A Wedding for Wiglaf? (6 page)

Before the princess could recover, Wiglaf struck again. “Princess Belcheena,” he said. “Let me kiss your hand!”

He took Belcheena’s hand in his and squeezed.

The hand buzzer sounded:
Buzzzzzzzzzz!

“Yowie!” Belcheena cried. She jumped back.

Mordred rushed over to Belcheena.

“Princess!” he cried. “I shall have Wiglaf flogged! I’ll put him in the Thumb Screws. I’ll put him in the Foot Smasher. I’ll put him in the Limb Stretcher until his arms are six feet long!”

“Shush!” Belcheena waved Mordred away. She eyed Wiglaf. “I was not expecting that!” she said.

Wiglaf smiled broadly.

“Please forgive Wiglaf, Princess!” Mordred cried. “I shall throw him in the dungeon! But of course, you will still marry him, won’t you? You’ll still give me that great big pot of gold?”

“Scat!” Belcheena yelled at Mordred.

The headmaster slunk away.

“Tell me, Wiglaf of Pinwick!” Belcheena said. “The squirting flower and the hand buzzer...are they from the Junior Jester Bag-o-Laughs Kit?”

The question caught Wiglaf by surprise.

“Why, yes, they are, my lady,” he answered.

“Ha!” Belcheena cried. She gave Wiglaf a hearty slap on the back. “There’s nothing I like better than a practical joke!” She grinned. “I, too, ordered the Bag-o-Laughs! I was going to have some fun with you! Just look!”

Belcheena slipped her hand into the pocket of her gown. She brought her hand to her mouth. Then she smiled, and her two front teeth appeared to be missing.

Belcheena threw back her head and roared with laughter. She gave Wiglaf another mighty slap. This one sent him sprawling face-down in the castle yard.

“You are not half the man my long-lost love was,” the princess said as Wiglaf struggled to his feet. “Not even a quarter, really. But you’re a rascal! Oh, what fine times we shall have at Mildew Palace!”

“You...you like him then?” Mordred asked. “You still want to marry Wiglaf?”

“Why not?” Belcheena boomed. “And why wait a week? Let us be wed tomorrow!”

“But...but...but...” Wiglaf sputtered.

He was drowned out by Mordred. “Oh, joy! Oh, golden day!” the headmaster cried. “By the way, your royal richness. I mean, highness...about that pot of gold.”

Princess Belcheena rolled her eyes. “Is that all you can think of?” she asked.

“Well, frankly...yes,” Mordred mumbled. “I mean, no! Of course not!”

“Good,” said the princess. “Now, I have had a hard journey to this forsaken part of the kingdom. I want to rest. Is your very best room ready for me?”

“Yes, Princess!” Mordred said. “Yorick!” he called. “Show the princess to her room!”

“Ta ta, Wigs!” Belcheena wiggled her fingers at him. “Wait! What is that on your head?”

“What?” said Wiglaf. He swatted at his hair.

“This.” Belcheena reached out and seemed to pluck something from the top of his head. She held it out in front of him.

It was a...a human thumb! Blood was caked around its base where it had been cut from a hand! Wiglaf swayed dizzily, just looking at it.

“Ha!” Belcheena cackled. “Gotcha, Wigs!”

She tossed the horrid thumb to him. It was made of rubber. Then she skipped merrily into the castle.

“Back to class, boys!” Mordred cried. “We’ll celebrate tonight at Wiglaf’s bachelor party!”

“Hooray!” the students cheered.

Angus and Erica ran over to Wiglaf. “I’m doomed!” Wiglaf cried.

“No, you’re not,” Erica said. “Look at your ring. The stone is still blue.”

But Wiglaf was losing faith in his ring. “Here,” he said, handing the thumb to Erica.

“Thanks!” Erica exclaimed. “The severed thumb only comes in the super-duper Bag-o-Laughs. You get a whoopie cushion with that one, too.”

“That’s nice,” said Wiglaf. But he wasn’t thinking about whoopie cushions. Or severed thumbs. He was thinking of Princess Belcheena. And how he was going to be spending the rest of his life with her.

T
hree cheers for the groom!“ Mordred boomed as Wiglaf walked into the dining hall for his bachelor party that night.

“Hip, hip, hooray!” everyone cried three times.

The room was hung with greenery. Platters of steaming food lined the tables. There wasn’t a bowl of lumpen pudding in sight.

Wiglaf sat in the seat of honor. Angus and Erica sat on either side of him. They dug into the dinner. But Wiglaf could not eat a bite.

Mordred strolled by. “Eat up, Wiglaf!” he roared. “I’ve spared no expense. Ah, what fun it is to spend the princess’s money!” He clapped Wiglaf on the back. “Have you picked a best man yet, my boy?”

Wiglaf turned to Angus. “Would you?” he asked.

“Honored,” Angus said, with his mouth full.

During dinner, the juggler juggled. The minstrels sang. The boar was led around the room so that all might admire his fine gold-tipped tusks. Wiglaf would have enjoyed himself tremendously if only there had been another reason for the party.

Coach Plungett stood up to give a toast. He raised his flask. “Word reached me at my mother’s cottage in Ratswhiskers that you were getting married, Wiglaf,” he said. “I rushed back to wish you all the happiness in the world! Love is a wonderful thing, lad. Why, thinking of my long-lost lady love still makes my heart beat with joy. Some would say that I have been unlucky in love. Yet I say—not so! For a while, my lady love and I were as happy as pigs in a mud wallow. I remember the time...”

“Give your toast and sit down, Wendell!” Frypot called. “We don’t want to be here all night!”

“To Wiglaf and his bride!” Coach said.

“Here! Here!” everyone shouted. “To Wiglaf and Belcheena!”

“Belcheena?” Suddenly, Coach choked on his mead and started coughing. Mordred had to slap him on the back for quite a while before the big man recovered.

Brother Dave gave the last toast of the evening. “Sleep well tonight, Wiglaf,” the monk said. “For tomorrow when thou hearest wedding bells, they shall be ringing for thee!”

“I...I do,” Wiglaf stuttered. He stood just inside the door of the DSA castle, between his best man Angus and Mordred.

“Louder!” Mordred barked.

“I do!” Wiglaf shouted miserably.

Angus patted his shoulder.

The wedding was about to begin. Wiglaf pulled the scratchy pleated white collar away from his neck. Why did he have to wear the silly thing? Wasn’t he in enough pain already?

A wedding day was supposed to be a happy day. But Wiglaf felt like crying. He did not want to leave his friends. He did not want to live in Mildew Palace with that prankster Belcheena. He did not even want to help her spend her billions.

“Once more,” Mordred commanded.

“I dooooo!” wailed Wiglaf.

“That’s better!” Mordred said.

Suddenly Lobelia rushed into the castle. She was loaded down with shopping bags.

“Oh, thank goodness!” she cried. “I made it back in time. I don’t know what came over me, rushing off like that. Mordie, go check on Dr. Pluck. Tell him to start playing the organ!”

Mordred hurried off.

Lobelia uncapped a bottle from one of her bags. She squirted a sweet-smelling liquid on Wiglaf. “It’s Groom Perfume,” she said. “Isn’t it wild? I’d better check on the bridesmaids now. I’ll be back.” And off she rushed.

Yuck!
Now Wiglaf smelled just like a rose! He peeked out the door at Lobelia’s rosebushes. They were in full bloom. A cloth runner had been put down on the grass for Belcheena to walk on. Class III students were seating the wedding guests on long wooden benches.

Suddenly organ music started playing. Yikes! The wedding had begun!

Brother Dave walked out of the chapel. He stopped between the two biggest rosebushes.

“That is our signal,” Angus whispered.

Wiglaf stood rooted to the spot.

“Come on!” Angus said. And he pulled the reluctant groom out into the castle yard.

Wiglaf blinked in the sunlight. He walked toward Brother Dave.

“Thou art doing fine, lad,” the monk said when Wiglaf reached him.

Next came the wedding party, Gretta and the other ladies-in-waiting, with Daisy trotting behind them. She was wearing her pink silk cape. And her crown of rosebuds.

People gasped when they saw Daisy. They murmured to each other “Pig in a wedding!” and “What next?”

Now Dr. Pluck pounded on the organ keys and struck up “Here Comes the Bride.”

Sir Mort began escorting Belcheena up the runner. The princess wore a red gown. Her yellow braids were wound with ropes of pearls.

“So beautiful!” whispered the wedding guests. “Such a lovely dress!”

Wiglaf swallowed as the princess walked closer and closer to him. Her lips were bright pink. Her cheeks were rouged red. Blue shadow lined her eyelids. Wiglaf thought she looked scarier than any dragon.

Wiglaf found Erica’s face in the crowd. She held up a finger. Wiglaf understood. He looked down at his ring. The stone was bright blue.

Phooey!
he thought. The thing ought to be glowing like a red-hot coal! Clearly,
The Sir Lancelot Catalog
had sold Erica a dud.

Sir Mort walked Belcheena to her groom. He put the princess’s arm on Wiglaf’s. Then he bowed and took a seat in the front row beside Mordred.

Belcheena winked and smiled at Wiglaf.

Wiglaf tried to smile back.

“Dearly beloved,” Brother Dave began. “We have come here today to join Belcheena Kristen Louise Wilhemina Bernadette Paula Frieda Marie, Princess of East Armpittsia and Wiglaf of Pinwick in marriage.”

Wiglaf’s knees began to shake.

“Steady, Wiglaf,” Angus whispered.

“If any persons here know of a reason why these two people should not be joined in marriage,” Brother Dave went on, “let them speak now, or forever hold their peace.”

Silence filled the castle yard.

Brother Dave turned to Belcheena.

“Princess Belcheena,” he said. “Do you take this—”

“Stop!” called a voice from the gatehouse. “Stop the wedding now!”

T
he wedding guests gasped.

Wiglaf whirled around. His eyes searched the crowd.

“Look, there.” Angus pointed toward the gatehouse. A tall man was making his way through the crowd.

Wiglaf gasped. “It’s Coach Plungett!”

What is going on?
he wondered.

Suddenly Belcheena let out a scream.

Wiglaf jumped.

Was this another one of Belcheena’s jokes?

“Wendell!” Belcheena called. “Is it you?”

“Yes, Belchie? It is!” Coach Plungett cried. He ran up to the princess. Belcheena slowly held out her hand. Coach reached for it. But the princess quickly drew her hand away. “Gotcha!” she shrieked.

“Whoo-whoo!” Coach Plungett cried. “It’s my rowdy old Belchie!” Then he picked her up and whirled her around and around.

“STOP THAT!” Mordred boomed.

Coach put the princess down.

“What, in the name of King Ken’s britches, are you doing, Plungett?” Mordred roared.

“Gazing at my long-lost love,” Coach replied. “Dearest Belchie!” he said. “I thought never to see you again!”

“Why did you leave me, Wendell? Why?” Belcheena asked.

“Your father’s henchmen drove me from your palace,” Coach Plungett said. “Many times I tried to return. But the guards kept me out. At last I went off questing in the Dark Forest. I tried to forget you, Belchie. But I never could.”