How to Rescue a Dead Princess by Jeff Strand Page A

let the door drop open. Randy looked up into the attic, and then—
    * * * *

    STRONG ARMS pulled Randall out of the cold water and back to solid ground.
    “Your screams helped me relive an incident in my youth that unlocked my long-buried courage,” said the guard. “Thank you.”
    “You have to put me back in!” Randall insisted. “I was just about to confront something important in my childhood!”
    “No way. I've seen knights reduced to blubbering infants by those Ticklers. You want to confront your past, find some other near-death experience.”
    “I have to do this!” said Randall. “I have to know what was kept in the attic!”
    And with those fateful words, he leapt back into the hole in the bridge. The tickling began anew.
    * * * *

    “FUGGLE QUAMBLY riggi rigga zoop,” said Grandma, scratching one of her foreheads with a mustache somebody had dropped.
    “Unga,” replied Randy.
    “Geezeele yab.” Grandma closed the door to the worm-stretching room, then sat down to hatch an egg.
    * * * *

    RANDALL SNAPPED out of the distorted memory and began screaming for help. The tickling was getting out of control.
    “Oh, who wants assistance now?” asked the guard. “I wasn't good enough for you a minute ago, but now I'm your bestest friend in the whole world, huh?”
    “Please!” shouted Randall. “I can't take it anymore!”
    “What'll you give me?”
    “What do you want?”
    “I want a pony.”
    “Fine! I'll get you a pony! Just pull me out of here!”
    “A brown pony.”
    “Okay, okay! A brown pony!”
    “With a white streak.”
    “Forget that. I'm not going to spend all day looking for one with a white streak.”
    “All right, plain brown is good enough.” The guard went over and pulled Randall to dry land once more.
    “Thanks,” said Randall. “I forgot that you can't really start dreams up again if you wake up in the middle of them.”
    “Where's my pony?”
    “You'll get it before I leave. Could you show me the main entrance, please?”
    The guard escorted Randall to the main entrance. He walked across the bridge of stone and polished crystal and into the main courtyard, where dozens of people were enjoying the sunshine and going about their everyday business.
    Except for one short man with a beard, who was pointing at Randall and shouting with fury.
    “He's one of them! He's here to kill our king!”

Chapter 12

    The Happy Chapter

    FOR THE briefest of moments, Randall allowed himself to believe that the man might have been referring to somebody else. As it turned out, he was, but that didn't matter because the six guards in the near vicinity assumed he was pointing at Randall.
    “Get him!” one of the guards shouted.
    “Yeah, get him!” shouted another.
    “Good idea, let's get him!” shouted a third.
    “That's right, let's get him!” shouted a fourth.
    “I'm tired,” said a fifth.
    “It's settled then! We'll get him!” shouted a sixth.
    The guards drew their swords. Randall spun around just in time to see the gate to the main entrance slam shut. He was trapped like a lactating cow in the barn at milking time. The guards, who were in a semi-circle, began to advance upon him. Only fifty feet separated Randall from certain death.
    With a sinking heart, Randall realized that his depth perception was a bit out of whack, and it was actually twenty-five feet that separated him from certain death.
    The gap continued to close. Twenty feet.
    Randall tried to think of a way to escape. He was thankful the guards were moving fairly slowly instead of taking the more logical approach of moving fairly quickly, giving him time to work out a plan.
    Fifteen feet.
    If only he could reach the horse-drawn carriage at the far wall, he could leap upon it, subdue the driver, and ride the carriage to safety. But he wasn't even close to the carriage, didn't think he could make the leap, had no weapons with which to subdue the driver, and didn't see any safe place to ride the carriage.
    Ten feet.