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Chapter 2 of something I'd like feedback on. |
Two years before Diego had discovered the princessâs letter in his mailbox, Lionelâs face had been the front-page sketch in every newspaper. The articles called him A hero! A gallant knight! And handsome to boot! Truman knew the manâs face. He had also, on boring days, read the best-selling memoirs of the man who had saved Princess Eena from the infamous terrorist Rufus. He was well aware of Lionelâs pastimes and pleasures, as well as his appearance. For the first time ever, this mattered. Lionel was tall, blonde, tanned and manly, with green-brown eyes and sandy stubble. He liked horseback riding, travelling, charity work, and reading. Truman, on the other hand, was short, brown-haired, and pale, with dark blue eyes and a baby face. He liked alcohol, no one and nothing else. He spent several hours looking for some sort of attire that would make him look like Lionel. He eventually found a woolen sweater and a knitted cap at the town market. It dangled to his knees, which he hoped would cover up his un-knightly features. Diego laughed all the way to the palace, saying that Truman looked like a creepy old man. Though heâd never say it out loud, Truman knew his brother was right. Luckily, there were nametags at the ball to compensate for Trumanâs un-Lionel-like features. There were also hundreds of guests. The twenty-one-storey castle towered proudly above the brothers as they waited impatiently in line to hand over their invitations in exchange for name tags. Checkered banners displaying the royal fire horse snapped in the wind outside the doors. Music and muted voices spilled out every time the double-wide oak wood doors were opened for a prestigious guest to enter. Finally, after three hours of travelling and two hours of waiting to be invited into the palace, they received their name tags â âSir Lionelâ and âguestâ â and entered the building. The ball was held in the palace foyer, which was easily six or seven times the size of Truman and Diegoâs house. The walls were painted royal black-and-white; the carpet was a fiery red, with checkered marble flooring around the edges that clicked softly when tread upon. On the far side of the foyer was a monstrous staircase which the royal carpet climbed up, up, up, and around, into the other twenty stories of the palace. The ceiling was barely visible above them. When the guards opened the doors to the palace foyer, the size of the room was hardly noticeable, due to all the guests in it. Neither brother had ever seen so many people, or heard so many voices all at once. The chatter washed over them like a wave of sound, filling their ears. Barely a phrase was audible. The next thing to hit the brothers was the scent of food. They knew it was food from the way it made them salivate, but they had never truly smelt anything like it. Breakfast, lunch and dinner for Truman and Diego tended to be beans, greens and stale bakery bread. Rich meats were being cooked in the palace kitchens, and sweets were being carried on trays all around the foyer. Truman grabbed a sweet roll and shoved it in his mouth all at once. It was sweet and doughy, slightly sticky and wonderfully chewy. He nearly threw it up; his body simply couldnât handle the new and amazing sensation. This didnât stop him from snatching up another, though he ate the next one more slowly. A man walked by in tight garb dyed three different shades of green. Truman hadnât realized such colours could be found on clothing, and he shot his brother a stupefied look. The look was returned. Another man came out of the crowd, short and dark-skinned, wearing a robe of nine different colours that reached the floor. âSir Lionel?â he asked with a suspicious squint. âIs ⌠is that you?â Truman broke his gaze with his brother and cleared his throat. âYessir, âtis I. Sir Lionel Manx.â âAh. A hard man to recognize, but the wool gave you away.â Truman supposed it made sense for men who lived in the mountains to wear nice, warm wool year-round. The man stuck a small hand out to be shaken. âThe Saab of the Desert Region. Perhaps youâll recall, we met briefly when ⌠and who is this?â Truman followed the Saabâs gaze to his brother, who had grabbed five little doughy rolls from a serving table as if they would disappear forever. The man beside him took a wary step back. Truman had read enough to know that everything anyone did at a royal affair had to be done in the most stuck-up, diligent and pompous way possible. But of course, his brother would know nothing of this. âMy brother,â Truman said hurriedly, yanking Diego by the arm and causing him to drop all his food. âHeâs ⌠a little slow. Actually, heâs very slow. And a deaf-mute.â It was hard not to sound overly-happy about this. It was wonderful payback for Diegoâs laughter all the way to the palace, and an excellent way to keep him from messing everything up. The Saab cocked his head. âReally? Iâve read your biography twice; I donât recall anything about a brother.â Trumanâs heart raced. Why couldnât Lionel have been the deaf-mute? âWell, I just recently found him. He ran off as a child. He was very fast. And our parents never told me because they were so embarrassed.â âThen how did you know he was--â âSo, youâre the first male Sabb since the big rebellion,â Truman interrupted, hurriedly. "What was it, ten years ago?â Heâd heard about that while paying off a debt working at the local tavern. Heâd also heard that the Saab was a proud man. âWhy yes, actually, sir.â The conversation was all about him from that moment on. This was good, because Trumanâs alcoholic ears heard the chiming of glasses clinking as a server walked towards them. He turned to see soft yellow wine in tall, slender glasses being balanced above the head of a tayal server. Like all tayal the man was part-plant; his fingers were long and branch-like, with a few leaves sprouting out here and there. Diego followed Trumanâs gaze, and his eyes grew larger. He tried to communicate something silently to his brother, but Truman couldnât be bothered to figure out what. He couldnât remember the last time heâd had white wine. The Saab paddled the one man canoe of the conversation towards the rights of half-animal citizens. Truman nodded, turned to catch the server in a dire stare, nodded once more, and said, âOf course. But you fog up the windows of your palace, and before you know it, you canât even see your people from it,â hoping it sounded intelligent, and left. The Saab looked at Diego. He said, âYour brotherâs become the object of his own affection,â and shook his head. Diego picked his nose, wiped it on the Saabâs colourful attire, and sauntered off to mingle. The Saab threw his hands in the air and cussed in a royal display of distress. Truman reached the serving platter and took three glasses. He told the server, âFor my cohorts, of course,â with what he hoped was a lopsided smile. Lionel was very well-known for his lopsided smile. The server raised an eyebrow, because it looked to him like Truman was trying to flirt, and failing. Truman turned his back to the server and downed the glasses â one, two, and then the third -- in one easy motion. He gave his head a shake and smiled, setting the glasses down on the table. âA man like that, he must be from the mixed race village, as he drinks like an animal,â said a womanâs voice with an accent so thick Truman thought the alcohol had already done its job. As she approached him, he realized that was not yet the case. When Trumanâs mother had died, he had dropped out of school, but he had managed to learn all his races first. This woman was an islander. Her skin was the colour of dark chocolate, which he had only just discovered existed, and her eyes were purple tinted with silver. She was big, all hips and thighs and breasts. As a boy, Truman had stolen a page of his textbook with her people in it: the women were powerful fighters, much more interesting than the nothings and nobodies of his town, and far more interesting than the royal rich folk of The Kingdom. They were generally naked, also. That had been the real reason heâd snatched their page. âIâll have you know Iâm quite the beast,â seemed like the best response. âTruly, though? I am much curious. Iâve never been with a mixed-race man or woman.â She took a step closer. âI have seen not one person from the mixed village all night. It is hard to cross off my list, them.â Truman tried to keep his jaw from dropping. Islanders were notoriously realistic: they ate when hungry, and fucked when horny, and had festivals once a month where they did much of both. âIâm afraid not.â Much as he wanted to lie, itâd be too obvious eventually, and heâd rather stay a virgin than embarrass himself in that way. Plus, Lionel had eyes only for the princess. It was all any paper ever said. She shook her head, âI would love to do the so many things to a mixed. Tis a shame.â She grabbed a snack off a tray and popped it between her big, red lips. âIndeed,â Truman told her. âIâll drink to that.â He grabbed a light brown alcohol from yet another passing tray and took a swig of it. It was chocolaty and earthy and woody, all at once. He almost gagged on it. Everything was filled with taste here; it exploded onto his tongue, down his throat, and into his stomach. A peasant could easily lose his lunch. Heâd managed not to spit out the flavourful drink, until his brother suddenly appeared at the womanâs side. He cuddled into her arm with a loving look. She laughed, and while she wasnât looking, Diego gave his brother a smirk. He knew he wouldnât be stealing the woman from Truman â that had never once happened. Truman didnât have women to steal. He could shove having her at all in his brotherâs face, though. Being a mentally disabled deaf-mute wouldnât stop him, either. In fact, it would probably help him somehow. Diego just had his ways. âOh, whoâs this?â asked the woman. She gave Diego a happy look as he nudged her arm with his head. Truman had to tell her what he had told everyone else. âHeâs ⌠my deaf-mute, slow brother.â He didnât meet Diegoâs eye. Defeat was too sour. âOh, the poor thing.â âYes. I spent recent years looking after him. Missing out on much of my adult life, caring for my brother after my parents passed.â As his drinks took effect, he decided he could make a comeback after all. âRightly so,â she told him, as she stroked Diegoâs hair. Or not. Diego gave the islander a sloppy hug, absolutely not missing the opportunity to put his head between her breasts. She laughed some more. Truman rolled his eyes and considered finding something else to drink. He turned away and crashed right into a stout tayal man with branches for hands and leaves for hair. âYouâre Lionel?â Asked the tayal. âUm, indeed.â He had no idea what the tree-man could want with him. The tayal gave him a suspicious look. âI swear you were taller when last we met.â Truman didnât have time to find an excuse before he continued. âAt any rate, the princess wishes for your company in the royal bed chambers. Seventeen flights up, third door on your left.â He smiled, bowed, and scampered off on wooden legs. Truman turned and smiled at his big brother. Diegoâs eyes were wide, and his mouth had dropped. His pathetic little brother was going to spend the night with the princess, disguised as her lover. No exotic island woman could best the look on Diegoâs face. Truman bowed and took his leave, having three more drinks before heading up the giant spiral staircase that loomed over the foyer. He tried several times to dance up the stairs, and ended up falling over just as many. Truman was many things â a drunk, stuck-up, and poor, to name a few. He certainly was not athletic. The seventeen flights of stairs bested him several times, in fact. He was pleased to discover that they were devoid of party guests, though. Save for some cleaning staff, no one had to see him take several rests on his way to the princess. It truly would have blown his cover. It was also rather embarrassing. By the time he reached the seventeenth storey of the palace, he was at least mostly sober. As such, when he went to knock upon the door of the third room on the left, a thought occurred to him. It was his first sober thought in hours, and it was horrifying. In his drunken stupor, Truman had not considered how obvious it would be to Eena that he was not her dear knight Lionel. He had also failed to realize how pointless entering the princessâs room would be for him. There was absolutely no point, in fact. He was not a hero. He was not the hero. He didnât even look like Lionel, nor what he stood for. Unfortunately, he was just Truman. His hand fell from an about-to-knock-on-a-door position to a sitting-glumly-by-the-userâs-side position. âOh, whatâs the point?â Odd. His thoughts, it seemed, had suddenly employed the voice of a woman. His self-esteem must have sunk to a brand-new low. At least, he thought, I have an attractive female voice. And yet this thought came in his mindâs typical, male voice. Maybe this being Lionel thing has made my personality split. And then he decided, Nope. Iâm just drunk. Whatâs more, I still want to see the princess. And with that, he entered her room with his shoulders squared. It was exceptionally typical of a princessâs room. White-white walls; red and gold carpet; large, extravagant windows revealing the evening sky, and The Kingdom below; a wonderfully polished writing desk in the corner; a curtain covering the bed from view; a beautiful young woman perched on the windowsill in a way that only experienced royalty could. Trumanâs eyes rested heavily on the princess as he slowly advanced towards her. Her golden hair was pined up in an ealborate mess of spirals and twists. She was tall and slender. She was beautiful. Even when he could only see her dainty figure silhouetted against the window, she was beautiful, and powerful, and royal. She was every bit the princess he had heard about. Due to his staring, he walked into a parasol that leaned against her desk, making his presence known with the resulting clatter. She stared out the window, and continued to do so as she spoke. âI knew you would come,â she said in a soft voice. âItâs so beautiful out. I wish I could be there. I wish I could leave. Iâm treated as if I should be dealing with all the responsibilities my parents have past to me, but any real news is hidden from me. Itâs said our spies have lost track of Rufus, and I only gained that knowledge by stealing a newspaper from my handmaid.â She stopped to sigh. âSorry ⌠Iâm truly sorry. I know Iâve mentioned this to you before. But only now do I realize that itâs time to escape. You can be my escape, Lionel.â Her voice raised in excitement as she spoke. Truman discovered that, should he look carefully enough, he could see her reflection in the window. If he squinted quite hard, he could see the slight downward curve at the edges of her lips. But as he looked, she raised her head slightly and almost smiled. âWe should run away together. You have to come with me; youâre my knight in shining armour, after all. Itâs your duty to save me!â Truman wasnât sure how to react. The princessâs request was treason. Was Lionel really her knight in shining armour, or was she using him to escape her royal life? Surely she would realize the penalty for doing what she asked. But, what did it matter â Lionel wasnât even in the room; he was replaced by a pint-sized beer guzzler from beyond the boondocks. If the princess realized who Truman was -- or worse still who he wasnât -- he would be jailbait for the scariest torture chamber candidates available. Such a thought made him too nervous to move, freezing him in place. âYouâll come with me of course, lov-â she turned now to look at Lionel â Truman -- and her voice dropped from loving to angered. âWho the hell are you?â âWell, Iâm not Lionel Manx, thatâs for sure.â He could call it A.S.S. -- automatic sarcasm syndrome. âNo shit.â Despite the less-than-royal saying, Princess Eena stood daintily, if only by instinct and training, and took a step forward. Her tight-fitting red-and-gold dress flowed behind her as she approached him. She pointed a finger at him, and Truman trembled as if it were a gun. âWho the hell ⌠No. Why the hell ⌠No. How the hellâŚâ âI can explain.â Trumanâs hands were in the air, but he did not know why. âDoesnât mean Iâll listen.â There was a tremendous sound then -- several sounds all at once, in fact. The room shook, the castle seemed to screech as if it were in pain, and things crash, and in the distance, people screamed. Truman took a step back, and suddenly he was falling. The princess was falling, too. The desk and the bed slid and rolled and crashed until they were upside-down and in pieces. Her mattress rolled off the bed frame to land on the window Eena had just been looking through, and the glass shattered and fell away. Truman shakily grabbed hold of a piece of the writing desk and tried to stand. The windows were where the floor should have been, and he had enough of a buzz still that he couldnât even begin to comprehend what had just happened. He was able to locate the princess, five feet away from him. He tried to move towards her, but she put a hand out. âStop right there,â she said with all the authority of her royal rank. âWhat the fuck did you just do?!â âME?â If Truman wasnât so horrified, heâd have laughed. âYeah, you. You sneak into my royal room, poorly disguised as my beloved, and you flip my palace ⌠on its side?â Her last words came out as a whispered question. She turned and looked out the window, and that was when it occurred to Truman that below them was not land. It was not the Kingdom, or his boondocks home. All he could see were stars scattered against nightâs dark sky. Eena lunged at him and barreled Truman over. He had always been easily pushed around, but with his stupor and the situation, he couldnât even be bothered to fight back. The princess then pinned his arms to the floor with her knees. âWhat is this? Black magic? What have you done with my palace?â She gasped suddenly. âAre you working with Rufus?â âThe terrorist?â Trumanâs voice came out in an embarrassing squeak. âThis is not happening,â Eena told him, bringing her face close to Trumanâs. âIâm not getting stolen again. Heâs not taking me away this time. I didnât sign up for this scapegoat shit. What did you do with Lionel?â âDo you actually care? Or do you just want him to save your royal ass?â He couldnât help but ask. âExcuse me? Havenât you read the papers? Or his book? Heâs my knight in shining armour!â âThatâs not what I asked you.â At that moment, to Trumanâs horror, there was a crash. Eena turned around to see what had happened, but Truman couldnât see past her light hair. Eena let out a whispered, âRufus.â âYes, Eena, âtis I: your friendly, neighbourhood, princess-snatching criminal mastermind.â A man appeared over Eenaâs head, as fat and round as Santa Claus, with hair as red as fire, and the kind of moustache only strange men bothered to grow. The princess gave Truman a blaming glower and all he could do was shrug, what with his arms pinned under her knees. âAm I interrupting something between you and your little knightly love?â Rufus asked with an eyebrow raised. âNice to finally meet you, Lionel, by the way.â Eena rolled her eyes at him. âOh, please. Your coverâs blown; I already guessed he was working for you. Give it up.â âWho? Lionel?â âIâm not Lionel and Iâm not a terroristâs henchman and Iâd appreciate it if you could get off me for a second, princess," said Truman, flustered. Rufus looked at Princess Eena, and the princess looked back at him, and they both looked utterly confused. âThen who are you?â Rufus asked. Eena got off Trumanâs arms, standing just out of Rufusâs reach. She looked troubled. Truman stood slowly, feeling very dizzy. All the food and drink in his stomach spun around, and he fought the urge to throw up by telling them off. âI am a guy who has had two hangovers in one day, gotten a knightâs mail by accident, tried to disguise himself as said knight -- who is not my mirror image, by the way -- and tried to sneak into a royal party held by my beloved ruler as if she were my high school chum â more like someone I wish was my high school chum -- pretended my brother was mentally retarded, got assaulted by a princess, and then questioned by a famous terrorist.â He caught his breath. âI am just a man who wants to go home now, please.â Rufus laughed a truly evil laugh and said, âWell, you canât. I stole the top half of the castle so Lionel couldnât wreck my plans again. As a matter of fact, youâre currently thousands of feet in the sky, floating below my hovering headquarters.â Both Truman and Eena said, âWhat?â in unison, with equal amounts of horror. âGood reactions,â Rufus told them. âBut theyâll be better when I tell you just how Iâve achieved this.â He let a silence fall. Truman thought he was trying to create suspense, but then Rufus said, âWell, guess.â âOh,â said Truman. âWas it black magic?â âThat was going to be my guess,â the princess said, and it was clear from her tone that she didnât much care for Truman. âI know, thatâs what put it in my head. You accused me of using it.â âWell, you have to make your own guess.â âWhat? I just did! You canât go around blaming everything on black magic!â Truman wasnât sure he liked the princess all that much, either. âItâs the most potent form of magic, and highly accessible. Why would it be anything else?â âEnough!â Rufus yelled. He had grown quite red. âWhy are you two even bickering? The greatest criminal of our times stands threatening you! Cower!â Truman sighed and shook his head at Rufus. He was terribly frustrated with how the night had gone. âQuite honestly, you arenât even that scary. You were bested by someone who managed to remain unseen by you or any of your henchmen, you havenât even gotten the princess working up a sweat over here, and you look like that one weird uncle that I was never allowed to be alone with. Sorry.â âMaybe this will change your mind!â For a second, Truman worried. But when Rufus pulled a three-foot-long pink-and-yellow cane out from behind him, both Truman and the princess laughed aloud. âOh no, princess, heâs going to make us prance with the all-powerful fairy cane!â Truman said between chortles. âIs that really what you used to levitate the top levels of my palace?â Eena giggled. âIâm just barely impressed.â âIt is. And it can do more than that.â Rufusâs deep voice was faltering. âLike make a garden magically appear?â Truman asked. âOr make a kitten mewl on command?â added Eena. It seemed the only person she disliked more than Truman was Rufus. âYou want to see the awesome power of the gods?â Rufus asked them. âThe gods? As in the ancient religion that was completely debunked under my parentsâ rule?â Eena sneered cruelly. âThose gods?â âDebunk this,â Rufus told her with a sinister grin and an evil laugh. He raised his wand high above his head with both hands. A flash of blue burst from its tip, shooting straight up like lightning before curving back down to hit Rufus, swallowing him in a sharp blue glow. Slowly, painfully, he began to change. His body curved inward, and began to grow. A wind rose up from no source at all, whipping at Trumanâs and Eenaâs eyes and hair and their cheeks. It howled, but did nothing to block out the sickening crunch of bones breaking as Rufus grew and contorted and twisted. His skin melted away, until in his place stood a skeleton standing eight feet high, with hands large enough to hold three of Truman within one of their grasp. Sinew and muscles strained to hold the bones together. The wind, the blue light and the sounds faded, then ended, and the skeleton clacked its massive teeth, flexed its hands, and stomped its feet. Truman realized that he had never been so frightened. He was almost crying. His brain could hardly fathom what it was witnessing. The creature that was once Rufus roared, and its voice sounded like the cries of dying animals, and its breath smelt so foul, he heard Eena gag. âDie,â said the creature, in a voice that was too loud and horrifying for Truman to handle. He covered his ears, in fear that it would speak again. It reached out a giant hand, covered in sinew to keep all its bones in place, and grabbed Truman. The hand covered him, though he could see through it. He saw Eenaâs horrified face as the creature lifted him higher and higher. âStop! Let him down! He didnât do anything,â she told the creature. âIâll deal with him,â said the terrible voice. âThen Iâll deal with you. Lionelâs not here this time, princess.â The creature moved slowly, but with enough force that it was still able to throw Truman through the broken window and into the night. He heard Eena scream as he struggled to grab any part of the palace and save his own life. As the building fell further and further away from him, Truman still found himself reaching out, his fingers stretching until they hurt, his body begging to be saved. Suddenly, Eenaâs head appeared from the window. At first Truman thought she had been thrown, too. But then she spoke. âIâm sorry,â she yelled to him. âThis is all my fault!â âNo,â Truman said, entirely to himself. Eena was too far away to hear his response now. âItâs not.â It wasnât. He had snuck into her room, into her castle. She had just been a princess. Eenaâs head was gone suddenly, and Truman knew the creature that had been Rufus had grabbed her. She screamed once more. Even as the palace grew smaller and smaller, Truman could hear her scream. He wished he could do something. He wished he could help the princess. He wished he truly was Lionel. And he was so scared to die. |