The Princess Bride

s overburdened horse stopped. Had to. For there was now a wall of trees blocking any progress--

--and Inigo would not stop bleeding--

--and Westley would not start breathing--

--and Buttercup would not stop staring at him, her face lit with the hope that of all the creatures left stomping the earth, he, Fezzik, was the only one that could save her beloved and thereby stop her heart from shredding.

Fezzik at this heroic moment knew what he wanted most to do: suck his thumb forever. But since that was out of the question, he did the next best thing. He made a poem.





Fezzik's in trouble, bubble bubble,

His brain is just not in the pink.

His mind is rubble, rub-a-dub double,

Because everyone needs him to think.





Great work, no question, considering he was carrying two almost corpses on his stopped horse while the Princess was weeping, hoping for a miracle. Hmm. Fezzik went for a different rhyme scheme, hopeful it would jog something useful.





Great-armed Fezzik, blocked by trees,

Forget that she is crying.

Though lost (and that it's all your fault)

Forget that two are dying.



Mighty Fezzik, strong of brawn

Who most around think brainless,

All you have to do is spawn

A plan that will be painless.



Fezzik the fearless, Fezzik the wise,

Fezzik the wonder of the age,

Fezzik who--





The "who" is lost to time now.

Because it was at that moment of poetic inspiration that Prince Humperdinck's razor-sharp, metal-tipped arrow ripped through Fezzik's clothing on its way to his great heart....





ONCE HE REALIZED they had taken the left turning, Prince Humperdinck knew they were his. He turned to Yellin, the Chief Enforcer of Florin, a finger to his lips. Yellin raised a hand and the fifty trailing members of the Brute Squad slowed.

The moon's perfect yellow dusted the thickening trees. Humperdinck could not help but stare at their beauty. Only the trees of Florin could interrupt, however briefly, a blood hunt. Was there any place on earth with such trees, Humperdinck wondered? No; resoundingly no. They ranked among the treasures of the universe.

During the Prince's contemplative moment, Yellin gestured for the Brute Squad to get into their attack groups: the knifers here, the stranglers there, the crushers in between.

The Prince rounded the last small turning--and there in front of him, so beautifully framed by the perfect trees, was the death tableau. His weeping runaway bride, the two still men on the buckling horse, held there in the arms of the giant. "Damn," he told himself. "If only I'd brought the Royal Sketcher." Well, he would just have to hold this in memory.

In the Prince's world, the world of scourge and pain, there was still great controversy who to initially attack. Should the nearest be selected? Or should it be the leader? Clearly Westley was that, but at the moment, a frail one at best. And the other still man must have had power, since he had killed Rugen--not the easiest task. It was standard to leave the women for last, they were not expert at blood; they also whimpered and looked to the Heavens for escape--always good for chuckles around future campfires.

Leaving the giant.

The Prince unsheathed his bow, selected his sharpest metal tip, made the insertion. He was a great archer, but at night, with moonlight and shadow, he was a good deal more. He had not missed a night kill in ever so long.

An inhale for balance.

A final smile to the trees.

Then the pull back, the release, and the arrow was on its straight way. The Prince held his breath until he saw the arrow rip the cloth of the giant, at the heart site.

The giant cried out loud in shock and fell backward off his horse.

As he fell, Yellin led the Brute charge and the Battle of the Trees, brief though it was, was on--the fifty Brutes at full cry charging the three men lying sprawled on the ground, the lone woman trying to somehow hold them all in her arms....

As her attackers came eyeball close, Buttercup had this thought: if she had to die, what better way existed than with her true love in her arms and the beauty of her beloved Florinese trees covering her with their branches? Even as a child, nothing pleased her more than the glorious trees at the bottom of her farm, and when her chores for the day were done, that is where she went to wander so happily. What peace they gave. And they would continue to give that peace to her fellow Florinese forever and--

***

Time out. Can you believe that last paragraph? Buttercup's about to die and she thinks of foliage? Horrible, horrible. So do not hold your breath waiting for the stupid Battle of the Trees. I went nuts when I first read this. I'm like you probably, zooming happily along, and Morgenstern was clearly a master of narrative, but right now I bet you are wondering this: what happened?

My God, Fezzik shot in the heart, the two other guys drifting away, Buttercup trying to hold it all together while these FIFTY ARMED BRUTES come charging in--we all want to know what happened, right?

Here is what you are not reading: sixty-five pages on Florinese trees, their history and importance. (Morgenstern had already started, if you noticed---just when he realizes he's got them, Prince Humperdinck does an entire dumb paragraph about trees.) Even his Florinese publishers begged him to cut it. So I don't care what grief those Morgenstern whizzes at Columbia give me, if ever anything needed getting rid of, it was this.

Want to know why he put it in?

It actually has to do with The Princess Bride. Or rather, its success in Florin. Morgenstern was suddenly flush so he went right out and bought this country house that was off by itself and abutted this huge government-owned forest preserve. He was, indeed, master of all he surveyed.

However...

He had been misinformed. This lumber company had title and not long after he moved in, guess what, they began sawing down all these trees. Morgenstern went nuts. (He really did. His entire correspondence with the lumber company is right there in the Morgenstern Museum, just to the left off Florin Square.)

He couldn't make them stop and in a year or two, his house was all naked and alone and kind of dumb-looking, so he sold it (at a loss, which just killed him) and moved back into town.

But from then on, he became the country's best-known tree savior. (He had his eye on another country place, it turns out, similarly secluded, and he wouldn't buy it until he felt he was safe from the lumber interests.)

So what he did here in Buttercup's Baby was carefully build this huge suspense moment confident that his readers would have to read his tree essay in order to find out who lived and died.

Briefly now, in terms of narrative, this is what you found out: (A) Fezzik survived Humperdinck's metal-tipped arrow because of Miracle Max's holocaust cloak, which Fezzik kept tucked inside his tunic, and the folds of it blunted the arrow's impact, saving his life. (B) The pirates from the ship Revenge were hiding in the trees so when the Brutes were about to slaughter our quartet, they rained down on them like a rage from Heaven and took care of them all in just a couple of minutes, and when Humperdinck and Yellin saw this, they both fled. Then, (C) the pirates, headed by Pierre--their number one guy and next in line to become the Dread Pirate Roberts--took the four and scooted out to the Revenge with them, hoping everyone would be alive when they all got there.

Time back in.

***

AS SOON AS the four were safely aboard, Pierre signaled for the anchor raising and the great pirate ship Revenge slipped through the waters of Florin Channel toward open sea. A snap of his fingers brought the Blood Clogger, who set to work on Inigo while Pierre himself, chief medico and second in command, turned his attention to Westley, or as he was known on the ship, the Dread Pirate Roberts. Fezzik and Buttercup stood close by. Buttercup could not stop trembling so she reached out, tried to hold Fezzik's hand, realized the size discrepency, held his thumb instead.

The Clogger ripped off Inigo's shirt, examined the bleeding man. There were minor sword wounds near each shoulder, but they were nothing. The stomach drew his attention. "A three-sided Florinese dagger," he said to Pierre, then turned to Fezzik. "When?"

"A few hours ago," Fezzik answered. "While we were storming the castle."

"I can clog him," the Clogger said. "But he will have little use for this." He indicated the six-fingered sword still clutched in Inigo's right hand. "Not for a very long time." And with that he scurried off, returned in a moment with flour and tomato puree, mixed them expertly, began filling the wound. He looked at Pierre then, nodded in the direction of Westley. "Want me to work on him?"

"This is not a matter of blood. Listen." He pounded on Westley's chest, listened to the awful empty sound. "His life has been sucked away."

"It happened yesterday," Fezzik said carefully, trying not to upset Buttercup any more. "If you were in town you probably heard his death scream."

"That was him?" Pierre cried out. "They did that to my master? Where was this?"

"At the bottom of the Zoo of Death." Fezzik indicated Inigo. "We found him there."

Pierre studied Westley a moment longer before he sagged. "He must have been tortured beyond human endurance." He shook his head. "If only I'd been with you. I would have known what to do. I would have rushed him to Miracle Max."

Fezzik started bouncing up and down. "But that's what we did. We went straight there. For a resurrection pill."

Energy began to flow back into Pierre's body. "If Max worked on him, then we have hope."

"We have more than hope," Buttercup said. "There is true love."

"Princess," Pierre said, "you work your side of the street and I'll work mine." He looked at Fezzik, thinking. Then this question: "Did Max tell you how dead he was?"

"'Sort of.' But then he slipped to 'mostly.'"

Pierre nodded. "'Mostly' is not ideal, but I can work around that. Was it a new resurrection pill, not an old one Max had hanging around?"

"Made fresh--I had to gather the holocaust mud," Fezzik said.

Pierre was getting excited now. His eyes blazed at Fezzik. "Last and most important question: did Valerie have time to do the chocolate coating?"

"She let me lick the pot," Fezzik said, happy because he knew he was giving the right answer. "It was duh-licious."

***

Little cut here. (I already said in the introduction that they went to One Tree Island to get their health back so there's not a lot of nail-biting tension in the air concerning Westley's survival at this point.)

What you're not going to read is a six-page sequence in which Pierre--and we all care desperately about spending time with him, right?--does all these wondrous modern Florinese medical things to help Westley. None of which work, natch, because at this point in his life, Morgenstern had a hate on for doctors because he had developed gas (and I'm sorry if this is disgusting to you but I promised King I would research the hell out of it, and I did a lot of legwork before I found that Morgenstern's entire medical record is on view in the Museum, but not everyone can see the personal stuff like this, you have to have some kind of scholarly interest to read it, and even then you can't take it out of the place). I forget where this sentence began, sorry, but anyway, he had gas, couldn't shake it, and gave Pierre this sequence to get his own back. (When nothing worked, by the way, Fezzik picked Westley up and hung him by the feet over the side till his lungs filled with seawater, a famous cure in Turkey--not for death but rather gout, which Fezzik's father suffered from. Westley coughed like crazy but it got him talking again.)

***

INIGO WAS STILL unconscious but had stopped bleeding when Westley finally opened his eyes. Middle of the night. Buttercup lay alongside him on the deck while Fezzik watched over them all. Pierre approached, knelt, spoke softly. "I have the worst of all news."

" 'Worst' does not exist," Westley whispered. He studied Buttercup's face. "We are together."

Pierre took a breath, then said it. "You must leave the ship. And you must do so this night."

Before Buttercup could voice her outrage, Westley put a finger to her lips. "Of course. I understand. Humperdinck is after us."

"His entire armada. We can outrun them for a while, but sooner or later, as long as you are here..."

"We are not in the best of shape for travel," Buttercup said. "Give us a few days. My husband is the most powerful man for a thousand miles. No place on earth is safe from him."

"Not possible. Much as I would like to. The crew would panic, as well they should, and I cannot have them losing faith in me."

Westley nodded. Then he was silent. Then he said Fezzik's name. Fezzik waited. "Do you remember the climb up the Cliffs of Insanity?"

"I don't want to go back there," Fezzik said. "I'm afraid of heights."

"Fezzik," Westley said patiently. "I don't want to live there either. Just answer me this. You were carrying three people when you did it, and please think before you answer me: were you tired? "

Fezzik waited 'til he was sure he had it right. Then he said, "No."

"Why weren't you? Our lives depend on this, so please take your time."

Fezzik didn't need time. "My arms," he said quietly.

Westley looked at him only a moment more. Then he turned to Pierre. "We will need chains and a small boat." He paused. "Go quickly now. You must get us close to One Tree Island by dawn."





THE REVENGE MADE spectacular time, full sail and a favoring wind, and soon they were sailing through a remote part of Florin Sea. Before dawn, the small boat was lowered and the four, all heavily chained to Fezzik now, got in. Neither Westley nor Inigo was capable of much movement. Fezzik took the oars, Westley nodded, and Fezzik began to row.

From the bridge, Pierre said, "I pray to see you again."

"Do," Westley told him.

Buttercup cradled him in her lap. "That was so sweet of him," she said. "He did not seem a man of great religious conviction."

"This will be his first prayer. And it could not be for a more needy group."

"Why do you say that?" Buttercup asked.

"Let us just hold each other," Westley said. "While we can."

"That's fairly ominous of you, don't you think?"

Fezzik listened. Terrified. But he had so many questions he did not know where to begin. So he just rowed. And every so often he smiled down at Inigo. Who every so often was able to smile back.

They were silent then, the four. For what seemed a very long time. The night could not have been prettier. The weather balmy. The waves all but nonexistent. A sweet caressing wind.

Ahhhhhh.

Fezzik rowed on, getting into a fine rhythm, his great arms enjoying the outing. He rowed harder for a moment and, of course, the tiny boat went faster. Then back to normal pace and, of course, the tiny boat slowed. Fezzik enjoyed doing that--it got rid of the monotony; harder, faster, normal, slower, harder, faster, normal. Faster.

Hmm, Fezzik thought, I wonder why that happened?

He rowed harder again and this time the vessel seemed close to flight, and it was then that Fezzik pulled the oars entirely out of the water--

--and the boat careened on faster than before.

Much faster than before. And then in the distance, but approaching quickly, came the roar. And Fezzik said, "Oh, Westley, I did something wrong, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to zoom like this. I was just sort of breaking the monotony, faster slower, that kind of thing, and I never meant for this to happen."

"It is not you," Westley replied, keeping his voice as steady as he could so as not to make things worse for his comrades. "The whirlpool has us now."

Inigo blinked awake on the word. "Fezzik ... row around it."

"We can't do that," Westley said then.

Buttercup spoke all their thoughts then. "Westley, my hero and savior, what's the deal here?"

"I'll be very brief. Humperdinck's armada is after us. We need to disappear and mend. One Tree Island, from all I've heard, may well be the best spot on earth for us."

"And just what makes it so special?" Buttercup asked, louder now, because the small boat was rocketing now and the roar was growing loud.

"I can't be specific because I've never been there," Westley explained, half shouting, holding tight to the side so as not to be pulled overboard. "No one has ever been there. It is shrouded by mist with just the top of the single tree visible above the clouds. The mist is caused by the whirlpool. The island is surrounded by the whirlpool. And rocks. No boat can sail through--the rocks crush it or the water sucks it down. Now do you see why it is perfect for us? Humperdinck cannot get there and soon he will lose interest in trying to."

"Let me get this straight," Buttercup said. "The entire armada cannot get to the island but we can?"

"That is my belief."

"I don't mean to be pushy about this, but I am not keen on being crushed or drowned. Westley, what in the world do we have that they don't?

"We have Fezzik," Westley replied simply.

"We absolutely do," Fezzik shouted, happy that the answer was so easily forthcoming. "He is right here inside my skin."

"But, my darling, what can Fezzik do?"

"Why, swim us through the whirlpool, of course."

No one answered for a moment because at that moment the tiny boat began to crack from the pressure of the water, and the roar of the whirlpool began to surround them, which meant it was very close. Westley checked Buttercup's chains and Inigo's as well as his own, making certain they were securely locked around Fezzik. The boat had little left it could do. It had brought them close, but now ahead the rocks became visible and Westley shouted through it all, "Save us, Fezzik, save us or we die."

Now Fezzik, as the world knows, had a terrible case of low self-esteem. So he was all for the theory behind Westley's words. Saving people. How wonderful. What in all the world could be better than saving people, especially these three with him now? Nothing. So in theory he should have made ready to dive in.

In practice he just sat in the bottom of the boat and shivered.

"Fezzik, now!" Westley shouted.

Fezzik shivered all the worse.

"He needs a rhyme," Inigo explained to Westley. Then to Fezzik: "Fezzik is no zero?