The Hero's Guide to Storming the Castle

by Christopher Healy

  “Heh-heh,” Mr. Troll chuckled. “Nobody young as used to be. That scientifically impossible.”

  Up on the wall, Jezek had been instructing the archers to dip their arrows in sleeping potion before launching them. The last twenty arrows to hit Maude had all been tainted. And more were hitting her by the second.

  “Seriously, troll,” said Maude, struggling to her feet, her eyelids fluttering. “I think I’m going to . . .” With a thunderous thud, the giantess fell flat onto her back, and a massive dust cloud cloaked everything.

  “How much longer?” Lila wailed from the bottom of the Snake Hole. The tight space was feeling tighter by the second, and she feared she was about to stop breathing altogether.

  “I think another five minutes or so should be plenty of time,” Ella said. “Assuming everything has gone according to plan down in the dungeon.”

  “Um, guys?” Duncan called.

  “What is it, Duncan?” Ella asked.

  “The snake is gone,” Duncan replied.

  Ella and Gustav turned around to see that, indeed, the giant sand snake was no longer tied around the railing.

  Gustav growled and stomped his feet.

  “Did you see what happened?” Ella asked.

  “Well, first it squiggled, and then it wriggled, and then, I believe, it jiggled—”

  “Duncan!” Ella shouted.

  “It turned back into the man with lots of drawings on his body,” Duncan said. “And then he ran to the other side of the dome.”

  “Stay with Lila,” Ella said, drawing her sword. Then she and Gustav ran in the direction Duncan had pointed—where they found themselves face-to-face with Madu. And Vero. And Falco. And Deeb Rauber. And two other random bandits whose names, frankly, aren’t worth mentioning.

  26

  A HERO TELLS IT LIKE IT IS

  If you want something, the best way to get it is to just ask. If that doesn’t work, you can always fall back on a fully armed twelve-person assault team.

  —THE HERO’S GUIDE TO BEING A HERO

  Down in the dungeon, squatting on the cold, booger-encrusted floor of his dark cell, Liam suddenly stood bolt upright. He’d been struck by an idea. An actual idea. For the first time in more than a week. Was it a good idea? He didn’t know. He was still having a hard time trusting himself. But when he looked across the cellblock at the pitiful state of his friend, he knew he had to give it a try.

  “Frederic, how long do you think the circus has been going on?” he asked.

  “Huh?” Frederic said, looking up. “A little over an hour, probably. Why are you asking me this right now? So openly?”

  “Yes, what do you care about that worthless show?” Wrathgar asked, sitting stone-still on his stool.

  “So you think the others have probably succeeded by now?” Liam asked Frederic.

  “What others?” Wrathgar asked.

  “Liam,” Frederic said out of the corner of his mouth. “You-know-who is sitting right there.”

  “He knows I hear him,” the dungeon master said. “What are you up to?” He leaned forward on his seat, his eyes darting from one prince to the other.

  Liam ignored him. “Well, Frederic, I’m going to assume our friends have succeeded in their mission,” he said. “Which means it’s time for us to get out of these cells. Here, catch!” He stood and brought his arm forward as if he were about to throw something.

  Wrathgar jumped up, toppling his stool, and stepped in front of Liam’s cell. Liam quickly hid his hands behind his back.

  “What are you playing at?” Wrathgar barked. “Show me your hands.”

  Liam brought his arms forward but kept his hands cupped together.

  “You must have heard how much I love smart-aleck prisoners,” Wrathgar said. “Open them! Before I open you.”

  Liam parted his hands just the slightest bit.

  “Show me!” Wrathgar raged.

  Liam held his hands right up to the cell door and uncupped them, revealing a miniscule flea sitting in his palm.

  “Huh?”

  When Wrathgar pressed his face up against the bars to get a better look, Liam yanked both long, ponytail-like strands of the dungeon master’s mustache into his cell and tied them together.

  “I did it!” Liam shouted triumphantly. “I’ve got him trapped. Now to get the keys.” Aiming his fist squarely between the bars, Liam punched the huge man in the face.

  “OWWWW!” Liam howled, shaking his aching hand. “His skull is so hard!”

  Fuming, Wrathgar whipped his head backward. The knotted facial hair ripped away. Both Liam and Frederic gasped.

  “Rraghh! It’s going to take days to grow that mustache back,” Wrathgar snarled. Too angry to bother with keys, he tore Liam’s cell door straight off its hinges and tossed it into the corridor with a sonorous clang. Liam pressed himself up against the back wall of his cell. He was cornered.

  “You die now,” Wrathgar said.

  And then the dungeon keeper felt a thin, pointy finger tapping at his back. “Hey, Ugly,” a voice called from behind him. As he spun around, Briar splashed her bottle of sleeping potion into his face, dousing him with the pinkish liquid.

  Fig. 38

  WRATHGAR, raging

  “What the—?” Wrathgar fell onto the floor, snoring.

  “Briar!” Liam shouted. “Why are you dressed like a clown? What are you even doing here?”

  “Saving your sorry butt, apparently,” she said. “Oh, and you’re welcome, by the way.”

  “Quit the charade,” Liam said. “You snuck in here to get to the sword before us.”

  “Then why aren’t I already in the vault?” she shot back.

  “Because you saw Wrathgar and knew he’d get in the way of your escape,” Liam said.

  “What did you do to him, by the way?” Frederic asked, peeking out of his cell.

  Briar held up the tiny bottle. “Sleeping potion.”

  “You just threw it at him?” Liam asked.

  “What was I supposed to do, offer it to him in a teacup?” Briar snapped.

  “Never mind. I guess we’re all working together now,” said Liam. He crouched down by Wrathgar. “Ella and Gustav should have the vault open by this point, so let’s grab the dungeon keys and get Frederic out of there.”

  “Nah-ah-ah,” Briar said. She placed her curly-toed shoe on Liam’s shoulder and pushed him away from the snoozing dungeon master. “You see, I trust you about as much as you trust me. You and I are going to get the sword first. As long as you behave yourself and don’t try to double-cross me along the way, we’ll free your friend on our way back.”

  “And if I don’t agree?” Liam said, staring her down.

  Briar waved the potion bottle in his face. “Thirsty?”

  “Just go,” Frederic said. “We don’t have time to argue. I don’t know how long Wrathgar will be out.”

  Liam and Briar dashed off together.

  Outside, the dust was finally beginning to settle around the Wall of Secrecy.

  “I think I can see the giant again,” one of the archers called out, peering through the thinning cloud of dirt particles to spy Maude lying unconscious on her back. “Yep, still down.”

  “Hit it with a few more to be safe,” Jezek ordered. “Anybody see the troll?”

  “Um, I do,” one bandit reported. “He’s bouncing.”

  Mr. Troll had climbed up onto Maude’s big belly and was using it as a springboard, sending himself higher upward with every bounce, until finally he launched himself at the wall. He soared through the air and landed on the ramparts, where he immediately tossed two of the bandits down a long flight of steps to the courtyard below.

  “Shoot it! Shoot it!” Jezek yelled.

  “Sir, I’m sorry to have to be the one to explain this to you,” one archer said, “but we have bows and arrows. They’re made for long-range combat. Long-range. They don’t work so well when the enemy is right in front of you. For that you need melee weapons, by which I mea
n swords and clubs and other such things that you could use for close-range fiiiiiiiiiiiiii—”

  And Mr. Troll tossed him off the wall.

  Like a shaggy green whirlwind, Mr. Troll whipped through the archers, howling and snapping their bows to pieces.

  “It’s you and me, Troll!” Jezek shouted. He flexed his neck. “Let’s go.”

  Mr. Troll dropped the archers he was holding and nodded at Jezek. “Troll like that.”

  On the circus stage, Ruffian paid no heed to the balls and rubber chickens bouncing off his head. Briar was paying him to keep an eye on the Warlord, so that was all he was doing. He was growing increasingly disturbed, though, by Deeb Rauber’s absence. If the boy was headed where Ruffian thought he might be . . . well, Briar’s instructions didn’t matter much anymore.

  Without a word, Ruffian turned and walked backstage. The rolling pin Snow threw in his direction landed harmlessly on the ground.

  Snow looked up from her basket of chuckable goodies. She was entirely alone onstage. And three hundred bandits, plus the Warlord of Dar, were watching her.

  “I found it!” Liam shouted as he spotted the vault, its thick steel door wide-open.

  “Yes!” Briar shoved past Liam to run ahead.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Liam cried, grabbing her clown-suit ribbons and pulling her back. They wrestled each other through the threshold of the vault and tumbled into deep piles of gold and jewels. Treasures were scattered everywhere, priceless artifacts lay haphazardly on their sides as if they were toys carelessly tossed into a closet by an untidy child (which is basically what had happened to them). There was no mounted glass case for the Sword of Erinthia here—the priceless artifact had simply been plopped into a random bucket of coins. But at least it was easy to find.

  “Get off me,” Briar snapped as she and Liam rolled on the floor.

  “You won’t get that gem,” he spat back.

  Briar reached for the sword, but as she did, Liam snatched the bottle of sleeping potion from her.

  Fig. 39

  The SWORD, finally

  “Ha!” Liam shouted. “Ha! Ha! And once more, ha! Your plan to ruin my plan to ruin your plan just backfired.” He flicked the bottle at her, spattering her with all of the remaining sleeping potion. Which was two tiny drops. They dappled the front of her clown suit harmlessly.

  “Crud,” he grumbled. “I thought there was more in there.”

  Briar reached over and plucked the Sword of Erinthia from its bucket. “Don’t be sad that you’re a loser, Liam,” she said. “Be happy you’re married to a winner like me. Now, shall we leave?”

  And that was when the vault door suddenly slammed shut, locking them inside.

  27

  A HERO INVITES THE VILLAIN TO DROP IN

  Never regret anything. (If that turns out to be bad advice, I sincerely apologize.)

  —THE HERO’S GUIDE TO BEING A HERO

  Lila was standing on the switch in the pitch blackness. Humming to herself. Trying not to panic. “It’s just like having my eyes closed,” she told herself. She closed her eyes. “Yeah, see? Nothing scary about having your eyes closed.” Then she opened her eyes, saw that it was just as dark, and wanted to cry.

  Suddenly she felt herself being jerked upward. The rope was being reeled in from above. As soon as her foot came off the lever, it snapped back into its “lock” position. Gears turned, poles shifted, and five stories below, the vault slammed shut. But Lila didn’t care anymore. She was finally getting out of that horrible hole.

  “Thanks, Duncan,” she said as her eyes readjusted to the sunlight. “So, what happened with Ella and the . . .”

  “Hello, my little wagon driver,” Vero said. “I did not expect to find you at the end of this long rope.”

  Lila gasped. Ella, Gustav, and Duncan had their hands tied behind their backs, held against the dome at sword point by Madu, Falco, and the two other random bandits. Deeb Rauber looked on.

  “Don’t worry,” Ella yelled. “It’ll be all right.”

  “Put a sock in it, cousin,” Rauber said. He strode back and forth in front of his new prisoners, his hands clasped together behind his back and his nose high in the air. “You know, Ella, you and I are family. If you wanted to come visit my new place, you could have just asked. I would have had a nice little room made up for you—in the dungeon!”

  He laughed. The two bandit foot soldiers laughed with him. Vero, however, did not; he had noticed how Madu and Falco rolled their eyes at Rauber’s corny joke.

  “What’s wrong, Vero?” Rauber asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Sense of humor gone dry?”

  “Oh, no, sir,” the swordsman responded. “Perhaps something was just lost in translation, yes?”

  “Whatever. Tie up the girl,” Rauber said. Vero held Lila’s hands behind her back and bound them together.

  “Who is the, uh, young lady, anyway?” Rauber continued.

  “I’m Lila, Liam’s sister. And I hope you realize that if you do anything to me or my brother, your sorry excuse for a kingdom will be at war with Erinthia.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Rauber retorted. “It’ll kinda depend on how the bards decide to tell the tale. I’m a very popular villain. And the League of Dunces are not very popular heroes.”

  Snow was frozen in the spotlight. She’d been doing so well, she thought. But that was before she’d been left alone. Now what was she supposed to do? She wasn’t used to having to make decisions on her own.

  The audience was booing. “Bah! It’s starting to stink again,” yelled one burly bandit, and he hurled an empty grog bottle at Snow.

  She raised her hand and, with astounding finesse, caught the bottle. Not knowing what else to do with it, she threw it back at the bandit. It smashed across his face and knocked him off his seat.

  The crowd roared.

  Fig. 40

  AUDIENCE, PARTICIPATION

  Another bandit shouted, “Catch this, clown,” and winged a mealy apple at Snow. She spun around and caught it easily, then whipped it back at him. Several audience members began throwing vegetables, flatware, and other various doodads at Snow; and—with twirls, flips, and hops in between—she caught and tossed back every one. The bandits were laughing and clapping as Snow bounced around the stage, using those gifted arms of hers in a juggling act with the entire audience.

  “I didn’t even know I was good at this,” Snow said, grinning uncontrollably. “But I’m really good at this!”

  The only person not amused was Lord Rundark.

  Frederic was pondering the possibility of trying to reach Wrathgar’s keys with a stretched-out sock when he heard footsteps running toward the cellblock. He braced himself for the worst.

  “Rapunzel?”

  “Frederic!” she said in a horrified whisper as she ran to him. She stopped when she saw Wrathgar lying in her path. “Is that a person?”

  “Yes, a mean one,” Frederic said. “Whatever you do, don’t cry on him.”

  They briefly filled each other in on their situations as Rapunzel crouched beside the fallen dungeon master and gingerly unclasped the key ring from his belt. She ran to Frederic’s cell and tried one key after another, until finally the door opened and she threw her arms around him, her cheeks smearing his shirt with berry stains (not that he minded at that moment).

  “Hurry,” he said. “We need to catch up to Liam and Briar.”

  Together they darted through the dungeon corridors until they reached the vault.

  “Oh, no, it’s closed,” Frederic said.

  “I guess Lila never got it open,” Rapunzel said.

  Then they heard muffled voices from behind the thick steel door. Very unhappy voices.

  “No,” said Frederic. “She did.”

  “We wouldn’t be in this predicament if you’d been smart enough not to hire the Gray Phantom,” Briar snarled, kicking over a stack of gold doubloons.

  “I could have gotten the sword out of the vault in time if you ha
dn’t been so bent on reaching it before me,” Liam retorted.

  “Who are you kidding? You’d have been smashed to bits by that monster if I hadn’t come along.”

  “I’d rather be back in a cell with him than locked here with you! What have we done all this for? How do we know the Gem even works?”

  Briar placed her thumb against the large orange stone at the base of the blade. “Punch yourself in the face,” she said.

  Liam punched himself in the face.

  “Satisfied?” Briar asked. She was about to remove her finger from the Gem but kept it there. “Tell me how you really feel about me.”

  “You are the most horrible person in the world,” Liam said. “You’ve destroyed my life. I wish I’d never kissed you and woke you from that spell. I’ve made a lot of mistakes over the years, but that was by far the worst. The world would have been better off without you.”

  Briar slid her thumb off the Gem. She suddenly had a terrible taste in her mouth.

  “Why did you even bring me and my friends into this?” Liam cried. “Why did you ask us to get the sword for you?”

  “Because I expected you to fail!” Briar blurted out. “I wanted the Djinn Gem. I wasn’t sure exactly what I would do with it when I got it—maybe take over the world, maybe use it to get the husband I wanted, maybe just use it to play mortifying jokes on people I don’t like—but all that really mattered was that I wanted it. I couldn’t send just anybody to retrieve it for me. If I hired a professional thief or mercenary—even Ruffian—that person might have kept the Gem and used it for himself. I had to make sure I was the one to steal it. But I couldn’t just break into the Bandit King’s castle on my own. I needed a distraction. And who is more distracting than the bumbling League of Princes? I recruited you to do this, Liam, because I knew you would mess up royally. That’s what the League does. And while you and your pals were causing your inevitable chaos around the castle, I could sneak in and grab the sword on my own.”