Chapter Ten
The scenery curtains closed around them and Richard and George prepared for their next scene as Peter “scaled” the wall and broke into the dungeon, going over to “free Gwen.” Peter glanced over at Mike, and saw him making urgent eye motions toward the bonds surrounding his wrists. Peter went over, grabbing the chains.
“Peter, they’re locked for real,” Mike murmured quickly, hoping that Peter would hear and understand through his helmet. Peter blinked a few times, giving the chain a quick tug. The fake link that was supposed to be there wasn’t; the chain held.
“Mike, what do we—” Peter was cut off by Richard and George who entered, Richard laughing maniacally. Hands seized him and dragged him backwards, their grips as rough as they appeared to the audience to be.
Richard seized Peter’s dagger and pulled—what came out was not a rubber knife, but a real one, the steel glinting brightly from the overhead lights. Richard jabbed it into Peter’s ribs, making the blond gasp with pain. Luckily the mail had stopped it from cutting him.
Mike glared over at Richard, his eyes promising slow and painful death once he got free if the man hurt Peter. For Richard’s part, he seemed genuinely disappointed that the dagger hadn’t cause any damage. He pulled it out and stuck it into the sash of Peter’s uniform like he was supposed to, to make it seem like he’d really stabbed at a plate in the mail. As he did so, he jerked Peter forward and the chains clinked ominously.
Richard then stepped back and glared at ‘Gwen’. “Tomorrow!” he declared as he moved toward the ‘cell door.’ “Tomorrow you die!” And he left the ‘cell’ as Gavin, Micky and Davy moved into position for their scene.
The curtain pulled around them and the lights dimmed slightly. Mike tilted his head toward Peter. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Peter said, his voice strained. “I’m really starting to hate that guy. Can you get loose?”
Mike twisted and pulled for a few moments. “No. You?”
Peter twisted his wrists in the bracelets. “I think so. Maybe I can wiggle my hands out of these. Hang on.” He started to pull, carefully twisting his wrists and wiggling his fingers out of the thick mail gloves. “I got one out, Mike,” he said at length.
“Good,” Mike whispered, looking toward the curtains. “Hurry up, I don’t think we have that much time left.”
“I’m going as fast I can, Mike,” Peter said through clenched teeth. “But this one’s . . . stuck.”
“Stuck?” Mike whispered. “I didn’t need to hear that right now, Than.”
Peter growled, fighting to free his hand. “Almost . . . ”
Mike looked up as the lights went up and the curtain started to move. “Shit,” he whispered too softly for the audience to hear. “Peter, we’re on!” he hissed.
“Damn!” Peter stuck his hand back in the other glove and gave the audience a suitably worried look as the two gloating knights came in. Mike and Peter delivered their lines mechanically, their eyes narrowing when Richard and George became visible at the edge of the stage.
“It’s time to die!” Richard announced as he cleared the edge of the curtain. His eyes were shining with enthusiastic—and real—malice.
“So let’s laugh it up!” Peter said half-heartedly. The audience roared with laughter, apparently thinking that the very real dismay on the faces of the princess and her knight was feigned.
But the gleam on the knife George was using to keep the princess and knight in check showed it was very real and very wicked. They were released and shoved onto the parapet—the catwalk above the stage that had been converted into a makeshift staging area for the fake fight.
As the other three converged on the castle, they were met by Ben. “What has six eyes, six ears, and a short life?” the dragon boomed.
“Three dumb peasants,” Micky said, deadpan.
“Hey, that’s right! Lower the drawbridge!” The echoes were heard and the drawbridge lowered.
“How’d you know that, Mick? Wow!” Gavin said, winking at the drummer.
Micky just smiled. “Outta sight!” he said as the flimsy drawbridge dropped. Micky jumped, then Gavin, his jump a little lopsided, then Davy a few seconds later, a move which earned a puzzled look from Gavin.
“Late again, Davy,” Micky chuckled, earning an eye roll from Davy and clueing Gavin in that it was what he had come to term a ‘Monkee thing.’ With that settled, they walked into the castle.
~~~~~
They were being herded up to the parapet when Peter’s curiosity could no longer be contained. “Do you really think you’re gonna get away with this?”
“Of course we will,” Richard said, giving him a shove. “The only thing now is to decide which of you is going to have the ‘accident’ and which of you is going to actually die during our little fake battle.”
“I vote for neither nor,” Mike shot.
“Too bad,” Richard scowled. “We’ll figure it out when we get up there, then.”
“Why are you doing this?” Mike asked, using his best ‘Gavin’ voice. “We’ve not done anything to you!”
Richard grabbed his arm and pulled him in, hissing menacingly. “You’re here, Lloyd. That’s all I need.”
Mike’s jaw dropped. “Well what the hell kind of answer is that?”
His smile grew twisted. “The only kind you are going to get. Now move.”
“There’s obviously something else going on here,” Peter said as the curtains closed in preparation for the climatic scene. “If we’re going to die don’t we at least deserve to know why?”
George looked at Richard. “He’s got a point.”
Richard sighed. “Oh, all right! This place is a thorn in my side! My brother’s gang owns this area and he can’t have a batch of over-thirty squares comin’ in and taking all the action away! So we’re gonna get everything you’re trying to take away from them—and make sure nobody tries it again. After we kill you, nobody will dare!”
Mike and Peter looked at each other and nodded. Gavin was right.
“Now move,” Richard chuckled. Then he chuckled again. “I have it. Knight here will be the accident. You, Mister Lloyd—YOU are going to be the sacrifice to the cause!”
Mike and Peter just exchanged looks again and allowed themselves to be shoved forward. In a few moments, the curtain opened and the lights went up and Richard repeated his line, “Now, princess, any last words?”
Mike stuttered as Richard poked him. “Wait a minute you dingbat! Who’s gonna feed the goldfish?”
“I will!” George put in brightly, thrown by the ad-lib. Richard turned and gave him a withering look.
“Peter, it is us! We are here to save you!” Micky heralded as he and Davy leaped into view, with Gavin bringing up the rear.
“Davy, Micky, Pe—uh, Gav—uh, Mike! You’ve come!” Peter said.
“We’ve come, we’re here to save you, Peter!” Micky bellowed, earning a glare from Davy.
“You already said that! And you call me late?” The audience roared.
Richard scowled, a move that was both in character as well as real. “Get them!” he thundered, and the extras serving as Prince Harold’s knights moved in.
Davy shoved against the extras, who shoved back gently. Micky stood back and cheered them on. Gavin just planted the staff and leaned against it, and the knight he was shoving against found himself holding him up as much as pretending to knock him down.
As for George, he made the mistake of lunging in and attempting to use his relative bulk against the smaller, thinner Peter. He went low, grabbing Peter in such a way as to lift him up and use his momentum to ‘accidentally’ throw the faux knight over the catwalk. Peter braced his leg on the back of the false parapet and grabbed George’s wrist, digging his fingers into the nerves.
With a gasp, George found his hand releasing the monkey. Peter slid his hands out of the gloves and let them fall as he curled his hand and slammed the heel of his palm into George’s chin.
Richard saw this and snarled in anger. He drew another dagger—another real one—and moved to plant it between ‘Gavin’s’ ribs. Enough charades, Mike thought as he caught the hand and twisted it; Richard let out a soft, surprised grunt as the knife blade was suddenly turned against him. Mike planted the tip against Richard’s side and dug it in just enough to let the villain know he was serious.
Richard’s eyes narrowed and he snarled softly, “You won’t kill me. You’re not that strong.”
“Has nothin’ to do with strength,” Mike muttered. “Precisely what you don’t understand.”
A sadistic smile crossed Richard’s lips. He took half a step backward and released the dagger. At the same time, he slid his foot out and behind Mike’s, trying to trip the faux princess up. Mike caught the move and lifted his foot, smashing Richard in the knee.
Richard nearly went to his knees, but grabbed Mike’s arms and used them to keep upright. As he straightened slowly, he locked eyes with Mike and his narrowed again. “What the hell?” he growled. “You’re not Gavin!”
Mike winked, a move which clearly said “Gotcha.”
Richard growled and shoved him away, grabbing for the sword in his sheath. What he managed to pull gleamed menacingly. “Peter!” Mike barked, his voice raising in alarm enough to maintain his Gwen persona. He backed off, warily eyeing the sword.
Peter caught sight of it and called out, “Micky!” Without thinking, he twisted and spun George toward Micky, who was standing alone, just cheering loudly. Micky dodged the flying body and gave Peter a “What the hell was that about?” look. The intense glare on Peter’s sweaty face was enough to answer his question.
On to Chapter Eleven
Back to Chapter Nine
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
