by R. L. Stine
I struggled to think of a way to explain to them what had happened. But what would make them believe us?
One last try. “I … I picked up the battle-ax from the ground,” I stammered. “Actually, I tripped over it. I was running, and I tripped over it.”
“That’s right,” Ryan chimed in. “We were both running, and Jessica tripped over that weapon. I saw her pick it up and —”
“Why were you running?” Henway asked.
“Because you are guilty,” the Duke answered for us. “And you were trying to escape.”
“You will not escape your fate,” Henway said, lowering his voice.
“Would you like to make a small bet with me?” the Duke asked. “I bet that Prince Warwick will have your heads off before nightfall.”
“No. Please —” I cried.
They motioned the guards forward. The guards moved quickly and grabbed our arms, holding us tightly.
Henway and the Duke of Earle turned, walked through a door, and led the way into a long, dark hallway. The guards forced us to follow.
“Wh-where are you taking us?” I demanded.
“To see your victim, the Prince,” Henway replied.
“I don’t understand,” I said in a trembling voice. My legs were shaking so hard, I could barely walk. “Our victim? The Prince? What do you mean?”
They didn’t answer. The guards pulled us forward.
Our shoes scuffled across the hard floor. Flickering light danced over us from a long row of wall torches. Enormous paintings lined the walls.
Dreary portraits of grim-looking kings and queens wearing gray crowns and dark fur robes. Their expressions were all stern and cold. None of them smiled.
At the end of the hall, the Duke and the Wizard stepped aside as the guards pushed open a door. Then the two men led the way into a bright chamber.
The sudden light made me blink. When my eyes adjusted, I gazed around quickly. The walls appeared to be made of gold! Sunlight flooded in through tall windows. Golden drapes hung at their sides. Dark, heavy furniture filled the center of the room.
“Here we are, Prince Warwick,” the Duke announced.
Against the back wall, a man sat at a long writing table. My gaze stopped at the writing quill in his hand.
And then I raised my eyes. And Ryan and I both opened our mouths in screams of horror.
The Prince had only a lumpy stub on his shoulders. He was HEADLESS!
My knees buckled. I started to fall.
But two guards held me up.
Beside me, Ryan screamed again. “No! It’s IMPOSSIBLE!”
I wanted to look away. But I couldn’t take my eyes off the headless man.
He wore a ruffled white shirt. The collar was pinned shut. Above the collar, the stub of his neck was pink. A dark scab had formed over the top.
I shut my eyes. I felt my stomach lurch. I struggled to hold down my breakfast.
“He has no head, but he’s alive. This has to be a fake,” Ryan whispered. “Some kind of magic trick.”
I lowered my eyes to the ruffled shirt. Was the neck stub a fake? Was he hiding his head under the shirt?
No.
“It … it’s real,” I choked out. I swallowed again and again. My stomach churned.
If only I could look away from that dark ugly scab.
The Duke and Henway stepped up to the Prince. I tried to stay back, but the guards pushed Ryan and me closer.
“The Prince’s magic is more powerful than your ax,” Henway said to me. “He learned magic from me. Studied his entire life. And his magic is more powerful than anyone dreamed. His magic allows him to live on even though you chopped off his head.”
“But — but —” I sputtered. I felt sick. The room tilted and spun.
“Your Excellency,” the Duke said, sweeping back his robe to take a deep bow. “I am pleased to report that we have captured the two assassins.”
“They were caught with the weapon in their hands,” Henway added.
The headless Prince froze for a long moment. Then he raised his ruffled sleeve and began to write furiously on the parchment in front of him.
The quill made a scratchy sound as he wrote, leaning over the table. When he finished writing, he lowered the quill. Then he raised the parchment so we could read what he had written:
WHERE IS MY HEAD?
“We don’t know!” I cried in a high, shrill voice. The words just blurted out. “We don’t know anything about this! Please — believe us!”
“We don’t belong here!” Ryan said. “We don’t even know where we are!”
We were screaming at a headless man!
He shook the sheet of parchment in one hand. Then he pointed to his words again:
WHERE IS MY HEAD?
“We don’t know! Really!” I cried.
He jabbed his finger at the parchment again. And again.
WHERE IS MY HEAD?
Then he lowered the parchment to the table and began to write again. His hand moved quickly across the page. When he finished it, he raised it for us to read:
WHY DID YOU TAKE MY HEAD?
I was too frightened to reply. I knew I’d be seeing that horrible stump in my dreams. If I lived long enough to have dreams!
I turned to Ryan. His eyes were covered by his sunglasses. But I could still see the fear on his face. He couldn’t speak, either.
“Will you not answer Prince Warwick’s question?” Henway demanded.
The Duke played with the scar down the side of his face. “I’d be willing to bet that I could get them to talk,” he said.
He turned to the Prince. “Sometimes pain will loosen the tongue. Perhaps, Your Excellency, they will answer your question after a few hours in the torture chamber!”
“Ohhh!” A terrified moan escaped my throat.
The Prince shook his whole body as if saying no.
Then he began to write furiously once again. A few seconds later, he held up what he had written:
DO NOT WASTE TIME. TAKE THEM TO THE EXECUTIONER. BRING ME THEIR HEADS WHEN HE HAS FINISHED.
“No — please!” Ryan choked out in a hoarse voice. “Please — believe us! We’re telling you the truth!”
“We don’t know anything!” I cried. “Please —”
I jerked one arm loose from the guard’s strong grip. Then I twisted my body hard, trying to free myself from the guard at my other side.
But he held on tight. Both guards tightened their grips on my shoulders.
I couldn’t move.
I turned to the Duke and the Wizard. “You have to help us. You have the wrong people. You’re making a big mistake.”
Henway frowned at us and brushed a hand through his white beard. “YOU made the mistake,” he said softly.
The Duke bowed to the headless Prince again. “We must follow our Prince’s command,” he said. “We are his loyal servants.”
“Prince Warwick is only being fair,” Henway said. “A head for a head. Can you argue with that?”
“Yes!” I said.
I started to say more. But a guard clapped his hand over my mouth. And spun me around.
What happened next was a blur of long, dark halls … grim portraits of frowning royalty … dizzying twists and turns … flickering torchlight….
… And the thumping … thumping … thumping of my heartbeats. Every muscle in my body tightened with fear. My eyes blurred. Red spots darted in front of me. My legs felt rubbery and weak.
I knew Ryan was close beside me. But I was too terrified to look at him or to speak to him. Too terrified to think!
And then there we were. Outdoors. I felt the heat of the late afternoon sun.
Where had they dragged us? I gazed around at gray stone walls. We were on a roof. Maybe a roof of one of the castle towers. We were walled in on all four sides. The surface of the roof was black and sticky like tar.
Guards in black-and-red uniforms stood stiffly against the wall. They rested the points of their lances on the fl
oor and carried round metal shields in front of them.
I saw a wooden platform, about two feet tall, I guessed.
The Duke and the Wizard stepped up to the platform. The wind ruffled their purple robes. The Duke’s bald head gleamed in the sunlight.
And then a man stepped out from behind a low wall. I knew who he was just by looking at him. He was big, with a broad, bare chest and huge biceps. His legs were as thick as tree trunks, covered in ragged black pants that came down to his worn black boots. He wore a black mask over his head. I could see dark eyes behind the eye slits. He had a long-handled ax gripped tightly in one of his huge hands.
He was the executioner.
And the platform was the chopping block.
Ryan pushed up close to me. I could see the goose bumps on his arms. His whole body shuddered. “That guy … he looks like a comic-book executioner,” he whispered.
“But … this isn’t a comic book,” I choked out.
I stared at the ax as the executioner swung it onto his massive shoulder. The broad blade caught the sunlight and glowed as if on fire.
“The girl will go first,” the Duke of Earle said with a wave of his hand. “Do you have any last words?”
“Last words?” Hot tears ran down my cheeks. “H-here are my last words,” I stammered. “Ryan and I have been telling the truth. My name is Jessica Bowen, and he is Ryan Chang. We come from a city called Tampa, Florida. I’m not sure, but I think we live in the future. We are just kids. We do not belong here. We —”
“Enough!” Henway shouted. “We do not have time for fairy tales! Your stories do not convince us, girl!”
He gave the executioner a wave. “Chop off her head. Let justice be served.”
Two guards pushed me to my knees. Then they forced my head over the chopping block.
“Please —” I gasped.
“This will teach you a lesson,” Henway said.
I could see only the hem of his robe. And the boots of the guards. And the tar on the roof where my head would soon roll.
I felt a whir of hot air. A shadow swept over me as the executioner raised his ax high.
I shut my eyes. I held my breath.
Can this really be happening to me? I asked myself.
Above me, I heard the executioner groan as he prepared to swing the ax down.
Suddenly, I had a desperate idea.
“One last word!” I screamed. “Give me one last word!”
The shadow of the ax swept over me again as the executioner lowered it to his side.
The guards loosened their hold. I lifted my head from the chopping block.
My heart pounded like thunder inside my chest. My head throbbed.
Could I really do this?
Henway gazed down at me. “Do you have a final word of apology for your crime?” he demanded.
I turned to the Duke. His purple robe flapped in the wind. He frowned down at me, hands folded in front of him.
“Did you say you like to bet?” I asked him.
He nodded. “Well … yes. I have been known to make a wager from time to time.”
I glanced at Ryan. Did he catch on to my plan?
I couldn’t see his face. He was surrounded by guards.
“There will be no gambling while we are carrying out the Prince’s orders,” Henway said sternly. “Alfred, you have been warned about your gambling again and again.”
I ignored him and kept my eyes on the Duke. He stepped closer. I could see that I had grabbed his interest.
“Have you ever bet on a coin toss?” I asked him.
A thin smile played over his lips. “Perhaps,” he replied.
I took a deep breath.
Could this plan actually work?
I knew I’d have to use my best acting skills.
“I enjoy betting, too,” I said. “Would you like to bet on a coin toss?”
The Wizard grabbed the Duke’s sleeve. “Alfred — stop this at once!” he snapped.
The Duke stepped closer. He pulled me to my feet. His eyes gazed into mine.
“A coin toss?” he said softly. “I can never resist a coin toss. But I should warn you, I seldom lose.”
“The Prince will not approve,” Henway scolded. “Your endless gambling must stop!”
The Duke gave him a gentle push out of the way. “And what is the nature of this bet?” he asked me, eyes flashing.
“Simple,” I replied. “If you win the toss, carry out the execution. Chop off our heads.”
He rubbed his chin. “And if you win the toss?”
“Then you will spare our lives,” I said.
“Enough of this!” Henway barked. “Stop this at once, Alfred! I shall not allow it!”
The Duke’s smile grew wider. “It sounds like a fair bet. I will agree to it,” he said. “But you must know that I will win. I am very lucky. You are delaying your fate for only a few moments.”
My hand trembled as I reached into my shorts pocket. My fingers were shaking so hard, I nearly dropped the gold coin.
I held the coin up in front of the Duke. “Shall I toss it?” I asked.
He nodded. “Proceed.”
I took a deep breath. Then I flipped the coin into the air. “Heads, I win!” I cried.
We all watched it come down. It bounced once on the roof, then stuck in the tar surface.
The Duke leaned down to see the result. He uttered a groan. “Heads. You win, girl.” He pounded his fists against the sides of his legs. “How is this possible? I never lose!”
He made a grab for the coin. But I picked it up first and stuffed it back in my pocket before he could examine it. Then I pumped my fists in the air. “We win!”
“We win! We win!” Ryan cried, jumping up and down.
But our celebration didn’t last long.
Henway scowled at the Duke and brushed him out of the way. “I am sorry,” the Wizard said, his cold eyes locked on mine. “But I cannot allow the Duke’s foolish wager to stand.”
He motioned to the big man beside the chopping block. “Executioner, prepare your ax!”
“No!” I shouted.
The Duke turned angrily to the Wizard and stuck out his chest. “A wager is a wager,” he said.
Henway shook his head. “It was an improper wager.”
“I do not care,” the Duke shot back. “My honor is at stake! I must keep my word.”
Henway ran a hand through his thick white hair.
I had my fingers crossed tightly. Who was going to win this argument?
Henway let out a disgusted sigh. “Very well. Be a fool,” he snapped at the Duke. “Spare their lives.”
Yes! We win! I thought.
But then Henway added: “Take them to the castle dungeon. After a few days down there, they will beg us to chop off their heads!”
Huh? Ryan and I exchanged glances. The dungeon? I could feel my heart drop into my stomach. A frightened cry escaped my throat.
A few seconds later, the sunlight disappeared behind us. We were forced down deep, dark stairways. The stones were damp and covered with slimy green moss.
Ryan and I kept slipping on the hard, slick stairs. The guards held on to us to keep us from falling.
The air grew cold and sour. Chill after chill shook my body.
Deeper into the castle. The only sound was our shoes and the guards’ boots thudding on the slippery stones.
Henway had gone off by himself. But the Duke followed us down. He rattled the dungeon keys in his robe as we made our way.
Finally, we stepped out into a low chamber. I squinted, trying to see. The room was lit by only a few flickering candles. Our shoes scraped over crackling, dry straw.
I stared into the deep shadows. And heard the groans and moans of dungeon prisoners.
“Hungry! Hungry! Hungry!” a hoarse voice repeated. “Did you bring any num-nums? Any num-nums?”
I heard a scratching sound in the straw at my feet. I jumped as something scrambled over my shoe.
A rat?
I squeezed Ryan’s arm. His whole body was trembling.
The guards forced us through a curtain of thick cobwebs. I brushed the sticky webbing from my face.
And saw an endless row of cells. They marched us down the row. I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t bear to see the ragged men in their cages, sprawled on the floor or clinging to the bars.
My whole body shook as they forced us to the last cage at the very end. The cell bars were rusted black. The floor had thick, matted piles of straw. Even from outside, I could see fat black insects crawling in the straw.
The air felt thick and heavy. I could hear the buzzing of flies.
The Duke handed the keys to a guard. The guard turned a key in the lock and pulled open the cell door. The door squeaked as it slid open.
The guards gave Ryan and me a hard push into the cell. Ryan tumbled into the wooden bench. I fell facedown into the straw.
“Ohhh, sick!” I groaned as prickly bugs crawled over my face.
I jumped to my feet, slapping at my cheeks. I brushed bugs off the front of my T-shirt. My whole body started to itch.
The cell door slammed. I turned and watched the Duke leading the guards away.
“Hey — come back!” Ryan shouted. He grabbed the bars at the front of the cell and poked his face out. “Come back! How long do we have to stay in here?”
“You won your bet. We spared your lives. Why are you complaining?” the Duke called. Then he disappeared into the darkness.
All around us, men howled and shouted. In the corner of our cell, I saw the skeleton of a small animal. Bugs swarmed over the bones.
“Hungry! Johnny is hungry!” a man moaned from somewhere down the long row of cells. “Johnny is hungry. Who will feed Johnny?”
“We — we can’t stay here,” I stammered. “We have to get out.”
Ryan nodded but didn’t say anything. He hugged himself, trying to stop the shakes.
“This is too weird,” I murmured. “We have to think of something.”
Suddenly, a face appeared in the cell next to ours. A pale, bald man with gray eyes sunken deep in their sockets. He opened his mouth, and I saw that he had no teeth. “I am innocent,” he said in a horrible, raspy whisper like chalk on a chalkboard. “My name is Innocent. My mother named me Innocent. So how can I be guilty?”
