“A series of billions upon billions of molecules consisting of two parts hydrogen combined with one part oxygen.”
“And what else?”
“Nasty stuff. Nasty, nasty stuff.”
Randall placed a tentative foot on the drawbridge. The wood creaked as if to say “You're goin’ down, buddy.”
“Don't worry about that creak,” said the guard. “It just started doing that, so it can't be too serious.”
Randall took a step forward. The bridge held.
For .000371 of a second.
His legs broke through and he plummeted into the freezing water up to the waist. He threw out his arms in the nick of time, bracing his elbows on the bridge.
“Help me out of here!” shouted Randall.
“Heck no. That wood won't hold me. I use the main entrance around the corner.”
A hand from below grabbed Randall's ankle.
“Supplementary problem!” Randall announced.
Another hand began to take off his shoe. Randall strained to pull himself out of the water, but the grip was too tight.
“You've got to help me!” Randall shrieked. “Something's got me! It's got me!”
The guard went pale and began to back away. “Oh, no—not them ... not them...”
“Not what?” The hand had gotten his right shoe off, while a third went to work on the left. The wood around Randall's arms was beginning to sink, as if he might completely break through at any instant.
His left shoe was pulled off.
Five fingers pressed against the sole of his foot.
And began to tickle.
“Gaaaaaah!” said Randall. He'd always been exceptionally ticklish, and this was no wimp tickle. This was the tickle of a master. He began howling with uncontrollable laughter in sort of a hoo-hee-hoo-hee-hoo-hee pattern.
A hand began to tickle his other foot as well, and hyena mode went into full gear. The tickling was maddening.
Then the floodgates of his mind opened, and long-hidden memories rushed forward....
* * * *
"WOULD MY little eight-year-old Randy care for some more yummy beets?"
“Sure, Grandma! That'd be neat!”
Grandma smiled and added more giblets to his plate. “And would you, in the house where I've raised you since the death of your mother, like some more yummy asparagus?”
Randy nodded enthusiastically, and Grandma gave him another spoonful of the giblets. “And, since your father is on a quest and unable to do so himself, would my darling like me to get him some ... pickled yams?”
“Yeah! Yeah! Pickled yams! Pickled yams!”
Grandma gave him the last of the giblets, then sat back in her chair. “Grandma loves her sweetheart, you know.”
“I love you too, Grandma.”
“And I hope my precious little pumpkin will love me just as much after I reveal the dark, demented secret I've been keeping from you all these years. Clean your plate, dear, so I can show my little dumpling what Grandma has hidden in the attic.”
“I love surprises!”
Mental flash-forward.
"Grandma, why do you keep the attic door locked?"
“That's part of the little secret, honey.”
“But why eight locks?”
“All will be revealed.” Grandma reached up and began unfastening the locks, one by one. “Now, hold the sword steady, lovey-bump, and make sure your precious little eyes don't show any fear, okay?”
“Okay, Grandma.”
She 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. (3.048 meters)
Then he saw his chance.
Eight feet.
The extra two feet had totally screwed up his chance.
Six feet.