How To Rescue A Dead Princess Part 8

They began to lumber forward, arms outstretched, moaning. Randall and Sir William watched them for a moment, then exchanged a glance.

"Slow, aren't they?" Randall remarked.

"Very."

"How come we didn't notice them when we were peering through the gates before?"

"Well, this is a magical place. Perhaps there's an illusionary enchantment covering the entire location, preventing us from noticing its prowling re-animated corpse guards?"

"Maybe we need to be a little more perceptive."

The zombies continued to move closer.

Sir William sighed. "We've only got a few minutes before they reach us. If we were to trip on some protruding dirt molecules and break an ankle or something, there's a slight chance they could get here before one of us could carry the other to the mausoleum. We shouldn't waste any more time."

"Good idea."

They began walking toward the mausoleum, weaving their way around a couple of the nearest zombies, making sure they allowed for a good three inches of leeway to prevent giving the creatures a chance to grab them.

Randall noted some interesting tombstones: "Well, it's about time!"

"Here lies Grandpa. He'll be dead any minute now."

"Poor Sam Trotter, kissed my daughter, set himself up, for a slaughter."

"You toucha my bones, I breaka your face."

"Here lies a leper named Shaun, Took last place in the king's marathon, He started the race, And fell flat on his face, When he found both his feet to be gone."

They continued to casually move through the graveyard.

"They're getting away!" said one of the zombies.

"Let's circulate another pet.i.tion," said a second one.

Randall and Sir William reached the entrance to the mausoleum, ducking underneath the outstretched arms of one of the flesh-eaters. "Should we knock?" Randall asked.

"That might alert her to our presence," said Sir William. "I think we should just burst in. Prepare yourself. I'll kick the door open on the count of ... uh, one."

"Oh, great," muttered Randall. "This bag's been leaking." He pointed to a trail of ashes that led through the graveyard over to the Realm of Mystery. "You think those are important parts?"

"We haven't got time to sweep it up," said Sir William. "Let's just burst in, and worry about that later. Ready? ONE!"

He kicked the door open. Had he known that the door swung out rather than in, the pain would have been significantly reduced. Both of them leapt into the mausoleum, then cringed at the ghastly sight that burned its way into their eyes.

The witch Grysh was bathing. Water poured down upon her from out of nowhere, and vanished as it hit the floor. The sight of the water on its own would have been rather impressive, but adding the witch to the visual stew turned it into pure horror. She was not a pretty lady, and on this occasion was having a particularly bad face day. Her eyes were crossed, a sight made worse by the fact that they dangled from their sockets. Her skin looked like it was about eight sizes too large. She had more body hair than seemed appropriate for a woman of any age. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were in serious danger of tripping her.

She snapped her fingers, and the water vanished. "I've been expecting you," she said. Her voice did not possess a musical lilt by any stretch of the imagination.

"You ... you have?" asked Randall.

"You're Gaggles and Boo-Boo, right?"

Sir William shook his head. "No, I am Sir William of Mosiman, and this is my squire, Randall. We wish to speak with you. If possible, we'd like to be out of here before Gaggles and Boo-Boo show up."

"Speak, then," snarled Grysh.

"Don't you want to get dressed first?" asked Sir William, hopefully.

The witch snapped her fingers. A small scarf appeared, which she draped over her shoulders. "Now, speak."

"We need your help," Sir William explained. "We were escorting Princess Janice to the Kingdom of Rainey, when there was kind of a ... slip-up."

Randall lifted the bag and shook it, rattling its contents.

"She's all there," said Sir William, "aside from maybe a little trail we left through the cemetery, but she's sort of ... uh..."

"Dead?" asked Grysh.

"Dead, yes, of course, but I think we can carry that adjective even further. She's, uh, very very dead is, I guess, the best way to explain it." dead is, I guess, the best way to explain it."

"Give me the sack," said Grysh, reaching out. The sack was yanked from Randall's hand by an invisible presence, and flew toward her, ripping apart in the process and spilling out the princess in a cloud of soot. "I see your problem," she said.

She crouched down and began poking through the remnants. Sir William and Randall exchanged uneasy glances. "Can you help her?" Randall asked.

"I think this counts as more than 'very' dead, don't you agree?"

Sir William and Randall nodded.

Grysh stroked the eight or nine hairs on her chin thoughtfully. She twirled one around her finger several times. "Let me call my slave. Demon Baby, you are needed!"

A young man walked around the corner. He grimaced momentarily at the sight of Grysh from the rear, but quickly regained his composure and kneeled as she turned around to face him.

"His name's Demon Baby?" asked Sir William.

Grysh nodded. "After thirty hours of labor, his mother was in a lousy mood." She gestured to him. "Fetch my book-o-spells, volume three, second printing," she ordered.

Demon Baby arose and left. Grysh looked at Sir William. "Tell me, knight, do you read much?"

"Define much."

"Ever."

"No."

"I see. So, I take it you've never heard of the fabled Necklace of Power?"

Sir William shook his head. "Was it named by the same guy who called this the Forest of Death?"

"The Necklace of Power is an ancient relic," said the witch. "I can return the dead to life, yes, but without this necklace, there's very little I can do for your princess, unless you don't mind returning her as a living pile of ashes."

"That would be disappointing," said Sir William.

Demon Baby returned, a large book tucked under his arm. He handed it to Grysh, and then took hold of her right arm with both hands and began twisting her skin back and forth, wringing out the excess water.

"Let's see," said Grysh, thumbing through the pages. "Transforming your enemies into saliva ... twelve ways to magically extend your tongue by a good four feet ... starting Armageddon ... putting cream in pastries without leaving tell-tale holes ... here we go: raising the dead when there isn't much left of them."

She glanced over the entry. "Oh, there are some definite problems here. In addition to the Necklace of Power, I'm going to need the breath of a sleeping maiden, the toenail of Jenstina the Ogre, and the legendary berserker Shreddriff himself."

"But I don't know any more maidens," Sir William protested.

Demon Baby began to wring out Grysh's right leg.

"Okay, the maiden's breath will turn up," said Randall, "but Jenstina, Shreddriff, and the necklace ... where exactly would we find them?"

Grysh shrugged.

"You have no idea?" asked Randall.

"None. You're on your own. All I can tell is that the journey to locate them will be fraught with peril, just to keep it interesting." She tapped Demon Baby on the shoulder, then pointed to the princess clump. "Sweep that up, and put her in the back room with the others." Demon Baby nodded and went to get a broom.

"I'd rather not leave her here, if it's all right," said Sir William.

"It's not."

"I see. Well, I'd like to thank you for your help. You certainly aren't the foul crone we were expecting."

Grysh's expression darkened. "Ah, but I am. You don't think I'm helping you for free, do you?"

"Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please don't ask for the wooden leg," begged Randall.

"Do you find me attractive?" asked Grysh.

Randall began to choke on the air in his mouth. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"Did you know I can tie my b.r.e.a.s.t.s into a square knot?"

"That didn't come up in the description I was given."

"I'm a real animal when I want to be."

"With the fur to prove it," mumbled Sir William.

Grysh gestured, and Sir William suddenly flew up into the air, smacked his head against the ceiling a few times (almost, but not quite, in the "Shave and a Haircut" rhythm), then dropped to his original spot.

"Sorry," he said. "And ouch."

The witch returned her attention to Randall. She licked her lips, then cracked her knuckles. Then she cracked the joints in her arm. Then her shoulders. Then her neck. Then the spot where her nose would have been if she had one. She bent her knees, but that came out more of a creak than a crack.

"I think we could enjoy each other's company," she told Randall.

"That sounds ... interesting. Almost fascinating. But, you know, I'm just a lowly squire, and I don't think Sir William would approve."

"Go for it," said Sir William.

Randall's heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest and onto the floor. "I'm a woefully inexperienced kisser," he said. "I'd probably miss your lips completely."

"I don't have to look this way, you know," Grysh said. She snapped her fingers, and instantly transformed into a tall, leggy, astoundingly attractive redhead.

Sir William cleared his throat. "I don't suppose there's any way I could tactfully put myself back into the equation after that fur comment?"

"I wouldn't think so, no."

"Just checking."

"So, Randall," said Grysh. "Care to join me in my Chamber of Looooooooooove?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good." She looked over at Sir William. "Stay there." She considered for a moment, then snapped her fingers. A bright light surrounded Sir William for a moment, then faded.

"You turned him to stone!" Randall gasped.

"Plated with pewter. He won't be going anywhere. Too bad he had such a ridiculous expression on his face-otherwise I might've been able to get a good price for the statue. Follow me."

Randall followed her around the corner into an area filled with all manner of books and reagents for spells. There were also cobwebs to add a touch of atmosphere. Demon Baby walked by, holding a broom and a new sack, and looked jealously at Randall.

"In here," said the witch, opening a door disguised as a door-shaped stack of books with a doork.n.o.b protruding from them. She let Randall enter first, then shut the door behind them, casting them into complete darkness.

"Be careful," she said. "Watch out for the floor spikes. And cobras."

"I'll just stay put."

A soft light without a visible source began to glow at the other end of the room, illuminating the bed. A very lumpy bed that seemed to be adorned with various torture devices.

"Something's moving inside the pillows," Randall noted.

"I like to keep the feathers as fresh as possible."

She moved past him and sat down on the edge of the bed. She began to seductively ma.s.sage her earlobes. "Come here," she purred.

Randall sat down next to her. She gently placed her hand on his knee. "Ooooooh," she said. "That's a nice, firm kneecap you've got there."

"Thank you."

"Randall, sweetie, why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

"Well, I'm five-foot-six, twenty-two years old, brown hair, hazel eyes, and have my mother's chin."