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"I think he's a spy," said General Blye.
"Not a spy but a feint," replied General Zaint.
"I think he was sent here to cut off the Figurehead's head," said General Moribund Saturnine Dread.
"Oh, you always say that, General Dread," replied the Figurehead. "I believe, if you please, that the boy is here to seize the secret of our cheese."
And for once, the generals all agreed.
General Rook showed Onion to a large chamber, where about a hundred chairs were all lined up at two big tables.
"This is our Mess Hall, which we keep clean," said General Rook. "I will call for the cook. Do you like cheese-steak, or do you prefer cheese-corn?"
"I don't think I've ever tried either," Onion replied. "They both sound good. Can I try both?"
"Very well," said General Rook. He picked up a phone that was hung on the wall, and without dialing at all, spoke into the receiver: "One cheese steak. One cheese corn. No, make that two cheese steaks. RAW." General Rook hung up the phone and proceeded to sit down beside Onion.
"General Rook, I must confess, I'm a bit at a loss."
General Rook looked at Onion with concern, and he reminded Onion so much of his dad, that Onion felt brave enough to go on.
"It's just that, I don't really know how I got here. I was trying to find my friend, Pickle you see, and then I ran into this strange old man named Mr Peckins, and he said--"
"Good gravy, lad, did you say Peckins?"
"Y-yes, why?" Onion asked. He was already beginning to feel sorry that he had spoken.
"He's the most wanted man on the Island," General Rook said. "He was responsible for the destruction of three Ol-Factories. Some even say," General Rook went on, leaning closer to Onion so that he might whisper, "that he was also responsible for the hardening of the Princess's heart. For it's generally agreed, well, eleven of the twenty generals anyway believe it, that it was the Princess's heart that caused her to, well, go rigid. She hasn't moved in several weeks, you know. At first it was just her hands, and she had to be fed by servants after she shattered a nail and it didn't grow back. Then her arms stiffened, and her legs, and she was kept in bed. But before her head finally froze, she asked to be taken to the Great Council room so that she could at least look upon her father. It's also generally agreed, well, nineteen of us think so anyway, ruddy General Dread always with his dour predictions didn't agree, that she is still alive and can still be saved. But no one has any clue what to do. She is quite brittle now, and sounds hollow to the touch. Something must be done, but no one knows what."
Onion took this all in stride. Too many strange things were happening for him to disbelieve General Rook. Besides, he had seen the Princess with his very own eyes, and if General Rook was just pulling his leg and she was really just a china doll, well, she was the most real-looking one he had ever seen.
"What have they tried to do so far?" Onion asked, curious, and glad to be off the subject of Mr Peckins, which he was feeling sore about. He would make sure not to mention Mr Peckins when he talked to the Figurehead again.
"Nothing," said General Rook. "They are all too afraid of hurting her."
Just then, the doors across the hall banged open, and a short man wearing a white smock with yellow splotches all over strutted over to them, carrying a tray with three plates.
"'Ere's your cheese steaks, your cheese corn, and your cheese pies. Eat 'em while they're 'ot, y'should." He dropped the plates in front of them, then spun around and strutted back the way he came.
Onion looked down at the plate, his mouth watering. The smells drifting up from the food was heavenly. He almost started drooling. The steak looked more like a piece of cheese that had been grilled than an actual piece of meat. And the corn looked less like corn and more like small bits of cheese. General Rook began digging in, so Onion did too. The steak had a meaty flavor, but it was cheese, Onion noted. As was the corn. He expected much the same from the pie. "General, is all this made out of cheese?" Onion asked.
"Of course," General Rook replied. "You wouldn't want to eat real corn, would you?" And he made such an awful and terrible face, that Onion didn't bother replying. He just enjoyed his food. And then an idea struck him so hard that he blurted out,
"General, I think I know how to cure the Princess!"
* * *
Back in the Council Room, a few minutes later, there was a large general muttering. well, most of the generals were muttering.
General Dread shook his head.
General Zaint urged restraint.
General Blye let out a sigh.
But in the end, it was the Figurehead's call, and he thought it was worth a go. "If it'll bring my princess back, then I think we should try it." And that silenced them all.
"But sir, you're forgetting," Onion interrupted, "we still need to find a very large oven."
"No, that's no problem, no problem at all," the Figurehead responded. "Why, right underneath us is an oven as big as I am tall."
And that was how gently, oh so gently, the Porcelain Princess was taken down below the Council Room, to the cheese-maker's hut. And gently, oh so gently, laid on a platter. And gently, oh so gently, placed in an oven at 450 degrees. For 12 minutes, give or take. Let's side with take, for the Princess's sake.
* * *
It all happened so fast, that Pickle didn't even have a chance to say anything. (Pretty surprising, don't you think, considering how vocal she is?) What happened was this: Onion was telling everyone to put the princess in an oven and ... what? What's going on? That's the wrong storyline? But that's the one you're more interested in right now, right? Wouldn't it be nice of me to tell you what happened to the Porcelain Princess? Aren't you at least a little bit worried that putting a Princess in an oven is too extreme? What if she gets all cooked up? What will happen to Onion then? That's obviously more interesting than what's about to happen to Pickle, anyway, right? Because who cares if the authorities are just now, this very minute, arresting Grrr. So what if Grrr is quietly letting them cuff him and take him to jail. Never-you-mind, then, that Pickle is also being dragged along, quite quietly mind you, in complete and total shock, too unnerved to do anything about it. But who can blame her? Those Tarroc Division patrolmen can have a way of overwhelming you. My brother says, no, they underwhelm you, but I disagree. And see if you don't think so: see if you don't agree with me. For here is what they are saying to Pickle as they drag her along behind Grrr...
Officer A: It's a bloody triple violation, is what it is. Three in one, whoo, we have ourselves a whopper here. We are all going to get serious feathers in our caps today! Whoo.
Officer B: I hope it's a pretty feather. The last feather I got was from a crow, and those feathers are generally so dreadful, not to be confused with General Moribund Saturnine Dread, full though he may be of courage, defender of our Island on the Hallow-Ing,, when Goats returned to haunt the Island, and only brave and intrepid General Moribund Saturnine Dread was courageous enough to face the Head Goat in a showdown of calloping proportions.
Officer C: Let's not forget that we got two of 'em. That's six violations total. Not to forget abedding. Abedding a criminal is also just as worse. So, we got six violations, and six counts of abedding.
Officer A: It's not abedding, it's abetting. It means to goad the other into doing it, that's what it means.
Officer B: What, like him a chicken?
Officer A: That's right. If we was about to rob a bank, but I couldn't do it, and you said, "Whut, cat got your trigger finger," well, see, you'd be a-betting me that I could nay do it. So I would do it, and you'd be guilty of robber and a-betting.
Officer C: Oh, I see.
Officer B: What a thing to be.
Officer A: What's that now, eh?
Officer B: Why, a-betting's almost worse than actually doing the crime. Officer A: Almost is right. That's why it's such a serious offense. I mean, 'oos the more guilty: the man who does the crime, or the man 'oo tells the man to do the crime.
Officer B: Oh, I see your point. That's tricky buggery, that is.
Officer A: Bloody right.
Officer C: Now, the first count, of Quitting on the Job, what's that run these days?
Officer B: Why, that's six years, hard labor, easy. Or else having your Wizened Teeth removed. Both equally bad.
Officer A: And then there's Eluding Law Enforcement Officers by Crossing Country Lines. That's even worse, trying to trick the law. Judges don't look highly on that. Why, I remember this time this criminal once escaped, and then decided he'd take a vacation, and he went to sixteen different countries 'efore they tracked 'im down, and he was ...
And this continued on as the three officers (who looked suspiciously like Officers One, Two and Three) led their two new prisoners to their cells. Who's to say, it very well might have been Onion's cell just a few short hours ago, but now Onion was watching as the Porcelain Princess slowly but surely came back to life. The color in her cheeks was a bit disappointing, Onion couldn't say why, but even more disappointing was the hair, which was currently being doused with water by the cheese-lady. It had caught fire, you see. And that boded ill for Onion.
For very few princesses enjoy having their hair set afire.
In fact, I only know of one.
And she doesn't have her hair any more.