Chapter 4: Making Camps Maximus was feeling rather good about himself as he left the "Lost Parents" station. Then he looked over the roofs of the relatively short shops and homes across the mile or so distance to the top of the church. The dragon still sat there, patiently waiting upon its perch, facing toward the taller castle across the street from it where the queen and her companions had entered some half hour before. So transfixed was Maximus upon this sight that when a hand fell upon his shoulder from behind, he nearly screamed as he swung around and grasped the hilt of his sword. Gledius stood there, a look of surprise on his face from Maximus's reaction. "Whoa, Lieutenant!" he said, "I didn't mean to startle you!" "Captain!" Maximus exclaimed, feeling his face turning red as he came to attention and saluted . "I apologize, sir. I--" Gledius returned the salute then waved off the apology. "No need, Lieutenant," he said, "it's been a trying day for all of us." His mood turned testier as he asked, "So, where's the brat?" "The little blond girl, sir? I just sent her with an escort to her mother," Maximus replied, "it turns out that she's one of the children of that old woman in the big shoe. She's on her way to join them in the resettlement facility." "Not the one in that swamp we just cleared out?" "Oh, no, sir. It's the new one we moved them all to instead." Gledius nodded. Then he gave a short, bitter laugh. "Figures the little urchin would turn out to be one of those fairy tale freaks." He then gave a little snort and added, "Actually, that explains a lot." "Explains a lot ... of what, sir?" Maximus asked, puzzled. "The girl was obviously a plant," Gledius stated matter-of- factly. "A plant, sir?" "Of course. It was all part of their plan," Gledius replied, sounding quite sure of himself. Maximus did not find his puzzlement being abated a great deal, despite Gledius's apparent confidence in his position. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't understand." Gledius sighed deeply, then began speaking slower and more deliberately. "Lieutenant, do you really think it was just a coincidence that that girl would show up on the path like that and provoke that confrontation? One that just happened to make me, who was just doing my duty, look like the ogre, and that oversized green troll look like a blasted goody-two-shoes heroine?" "Well, sir, I--" "Of course not!" Gledius finished answering for him. "Any more that it was a 'coincidence' that, as soon as the 'princess' had lured Lord Farquaad into taking the vows that all her cohorts suddenly showed up and, surprise-surprise, our new king winds up in a dragon's belly and she winds up with Duloc's crown!" At the mention of the dragon, Maximus's eyes darted back to the church top, as if to ensure it was still there and had not suddenly shown up just behind him. He quickly refocused on Gledius. Gledius had apparently had noted Maximus's distraction, as there was an odd glint in the captain's eye. "I'm sorry, sir," Maximus said, "I--" Gledius again waved the explanation away. "I don't blame you for abandoning your post, Lieutenant," the captain said with a sigh, apparently misreading the reason for Maximus's distraction but causing the lieutenant a pang of guilt all the same, "I was inside the church, but couldn't keep the beast from dispatching our new king. Of course, it would have been useful if you could have given us SOME warning, but I'm sure there's a reason why you did not do so." "There WAS, sir!" Maximus objected, "I--" Gledius waved him off yet again. "It doesn't matter now," he said, "it's just water under the drawbridge. It might even been part of the enchantment." "Enchantment, sir?" "Oh, yes," Gledius said, his voice suddenly becoming lower and his eyes shifting about him to make sure no one was taking an interest in their conversation. There were a few passers-by -- most with a more noticeable bounce to their steps than normal - - but non seemed to be paying the officers much attention. So Gledius continued, "I'm pretty sure that either our so-called queen is herself an enchantress, or she had help from one, what with all the supernatural effects she conjured up in there. For that matter, I wouldn't be surprised if as part of the show she managed to hypnotize the more weak-minded of our citizenry into coming over to her side. That would explain the otherwise inexplicable celebration that permeated that mob outside the church, and their willingness to accept that creature -- actually PREFER that creature -- to their own kind." Maximus considered that for a few moments. He supposed that was POSSIBLE, but-- "What about Mr. Beaglely and the mayor, sir?" Maximus asked, "do you think THEY could be enchanted -- if YOU couldn't?" Maximus immediately bit his lip, realizing too late how the captain might take the question. Although Gledius's eyes flared for a moment, his quickly seemed to calm down and even broke into a grim little smile. "It's possible," the captain said, "but it's also possible that they're part of the scheme - - the conspiracy, if you will -- to overthrow Farquaad and take over Duloc." "Conspiracy?!" "Oh, yes, Lieutenant," Gledius replied ominously, then gestured in the direction of the royal castle, currently -- and appropriately -- bathed in green lighting, "I'm sure the cabal is meeting at this moment, probably rewriting Duloc's laws to cement their little coup. They'll probably begin by freeing those other fairy-tale freaks and allowing them back into Duloc. They might even allow them to start moving into Duloc proper! Can you imagine that, Lieutenant? Having those -- creatures -- underfoot and around every corner? Stealing our jobs? Polluting our youth? Lowering our property values? Demanding access to all parts of Dulocian society -- even allowing them into our MILITARY?!" Gledius visibly shuddered. "I tell you, Lieutenant, as sworn defenders of Duloc, our duty DEMANDS that we take action to stop all this!" Maximus's head was starting to spin and his stomach to churn. "But our allegiance to the leadership--" "Was to the RIGHTFUL leadership," Gledius interrupted, "which was Lord Farquaad. In fact, I would think that part of that allegiance would include the prosecution of the villains who overthrew that leadership. Wouldn't you agree?" "I -- I guess so," Maximus reluctantly conceded, "but even if we in turn overthrew the queen -- well, who would rule Duloc then?" Gledius sighed. "A good question, Lieutenant. Which is another reason we need to act quickly, so that we can secure the Dulocian lawbooks before they have a chance to totally rewrite them. Once that's done, we can explore the code and determine the proper manner to proceed in determining legal leadership. However, in the mean time, in order to prevent Duloc from descending into anarchy and to keep everything running on time, I suppose, as head of the Dulocian guards, it's my responsibility to have to step in temporarily as military governor. It'll be a tough job, but SOMEBODY has to do it. Don't you agree, Lieutenant?" "I -- I suppose," Maximus responded, "but--" "Good!" Gledius said, and threw a comradely arm about his underling's shoulders. "Together, we have a chance to make up a little for our failures!" Maximus felt another pang of guilt as Gledius spoke those words, but then the captain continued, his voice even more low and ominious than before. "The first thing we need to do," Gledius said, slowly lifting his arm and pointing toward the distant image of the dragon, "is neutralize THAT thing." As Maximus followed his captain's pointing finger to the dragon, the thought of taking part in the monster's "neutralization" brought a grim satisfaction. As he stared at the beast, a corner of Maximus's mouth even broke into a portentous little grin -- a grin mimicked by Gledius as he studied the face of his distracted underling. * * * A peeved Fiona shoved the double-doors to the council chamber open and strode in, apparently not registering the way the doors slammed against the walls to either side of the doorway. "That is NOT very helpful, Mr. Beaglely," she huffed. "I apologize, Your Highness," an unperturbed Beaglely replied as he trailed behind her and Shrek into the room. "I was just noting that, since you had Gledius in a situation where he had lost face and favor with both his men and the general populace, that would have been an opportune time to relieve him of command. By disgracing him but not relieving him, it gives him that much more incentive to--" "I HEARD what you SAID," she growled, swinging around to face Beaglely so suddenly that Shrek, trailing just behind her, nearly collided with the new monarch. "Why didn't you say it at the TIME?" Beaglely simply blinked, then calmly replied, "Because we were in a public arena and you did not ask for my advice. It would not have been proper for me to have volunteered anything at the time." Fiona stared at the placid city manager for a moment, breathing heavily, one eye involuntarily twitching. "Mr. Beaglely," she began, speaking between clenched teeth, "I would appreciate it if, in the future, if you perceive that similar -- opportune -- actions may be called for, I give you permission to speak to me about it. ANYWHERE. Do you understand?" "Yes, Your Majesty," he replied, "but decorum dictates that --" "I DON'T CARE!" she thundered, causing everyone in the room to cringe except the target of her outburst. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said, and calmly gave an obedient bow. Fiona rolled her eyes and shook her head. Then she crossed her arms -- despite her frustration, being careful not to damage the flower she still held in one hand -- and turned back away from the group so that she was facing into the room. Shrek quietly chuckled in grim satisfaction, pleased that the irritating little man was finally starting to find disfavor with Fiona. "I STILL don't understand why ye just don't go an' arrest the guy and be done with it," he said, sensing an opportunity to pursue his earlier argument. "Because he hasn't done anything wrong yet," Beaglely calmly repeated his earlier reason. Shrek was about to rebut Beaglely's answer, but Donkey, who had followed into the room along with Milquest and had also witnessed the exchange between the fiery ogress and unflappable manager, had his own pressing question. "Hey man, what IS it wit'cho, anyway?" Donkey challenged Beaglely, "You have your emotion chip removed or somethin'?" Beaglely blinked, then looked down at the animal, who was looking back up at him with one eye cocked in curiosity. "I beg your pardon?" Beaglely asked. "I mean, you never get mad or happy or scared or nothin'. What gives? Ain'cha human? 'Cause, y'know, around here ya never can tell if --" "I assure you," Beaglely interjected, "I'm quite human." "Then why--" "OH, WOW!" Fiona gasped, finally realizing her surroundings. The council chamber was huge. Each of the walls was paneled with ornately engraved wood, and on three of the walls was mounted a large painting featuring Farquaad. One painting was a simple portrait of the man wearing a decorative military uniform, a look of smugness on his face, his large chin jutted out and one hand held just inside a flap of his vest. Another portrait featured a fully armored Farquaad driving a lance through the heart of a large writhing dragon; the beast's hideous face was twisted with pain while Farquaad's face bore a peaceful expression, his eyes were turned heavenward and a shiny halo was painted around his head. The last portrait showed a determined looking Farquaad striking a commanding pose, standing in the bow of a rowboat as his soldiers paddled it through an icy river. The furnishings were equally impressive. A large rectangular wooden table sat in the middle of the room. Five finely polished chairs sat on either side and at one end. But at the other end -- the apparent head -- sat a most impressively ornate chair -- finely polished and carved wood, with a backrest that alone stood some four feet tall. Both the backrest of the chair and its seat were cushioned and covered with red velvet. It was obviously Farquaad's chair, something easily deduced from the commanding position it held at the head of the table, its grandeur, the large gold "f" that was sewn into the velvet of the backrest padding, and the wooden platform that the chair's legs sat on that made the seat a foot taller than any of the others at the table. Fiona walked slowly toward Farquaad's chair as Shrek gestured to the portraits. "So," Shrek asked, "are any o' these things based on real life?" "That one is," Beaglely answered, pointing to the one of Farquaad with his hand in his vest, "Lord Farquaad had just had that suit made, and wanted a portrait done to commemorate the occasion. Unfortunately, it itched." Fiona wasn't listening to the banter. She was taking in more of the room as she wandered toward the council table -- the elaborate chandelier that hung from the tall cathedral ceiling, the expensive designer chairs, tables and divans that sat against the walls. She finally reached the table, and ran a finger along the sleek varnished arm of Farquaad's chair. "At least the insignias will transfer smoothly," a voice said over her shoulder. Fiona turned with a start to see Milquest standing there. He shrank back a bit at her reaction and quickly stammered, "I'm sorry, your Highness, I didn't mean to startle you!" "That's all right," Fiona replied, raising her hand to her chest to catch her breath, "I'm sorry, Lord Mayor. What was that you were saying?" "The insignia," Milquest explained, pointing to the "f" on the chair. "Farquaad. Fiona. Both names begin with that letter. So we won't even need to change the insignias -- which believe me, around this town would mean quite an expenditure in community funds!" Fiona turned and stared at the insignia -- one of some hundred versions of the letter she figured she had seen since arriving in Duloc that morning. She shook her head and broke a small, involuntary smile. Her former husband's egocentricity truly knew no bounds. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Milquest apologized, "I didn't mean to joke--" "No, it's all right, Lord Mayor," Fiona said, "it's just ... well, in all my fantasies of what it would be like to finally marry royalty and become a queen, I never considered what it would be like to actually rule. I always pictured myself pretty much as Farquaad probably pictured me -- a quiet partner to my husband, a titular queen exercising no real power of her own. I guess I figured in the land of 'happily ever after,' problems just kinda took care of themselves, like magic." "'Titular queen'?" Donkey echoed, having overhead their conversation, "Say, is that some kinda official name, or are you just callin' yourself that 'cause you're so well end--" Just then Shrek's foot came down on one of Donkey's hooves, causing the animal to abort his question with a howl of pain, "OWWWW!" "Oops! Sorry, Donkey," Shrek said, smiling meekly at Fiona and giving a little shrug. Fiona smiled and looked away shyly, blushing slightly. As she did so, her eyes fell on the large double-paned window doors that opened onto a balcony. She walked to the window doors, opened them, then stepped onto the balcony. The first thing that caught her eye was dragon, standing watch atop the church. She saw Fiona and made a thumbs-up sign with her paw, a questioning look on her face. Fiona returned the thumbs-up gesture, and nodded tentatively. Fiona was still having a hard time getting used to thinking of the beast as an ally -- let alone a sentient being with loves, dreams, and aspirations of her own. To Fiona, she had always been a thing -- the fierce guardian of her castle-prison, more a force of nature than a life form. Another instance, Fiona thought, of the danger of judging someone before you got to know them. Fiona then looked down below her at the crowds that were still milling around the streets, torches burning, music playing, as they continued to celebrate their freedom. Here were other people with loves, dreams, and aspirations of their own -- most of which were suppressed in the choreographed conformity that marked Farquaad's reign. She thought back on the implication of Milquest's remark. Replace Farquaad? No -- she could not see herself doing that. Even if she managed to be a benign ruler, would she be effective? And even if she were effective, would she survive as a constant target for schemers and plotters, to whom the kingship or queenship was but a goal to satisfy their power-hungry quests? And even if she survived, what would become of Duloc afterwards under her successors? Her successors -- normally her children. But children borne to whom? To Shrek? She bit her lip. It would be so much to ask of him -- to stay here with her in a life she knew he'd detest. It wouldn't be fair. In fact, the more she pondered such a life, the less she liked it herself. Her thoughts briefly drifted back to the impromptu campfire dinner she and Shrek had enjoyed just the day before. It had felt so good -- so right - - just to be with him there in the open outdoors, with the beauty of nature all round, sitting on a sturdy log "bench" with the aroma of freshly cooked meat in her nostrils and its savory taste on her tongue. Even when she found out the source of the meat was hardly what most would condone as fit for a human, let alone for a princess, it had not dampened her enthusiasm. And she still recalled the unexpectedly alluring appeal of the way Shrek spoke about cooking similar meals for her when she visited his swamp. She remembered, during that dinner, looking toward the horizon at the castle she now occupied, and realizing for the first time, with the goal she had been dreaming of all her life seeming literally to be in sight, that perhaps that goal was a chimera after all. And now, looking back on it all, she realized that just as her true love and love's true form had taken drastically different turns from what she had expected, perhaps her ultimate fate led her toward fulfilling her life in a style drastically different from the one that her royal heritage would imply. Yet she did not find that thought frightening -- in fact, she rather liked the idea, the adventure of going off with Shrek, just the two of them, free of the pomp and trimmings of royalty to face a rustic life together. Unfortunately, for now, she felt the responsibility of that royalty tethering her like an anchor. Fiona looked down at the sunflower she held in her hands, and a small smile played upon her lips. There would be no need to pick its petals to make her decision between living her life with Shrek or living it as a queen. It was finally so clear to her. She suddenly understood that, without that anchor of responsibility, not only would she actually be glad to leave -- to fly away with Shrek just as he wanted her to -- but the chances of her having regrets afterwards were remarkably slim. But first, before abdicating her monarchial role, she had to do something to ensure that another would-be Farquaad could not too easily step into it. And that odd little town manager seemed to believe he knew how she might be able to do it. Fiona turned and walked back into the room with resolution. "Mr. Beaglely," she said, "I believe you--" Fiona checked herself as she saw two men appear in the room's open doorway. They were dressed as commoners, each carried what looked like a toolbox in their hands, and one held a large furry brown bundle under one arm. "Uh, excuse us," one of them said, looking over the odd assortment of personages in the room with some perplexity, "is Lord -- or King -- Farquaad around?" Fiona was about to answer when Shrek beat her to it. "Not bloody likely," he said, "who are you, anyway, and where the devil have you been this evenin'?" The same man answered, "We were asked to do a rush job -- new shag carpeting with extra padding in Lord Farquaad's bed chamber. He said he really needed it ready by his wedding night." "Why would he be in such a hurry to have carpetin' with extra paddin' in his bedroom by his weddin' night?" Donkey asked, confused. The carpet worker started to say something, then just shrugged. Everyone else looked away innocently, and Fiona found herself blushing again. "I -- I can't say for sure," the carpet worker finally said, "he didn't tell us. Anyway, the job's done, but we need to know what to do with this rug he had sitting in there." The worker nodded to his second, who undid the furry brown bundle he held. It turned out to be a bear-skin rug, but this bear wore a pink ribbon on its head. "Hey!" Donkey exclaimed, "I know that rug! I saw her just the other day! She... she..." Donkey then fainted dead away.