Chapter 6: Fateful Decisions A short while before the witch's arrival, Gledius and Maximus sat at a small table outside of one of Duloc's theme restaurants, each nursing a mug of ale. In front of them sat plastic plates containing the barely picked-over remains of their small, overpriced spaghetti-and-meatball dinners. Their seats were a hundred yards or so closer to the church than the "Lost Parents" station, and afforded a better view of the holy edifice, and the ungodly beast that stood guard atop it. The two officers had batted ideas back and forth on the best way to try to neutralize the dragon, and had failed to come up with any workable solutions. As Maxiumus took another sip at his brew, looking up at their reptilian nemesis, Gledius studied his understudy. Maximus's suggestions had been bold, direct, heroic, and stupid. Challenging the beast to open combat with a regiment of lancers, for example, seemed like something they might write epic poems about, but in truth, the beast could easily incinerate the lot of the charging cavaliers before they got within a hundred feet. The na‹ve young lieutenant seemed caught up in his own fairy tale notions of the proper conduct of men in their position -- either that or he was a better actor than Gledius ever was. The captain had spent years as Farquaad's lackey, the ever-obedient right-hand-man to Farquaad in all the little Lord's plans and schemes. Gledius had worked hard to keep his ambitious nature in check -- showing enough to impress his former superiors and then eventually Farquaad into steadily promoting him into positions of increasing responsibility, but not so much as to alert Farquaad that his ultimate goal was so supercede the diminutive regent himself. Of course, the captain reflected with some irritation, a few HAD been able to see through him more easily than the myopic Farquaad -- that inscrutable Beagley, for instance, had seemed to suspect something. But to Gledius's knowledge the city manager had not alerted Duloc's ruler to the possible danger from below -- for some self-serving reason of his own, Gledius had no doubt. Gledius wasn't sure when, or even if, he might have moved against Farquaad directly. He was still performing duties to win over his trust, such as chasing down the exasperatingly elusive Gingerbread Man and seeking out the mythical Magic Mirror. But suddenly that decision became academic, as in a flash the dragon had eliminated that stumbling block for him. In that sense, the dragon had given him a great boost up the career latter. For that he felt an ironic sense of gratitude to the monster that now guarded his last hurtle to the top of the Dulocian power structure. As Maximus continued to stare up at the beast, Gledius allowed an ironic smile to cross his lips, and clandestinely tipped his mug to the dragon in mock salute. Now if he could just figure out its weak spot, and get one more break... Gledius's ruminations were brought to an abrupt halt by the dragon's sudden change in attitude, as it struck an attentive pose, ears alert and teeth bared, and stared toward the western sky. A moment later, Gledius thought he could detect the reason why, as he could both hear and see a small figure streaking in across the sky from that directly. "WHAT THE BLAZES --" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet and inadvertently knocking over his ale. The shatter-resistant plastic mug clattered, unnoticed, on the cobblestones below as the captain stared, transfixed, at the scene unfolding above him. Gledius's utterance soon became literal as the figure -- Gledius now recognized it as a witch -- circled the town, as if getting its bearings, then dove toward Farquaad's castle. At that point the dragon, which had been tracking the witch's progress carefully, launched a great plume of flame at it. But it was like trying to shoot a fly with an arrow; the witch easily evaded the flame's path and seemed headed straight at the invitingly open window doors of the ornate balcony outside of Farquaad's council chamber that Gledius had seen the ogress appear on a few minutes before. The dragon also saw the witch's intended flight path, and with a great roar quickly took to the air itself, attempting an interception course. But the witch was a split second faster, and flew into the open balcony doors just ahead of the beast's snapping jaws. The dragon roared again then clung onto the balcony with its front paws while its rear claws dug into the stone wall below it. It continued clinging there, its chest heaving, its lips curled back in a snarl, as it seemed to be intensely watching whatever was going on inside. In the streets below, there were several gasps and a few shrieks from citizens as they witnessed the duel of inhuman antagonists. Near the front gates, one distracted and somewhat inebriated observer accidentally stumbled against the lever that immediately activated the "Welcome to Duloc" automatonic puppet show, its saccharine song providing an incongruous backdrop to the happenings outside Farquaad's castle. "Sir, what's going on?!" Maximus stammered, his eyes still transfixed on the dragon. "An excellent question," Gledius said. He was hardly sure himself. But he decided now was not the time to sound unsure to this would-be recruit to his budding plans. "Offhand," he said, "I would guess that our little group of conspirators are consulting with a confederate." "But ... but if the witch is their ally, why would the dragon have tried to kill her?" Maximus asked, confused. Gledius frowned. The lieutenant wasn't that dense after all. He'd have to be more careful of his presumptions. Frankly, he wasn't sure how much of what he had seen that evening was planned by the queen and how much just happened. He wondered, had that irritating city manager not interfered, if the whole group of them wouldn't have simply flown off, never to be seen again, and left Gledius the beneficiary of an unplanned coup of his own. Or perhaps Beaglely was part of it after all -- in fact, the little man was probably smart enough to have planned the whole thing, although Gledius wouldn't have thought he had the nerve to actually have taken such an active part. Perhaps it was the years Gledius had spend so closely with Farquaad, but he found that when he expected the worst of somebody, he usually wasn't disappointed. But in any event, he wasn't going to let the opportunity presented this evening slip by -- and besides, he owed the ogress back for her humiliation of him, and Gledius was the type who tried to pay such debts back -- with interest. So if it meant presenting his worst case scenario as fact to his underlings, and exploiting the Dulocian's innate fear and distrust of fairy tale freaks, then those would be the tools he would use. In fact, as his mind ran along these lines, an answer for Maximus's question sprang to mind. "Perhaps their watchdog is a bit too anxious?" Gledius ventured. "After all, it's just a big stupid beast." Maximus seemed to think about it for a moment, then nodded his assent. Gledius fought down a grin. Just then the dragon loosed its hold to the castle and started flapping its way back toward the church. A moment later, the witch flew back out of the balcony windows, made a couple of tight circles in the sky, and then, to Gledius's horror, turned and dove straight toward he and Maximus. "DUCK!!" Gledius screamed, and dove down below the table, followed a moment later by Maximus. The witch overflew the table with a great "WHOOSH," clearing it by only a few feet and leaving a noticeable breeze in her wake. Several seconds later, Gledius was still cowering under the table when Maximus said, "Sir? Sir, I think she's gone now." "Oh, of course," the captain said as he rose and tried to regain his composure. "I -- uh -- was just taking a few moments to consider what she may have been scheming with her companions in the --" "I THOUGHT I recognized you!" a cackling voice said from just behind and above Gledius. The captain screamed and dove back under the table again as Maximus drew his sword and held it at the ready as he faced the witch, who was now hovering on her broom about four feet off the ground and a couple of yards away from the table. "You said she was gone!" Gledius growled. "Oh, I came back!" the witch said, "Since you're the one that offloaded those cartloads of freeloaders onto my land, I wanted to show you something." Gledius peeked over the table to see the witch pulling a scroll out of her pocket. He stood as she opened it and held it out to the captain. "See?" she asked, with a self-satisfied grin. Gledius read the queen's edict, and his jaw dropped. "My God, sir!" Maximus gasped, having also read it, "You were right!" "Yes, of COURSE I was," Gledius said, trying to keep any surprise out of his voice. A moment later, when he realized the depth of the break he had just caught, he had to restrain the glee that swept over him. The ogress had played right into his hands! It was perfect! "Well, I'm off," the witch said, re-rolling the scroll and stuffing it into a pocket. "I just wanted to show you that to make sure there was no misunderstanding. No more dumping! I now have the right to refuse your refuse!" Then, after a moment, she cracked an evil little grin and added, "Of course, if YOU'D like to drop by sometime, just yourself, then that'd be okay. You're the type of man I'd like to have for dinner." Gledius felt the blood run from his face. Seeing it, the witch gave a croaking laugh, then reared back and called out, "HI O- CEDAR, AWAY!" Then she darted back into the sky and disappeared off to the west. As Gledius stared off after the witch, he heard Maximus speak from behind him. "Great Heavens, sir! It's all happening just as you said it would!" Gledius again fought down a grin, then turned to face his astounded and completely beguiled subordinate. "What did you expect?" he asked and, as he thought, the lieutenant could only shake his head and shrug, blushing in embarrassment for whatever latent doubts he might have held. "Now," Gledius said, "we've still got to figure a way to --" His words were cut short as he stared up to where the dragon has resumed its perch. But sitting beside it now was the donkey. Even from this distance Gledius was sure he could see the smaller animal's mouth moving as it talked -- and talked. Yet it was the way that the dragon was staring down at it that riveted the captain's attention. Was he really seeing what he thought he was in its huge eyes, the contours of its face? The dragon was ... enamored with a DONKEY? Maximus followed Gledius's stare, and the two soldiers stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the two creatures atop the church. Then Gledius got an idea. An awful idea. Gledius got a wonderful, awful idea. "Lieutenant," Gledius said, almost wistfully, "are you pondering what I'm pondering?" "I think so, sir," Maximus replied, turning back towards his captain, "but even if we were able to distribute flying broomsticks to all our lancers, would it really be morally correct to employ tools of the dark arts in such a way, even toward a noble end?" Gledius stared at Maximus dumbly for a moment, then shook his head to clear it. "No, Lieutenant," Gledius said with a touch of impatience, "that's NOT what I was thinking. But if what I AM thinking works, then we will soon be able to move toward righting the terrible wrong that has been done to Duloc this day. First, we need to gather up our troops, and then --" his eyes drifted to his unfinished plate of spaghetti-and-meatballs sitting on the table -- "we need to speak to the owner of this establishment." * * * "Anyway," Donkey continued his latest story as Dragon stared attentively down at him, "Farquaad stared down at us, pointed at Shrek 'n said, 'The first guy ta off the ogre gets t'be champ,' or somethin' like that. So all the knights, they started movin' in on Shrek an' waving their swords and battleaxes an' stuff. An' Shrek, well, he tried ta talk 'is way out've it. Meanwhile, I just kinda eased outta the way an' got on top'a these big barrels of beer, and when they finally started fightin', I rolled this big barrel over top'a -- oh, I dunno, maybe thirty or forty of 'em! Yep, I'm pretty sure I saved the big lug's life! Not that he'd ever admit it, a'course." Dragon, whose eyes had been growing wide as she listened with bated breath to Donkey's tale unfold, now half bowed her head in salute, then puckered her lips and made a whistling sound, obviously impressed by Donkey's intrepid show of bravery. "Hey, thanks Babe," Donkey said, "Y'know, you're a really good listener. And I really 'preciate that. Most people I know, when I try ta tell a story, well, they just kinda tune me out or hurry me along. It really gets frazzlin, havin' that happen all the time, y'know?" Dragon frowned and shook her head in disapproval, not understanding how anyone could treat this fascinating creature in such a rude way. "Well, anyway," Donkey said, getting back to his story, "me an' Shrek beat all the knights. Yep, we knocked them all out cold! Then Farquaad, he--" "Es-cuse-a-me, es-cuse-a-me please! Signore and -- Signorina?" a nervous, Italian-accented voice called from below them. Donkey and Dragon looked down and saw a stout middle-aged man with dark thinning hair and a thick mustache, wearing a chef's apron and an odd floppy cap, standing at the base of the church and looking up at them. Most of the crowd had dissipated as the night wore on, and the fellow stood out rather starkly in the mostly deserted square. "Hey, man, what'cho want?" Donkey called down, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He heard a deep grown in Dragon's voice beside him as she also looked down warily at the little man. "Es-cuse-a-me, please!" he repeated, sounding even more nervous now, "My name is Mario. I own a restaurante not-a-far from-a here. In honor of-a the great deed you have done in-a ridding our town of-a-the fascista Far-a-qaad, we would like-a to treat-a-you and-a your lady-friend to a free dinner!" "A free dinner?" Donkey repeated, his ears pricking up. "Really?" At the sound of food he felt his stomach growl and his mouth begin to water. It WAS starting to get late, and he and Dragon HADN'T had dinner. Well, HE hadn't -- SHE, of course, had had that little snack in the church... "Oh, si!" Mario said, "Here, let-a-me have-a-them bring it to you!" With that, he looked off toward a nearby alley and curtly called out, "Hey, Luigi, a-bring it on out-a! " A moment later, another moustached man of Mediterranean complexion, this one younger, thinner and taller than Mario but also wearing an apron and floppy cap, led a horse pulling a large platform into the yard. The platform -- a rectangular litter about four by eight feet -- was piled high with spaghetti, tomato sauce, and several meatballs each about two feet in diameter. "Please come down and-a help-a yourselfs!" Mario called up as Luigi unhitched the platform from the horse. Donkey looked down at the mound of pasta and licked his lips. "Whaddya think, Babe?" he asked, and looked up at Dragon. She shifted her eyes from him down to the proprietor, who had suddenly started perspiring. And his smile looked a little bit too forced. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and slowly shook her head. "Oh, c'mon!" Donkey prodded, "They just wanna show us a little gratitude! Heck, it'd be downright insultin' not ta take 'em up on it!" Dragon wasn't particularly impressed with his arguments regarding decorum. But he looked so very anxious to try the meal -- she looked at Donkey, then the proprietor, then Donkey again -- "What'cha say?!" Donkey nearly pleaded, and flashed her one of his toothy grins. "Bet you'd like them big ol' meatballs! Man, they could probably have a slam-dunk contest with them suckers!" Dragon snickered, then sighed, then reluctantly reached down and picked her companion up with a front paw. Then she spread her wings and they glided down, landing beside Mario and his pile of spaghetti. Luigi and the horse were now gone. "Please, eat up-a!" he invited, with sweeping gestures toward the pile. "I -- uh don't suppose-a you'd like a knife-and-a- fork?" "No, man, that's okay," Donkey said as he approached the mound with wide eyes and smacking lips, "and thanks a bunch!" "No problemo!" Mario said, sweating a bit more profusely as he got a close-up view of Dragon. As Donkey began to attack the pasta she looked around the square, eyes attentive, nose testing the air for anything that might possibly be construed as a threat. She noted that the few citizens still in the square immediately gave her a wide berth, and the only soldiers within site were the two standing guard in front of Farquaad's castle doors, who, after a moment's alarm and confusion, tried to reassume their previous positions. Then her eyes rested on the proprietor. He had to struggle to keep his smile pasted on, and he had to wipe his sweating hands on his apron. Her lip curled involuntarily as she stared down at him. "Not bad, not bad!" Donkey said enthusiastically, trying to talk despite a mouth half-full of spaghetti. "C'mon, Babe, see what'cha think." Dragon leaned down and sniffed the pasta suspiciously. She then licked it to make sure it didn't taste funny. She then started nibbling at a few strands as Donkey continued to eat with hearty abandon. "How-a sweet!" Mario said, "Perhaps you would-a like a little music with-a your meal?" He then reached around and pulled out an accordion. He began playing it, accompanying his own singing, his eyes closing as he got "into" the song: "Oh this is-a the night, It's a beauuuu-ti-a-ful night And we call it -- " Mario stopped singing as he heard a deep growl emanate from Dragon's throat. He opened his eyes to see her glaring at him, the side of one lip curled back to expose a few of her long sharp teeth. "Ah, yes," he stammered nervously, "a-maybe you'd prefer-a to dine in quiet? Yes, of course-a, you do! Well, just-a call if you-a need anything. Ciao, now!" Mario then gave a hasty bow and quickly retreated back to his restaurant. Donkey shook his head and swallowed a mouthful of pasta. "Everybody I know's a music critic," he mumbled. Dragon looked over at him, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. "Uh, never mind," Donkey said, "let's just do like the guy said and chow down!" Dragon shrugged and began nibbling at the mound again. She found that she had bitten into one particularly long strand of spaghetti she couldn't quite bite off, so she began sucking it in. Coincidentally, Donkey was having the same trouble with a strand himself, and began doing the same thing. A moment later, both animals not realizing they were working on opposite ends of the same strand, they were found themselves pressing muzzle to muzzle. Embarrassed, Donkey jerked his head down and away, blushing somewhat as he smiled shyly and glanced back up at Dragon. She smiled back down at him and his reaction, and batted her eyes. Dropping her guard for the first time in a while, she leaned down and pushed one of the huge meatballs toward his end of the platform with her muzzle. "Oh, ah, no thanks, Babe," he said, recovering his composure somewhat, "I'm kindof a vegetarian. Mostly, anyway. 'Course, I DO have an occasional egg. Say, do eggs count as meat? I know if ya let 'em grow up ta be chickens, well, that's meat, a' course. Funny how we think ah things like that, huh? I know some people who don't even count fish as meat. 'Meat and fish' they say, like they's two diff'rent things. Me, I kinda think of 'em together. On the other hand, you COULD say..." Donkey continued rambling on about meat and fish and eggs and other progressively less related topics. Dragon quietly listened to him and his meandering thoughts, amused and at the same time soothed. And as she listened she leaned forward and, without thinking about it, gobbled down the meatball that Donkey had declined. And then she ate another meatball. And another. Soon she had finished them all. So captivated was she by him and his pleasant droning that she didn't realize that his voice wasn't the only thing making her progressively relaxed... and sleepy... * * * Universal, equal voting rights for all Dulocian citizens regardless of class, station, or gender to directly elect their legislature. Subordination of the military to serve that body's directions, but not dictate what those directions were. An independent court with power to check excesses of the legislature that might impede the rights of Dulocians -- rights not only to vote, but rights of speech, press, assembly -- even religion. It was a broad, radical document, yet surprisingly concise. Fiona was impressed. She flipped back through the last couple of pages again, then looked up at Beaglely. His face appeared mostly neutral, but if one took the time to look closely, they could see the anxiousness in his eyes as he awaited her decision. "You've taken a lot of time to plan this, haven't you?" she asked. "Yes, Your Majesty," he replied. "It was always a dream of mine -- a fantasy, if you will, that such a system might be enacted here. And so I tried to make it -- if you'll pardon the expression -- as perfect as possible." "And ye failed," Shrek's caustic voice pronounced from the back of the room. They turned to see Shrek, sitting in a chair that leaned against the wall near the doorway, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. "Would you care to elaborate, Mr. ... Shrek?" Beaglely asked impassively. "Yes, Shrek," Fiona joined, her voice betraying a touch of irritation, "DO be just a TAD specific, if you'd please." Shrek looked away from Beaglely and into Fiona's eyes and, despite the hint of rebuke there, his scowl faded into earnest sincerity. "Look, Fiona," he began, "I've been watchin' ye as Beaglely's been goin' over this thing with ye. And I kin tell, from the questions you've been askin' and tweekin' you've made, that you're a smart an' perceptive woman. Duloc would -- well, they'd be really lucky if you DID stay here an' be their queen. They'd get a lot better'n they deserve." Shrek's voice caught and he swallowed hard at the thought of Fiona remaining the Dulocian monarch, but then he continued. "But what's ta keep this legislature of yours from bein' filled by a bunch a' demagogues that just tell the people what they want ta hear, just get their blood riled up an' forget their brains. You're talkin' about a bunch of pretty ignorant people here. They don't know much beyond takin' care o' their farms or runnin' their own businesses. I suppose there MIGHT be some exceptions, like Beaglely here, but mostly they're a shortsighted, bigoted, and superstitious lot. An' now you're proposin' that these people be put in charge of electin' their own leaders? Won't that lead to the -- the 'mobocracy' ye talked about earlier?" Fiona just stared at Shrek, her mouth ajar, all traces of admonition faded from her face. This man continued to impress her, and inwardly she rebuked herself at assuming his reaction was inspired by kneejerk ignorance (tinged with a bit of self- interest). He had brought up a valid, practical point that alluded her, as again her lack of worldly experience had kept her from maintaining a proper level of experienced skepticism as Beaglely explained his document. Now she realized that Shrek had been quietly and unobtrusively supplying that experienced skepticism from the back of the room, allowing her the freedom to absorb the intent and detail of Beaglely's plans, and had voiced his concerns now that the time had come to judge whether those idealistic intents held up to practical scrutiny. Despite Shrek's words to the contrary, Fiona didn't feel very smart or perceptive at that moment. In fact, she felt a little bit ashamed. But she hoped she would soon have the opportunity to make it up to him, mostly in ways that did not directly involve the intellect. "You raise some valid points," Beaglely conceded from beside her. "Indeed, an informed and educated citizenry would seem to be a prerequisite if we were to hope for success. That is why I've come up with this ..." Beaglely reached into the briefcase's hidden compartment again and pulled out one more paper, this one thick as it had apparently been folded over several times. He unfolded it, and laid the resulting sheet -- which measured some two by three feet -- onto the table. Fiona looked down at it. Milquest leaned forward from the seat where he had silently been observing the proceedings and looked at it. Curious, even Shrek came forward and looked over Fiona's shoulder at it. "Is that supposed t'be this castle?" Shrek asked. "Yes," Beaglely said, "with a few alterations." "A FEW?" Fiona echoed, looking down at the penciled out general floorplans. The outline of the huge castle was recognizable, and the interior floors had their major rooms highlighted, but instead of various private chambers, Beaglely had drawn in the plans for -- "Classrooms! Fiona said, looking over the scribbled notations by his drawings, "you've divided most of this castle into classrooms!" "Yes," Beaglely confirmed, "it is large enough that with some remodeling we should be able to divide it into suites for each of the several grades, with offices for faculty. I figured, if we no longer have a regent or a monarch, then we no longer need a palace, and we could perhaps turn this monument of vanity into a lighthouse of knowledge. By my calculations, we could host all the children and teens within Duloc. We could make sure that they get the proper instruction in the basic skills of reading, writing and mathematics, as well as help them develop the proper appreciation for their history and their role as responsible citizens." Fiona examined the floorplans for a few moments more, then turned back to Shrek. "What do you think?" she asked. Shrek raised an eyebrow, apparently surprised that she would consult him on this. "Well," he said, "it does bring a new meanin' to 'higher learnin'." He chuckled to himself -- but only to himself. Fiona just rolled her eyes and then stared back at him as his chuckle quickly petered out and he cleared his throat, suddenly a bit embarrassed. "Seriously," she insisted, "what do you think?" Shrek shrugged, uncomfortable at being brought into the discussion. "Oh, I don't know, Fiona," he said uneasily, "I ain't exactly had a lot of experience with humans' ... NOBLER motivations. I suppose, if they had to do SOMETHIN' with this place after ye step down, they could do a lot worse'n teaching a few kids some things they wouldn't learn otherwise. The place would have a lot better legacy than Farquaad left it with, that's for sure" Fiona nodded and turned back to the floorplan. "Yes," she said softly, almost to herself. "A legacy to leave ... after I step down ..." She stared down at the plan for the conversion of the castle -- HER castle. It was, by all rights, hers now. That's the way the world worked. Royalty begat royalty, kingdoms passed from hand to hand by cultivated bloodlines and civilized laws -- well, civilized until the monarchs of opposing kingdoms started sending armies against each other in mass mutual slaughter. But when all was said and done, the monarchs still ruled, and their responsibility was to look after their subjects -- subjects who were, it was taken for granted, simply unable to take care of themselves. It was just one of the "givens" of the universe, as sure as the sun spun around the earth. If she gave that up -- if she bought in to all Beaglely had been saying -- would she be shirking that responsibility? In her desire to shrug off the yoke of unpartnered queenship that had fallen so unexpectedly across her neck, was she leaving Duloc out to dry? Were they even close to mature enough to handle the responsibility that Beaglely was asking her to pass on to them? Unthinkingly, she reached down and ran her hand gently over the floorplan -- the hand, she suddenly remembered, not of a demur, elegant human female, but the thick, rough hand of an ogress. Yet these people, these Dulocians -- most of them, anyway -- had accepted her, even as their queen, when she had been raised with the expectation that no human could stand even to look at her in this hideous form. Perhaps these people were capable of more than she was giving them credit for. She looked up and saw Beaglely staring back at her, patiently waiting her next move. Here was one example of someone who had been born a lowly commoner -- who had pulled himself up from the dirt of his hovel floor into a position to advise queens. She wondered how many others out there with other potential gifts might do as well in their own right, especially if given a chance to improve their education. If SHE gave them that chance. Fiona sighed. Oh well, she thought ruefully, it was a nice reign while it lasted. "Mr. Beaglely?" the queen said. "Yes, Your Majesty?" he inquired obediently. "Prepare two legal documents," she ordered, "one to authorize the conversion of this castle into an institute of learning such as you have outlined here. The other should announce the adoption of the new Dulocian Constitution, which will coincide with my abdication of the crown, effective at noon tomorrow." "As you wish, My Queen," Beaglely said. His features remained passive, but Fiona was sure she caught a glimmer of something - - joy? -- in his eyes. As the city manager set about his tasks, Fiona turned to Shrek and smiled. "It looks like I'll be free tomorrow night, if that offer to see your swamp's still open." He smiled back at her, but with a hint of unease that surprised her. "Are ye sure about all you're doin' here, Fiona?" he asked. "No," she replied frankly, still smiling, "but then, I haven't been sure of ANYTHING since a certain ogre drug me out of my room in Dragon's castle." Shrek chuckled. "Funny," he said, "neither have I." Just then a loud growling erupted from the ogre's stomach. Both he and Fiona looked down at it, then back at each other. She pursed her lips and tried -- unsuccessfully -- to look more annoyed than amused. "Haven't had much to eat t'day," he said shyly by way of an explanation. Suddenly, another growling, of equal intensity, arose from Fiona's own belly. They both looked down at hers, then back at each other again. "I -- uh -- haven't had much of an appetite today, either," she said, blushing slightly. "Lord Mayor," Beaglely said from his seat as he continued to work, "perhaps you could help the queen and her companion order something that may slate their hunger?" Milquest blinked, surprised. "Huh?" he stammered, then "Oh, of course!" The mayor bounced off his seat and offered the ogres un uneasy smile. "Please, come this way," he said, and gestured toward a cabinet set at about human eye level against one wall. Fiona, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, followed him to it, Shrek warily tagging along just behind her. When he reached it, Milquest opened the cabinet doors to reveal a three-foot square opening in the wall, and through the opening could be seen a chute -- again, some three feet deep and wide -- that led into darkness both downward and upward. A pair of ropes rose from the darkness below and disappeared into it again above. On the wall beside the opening were imbedded two objects; a crank and a speaker. "What on earth is THAT?" Shrek asked. "A dumb waiter," Milquest replied. "A WHAT?" Shrek said, obviously unenlightened by the device's name alone. "It's ... ah ..." the mayor stammered, "well, you've noticed how high up we are in the castle?" "Aye," Shrek agreed, waiting. "Well, this chute leads down to the kitchen. It's used to send meals up to rooms at the various stories. There's a cubicle that they load meals, snacks, drinks, etc., onto and send up the chute." Shrek nodded. "Clever," he said, "so how do ye tell 'em what ye want?" "Simple!" the mayor said, then turned and leaned toward the speaker. "Hello!" he called into it. A few moments later a crackling, static-filled voice replied, "Greetings, and welcome to Castle Farquaad's Kitchen. Would you care to try the Farquaad Fun Feast special, featuring char- grilled--" "No, thank you," Milquest replied. "Uh, just a moment please." He turned to the ogres. "What would you two like to eat?" Shrek harrumphed. "I doubt that there's much in your fancy menu that'd be to MY taste," he said. Fiona thought for a few seconds, and then a gleam came to her eye. "You think not?" she said to Shrek, then turned to Milquest. "Lord Mayor, you DO serve escargot and caviar here, do you not?" "Certainly, Your Majesty," he replied, "only the finest quality!" She turned back to Shrek. "Why don't you try some of that, dear?" Shrek looked at her, puzzled. "Why on earth do ye think I'd like that stuff?" "Lord Mayor," Fiona said, "tell Shrek what escargot and caviar are." "Of course, Your Majesty," Milquest said, "they are the most succulent delicacies to be had in--" "No," Fiona corrected, "tell him what they REALLY are." "Oh," Milquest said, then nearly mumbled, "they're -- um -- snails and fish eggs." Shrek raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Snails and fish eggs?" he repeated. "RAW fish eggs," Fiona added, a smile creeping into the corner of her mouth as she saw Shrek's expected reaction. "Really?" he asked. "Really, really," she confirmed. "Well, I s'pose I COULD try some," he said, unconsciously smacking his lips. Fiona giggled and turned back to the mayor. "Two orders of escargot and caviar," she ordered. Then suddenly her and Shrek's stomachs both sounded off again with simultaneous, mighty growls. The ogres exchanged amused glances, then Fiona shrugged and said to Milquest, "Make that two LARGE orders, if you'd please." "Yes, Your Majesty," Milquest said, then spoke into the speaker. "Two large orders of escargot and caviar. Oh, and a large T-Bone steak, well-done, with four eggs and plenty of butter!" He looked back at the ogres and smiled sheepishly. "I'm on a high protein diet," he explained. The speaker crackled. "Two large escargot and caviar, and a large well-done steak and eggs," the person on the other end said. "Anything else?" Milquest looked over to Beaglely, who was still sitting at the table, engrossed in his writing. "Anything for you, Clarence?" the mayor called. "No thank you," Beaglely answered tonelessly, not looking up from his careful writing, "I'm too excited to eat." "Very well," the mayor said, then turned toward the speaker and said, "that's all." "Would you like some fries with that?" the speaker crackled back.