“Well, ‘abandoning’ is a harsh word for it,” Liam said.
Key nodded. “Anyway, like the captain said, you’d best be off.”
“Aren’t we going to get any closer?” Frederic asked, looking at the miles of blue between them and the island.
“The reefs would tear apart the hull of a ship this size,” said Key. “You’ll have to take a dinghy.”
“I’ll row you there,” Tauro said, climbing into a smallish wooden boat that was suspended just off the portside rail. The princes followed, and two large crewmen spun wooden cranks to lower the dinghy into the water. Tauro untied the ropes and paddled toward the tiny island.
As the dinghy approached that brown and desolate shore, Frederic couldn’t shake the creeping feeling that something was wrong. He didn’t like that they hadn’t seen Briar yet. As soon as the water was wading depth, Liam, Duncan, and Gustav bounced from the boat like coiled springs and splashed onto the shore, shouting Briar’s name. But Frederic couldn’t quite bring himself to leave the dinghy.
“Go with your friends,” said Tauro. “I’ll take care of the boat.”
Frederic took a deep breath, stepped out into the knee-deep water, and sloshed after the others. His heart was thumping wildly. In fact, it felt like every organ in his body was thumping wildly—even the ones that didn’t normally thump.
But then, from behind the rocky hill, there appeared a lopsided pile of dirty auburn hair. And it was slumped on the head of Princess Briar Rose. She was pale and bony (more so than usual), and her once-elegant gown had been reduced to sparkling tatters. She was grime smeared and barefoot. But she was alive.
She craned her head around, confused at first to be hearing her name—or any human voice, for that matter. But as soon as she saw the princes, her eyes went wide. She waved her arms wildly and ran toward them.
“Liam!” she shouted.
“Briar!” Liam threw his arms open and sped up his run.
“Liam!” she cried again, this time sounding oddly angry.
“Briar?” Liam said as he reached her and threw his arms around her.
“Liam, you idiot!” Briar growled, shoving him aside and running by. “You complete and total idiots!” she hollered as she darted past the other princes.
“What? What?” Frederic sputtered.
“You let them get away!” Briar railed, gesturing madly toward the shore. They all stared. Tauro was well on his way back to the Dreadwind.
“Wait! Wait!” Frederic called, stumbling back into the water. “Mr. Tauro! Come back!”
Liam and Duncan joined in, jumping and waving. But to no avail.
Briar slapped her hand to her forehead. “They’re not going to come back, morons,” she said. “They haven’t forgotten you. This was their plan. To maroon you here. To dump you on this dirt patch to rot away with me.”
“No,” Liam muttered, the horror of their situation dawning on him. “No, no, no, no, no.”
“I don’t understand,” Frederic said sadly.
“Of course you don’t.” Briar rolled her eyes. “If you’d understood anything, you wouldn’t have fallen into the trap.”
“Trap?”
“Yes, Rundark’s trap,” she huffed. “Almost three months ago he kidnapped me and had those pirates drop me on this ungodly pile of rock. My only hope was that you geniuses wouldn’t let him do the exact same thing to you. So, thank you once again for being total losers.”
“Wait, did you say Rundark?” Liam asked. “Rundark’s dead.”
“Guess again, Professor,” Briar snarked. “Follow me.”
She shuffled back to the other side of the hill, and the men reluctantly followed. “When your pirate buddies abandoned me here to die, they left me with only one thing . . . this.” She ducked and led them through a chiseled opening in the rocky surface, into a moist and gloomy cave. At its center stood a stone pedestal, on which sat a smooth crystal sphere.
“Are we going bowling?” Duncan asked.
“Just shut up and wait,” Briar said. “I’m sure the pirates are delivering the message as we speak. It should . . . turn on any minute now.”
As if on cue, the orb began to glow. Green mists swirled under the surface of the glass, then parted, revealing a face. The princes knew those dark eyes, those shaggy eyebrows, and that coarse, braided beard all too well. Lord Rundark.
As shocked as the princes were to see the Warlord’s face in the orb, they were even more surprised to hear his voice. “Ah, I see my agents on the Dreadwind were correct—you’ve finally made it,” he said. “I suppose I should thank you. It was so helpful of you to remain engaged in your little game of tag with the bounty hunters while I began my takeover of the Thirteen Kingdoms. And then you so cooperatively followed all the clues I intentionally laid out for you—and even went so far as to seek out the agents I had hired to kidnap you. Quite nice, really.”
“Why do we always end up doing that?” Liam moaned, pulling at his hair.
“And now I bid you farewell,” Rundark continued. “Enjoy your time on the island. It will be your final resting place.” The mists grew thicker and enveloped the Warlord’s grinning head.
“Rundark!” Liam called. But the glow rapidly dimmed until the orb was dark and dead again. Liam began pacing. “This can’t all be true,” he mumbled. “Jerica was working with Rundark the whole time?”
“Well, she did tell us not to trust her,” Duncan said helpfully.
“Something doesn’t add up,” Liam insisted. There was panic in his voice. This would be his worst failure yet. Not only would the Thirteen Kingdoms all fall to the forces of Dar, but Ella, Rapunzel, and Snow would never be proven innocent. They could be executed. He didn’t want to believe it. “We need to signal the Dreadwind,” he said. “Rundark was lying. There’s no way he could have been communicating with Jerica from wherever he is.”
Gustav let out a long, horribly pained moan. “She had one of these crystal balls in her cabin,” he said. “Everything Rundark said was true. And everything Jerica said was a lie.” He left the cave, walked back to the shore, and watched as the Dreadwind dwindled down to nothing more than a tiny speck on the horizon. Even when the ship was completely gone from view, he refused to come back inside. He sat on the dark sand, rested his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his hands. Despite all the bruisings, beatings, and burnings he’d received over the years, he couldn’t remember anything ever hurting so much.
Back in the cave, the others were also distraught.
“So we’re stranded on this island forever?” Liam said. “Left to rot and die?”
“Oh, no,” Briar said. “It was me they left to rot and die. Although I haven’t yet! Because I’m not afraid to eat tadpoles and algae!” She stuck her tongue out at the orb. “Anyway, you four don’t get the pleasure of rotting. Rundark plans to destroy you in some spectacular fashion and let the whole world see it through these crystal balls.”
“How do you know all this?” Liam asked.
“He likes to fire up the magic orb in the middle of the night and ramble on and on just to torture me while I’m trying to sleep.”
Everyone was silent for a moment, until Frederic said, “That plan doesn’t sound like Rundark. I thought of him as a very straightforward, crush-your-enemies type of villain. This all seems a bit elaborate for him.”
“And since when did he become a magic-user?” Liam added. “Yes, something doesn’t add up. Maybe Rundark’s not working alone.”
“There are three things I don’t understand,” said Duncan, and he began counting them off on his fingers: “How Rundark came back from the dead . . . how he’s still using the Djinn Gem . . . and how people fit model ships into those tiny bottles.”
“You know, guys,” Briar said wearily, “playing whodunit is all well and good, but shouldn’t we be trying to think up a way off this rock?”
“She’s right,” said Liam, standing tall and snapping into his Brave Leader voice. “It’
s not just our friends and loved ones who are in danger, but the entire world as we know it. We need to save the day. But we can’t do it from this little patch of earth in the middle of the sea. So what is priority number one?”
“Escape!” shouted Frederic.
“Escape!” shouted Duncan. “And then model ships!”
“Let’s put our heads together, people,” Liam said. “We can do this!”
The three princes cheered and embraced one another, feeling at that moment like they could accomplish anything. Which was nice, even though, in reality, it was far from the truth. In fact, they never did think up a way to get off that island.
PART III
IN THE SLAMMER
21
AN OUTLAW ENJOYS COZY ACCOMMODATIONS
The Avondellians weren’t just rich—they were classy. They prized beauty beyond almost all else. From palace to tool shed, nearly every building in the capital city was adorned with stunning mosaics, vibrantly painted murals, or elegant, gold-laced engravings. Pay a visit to the most meager peasant home and you would find a government-mandated stained glass coffee table and hand-carved ivory doorknobs. In the minds of Avondell’s elite, there was no greater punishment than to be deprived of style. Which is why the royal dungeon—housed in subterranean levels below the palace—was specially designed to be bleak and ugly. Its cells were grim cubicles of stone littered with straw and often crawling with vermin. Worse yet, they were intentionally painted with clashing colors. And they were decorated with artwork deemed too distasteful to hang in the homes of law-abiding citizens: velvet portraits of crying clowns, for instance, or glow-in-the-dark unicorn collages.
It was among these hideously tacky cells that Ella, Snow, and Rapunzel prepared to spend the remaining days of their lives—which, if the Avondellian authorities had their way, would not be many. But rather than jumping in, right at that moment of sorrow and despair, let’s step back a full two months, long before all that business with the princes on the island, to a day that was filled with slightly less sorrow and despair—the day the fugitive women were delivered to Avondell’s dungeon by Orangebeard and the Twins. They had been made to wear drab beige prison frocks and pin their hair up into decidedly un-fancy buns (and given that Rapunzel’s voluminous hair was knee-length to begin with, she looked like she had a second head). Many a sad, fallen face stared out at them from behind bars as they passed. Quite a few snarling, angry faces as well.
“These are real criminals,” Rapunzel said with a shudder. “We’re innocent. We don’t belong here.”
“I hope you don’t think you’re the first person to ever say such a thing,” replied one of the guards. He and his partner wore neatly pressed blue suits with silver pinstripes and carnations tacked onto the lapels. But they also had razor-keen swords hanging from their suede belts.
“But in our case it’s true,” Snow said. “We never did a thing to hurt Briar. Except for when I knocked her down at the circus. And that time I shut her fingers in the wagon door. And when I bumped her into that table of deviled eggs at the ball. But some of those were accidents! Well, one was. Okay, none.”
“Snow, you’re not helping,” Ella said bluntly.
The guards stopped them at the end of a long, dim hallway. “In you go,” said one as he ushered Ella and Snow into a gaudy, pink-and-teal cell. “Sorry, but you’re going to have to double up. We’re full at the moment. It’s been a busy couple of weeks for the royal sheriff and his men.” He locked the iron-bar door behind them.
“What about me?” Rapunzel asked, wringing her hands.
“You’ll be right across the way.” The guards unlocked a cell across the hall and gave Rapunzel a gentle shove to get her inside. The door locked with a clang, and the guards disappeared down the corridor.
“I didn’t ask for a roommate,” said a voice from behind Rapunzel. She spun to see a woman, six and a half feet tall, with stiff, broad shoulders and arms like stone columns. The stranger’s wide, ruddy face was surrounded by loose, flyaway strands of red hair that had escaped from her tight bun, giving her a Medusa-like look.
Rapunzel backed up against the bars. “I can’t say I ever did either,” she stammered as the larger woman glowered at her.
“Back away from her,” Ella growled from across the corridor. “Or else.”
“Or else what?” the tall woman asked smugly. “What are you going to do from all the way over there?”
Snow whipped a pistachio, which smacked the woman right between the eyes. “Gah!” she yelped, waving her hands in surrender. “Okay, calm down. I wasn’t going to hurt anybody. It’s just, you know, this is a prison. I was trying to act tough.”
“Act tough?” Rapunzel asked, still tensed. “So you’re not really tough?”
“No, I am,” the tall woman replied. “I’m as tough as they come. Bunch of bandits tried to steal my cow once. Big mistake. You ever see a guy get bashed by a swinging cow?” She paused to smile wistfully. “But I’m not a criminal or anything. Most of the poor folks locked in here right now aren’t; just unlucky so-and-sos who happened to break one of the king’s crazy new laws.” She held out her hand, and Rapunzel reluctantly shook it. “Name’s Val,” the cellmate continued. “Val Jeanval.”
“What did you do to get tossed in here, Val?” Ella asked.
“I stole a loaf of bread,” she answered. “And beat twelve of the king’s soldiers with it. It was a really stale baguette—made for a pretty nice weapon.”
They all stared at her. “So you are a criminal,” said Rapunzel.
“I am not,” Val insisted. “I’m a freedom fighter! Part of the Resistance! Or at least I would be if there was a Resistance. The king’s gotta go. He’s become nothing more than a bully. He’s forcing poor families to spend their only gold on stuff like ruby chandeliers. He’s outlawed any music that wasn’t written by his own pompous bard, Reynaldo, Duke of Rhyme. And he’s put these harsh ‘style laws’ into place. I saw a man get hauled away just because he was wearing socks with sandals. Admittedly, that’s not a great look, but—come on!”
Fig. 17
VAL JEANVAL
“Wow,” Ella mused. “I thought Briar was the tyrant in the family. Her parents always seemed like decent rulers.”
“Things changed after they lost their precious princess,” Val said soberly. “Look, I’m not unsympathetic, but whatever the reason for the king’s left turn into Loonytown, the way he’s been abusing his power is wrong.” She shrugged. “Well, that’s my story. What are you ladies in for?”
Ella let out an uncomfortable chuckle and said, “We’ve sort of been blamed for causing your king to lose his precious princess.”
“But we didn’t do it!” Rapunzel added quickly.
“Whoa. So you’re . . .” Val tapped her long index finger against her lips. “Neat. Famous cellmates. Don’t worry, I believe you. But, dang—of all the things to be falsely accused of . . . Frankly, I’m surprised they put you down here in the regular cells. I’d expect you guys to get the Chiller.”
Snow clapped her hands. “Frozen desserts!”
“No, the Chiller’s where they send the . . . troublesome prisoners,” Val explained. “It’s a special cell upstairs somewhere. Folks around here are really careful about not getting sent to the Chiller, so I can’t tell you much more than that. But I’d be careful if I were you. With the king in dictator mode, you can expect him to be especially hard on you three.”
“That’s right! His Majesty will make you pay dearly for your crimes!” The harshly spat comment came from a man who turned around the corner at just that moment: a waxy-faced fellow with unnaturally yellow hair. He wore a uniform similar to that of the prison guards, but with epaulets at his shoulders and a bright-blue ascot around his neck. “And if you want your last two months on Earth to be even slightly tolerable, you had best refrain from referring to His Majesty by words such as ‘dictator.’”
“Last two months?” Ella asked.
“I am h
ere to inform you that your execution has been set for Midwinter’s Eve,” he said, eyeing the women with disgust. “Were it up to me, you would already be at the gallows. But considering the horrific nature of your crimes, His Majesty has decided Avondell’s revenge should be the centerpiece of our holiday celebration.”
“I don’t suppose there will be a trial?” Rapunzel asked hopefully.
The officer let out a cold, fake-sounding laugh. “Ha. Ha. Ha. His Majesty has already found you guilty.”
“On what evidence?” Ella snapped.
“Word of your guilt has been reported in the songs of the bard,” he replied. “What more evidence is needed?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Prison Guard,” Snow said, squeezing her head between the bars to get a better look at the man. “But there’s something maybe you should explain to your king. As someone who has been the subject of a few bards’ songs herself, I can tell you that those fellows are not always—”
“I am no mere prison guard!” the man barked. “I am the Captain of the Guard. Captain Euphustus Bailywimple. And you will address me as such.”
“Okay, Mr. Such,” Snow said.
“No!” the officer barked. “Address me as Captain Euphustsus Bailywimple.”
“I have to say the whole thing every time?” Snow asked, pained at the thought.
“Yes,” Bailywimple said, looking down his stubby, upturned nose at her. “And what’s more, you will refer to the king of Avondell only as His Majesty, the Most Right and Honorable King Basil the First, long may he reign.”
“Excuse me again, Captain Festivus Dailywindow,” Snow said, raising her hand. “But is the ‘long may he reign’ part of his name? Or was that just a bit of fancy business you added at the end?”
The captain huffed. “It is not part of His Majesty’s name. But you still have to say it. And my name is Captain Euphustus Bailywimple. Now get your head back inside the cell!”
“I’d like to, Captain Fungus Bullwinkle,” Snow said sheepishly. “But it seems to be stuck.”