraid so," Vizzini agreed. "I can't compete with you physically, and you're no match for my brains."

"You're that smart?"

"Let me put it to you this way. Have you heard of Merlin? Morgana? Aristotle?"

"Yes."

"Morons."

"Really!" The WIB smiled sardonically. "In that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits."

"For the Princess?"

The WIB nodded.

"To the death?"

The WIB nodded again.

"I accept!" cried Vizzini joyfully, and he put away his knife.

"Good! Then pour the wine." The WIB sat down opposite Vizzini, who poured the red wine into the two goblets. The MIB reached into his shirt and removed a small container, which he passed to Vizzini. "Open this and inhale, but do not touch."

Vizzini sniffed. "I smell nothing."

The WIB took back the container. "What you do not smell is called iocaine powder. It's odorless, colorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is among the more deadly poisons." He took the goblets and turned away for a few minutes. Vizzini watched with interest.

After a bit, the WIB turned back and placed the goblets back on the rock that served as their table. He dropped the empty container and said, "All right, where is the poison? The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide and we both drink, and we find out who is right and who is dead."

"But it's so simple," Vizzini mused. "All I have to do is figure out whether you're the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet or his enemy's?"

"Could you think a little more quietly?" asked the WIB. "I kind of have a headache."

"Oh, fine," said Vizzini. He frowned. "What in the world can that be?" he cried, pointing past the WIB, who whirled and stared.

"What? Where?"

"I could have sworn I saw my house-elf in the trees. No matter." Vizzini was chuckling wickedly.

"What's so funny?"

"I'll tell you in a minute. First, let's drink - me from my goblet, you from yours." They lifted their glasses and drank deeply.

The WIB set his down, looking pleased. "You guessed wrong."

"You only think I guessed wrong, that's what's so funny! I switched glasses when your back was turned! Haha, you fool!" Vizzini continued to cackle. "You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is 'Never get romantic with a blast-ended skrewt,' but only slightly less well known is this: 'Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!'" He continued to laugh until he fell over, dead.

The WIB stepped past his body to Buttercup, and gently he pulled the blindfold from her eyes. She stared at him. "Who are you?" she asked.

"I am no one to be trifled with," he said, untying the bonds at her wrists and ankles. "That is all you ever need know."

She stared at Vizzini in bewilderment. "To think," she mused, "all that time it was your cup that was poisoned."

"They were both poisoned," he said carelessly, helping her to stand. "I've spent the last few years building up an immunity to iocaine powder."

"That's pretty impressive," she admitted.

"Never mind that. Let's get moving."


Dumbledore paused here, to catch his breath, and Hermione settled herself more comfortably. "I never realized this was as long as it is," she remarked.

"Neither did I, Miss Granger, until I had to read it aloud."