Shadewell Shenanigans (20 page)

There was a series of muffled yelps from beyond the great door, and they both heard the sound of many feet being driven back.

“Couple more should do it,” Gape cried, as an arrow sprouted from his right arm.

The guard captains had been sending men out from some secret entrance to attack them at intervals, but none of them seemed to know how to fight, and the two barbarians had swatted them away like flies, using their shield arms to fling them down the hillside. Most, Gape noticed, were simply taking one shot and running away. Pathetic.

Still, more were arriving every few minutes, and those that did were becoming bolder, hovering around the ram and attempting to drive blades into the Teethgrit armor. Thankfully, their aim was poor and Mr. Big’s armor was really,
really
good.

Groan and Gape dashed forward once more.

An eleventh thundering jolt hit the gate.

Back.

Back.

Back.

FORWARD.

A twelfth, and the gate gave a sickening creak … and crashed to the ground.

Groan and Gape dropped the log and stared in disbelief at the sight that greeted them.

Beyond the portal, there was a long line of soldiers, all of whom had dropped their weapons, and all of whom had parted to reveal a straight road through Phlegm …

… leading up to the keep.

Groan and Gape glanced at each other, and stepped boldly forward.

“T
HE CITY’S UNDER ATTACK,
and I’ve changed my mind,” Pegrand muttered, reaching up to unlock Susti’s manacles and lifting the princess down onto her feet. “It’s not right,
any
of it … and you were spot on about my not being appreciated.”

Susti grinned down at the manservant as he untied her feet, then she and Pegrand set to work on the bonds of the sleeping king.

“To think: I’ve stood by him through thick and thin. All that business with the virgin sacrifices, the ratastrophe catastrophe, even the Yowler foul-up, and what thanks do I get? It makes me mad—”

“And so it should,” Susti said, as Pegrand finished working on the king’s bonds and hurried over to Bronwyn.

King Phew stared Wearily around him. “W-what’s happening?”

“We’re getting out, Father.”

Phew slumped onto his knees. “Not again,” he begged. “Please, I’m not up to it.”

Susti smiled warmly. “Relax,” she said. “The duke has other things to worry about.”

Bronwyn shook out her hair as Pegrand helped her down.

“Thank you,” she said, rushing over to Susti and wiping some dust from her mistress’s dress. “Are we on the run again, ma’am?”

“I’m afraid so, Bronwyn. We just don’t quite know where
to,
this time.”

“I do,” said Pegrand distractedly. “We’re going to
deal
with the duke.”

“Groan Teethgrit,” Modeset said to the general, from their vantage point atop the battlements of the keep. “I assume we have the wildman to thank for his return. Hmm … remind me to hunt down those two guards and execute them, would you?”

“Yes, sir,” Crikey growled, watching as the Teethgrit brothers marched up the deserted street toward the keep.

“Tell me, General,” Modeset continued, turning his head ever so slightly to consider the officer’s face. “Why is it that your men are simply
allowing
them through?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Can it be that their allegiance is even more easily swayed at night than it is during the daytime?”

“I—”

“Don’t have clue,” Modeset finished. “No, you don’t, but you’re about to learn, General. You see, if you want something done in this life, generally speaking, you have to do it yourself.”

The duke just managed to raise the giant sentry harpoon, and hefted it onto the buttress. Crikey swallowed a few times and massaged his aching neck.

“Highness, are you absolutely—”

Modeset took aim …

“—sure?”

… and fired.

Gordo Goldeaxe had run from a lot of guards in his life, but he’d never run
after
any before.

“Where are they going?” Stump asked, hurrying along behind him with the head of Loogie Lambontroff bouncing at his waist.

Gordo shrugged and quickened his pace. “How should I know?” he said. “There’s obviously something far more exciting going on at the main gate. Let’s hope they broke through, eh?”

“Yeah,” Stump said, jogging along. “Mind you, they might end up facing moeraaaaghhhhhhhhhh!”

“Mo who?” said Gordo, who suddenly realized he was running on his own, and backtracked to the edge of a very deep pit.

“Stump?”

“Yeah,” came a distant voice.

Gordo shook his head. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “Do you go looking for these holes, or what?”

His words echoed.

“No, I was too busy talking to you to see the damn thing!”

“Can you climb out?”

“Er—”

There came the noise of frantic scrambling.

“—No. Sorry.”

“But you’ve got the rest of the arrows!”

“I know; but there’s not a hell of a lot I can do about it now.”

“Terrific,” Gordo shouted. “Absolutely terrific. I’ll just leave you down there, then. Shall I?”

“Probably your best bet,” Stump yelled back. “I—wait—what a stroke of luck! There’s a tunnel down here. Looks like it leads away from the city. I might just follow it …”

Gordo rolled his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling I won’t see you again for a while?”

“I don’t know what you mean!” Stump shouted. “Still, looking on the bright side, at least I’ve got company.”

“Oh, joy,” echoed the voice of Loogie Lambontroff.

“I’ll see you around,” Stump called again, but Gordo had already gone.

“You would’ve have thought,” Modeset said, shoving the harpoon toward General Crikey, “that the chances of him catching that harpoon were about five hundred to one against. It just shows you.”

“Er, with respect, Highness, he didn’t catch the harpoon—it stuck in his armor and he pulled it out.”

Modeset shrugged. “Well, even
so
—”

They both glanced down at Groan Teethgrit, who had taken the drawbridge across the moat and was advancing on the keep’s portcullis, bending the duke’s harpoon in half. His brother had already set to work on the portcullis, jamming his swords through the grid in an effort to draw the mechanism’s chain toward him.

Crikey returned his attention to the duke, who was staring expectantly at him.

“Well?” Modeset said.

“Well what, Highness?”

“Reload the damn crossbow! Grief, and I thought Pegrand was slow—”

“Actually, I’m not that slow, milord,” said a voice, and Modeset felt a hand lift the pistol from his belt. He spun around and came face-to-face with the barrel end.

General Crikey was so shocked that he dropped the harpoon over the wall.

Groan peered up at the keep’s battlements, saw the harpoon plummeting down, and dived at Gape, knocking his brother away from the portcullis in the nick of time.

“Careful,” he warned the warrior as he pulled him back onto his feet. “They’re frowin’ stuff down now.”

“Thanks, brother.”

“F’get it; we re even.”

Gape nodded. “Look,” he said, pointing at the portcullis. “I got the chain through; we can raise it.”

“Yeah. I reckon—NO!”

Groan saw the danger just in time: a pot of boiling oil had been rigged up to fall when the portcullis was raised.

The giant barbarian leaped sideways, attempting to grab hold of his brother’s arm in the process. He failed.

The oil poured down over Gape, who let out a shocked scream and collapsed to the ground.

Groan, meanwhile, had tripped in his hurry to escape the oil and had toppled over the drawbridge, where he hung mere feet above the shark-infested moat. For a moment, he simply hung there, motionless, not wanting to raise himself because of the sight he would inevitably see when he did.

Eventually, the mental images of a crispy-fried Gape became too much, and he pulled himself back onto the drawbridge …

… to see Gape standing under the keep’s raised portcullis, nonchalantly wiping oil from his shoulders.

“’ere,” Groan said, not able to the stop the relief from showing in his smile. “I fort you was burned.”

Gape looked himself up and down. “Tell me about it,” he said. “There was a slight pain at first, and then … nothing. I guess that fire demon did me a favor when it bit me.”

“Yeah,” Groan boomed. “I reckon it did.”

“What on Illmoor do you think you’re doing?” Modeset demanded, turning red with rage as Pegrand stuck the pistol under his chin.

“I’m taking back the kingdom,” his manservant said.

Susti, Bronwyn, and the king appeared on the buttresses. They were all armed with crossbows.

“Y-you can’t be serious!” Modeset spat. “What is the meaning of this treachery?”

Pegrand sniffed. “Treachery is easy,” he said, nodding toward Crikey. “Just ask him.”

“B-but why, damn it!”

“Because I’m fed up with you, milord, and I’m sick to the back teeth of your stupid, whining voice in my head. I’ve stood by your side through thick and thin, followed your every whim, and faced one flamin’ calamity after another.” He snatched hold of the duke’s robe. “And now I can honestly, finally say,
milord,
that your stinking rotten attitude gets right on my tits.”

Modeset was shaking with embarrassment. “Y-you’ve never said anything before.”

“No,” Pegrand agreed with a sigh. “That’s because I could never get a word in edgewise.” He tightened his grip on the gun and pulled back the linchpin. “But now the tables are turned, aren’t they? Because I can talk all I want, and you have to listen!”

Modeset gulped.

“I know,” Pegrand observed. “Horrible, isn’t it? Now move your sorry excuse for a—”

“Wait!” Modeset held up a placating hand. “Pegrand, if you turn that gun around, I promise I’ll reward you well …”

The manservant glanced behind him at the king, and at Bronwyn. Then he saw Susti smiling confidently, and returned his attention to the duke.

“I’m sorry, milord,” he said. “No deal.”

Modeset, however, had caught the flicker in his servant’s eye.

“I don’t believe this!” he exclaimed, a grin suddenly spreading across his face. “You wouldn’t be falling for the good princess, would you, Pegrand?”

The manservant swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, mil—”

“You
are,
aren’t you? You’re actually in love with Sissy.”

“It’s Susti,” said Susti, flushing.

“Have you gone completely out of your mind?” Modeset laughed. “What on Illmoor makes you think that a beautiful young girl would look twice at an aging ferret like you?”

Pegrand glanced from Susti’s smiling face to Modeset’s mocking scowl, and took a deep breath. “Flicka looked twice at you, milord.”

Every muscle in Modeset’s face dropped.

“I—”

“Well, didn’t she?”

“As you will recall, Pegrand,” the duke said deliberately. “That relationship didn’t exactly work out.”

“Yes, milord, and that was because you spent too much time and energy hankering after your lost kingdom. It’s comical, really; you turned your back on the one girl who actually thought something of you.”

“How dare—”

The trapdoor to the roof exploded outward, and Groan Teethgrit erupted from below, broadsword at the ready. Gape leaped out behind him, brandishing his blades in similar fashion.

There were a few seconds of brief confusion as Susti, Bronwyn, and the king made way for the warriors. It turned out to be just enough time for Modeset to seize the initiative: he swiftly snatched the pistol from Pegrand, then kicked him to the floor, and leveled the weapon at Groan.

“The mighty Groan Teethgrit,” he said, stepping over the prone manservant. “Long time, no see.”

Groan twirled his sword and nodded. “I never fanked you fer poisonin’ me an’ droppin’ a cage on me ’ead.”

Modeset grinned. “Well,” he said. “Now you have the perfect opportunity. Thank away, you moron!”

Gape raised his swords and lowered them again, as General Crikey produced a minicrossbow from his belt and pointed it in his specific direction.

Nobody moved.

“So what do we do now?” Modeset chirped.

Groan shrugged. “Shoot me,” he rumbled. “If ya got the guts.”

There was a moment of silence, then Modeset shook his head.

“I don’t
murder,
” he said. “I’m a duke; I have people to do that sort of thing for me. General, shoot that man!”

“I can’t, sir!” Crikey bleated. “I’m covering the other one.”

“Pegrand.” Modeset looked long and hard at the manservant, came to a swift decision, and threw him the pistol. “Redeem yourself!”

Pegrand snatched the weapon out of the air, panicked, and did what he thought was best. He tossed it to Susti.

The princess caught the pistol, grinned, and leveled it, pointing the weapon at everyone on the battlements in turn.

“No one is going to kill
anyone,
Duke Modeset,” she said. “There’s been enough bloodshed on your behalf already.”

“Not yet, there ain’t,” said Groan.

The giant barbarian raised his sword and stepped toward Modeset.

“Now, hold on—” said the duke.

“Get back!” warned Susti.

“Nah,” Groan boomed. “He’s gonna pay fer sendin’ me off after stuff that don’t exist.”

“It’s not just
me
you have to thank for that,” Modeset waffled.

Groan kept moving, but his brow was furrowed. “Eh?”

“They were all in on it: Phlegm, Legrash, Spittle, Sneeze, Dullitch! And you’ve only got yourself to blame. You, your spineless brother, and that cursed dwarf. You’re a curse on this entire continent.”

“An’ you’re dead meat,” said Groan, swinging the mighty broadsword in an experimental arc.

“I said STOP!” Susti demanded.

Groan turned his head to look at her. “I don’ like you no more,” he said. “You’re a
liar.
”

“Oh, don’t blame
her,
” Modeset said, regaining the warrior’s attention. “She didn’t know her little speech was faked.”

“I suppose that was your idea,” Gape muttered, his gaze still resting firmly on Crikey’s crossbow. “Still, the sweet princess served her purpose, didn’t she?”