Hey everyone. Sorry it's taken so long for an update. It's terrible, this "graduating from high school business". This chapter is unbetaed, so….uh, we'll see how that goes. Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed—those words mean a lot. So much so, that a second ago, I got a review that said "You haven't updated in six months!" Hm. Hadn't thought of it like that. So, here it is, chapter six! I'd love to hear what you think of it. :)
* * *
The city was filled as never before, and everyone from far and wide had come to hear the introduction of Prince Humperdinck's bride-to-be, Princess Buttercup of Hammersmith. No one had seen or heard of her before, and there were many rumors that she wasn't a true princess at all, but the masses were fickle and loved a pretty face.
By noontime, the Prince appeared at the balcony of his father's castle and raised his arms. The crowd, whose size was threatening to overthrow the square, slowly quieted. The Prince was widely known for his beauty and malice. Still, against the pale blue of the sky, the Prince, dressed completely in ivory with hair as pale as silver, looked impressive and commanded their attention.
Humperdinck lazily raised his arms to the people. "My people, my beloveds, from whom we draw our strength, today is a day of greeting." He rushed through the words in such a manner that the crowd knew surely that they were most certainly not his beloveds nor a group he particularly felt like greeting. "As you have heard, my father's health is not what it once was. He is, then, very old, so what can you expect." The Prince shrugged. There were, in fact, rumors that the king was already dead, that he had been dead for quite some time, that he was fine, and that he was actually a resurrected zombie that had been living in the Bahamas for quite some time. The masses enjoyed a good story as much as a pretty face. "As you also know, our great land needs a male heir." The crowd began to stir.
"In three months, our country celebrates its five hundredth anniversary. To celebrate that celebration, I shall, on that sundown, take for my wife the Princess Buttercup of Hammersmith. You do not know her yet, but you will know and love her now," and he made a grand gesture and the balcony doors opened and Buttercup moved out beside him on the balcony.
The crowd grew silent with a sharp intake of breath.
The twenty-one-year-old Princess was a far cry from the eighteen-year-old mourner. Her hair, which was worked on daily by a band of hairdressers, was curling and luscious, and the same color as the healthiest tree bark. Her skin was pale, still like wintry cream, and scrubbed to brilliance. Her eyes also shined with a brilliance that the girl of five years ago hadn't dreamed of—she was a woman now, full with the knowledge of a universe of libraries and a world of sorrows.
Prince Humperdinck took her hand and held it high and the crowd cheered loudly. "That's enough, musn't risk overexposure—next thing you know you'll be getting freckles over those pretty cheeks of yours," the Prince as he started back toward the castle, and Buttercup thought briefly how nice freckles were.
"No, I would like to go down there," she said, taking her hand back.
"With the commoners? We do not do that unless it is completely and in all other ways unavoidable," he said, looking at her as if she were dense. His lazy gray eyes regarded the crowds coldly as he blocked her path.
"I do that. And I shall. Let me pass." He did.
She left the balcony and reappeared a moment later on the great steps of the castle and walked open-armed down into the crowd.
The people parted as she walked. She crossed and recrossed the Great Square, and always ahead of her, the people parted to let her pass. Buttercup continued, moving slowly and feeling more than a little ridiculous.
Most of the people there would never forget that day. None of them, of course, had ever been so close to such beauty before, and the great majority adored her instantly. There were, to be sure, some who, while admitting she was pleasing enough, were withholding judgment as to her quality as a quern. And, naturally, there were some more who were frankly jealous. Very few hated her.
And only one of them was planning to murder her.
Buttercup, in her embarrassment, knew none of this. She was smiling, and when people wanted to touch her gown, well, she let them, and when they wanted to touch her hair, she let them do that, too. She turned down a couple of pervy old men who wanted to hold her hand, but made sure to smile while declining. She'd studied hard the nature of royalty and wanted very much to be a good Princess for her people, so she kept her posture erect and her smile gentle, and that her death was so close would have only have made her laugh, had someone told her.
But…
…in the farthest corner of the Great Square—
…in the highest building in the country—
…deep in the deepest shadow—
The man in black stood waiting. His pants were black leather and his shirt was made of the lightest Peruvian black cotton. His mask was black, blacker than the raven. But blackest of all was the anger and hate within his flat, dull blue eyes, flashing and cruel and deadly.
* * *
Buttercup was drained after her meeting with her country, and she decided that she needed a rest, so toward midafternoon, she changed into her riding clothes, grabbed a book ("I Married an Arrogant Arse—Confessions of Cinder Girl", by Cinderella Martinelli—admittedly not the most cerebral book in her collection, but a necessary evil) and went to fetch her horse. This was the one aspect of her life that had not changed over the years. She still loved to ride and every afternoon, she rode alone for several hours in the wild land beyond the castle, often bringing a book to accompany her under a tree while she munched on apples that she nicked from the kitchens.
She did her best thinking then. Her thinking didn't always span the universe, or argued philosophy, or even attempted to chip away at the iron walls she'd erected around her heart those five years ago, but as long as she kept them to herself, what was the harm?
As she rode through the woods and streams and heather, her thoughts swirled. The walk through the crowds had moved her and in a very strange way. She knew that she was a Princess, and that most likely, would someday be a Queen, but today, she knew it.
And I don't like Humperdinck, she thought. I don't hate him, and I admit, there is something terribly attractive about him, but I can't tolerate a man who spends more time on his hair than I. And I never see him; he's always off somewhere or playing in his Zoo of Death—not much of a fiancé-bonding activity there.
To Buttercup's way of thinking, there were two main problems: (1) was it wrong to marry without like (as love was most certainly out of the question) and (2) if it was too late to do anything about it.
Her answers, after some deliberation, were: (1) not terribly and (2) yes, you ninny.
She sighed and rode on to her favorite tree, thinking about a certain redheaded farm boy. No use dwelling on the past, she thought as she blinked away a sudden stinging in her eye. Learn to be satisfied with what you have. As she pictured the sleek, handsome, and arrogant Prince Humperdinck and how deficient he was in comparison to the boy who lived only in her memory, she knew in her heart that no amount of time would bring satisfaction.
* * *
Dusk was closing in on her as she turned the page, enthralled. She was about an hour from the castle and her day was nearly done. She brushed off her dress and began to mount her horse, but stopped, for standing in the dimness was the strangest trio she'd ever seen.
The man in front was dark, with a sallow face and hooked nose. He was tall, and his hair looked grimy. He moved with grace and stood in a way that commanded respect and silence. The other two men hung back and seemed to regard the first man with distaste. The second man was thin, of medium height, and very interesting to look at. He had hair that looked very overdue for a trim and eyes that peeked out behind round-rimmed glasses sparkled like emeralds. A very thin, jagged scar split the smooth paleness of his forehead, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking nervously at the situation. The third man was bearded and grizzly, and was easily the biggest human being she'd ever seen. He had kind black eyes and also seemed to survey the situation with a hint of uneasiness.
"A word, miss?" The sallow man raised his arms. His smile looked fake and unnatural and he lost it quickly.
Buttercup stopped. "Of course."
"We are but poor circus performers," he explained. "It is dark—"
"A keen observation," she interrupted. It was getting late and she was irritable.
The man glared. "—and we are lost. We were told there is a village nearby that might enjoy our skills."
"You were misinformed," she told him. "There is no one, not for many miles."
"Then there will be no one to hear you scream," he said silkily as he jumped toward her. The last thing she heard was a shout of protest from the man with the scar, and she knew nothing—his hands expertly touched places on her neck, and unconsciousness came.
* * *
She awoke to the lapping of water.
She was wrapped in a blanket and the giant man was putting her in the bottom of a boat. She was about to call out, but thought it better to listen, though she didn't like what she heard.
"You're not really going to…kill her, are you Vizzini? I don't think it's right." The man with the scar nervously fingered his wand.
"The less you think, Inigo, the happier I'll be," was the terse reply from the hook-nosed man.
There was a sound of ripping cloth. "What's that then?" The large man asked, gently moving her hair away from her face.
"The same as I attached to her saddle," the hook-nosed man replied. "Fabric from the uniform of an officer of Guilder."
"I still think—" The man with the wand, Inigo, began.
"She must be found dead on the Guider frontier. It is the job we've been asked to do, and we shall do it to the best of your abilities, as limited as they are. Is that clear enough for you?"
The scarred man stood up. "You didn't tell us that. I refuse to be apart of this."
"The, by all means, jump overboard. The sharks would be more than willing to accommodate the incompetence that I shall not," the hook-nosed man idly gestured to the quickly moving water beneath the boat.
"But the people won't take death well—she's become beloved." The man with the scar looked helplessly at Buttercup.
"There will be a war. We've been paid to start it."
"I won't be apart of this," The man with the scar said firmly.
"I'm with 'im," said the Giant. "'e's right—we can start a war another way, right? Not that I much fancy doin' tha' to begin with…"
"God kills girls all the time and it doesn't worry him—don't let it worry you."
Buttercup passed out again and didn't hear the response.
She didn't know how long she was out, but she was still in the boat when she blinked, the blanket shielding her. And without daring to think, she threw the blanket aside and dove deep into the water.
She stayed under as long as she dared and then surfaced to swim across the moonless water with every ounce of strength she had. She heard cries in the darkness behind her.
"Get her! Get her!" the hook-nosed man cried.
"I only dog paddle," said the large man with an accompanying pantomime that would have been hilarious in other circumstances.
Inigo jumped to the side of the ship. "I'll get her."
"No!" The Giant gripped the back of Inigo's tunic and pulled him to the ground. "Don' be an idiot, ye can' swim any better than I can."
Buttercup continued to swim. Her arms ached and her heart pounded.
"I can hear her kicking. Veer left," the hook-nosed man ordered.
Buttercup swam quietly, trying to make no noise.
"The sharks can smell you, Princess," the hook-nosed man said smoothly. "They can feel a warm body in the water. There is no controlling their wildness. Swim back to the boat and we'll pull you back. I can make your death quick and easy. I'm sure you'll get no such guarantee from the sharks."
Buttercup hesitated, silently treading water. She felt a swish of water close to her, but she was sure it was just her imagination.
"Come back now. There won't be another warning."
The fish sounds were closer now.
I'm not making a peep, Buttercup decided, and she began to swim again.
There was a pause, a silence full with fear.
Then sharks went mad… All around her, Buttercup could hear them screaming and thrashing their mighty tails. Buttercup clamped her eyes tight, not wanting to see the dark water turn a horrible shade of red…
Fortunately for all concerned (save the sharks), it was around this time that the moon came out.
"There she is!"
And the man with the scar turned the boat quickly and the boat drew close and the huge man reached out an arm and she was back, safe in the boat with her murderers while around them the sharks bumped each other in wild frustration.
With his wand, the man with the scar quickly conjured a bluebell flame and put it in front of her. "Keep warm," he told her with a cautious smile.
"Don't catch cold,"
the large man said, wrapping Buttercup in a cloak.
"Well, it doesn't matter much, seeing as you're killing me, now, does it?" she said tersely, snatching the blanket.
The scarred man's eyes clouded over as he threw a look his hook-nosed counterpart. "Fezzik, come here," he said, and the Giant skulked over, looking sad. the hook-nosed man didn't notice his crew's displeasure. "Look. The Cliffs of Insanity are there in the distance. You," he said with a sneer at Inigo. "Sail straight for the steepest part."
Rising straight and tall from the water, the gray rock of the Cliffs cut into the starry sky. The Cliffs were the midway between Florin and Guilder and provided the quickest route between the two countries, but no one ever used them.
"I was sailing for the steepest part. Pillock." The man with the scar muttered under his breath.
Buttercup couldn't imagine what they were thinking—they couldn't possibly expect to climb the Cliffs, could they?
The man with the scar furred his eyebrows and called to the hook-nosed man. "Are you sure that no one could be following us?"
He shook his head. "Of course not. That would be absolutely, totally, and, in all other ways, inconceivable. Do continue what you were doing." A pause. "Why do you ask?"
The man with the scar smirked. "It's just that when I happened to look back, there's something there."
Looking for the first time ruffled, the hook-nosed man dashed to the side of the boat.
Something indeed was there. Less than a mile behind them was another boat, small and black, with a giant sail that billowed black in the night, and a single man at the helm. A man dressed all in black.
"Continue," the hook-nosed man said. "Can you hear? I said continue. Pay no attention."
The three men bustled on the deck of the ship. The hook-nosed man snapped orders, the man with the scar swore under his breath, and the giant clapped him on his back in encouragement. But Buttercup could do nothing but watch the billowing sails of the trailing ship.