- Because 3+ years is a ridiculous and unkind length of time to leave anything dangling and incomplete, especially fairy tales
- Because my dear friend YouTube let me recently relive some delightful moments from episodes forgotten, and enjoy episodes never seen
- And, because you and the other four people who might run across this thoroughly deserve to see it completed…
…With humble apologies for the times when I told myself "Eh, maybe later" and continued not to finish the story soon, and with my inner perfectionist hoping that my writing skills are at least a little improved since the last update….
…and especially with many thanks to everyone who ever wrote a review for the last post, providing those occasional out-of-the blue remarks which, through those 3+ years, served to simultaneously remind me, honour me, and shame me into returning. J
(all disclaimers still applicable)…
May I present
30½ B
Return of the Bride
"Ready, Arnold?"
"Yep. Anytime, Grandpa."
-
After a long and dreadfully dull morning spent stumbling restlessly through the boarding house, followed by an even duller afternoon confined to his room—to "keep the diseased under quarantine" as his grandmother had insisted—it was finally time for the promised second half of the story.
With a "Thanks, Pookie…I'm not even gonna ask," the old man accepted a tray of warm cookies and milk from what appeared to be some bizarre mishmash of Florence Nightingale and Gunga Din. "Good luck, boys. Remember…don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes," chuckled Grandma as she closed the door behind her. Arnold could hear her padding off down the hall, cheerfully cursing rebel yanks all along the way.
Grandpa carefully scrutinized one of the cookies…"Seems safe enough tonight,"…and took a large bite. "Dig in, boy. No way she could've snuck anything but peanut butter into these." He stuffed another into his mouth and chased it with a huge swig of milk. This was instantly followed by a facial expression of such abject horror and disgust that Arnold, having just taken a large bite as well, spit his out as a reflex.
"What's wrong with them?" the boy asked through gritted teeth.
"Oh, the cookies are fine. It's that milk what did it. Warm, healthy goat's milk. Nastiest thing I ever put in my mouth." Grandpa swallowed hard and let out a few deep breaths, smacking his lips unhappily to rid himself of the taste.
"We don't own a goat…do we?"
"Nope, but I'm going to convince myself we do, until I am absolutely sure your grandma hasn't tried to milk any of those mangy cats she keeps around. Now then…" He burped slightly and leaned back with a sigh, stretching his legs out until the joints popped. "Where were we?"
-
31
It's the Pits
Arnold opened his eyes and groaned. He blinked, disoriented; all the previous events then came flooding back to him and he tried to sit up. The leather straps around his stomach and limbs prevented this, binding him securely to…well, whatever he was lying on, which he couldn't quite make out. He was on his back against something completely flat and solid—perhaps a table?—and the other side of his head was still throbbing where the guards had hit him. Thus hindered, he set to observing everything above him. Clearly, he was no longer in the woods. This must be a large dungeon of some sort, one with a very boring ceiling made of timbers and packed mud. He couldn't turn his head far enough to see anything else (most likely, due to it being too wide and football-shaped) and resolved to have the ceilings of his dungeons painted with a nice classical motif or at least something more interesting, in the event he should ever find it necessary to keep dungeons at all. "Ugh," he groaned again. Suddenly he was aware how much his entire body was aching and sore and scraped up and bruised and possibly still bleeding and…
-
Wheeeeeze…Hurk! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeze….
-
Arnold inhaled sharply. Someone, something was in the room with him, very near, and he was in no position to defend himself should that something decide to be hostile. He hoped it was a rat. A small rat with severe respiratory problems would be terrific.
Hurk! Shssss, shsss, shsss, clump, shsss wheeeeeeze… Now it was breathing and coming toward him, shuffling its feet. Shsss, shsss, shsss, shsss. Pause. Nothing. It had stopped someplace.
WHEEEEEZE! "Ah…hullo."
The uncanny voice was much too startingly-close for comfort and Arnold would have jumped into the air if not for the leather straps. A pasty, bland face with pale hair leaned over into Arnold's vision. "Don't wurry; I won't hurt you. That's sumone else's job," it mumbled. Arnold then felt something wet being dabbed onto the gash in his neck and found he was covered in bandages and poultices. Most of his wounds were already closed. Apparently, he had been out cold for some while, during which the albino had been busy.
"You're healing me?'
"Ah…yup." Dab, dab, dab, wheeze.
"Why?"
The albino shrugged. "You wur getting blood on the carpet. An' the Count prefers her pris'ners to look thur best before sentencing."
Arnold scoffed. After a moment of silence, punctuated only by his own winces of pain as the albino finished cleaning the wound and moved to another, he asked: "Where am I?"
"Den of Pain. Have a look." There was a cranking noise and the entire surface of the table tilted, turning Arnold more upright and allowing him a better view of the room. Now he could see it really wasn't a dungeon, more of a laboratory filled with strange devices of metal and wood, huge machines made up of intricate gears and systems of levers and pulleys. A stale, dusty cloud seemed to hang in the air, lending everything a harmless and insignificant—yet somehow eerie—presence. Arnold would have almost rather have seen chains and skeletons of former captives. "Like it?"
"Yes, very cozy," replied Arnold, pulling at the leather straps a bit. "Hate the name, though. Looks more like a Pit than a Den. Pit of Despair, maybe."
"That's whut I said," the albino grumbled, "but no one ever listens to me. Whut's the albino know? Don't I got brains like the rest of them?"
"Uh….sure." Arnold hoped he wasn't speaking about a personal collection in jars, someplace, and quickly changed the subject. "What are they planning to do to me?"
The albino paused in his bandage-tying and motioned toward the largest, most complicated of the machines.
"So it's to be torture? A nod of affirmation and an Ah…yup from the albino. "Hmph…I can handle torture."
The albino laughed—a hoarse, phlegmy sound like he had something stuck in his throat—and it made him break into such a violent fit of wheezing hiccups it was a good five minutes before he could speak again. "We'll see." He finished changing the dressing on the wounds and cranked the table into its original position. Then, gathering the used bandages under one arm, he shuffled out of the room, wheezing and snorting and mumbling "I gotta get out of this climate," as he went.
Drat, thought Arnold. NOW my nose itches.
-
32
Night Terrors
Helganna was calm, even serene, despite the fact that all unfinished wedding plans were hastily resolved and the date moved to the second morning after her return to the palace. One full day of freedom was left to her. She could not imagine where or how Arnold was, nor how he would save her again after she had ridden away through the woods, but she hadn't a bit of concern. He would certainly come to her rescue at the very last minute; perhaps he would scale the castle walls to her window, stealing her away under cover of night. Or he could come crashing through the stained glass of the chapel in the middle of the ceremony, fighting off a whole regiment of armed guards as they escaped with not one second to spare.
But the day and the hour arrived, while her beloved did not. She reached the altar (albeit as slowly as she possibly could), the words were spoken, the rings were exchanged, and she was married without seeing the doors thrown open mid-ceremony to the sound of Arnold's ringing I object! In the evening, the townsfolk gathered in the palace square and she and Haroldink greeted them as their new king and queen...
-
"Hold it…HOLD IT!" said Arnold, interrupting. "What was that? You made me wait all that time just to hear that he didn't save her, and she did marry the prince? Grandpa! Come ON…that can't be right."
"Who's telling this thing, me or you? It happened just like I said. Now don't get yer dander all up, and listen, will ya? So. In the evening…
-
…the townsfolk gathered in the palace square and she and Haroldink greeted them as their new king and queen. Wild cheers erupted from the crowd when they appeared on the dais, for the people were overjoyed by thoughts of the month-long festivities and partying that always followed a coronation. She waved silently to them. She would not cry—obviously the last few days had been but a dream, and he was still dead—and then she forced a cordial smile when she chose to descend into the square and walk among her subjects.
The people bowed low as she passed, parting to let her walk through the throng untouched. All around her was silent as every villager stood still, mesmerized by her presence. A soft breeze, softer than the broken sigh that escaped her lips, wafted across her face and rustled her dress…then from somewhere to the left came the last thing on earth she could have ever expected to hear.
"BOOO!"
She turned toward the sound.
"BOOO! Hsssssssssss… Filth! Rubbish! BOOOOOO!"
A wretched, ancient hag shoved her way to the front of the crowd, brandishing her twisted staff toward Helganna. "BOOOO!" she jeered again with a cracked voice that echoed harshly through the otherwise silent air.
Helganna started. "Wh…why are you doing this?" she was finally able to stutter.
"Because you had love in your hands—true love, what found you 'gainst all odds, what saved you in the Fire Swamp—and you threw it away! Left it t' die alone, as you ran to save yer own mis'rable skin." The hag pointed one gnarled, accusing finger from under her dirty rags and scowled.
"But I had to…they might have killed Arnold if I hadn't stopped them. Why didn't he come?"
"An' who would come fer you? You, who didn't stay, who didn't fight when it mattered, who wouldn't refuse to give up in spite o' what it cost you?" snarled the hag, now addressing the crowd with a sweep of her staff. "So bow t' her if you like. Bow t' the lovely queen of Pigs! The queen of Refuse, of Muck…of Slime."
"Please. Stop it," said the bride.
"Heartless beast! Hsssssssssssssssss…"
"STOP IT."
"BOOO…BOOOO…..BOOOOOOOOOO!..."
-
Helganna shot upright in bed, shaking.
Three nights had passed since her rescue. The wedding was still a week away and her nightmares were growing steadily worse.
-
"Told 'ya."
"Yes, yes," said Grandpa, "you're very smart. Shaddup."
-
She had become more withdrawn than ever, seeing no one but the maidservants or Haroldink, who hadn't spoken more than a few sentences to her in passing. Void of conscious thought or definite feeling, she spent every waking hour wandering about the palace in a daze. The past few days were all jumbled together in her memory, mingling with the nightmares until she could not be sure what was real and what might have all been in her imagination. Her mind was still muddy with sleep, so she blinked in the darkness and waited for her thoughts to clear.
Then she remembered the dream and the hag's words echoed in her ears.
For the third night in a row, Helganna cried herself to sleep.
-
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A/N: The next part should be out within a couple weekends, and my plan is to update each weekend after that until finished. I'm expecting a similar length to the first half; 30-or-so more chapters grouped into about 17 posts. The chapters themselves will probably be longer for a while, too, due to an abundance of exposition. As a small bonus, I also hope to put online some of the old concept drawings and doodles I made when first writing this story and related others. (This is wholly dependent on a. whether I can find them and get my scanner to work, and b. time permitting) If that crazy idea works out, I'll mention it in a future post. Till then, I keep my fingers crossed.