The Disposable Page 10

  Faced with an instant two-against-one, Fodder had little choice but to concede the argument. “All right.” He backed down gracefully. “We’ll take the carriage. But that is a good point about the princess. Shoulders can’t keep carrying her around forever.”

  Shoulders seconded him with enthusiasm. “Damn bloody right I can’t! She’s doing my back in! Either you two take a turn, or she can walk!”

  Flirt turned to where the princess was slumped up against the dirt wall. In deference to her recent good behaviour, Pleasance had been cleaned up, the blood and grime wiped from her skin, her battered clothes straightened, her previously perfectly coiffured hair scraped into some semblance of order. A strong hint of a pout was visible beneath her gag and her violet eyes stared mournfully out across the room. But there was just a hint, just a glitter behind those sorrowful eyes that the furious rage they had witnessed in her on the mountainside was waiting for its moment to strike.

  “Okay, little madam.” Flirt addressed the princess with her usual cheeriness. “If I take this gag off, I don’t want to hear any screaming from you. Not if you want to be sparkling and pretty for your Boy of Destiny if you ever do find your way back into Narrative. Are we all clear?”

  With palpable reluctance, the princess nodded.

  “And you promise to behave?”

  Again came the painful nod.

  “Good girl.” With a flick of her wrist, Flirt unknotted the gag.

  For an instant, it seemed to Fodder as though Flirt’s words had been pointless, that the princess was drawing in air for a scream in spite of the warnings. But Flirt’s fingers darted towards the cosmetic box with the speed of lightning, and their captive immediately thought better of it and aborted to a lower volume.

  “You won’t get away with this!” The dramatic tone had lost a little of its verve overnight, but the melodrama of her voice still ran rampant. “Thieves! Brigands! You shall be found and brought to justice, and I shall visit you in the dungeons and laugh in your faces until my lungs are raw! Laugh, I tell you! Laugh!”

  Shoulders glanced over at Fodder with the first hint of a grin he had displayed for quite some time. “Do you think she’s going to laugh, mate?”

  Fodder couldn’t help but grin back. “Think she might, yeah.”

  Violet eyes glared furiously. “Common peasants! You mock me while you can!”

  “Yep, we will, ta.”

  “But you won’t be laughing soon!” Pleasance ploughed on, thoroughly ignoring the interruption from Shoulders as she hit her rhythm with her tirade. “Soon you will be the ones chained and gagged and mocked and I will have my vengeance upon you! You will rue the day you ever…mmph!”

  Flirt glanced back over her shoulder from where she had just thrust a whole apple into Pleasance’s delicate mouth.

  “Either of you ever mmphed?” she enquired cheerfully.

  “Nope.”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Me neither. So I doubt I’ll ever rue the day I did it.” Flirt smiled sweetly at the indignant princess. “Eat up.”

  Once this rudimentary breakfast had been completed, Flirt prudently restored the gag but not before eliciting a promise that, if Pleasance were allowed to walk, she would go where directed and not make a fuss. Since the Barmaid had tied the sewing scissors prudently within reach against her apron, grudging agreement had been given and Shoulders, rather than carrying his Royal burden, was put in charge of shepherding her.

  Carefully, cautiously, they moved out into the gully and set off into the Rambling Woods.

  Flirt had been right when she’d said the woods were teeming. Tired, sleepy villagers were shambling in small packs through the trees, half-heartedly searching but mostly dreaming of bed and sleep and being just about anywhere but where they were. They were evaded by the simple measure of ducking behind the nearest tree and waiting. The first hint of more serious opposition came as Fodder and his companions neared the edge of the woods and found a troop of Sentinel’s shiny, professional Disposables sweeping their search area in an alarmingly proficient manner—batting at bushes with their swords and actually looking behind trees as they walked past them. But these men were Palace Guards, used to standing still and staring straight ahead and, tricky as it was to force Pleasance into climbing a tree, Flirt’s theory that they would not even think to look up was proved accurate.

  Their leafy vantage point offered another advantage: Fodder spotted The Narrative.

  It was close, over near the rough track where they’d staged their ambush what felt like forever ago, its vivid, unreal light gleaming like a sunbeam down from the grey sky. As he strained his ears, Fodder could hear the strident voices of the Merry Band drifting on the breeze, proclaiming in grand tones that these impudent swine who stole the princess would be brought to justice. Somewhere off to his left, he also heard a brief bout of Thud yelling at somebody or another to pay more attention and sort themselves out.

  And every single one of these people was out there after him. Hunting for him. Because of what he’d done.

  It was terrifyingly exhilarating.

  The exhilaration wore off in something of a hurry when he was forced to manoeuvre Pleasance’s velvet-clad backside down out of the tree. There was nothing more likely to restore cold, hard reality than having a whole princess dropped on you from several feet above.

  But finally, thankfully, they reached the edge of the woods. As Flirt had said, Tumble and Dunny were indeed patrolling the village border, but they were doing so without much enthusiasm. It was no great chore to wait until they’d wandered past and dive into the cluster of deserted cottages. Carefully skirting their way past the various buildings, Fodder, his friends, and the princess headed for the village green.

  Thankfully, the Archetypal Inn was exactly where and how they’d left it: perched on the edge of the green under the name of the Good Shepherd and looking unnaturally peaceful in the quiet of the abandoned village. It was alarmingly easy to slip around the edge of the green, ushering the grouchy princess before them, and duck into the stable yard, where, as Flirt had promised, the Royal carriage had been left idling. It was a clunky great thing, carved of dark wood. It bore a vast array of intricate carvings ranged along its eaves and corners and the coat of arms that, for the purposes of this Quest, belonged to the Kingdom of Nyolesse engraved or painted in on almost every available panel. The word ostentatious might have been invented for it.

  Along with the word hideous.

  “Subtle,” Shoulders commented blandly. “Not trying to get noticed at all, is it?”

  Fodder grinned. “You’ve never met the Artisans down in the Magnificent City, have you? I ran into them when I Bulked Up for a chase scene down there a couple of Quests back. Since they almost never get more than a passing sentence of Narrative time themselves, they throw everything they’ve got into making their props as loud and noticeable as possible. To them, a decent description of their handiwork is as good as having a decent character.”

  “Weird bunch.”

  Fodder had to admit that Shoulders’s assessment did sum up the slightly odd cluster of men he’d chatted to while waiting for The Narrative that morning rather nicely.

  “And not much taste either.”

  “Gaudy is the way to go if you want to get described, isn’t it?” Flirt appeared from the stables, leading a couple of uncertain-looking horses and wearing an expression almost as grouchy as the princess’s. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a shiny prop or a shiny princess. Brown and ordinary doesn’t get you into Narrative.” One of the horses she was leading whickered and bucked slightly against her hold. “Give me a hand, will you?” she called out. “I’ve never hitched a horse to a carriage before.”

  As Fodder hurried over to lend a hand, Shoulders glanced at the princess, who was sat slumped in a sulky heap against one of the carriage wheels.

  “What shall I do with her ladyship?” he asked curiously. “Do you want me to guard her or give you a h
and?”

  “Just truss up her legs and find somewhere safe to leave her,” Flirt called back. “We can deal with her when we’re done.”

  * * *

  When all matters were considered, weighed, and taken to account, it had to be said that Princess Pleasance of the Royal Family was not having a good start to her first Quest.

  The ropes around her wrists were tight—not so tight as to make her profoundly uncomfortable but tight enough to insure there would be no wriggling free. The gag was secured around her mouth with equal firmness, and the scraggly Disposable who had been hauling her around in so disrespectful a manner had bound her feet before dumping her in an empty horse trough between the wall and the carriage—her carriage!—that they were trying to steal and rushing off to help with the horses. She had fidgeted experimentally for a moment when their backs were turned, but it quickly became clear that she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Not away from this nightmare. Not back to her story where she belonged.

  It was happening without her, her legend, her Quest, her chance of a lifetime, fluttering by while she sat gagged and bound in a horse trough that smelled very strongly of things she did not want to consider. It was winding away, disappearing from her grasp while she sat and watched three common brigands stealing her royal coach so they could kidnap her more comfortably.

  And it wasn’t fair.

  She had waited so long for it to be her turn. She’d seen her older sister Sweetness swept off her feet in The Vile Rose, her brave defiance of dark magic allowing just enough time for her noble, knightly hero to save the day. She’d watched as her cousin Vanity rode out not once, but twice, defending the city against the Rachsis horde in The Tide of Crimson and rallying the people just in time to ride to the rescue of her beleaguered love in The Sword of Grul. And of course, she had heard, many times, the stories of her mother, once Princess and now Queen Eminence, shouldering the burden of magic herself to save the kingdom in The Seed of Darkness. And Pleasance had waited and waited, impatient and desperate to reach the right kind of maturity to be up for selection, knowing that with her heritage and her lineage—Princesses for generations down one side, Kings and Heroes and Boys of Destiny right down the other—it would surely only be a matter of time before her turn came.

  And then, at last, it had.

  The Sword of Grul had tumbled into epilogue and Happily Ever After, the quiet lull time between the end of one Quest and the launch of another. After starring in two impressive sagas, a stroke of good fortune enabled by a slightly more mature Hero and Heroine in the latter, Vanity had been retired and, as had become firmly expected, she’d finally gotten around to accepting one of the two marriage proposals she had received out of Narrative from her romantic counterparts. She had chosen Valiant, the second of her two Heroes—the first, she had confided to Pleasance, was very handsome but had a terrible tendency to mess up her hair when he kissed her—and was comfortably maturing as an attractive Duchess at court until she was old enough to take her place as a Queen. And so Pleasance had waited, her patience strained almost to the breaking point as new instructions and preparations for a new Quest with characters, countries, and an ever-evolving plot outline laid themselves out in the impressive new Golden Tome that had appeared to replace its Sword of Grul counterpart in the never-visited-In-Narrative rear of the city’s Grand Temple. Slowly, painfully, ideas solidified, characters were nailed down, and the Priests and Scholars handed out the interactive Ring of Anthiphion Quest books to the Officious Courtiers and sent them on their way.

  And so it was that Strut had gathered the Principal families, as always, in the grand throne room of the Royal Palace and set about distributing the roles.

  The squeals she had emitted when he had announced her as Princess Islaine had nearly shattered the rafters. At last! She was to be a Heroine! At last!

  Her enthusiasm for the Quest had waned only slightly when she’d discovered it would be Bumpkin she would be playing opposite. He wasn’t so bad looking, of course, and she knew he would grow into a muscular, pixie dust-enhanced maturity as the Quest progressed, but she’d known him for a while and found him just a bit childish. She’d been hoping for this to be a Quest for a more mature Hero than the coming of age of a Boy of Destiny—a handsome King or noble Knight who’d sweep her off her feet, not some gauche adolescent love story. And her consternation had grown more than a little when Bumpkin had taken her aside before setting out for Fertile Fields and his humble beginnings and asked to get in some kissing practice.

  Pleasance had indulged in a degree of practice herself, ably assisted by the handsome young Knight that Clank was training up as his apprentice. And she knew full well that kisses such as Bumpkin bestowed were definitely at the slobbery end of the spectrum.

  And if she wasn’t chosen as Heroine again for the next Quest, it was expected that she marry the Hero of this one. That was the way it was done. It was right and proper that way. Because even though it was usually simply implied behind closed doors, concealed by billowy curtains or in a secret, sparkling pool that required no actual doing, every so often, certain romantic deeds betwixt Hero and Heroine did prove to be necessary In Narrative. And once the deed was done…

  Maybe he’d improve with practice. She’d have to give him proper instruction.

  If she could endure the constant drool dripping down her chin until he learned…

  But right now, Pleasance would have taken a thousand slobbery kisses from Bumpkin to be riding with the Merry Band to fulfil her rightful destiny.

  It was her turn! And they’d ruined it.

  Her ire refocused once more upon her three kidnappers: the bland, unremarkable one who’d started it; his scruffy, whiney companion who continued to toss her about like an object; and the chirpy harpy they’d recruited to boss them around. How dare they treat her this way? She’d done nothing to deserve it, nothing at all! A pair of rough, common Disposables and their bitchy Interchangeable Barmaid, dragging her out of her own story before she’d had the chance to get started, hurling her around, messing up her hair and clothes, mocking her, making her dirty, hauling her up trees and down holes in the ground like she was nothing more than a velvet-clad sack! And that was not to mention threatening her, ordering her around, and gagging her! How dare they?

  And why? So they could usurp her and her family and obtain themselves a starring role! It was the most ridiculous thing that Pleasance had ever heard. For goodness’ sake, how could they possibly believe that anyone would be interested in a Quest about them?

  And for this pointlessness, they’d disrupted the pinnacle of her life and threatened her with humiliation and ridicule.

  She shuddered slightly at the memory of that awful threat, at the thought of an impromptu haircut with sewing scissors or childish tattoos made of eyeliner. If they were unscrupulous enough to do that to an innocent prisoner, what else might they do? The thought of what might be her only lead role in a Quest being turned into a joke as she staggered into Narrative with a shaved head and dancing hedgehogs on her cheeks… The thought of being comic relief…

  Occasionally, it happened. A princess would be mocked or made fun of In Narrative, but it was always as character development, as plot, never just because a stupid Barmaid and her loutish friends felt like it. And Pleasance had vowed that Islaine would be a princess of dignity, that she would be admired and respected and part of the fun, never the butt of it. But who could admire and respect her if she was seen In Narrative with half her hair hacked off and her skin used as a place to doodle?

  No. She couldn’t let it happen. For the time being, she was in their power. She had to—her teeth gritted behind her gag—behave.

  She would have her revenge. Of that much she was certain. When Strut and the others got hold of them, she would make sure that every insult and indignity that she’d suffered was repaid a hundredfold. None of them would ever see the light of freedom again! She was going to make them suffer!

  The swift neig
hing of an irritable horse turned her attention back to her captors and their awkward efforts to manoeuvre a team of horses into the cradle of the carriage. Beneath her gag, Pleasance sneered silently at their incompetence at completing a simple job that the Palace stable hands could do in mere seconds. In the face of such uselessness, her revenge would come sooner than she’d thought.

  “Come on then! Nice horsey!”

  “Nice horsey? You really think it’ll respond to that?”

  “You never know until you try, do you? Here, hold these reins a sec, Shoulders…”

  “No, I don’t want them! Fodder, here!”

  “I’m already holding one!”

  “Then you won’t mind holding two!”

  “I bloody will!”

  “Oh for the love of… You two, just… Here, I’ll hold it! And keep it down, will you? If someone hears us, we’re done for!”

  “You were the one shouting about nice horseys!”

  The bickering dropped to a lower, more discreet level but continued nonetheless as the reins were dragged into place over the poor beasts’ faces. The horses continued to whicker uncomfortably, her captors’ muttered arguments doing nothing to stem their nervousness. Honestly, they had to be the most pointless…

  “Clunny, do you think anyone will notice we’ve gone?”

  Pleasance froze.

  This was not a voice she knew. And it was coming from the other side of the stable wall.

  Someone else was coming. Someone was right outside.

  She wanted to bellow, scream out I’m here, I’m here, save me! but her gag gave no leeway. She glanced frantically at her kidnappers, but one look was enough to see that they were too distracted by their horse wrangling to hear these new arrivals approaching. And Pleasance knew at once that her only chance was not to alert them until it was too late.