The Hero's Guide to Saving Your Kingdom (17 page)

P
RINCE
C
HARMING
A
NNOYS THE
K
ING

T
he morning after their abduction from the bandit hideout in Sylvaria, the four Princes Charming awoke inside a dusty, drafty jail cell. There were no cots or mattresses, just a cold stone floor caked with the grime of prisoners past. Liam’s sword, Gustav’s ax, and Duncan’s flute were nowhere to be seen.

Liam, as usual, was the first to snap out of his haze. He surveyed his groggy companions with dismay. Their performance during the previous night’s fight did not inspire confidence.
But we were taken by surprise; people were half-asleep
, he rationalized.
Everybody has a bad night now and then. I’m sure that’s all it was
.

“Wake up, people,” Liam said. “We’ve been captured.”

“Oh, dear,” moaned Frederic. “What have I gotten myself into?”

“I was just wondering the same thing,” Liam muttered.

“I have to say, I’m a bit disappointed,” Duncan said as he stretched his stiff arms and legs. “My very first fight, and it was over so quickly.”

“We could fight right now if you’d like,” said Gustav, standing up and glaring at Duncan.

“Save it for the bad guys,” Liam interjected. He jumped to his feet and peered through the cell’s one tiny barred window. “The first thing we need to do is figure out where we are.”

“What’s to figure out? We’re in prison.” Frederic sighed. Then, as his own words sank in, he gasped. “Oh, dear. I’m in prison. Prison! And I thought that inn that smelled like onions was bad.”

“Yes, we’re in a prison, but where
is
this prison?” said Liam. “Let’s see, we’re about three stories up. I see thick pine forests out there, and mountaintops beyond the trees to the north. One peak is very distinct—it’s almost curved and comes to a sharp point at the summit. And I think that might be the spire of a tower to the south of the mountain, but it’s hard to tell.”

“Does it really make a difference what kingdom we’re in, if we’re locked behind these bars?” Frederic asked, despondent. He was beginning to believe he’d never see Ella again. Or dear Reginald. Or his father, who had apparently been right about everything.
I survived an attack by a witch and a giant
, he thought.
Why didn’t I quit while I was ahead? I should have just sent Liam to rescue Ella. I don’t belong here. I belong back home at the palace. In a bubble bath
.

Fig. 23 Mount BATWING

Frederic was startled out of his self-pitying daydreams when Gustav shoved him aside in a rush to reach the window.

“This is fantastic!” Gustav announced.

“You and I must have different definitions of ‘fantastic,’” said Frederic.

“That curvy mountaintop out there—that’s Mount Batwing!” Gustav burst out. “We’re in Sturmhagen!”

“Are you sure?” asked Liam.

“I’ve seen that peak a thousand times. It’s pretty hard to miss,” Gustav said. “We’re
definitely
in Sturmhagen.”

Liam breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he hadn’t failed his companions after all. “So those bandits did us a favor and carried us exactly where we wanted to go.”

“You’re welcome!” exclaimed Duncan.

“You did nothing.” Gustav scowled at him.

“It’s just a lucky break is all I’m saying,” Duncan said. “However we got here, we’re here—and that’s a good thing, no? I’ve always wanted to visit Sturmhagen. Hey, Gustav, don’t you Sturmhageners have a big zucchini festival this time of year? I’m a big fan of the zukes.”

“Duncan, we’re still in prison,” Frederic said dryly. “You’re not going to see anything except this cell. Which has spiders, by the way. Have you noticed the spiders?”

“Indeed I have: Carmen, Zippy, and Dr. T,” Duncan said.

Gustav glanced back out the window toward Mount Batwing. Something big was moving around at the base of the mountain, causing the trees to shift and sway. And sticking out above the highest branches—was that … a head? Gustav got his answer to that question when he saw a giant hand rise up and scratch vigorously at the enormous scalp.

“Hey, Cape-Face. Check this out,” Gustav said.

But before Liam had a chance to rejoin Gustav at the window, the princes were distracted by the sound of footsteps along the corridor outside their cell. Neville and Horace stopped and eyed them smugly through the bars. Eyeing smugly was something the pair excelled in. They’d actually shared the title of Best Smug Eyers in their graduating class at bandit school.

“So, which of these blokes did you say you recognized, Horace?” Neville asked his burly companion.

“That long-haired piker by the window there,” Horace said, pointing his boxy chin at Gustav. “He’s a member of the royal family here in Sturmhagen, I know it. I seen ’im there a little while ago, while I was staking out the castle for our big you-know-what.”

“Well, well, we caught ourselves a prince,” Neville said with a cackle. “The boss is gonna like that, Horace, old mate. Looks like you and me are movin’ up in this organization.” Then, to Gustav, he added, “I don’t know what you was doin’ in our hideout back in Sylvaria, Yer Highness, but many thanks. Do you know the kinda ransom we’re gonna get for
you?
A real prince?”

“Ransom?” Gustav snapped back. “What you’re going to get is the full force of Sturmhagen’s army at your doorstep. And Erinthia’s army. And Sylvaria’s and Harmonia’s.”

Liam shook his head, mumbling, “
Why
did you just say that?”

“Sylvaria? Harmonia? Wait a minute. What am I missing here?” Neville asked. He could tell the big prisoner had just let something slip.

“Nothing!” Frederic jumped up. “He’s just very bad at geography. Can’t even remember which country he’s from.”

“There are four of ’em,” Horace mused. “Maybe one of ’em’s from each of those kingdoms.”

“But the kings of those places wouldn’t send armies for just anybody,” Neville said.

“My dad certainly wouldn’t,” Duncan piped up. “Sylvaria doesn’t even have an army.”

Horace laughed. “Neville, I think we captured ourselves
four
princes.”

“You’re jumping to the wrong conclusion,” Liam said desperately.

“Save yer breath,
Yer Highness
,” snickered Neville. “Yer pal already gave you away. Come on, Horace, let’s go tell the boss we gots
four
princes for him.”

“Who’s this boss you keep mentioning?” Liam asked.

“Our boss? Oh, I’d wager you heard of ’im. His name is Deeb Rauber,” Horace said as he and Neville began to walk away. “But you probably know ’im as—”

“The Bandit King,” Liam finished, with a groan. “We’ve been captured by the Bandit King. This is not good.”

All four men’s faces fell. Everyone knew about the Bandit King, whose army of thieves and thugs terrorized every land from mountain to seashore. The Bandit King and his men would heist art treasures from a royal museum just as readily as they would swipe the last loaf of bread from a family of beggars. But as vile and nasty as any of his henchmen were, Deeb Rauber himself was far worse. His wickedness was legendary. At the age of six, young Deeb locked his parents in a cupboard, filled his pockets with every piece of gold the family had ever earned, and ran off to become a professional thief.

Two years later, when he was still only eight, Deeb Rauber stole the royal jewels of Valerium by kicking the country’s 103-year-old king in the belly and then snatching the crown right off the elderly monarch’s head as he doubled over in pain. The boy became so infamous for this heinous act that grown men—some of the worst criminals in the land—looked to him as their leader and signed on to follow him. More recently, Deeb Rauber had led his army of thieves on a crime spree across seven kingdoms. No heist was too big or too small: One day he’d steal the giant bells from the towers of five different cathedrals, and the next he’d pluck a rag doll from the hands of a crying toddler. Villages were sometimes left without a single coin when Deeb Rauber passed through. It was because of these diabolical acts and more that he earned the title the Bandit King. And that name sent a deathly chill through the veins of anyone who heard it. The princes were no exception.

A few moments later, a contingent of armed guards showed up. They removed the princes from their cell, chained them all together at the waist, and led them to meet the Bandit King. As the princes shuffled along like a big eight-legged caterpillar, scuffing up an intricate hand-woven carpet that was probably worth a fortune in itself, they passed tons of stolen loot: grand hanging tapestries, gilt-framed oil paintings, and lifelike marble busts.

On a normal day, Frederic would have been enraptured by the presence of such masterpieces. But today he barely noticed them. The last on the chain, Frederic leaned past Gustav to whisper to Liam, “You’re going to save us, right, Liam?”

“Hel-
lo
. Am I invisible?” Gustav said.

Duncan, from the front of the line, answered for Liam: “Oh, Liam will save us, all right. And it will
be awesome
.”

“It will not be
awesome
, Duncan,” Frederic snapped, finding Duncan’s positivity too much to take at that moment. “Look around. Nothing about this is
awesome
.”

“Ha! No need to get upset,” Duncan said. “We’re all friends here. I mean, we were having a grand old time yesterday. Remember when that owl scared you off your horse? Good times. I don’t mean to be critical, but you’ve become a bit of a sourpuss ever since we got captured by these evil bandits.”

“Do you even listen to the words that come out of your own mouth?” Gustav snarked at Duncan. “Why did you come with us, anyway?”

“I thought it would be fun,” Duncan said, and immediately regretted that answer. “Anyway, I think I can help. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeves.”

“Well, you’ve got no muscles, so there
is
plenty of room up there,” said Gustav.

“Gustav, you’re not helping,” Frederic admonished.

“Don’t act like you’re my father, Cinderella Man,” Gustav sniped.

Liam shushed the others. “Look, all of you, we’re in far too serious a situation for all this petty bickering,” he said sternly. “Follow my lead and I will get us out of this.”

A thick wooden door was thrown open at the end of the hallway, allowing the princes and their guards to enter a gigantic room littered wall-to-wall with gold coins, glistening jewels, and other assorted treasures. It was perhaps the biggest stash of loot in the history of thievery. The princes’ eyes all widened a bit—not just at the sight of all these mountains of riches, but also at the hundred or so armed thugs who stood, scowling, among them.

At the center of it all was a fur-lined golden throne, upon which sat Deeb Rauber, the Bandit King. He slouched back in his very expensive seat, one booted foot hooked over the arm of the throne. Aside from the oversize crown that sat, lopsided, on top of his head, the Bandit King was dressed plainly in a well-worn gray shirt, black vest, and dark blue pants. His dirty black hair jutted out messily from under the crown. His right eye squinted at the princes (the left was covered by a red leather eye patch). But the most striking thing about the Bandit King, by far, was his age. Deeb Rauber was ten years old.

“You’re a child!” Gustav blurted.

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Duncan said. “I mean, I heard a story about the Bandit King’s exploits as a young boy, but I thought it was, you know, much older. The story, I mean. Well, and you, too.”

“You’re a child!” Gustav repeated.

“Unbelievable,” Liam muttered.

The Bandit King’s squinty eye got squintier. “It seems our guests don’t understand the difference between being young and being a child,” he said coolly. “One’s age is but a number. No matter how many years you’ve lived, it is your deeds that earn you respect. So there!” The boy then stuck out his tongue and blew a sloppy raspberry at his captives, much to the delight of his men.

“My friends are just very impressed!” Frederic shouted, taking a stab at diplomacy before his companions said anything they would regret. “We’ve heard about your many accomplishments, and we assumed you must have been further along in years. Your youth is a testament to your skill.”