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* -- denotes soonish.
Now I might've led you along to believe that Pickle was going to be thrown in a dungeon with Grrr. But that wasn't the case. Grrr and Pickle were separated when they got to the prisons, and Grrr was taken underground, so Officer A said. Officer B went with him, and Officer C took Pickle by the arm (quite softly, not gruff at all) and urged her to follow him.
"Don't let the other officers know this," Officer C whispered to Pickle as they walked, "but it just breaks me heart to see a little girl like you all mixed up with crooks and criminals. See, I don't believe a-betting is all wrong, and who knows, perhaps you didn't even do that. I have to act big and tough in front of them cronies, but me myself, I've got three daughters back home, one just about your age, and I know she couldn't do nothing so bad as this. So what I'm doing, I'm gonna fix you up quick. Before the others get back, I'm taking you to the Figurehead 'imself, and I'll speak for you, you don't worry, and before you know it, you'll be free.
As they were travelling up the escalator to the great Council Room, a large contingent of troops passed by, with a small figure huddled in the middle, walking slowly with a black bag over his head.
"Oh, that must be some terrible business there," Officer C muttered under his breath to Pickle. "They've black-bagged the poor bugger. He has to wear it for three days, no water, no food, and then he has to wear it for seven more, except during meals. And then..." But Officer C cut himself off because they were arriving in the Council Room, and there was so much talking and debating and shouting that he wasn't sure he should proceed. At the center of it all, much to his surprise, was the Porcelain Princess, no longer porcelainized.
"Oh, something very big has just now happened," Officer C whispered to Pickle. All she saw were about 20 men all standing around, ogling a young girl, who looked very flushed in the face, and who had just terrible looking hair. Why a girl would wear her hair so stringy, Pickle couldn't imagine.
"About Grrr," Pickle began, but she was shushed by Officer C.
"No more talk about the Grmph," he said. "Just follow me lead. You don't want to end up in the dungeon, do you?" Pickle shook her head, and Officer C smiled. "That's a good girl. Now, I'll do the speaking, and you just do the nodding. Got it." Pickle nodded, and Officer C smiled even bigger. As Officer C and Pickle approached the gathered group of men, Pickle overheard the bedraggled girl saying, "I don't want him starved, daddy, I want him killed."
"Yes, yes, yes, my pumpkin, but we have rules. Not even the Figurehead's daughter is above the law."
"But I liked being a doll, daddy. Everyone thought I was so pretty!"
Pickle heard her say pretty, and she almost giggled. This frumpy little girl, pretty? Not hardly. She looked like she hadn't brushed her in weeks or months. Her nose was all pudgy and fat. She even snorted a bit when she spoke, and seemed to stamp her feet. And her green dress was in tatters. Who was she fooling?
That is when Officer C began talking on her behalf, and although she only heard snippets and pieces, what he seemed to be saying was that she was tricked by Grrr into helping him escape. "The Omega clause in section dash point Ell seventeen also reveals a short-coming in allowing a prisoner to be both tired and tried, and furtherless, there is an absence of an absence of prooflessness, which proves, beyond a shadow of a reasonable doubting thomas, that her innocence clearly comes before her guilt. Why, I believe it was Thomas Hobbes who said it best when he said, 'For everything there is a season. And a time for a clean slate.' Or was that Calvin? In conclusion, as you and I both see, the truth can be hidden in myriad trees. For, do not the very knowledgeable hide behind masks of subtlety?"
Pickle was just about to speak up in Grrr's defense when the ugly little girl blurted out, "I want that little Onion boy to fry, daddy!"
Something like a bullfrog leapt into Pickle's throat. What did she just say? Onion? Onion was here?
"Yes yes yes, Porcina, you I hear. The boy will be punished, that much is clear. As for this girl," the Figurehead said, turning his attention full upon her, "she looks to me to have been through quite a lot. You speak a good case, Officer Three (-- "It's Officer C." --), yes Officer C, you speak well, and soon who's to say, you might be looking at a Generalship. Not to be confused with General Chyp, who was the only general never to do anything for our beloved island.
"Therefore, I decree that this girl be brought to my house, and there given the absolute best treatment, and then she may be sent on her way back home. That much is agreed."
Home? Ulp. Now there were two bullfrogs in her throat. Pickle tried to say something, but she had no idea what. "Ulp," is all that came out.
"You see," said Officer C, "she is most tired and must rest. I will show her the way to your house, Mr Figurehead."
"As for the Grmph," the Figurehead added, addressing not the Officer who was leaving, but the gathered generals, "what do you think of him?"
"I think he's a spy," said General Blye.
"I think it's a feint," said General Zaint.
"I think we should remove his rather small head," said General Moribund Saturnine Dread.
Somehow, a third bullfrog managed to jump into Pickle's throat just then, and as you probably know, that is more than the human body can take. "Ulp!" Pickle shouted, and slumped to the floor. Darkness then, and nothing more.
* * *
Darkness.
And more darkness. Blinking didn't make the darkness go away. Nor did opening the eyes any wider. Blackness.
Onion sighed.
There was a lesson here for him, he was pretty sure, he just didn't know what it was.
Don't help people?
Don't put people in ovens?
Don't fall in love with beautiful princesses, because they're all mean pigs underneath. Something like that. That, actually, was what bothered him most. He didn't mind being stuffed in a room with a bag over his head for burning a girl's hair. That sorta made sense. What was unnerving, distressing, depressing, yes, depressing, was how ungrateful Porcina had been. The first thing she said wasn't, "Oh, thank you kind sir. You've brought me back to life." Nope. Not at all. Her first words, after her shrieks of horror (understandable, of course, at waking up to finding yourself in an oven, a very hot oven no less) were, "My HAIR! My beautiful long and luxurious HAIR! RUINED! IT'S RUINED." That was bad enough. But what she said later, all about how she preferred being admired by everyone for her stoke-sizm and poise ... well, Onion felt his gut clenching up and something burning hot hot hot at the back of his head. 'Something bad is about to happen, Onion,' the burning told him. And sure enough, not seconds later, Porcina, in a fit or rage, had snortingly demanded that Onion be locked up right away, before he go and burn some other innocent girl's hair. Onion probably would've argued and pointed out how stupid the girl was being, and how he should be rewarded, not punished, but after seeing the transformation of the pretty and pleasing Porcelain Princess to the piggish and petulant Porcina, Onion had just simply shut his mouth, unable to speak. Which is just as well. If he had spoken, it probably would have been something to the effect of, "Please go back to the way you were."
So now Onion was stuck in a dark dark room with a dark dark bag over his white hair and dark thoughts. How could things get worse?
"How can things get worse?" he said aloud, which he immediately regretted. Superstition had gotten the better of him, and again that dark hot flashing at the back of his head. Then, in all the darkness, a speck of light.
"Hello, Onion, what are you doing in here? And what's that silly bag doing over your head? It looks much worse than the hat I gave you." The familiar voice, Onion realized, was that of crooked and mischievous Mr Peckins.
"Hello, Mr Peckins, come to get me in more trouble have you? Or have you been arrested, too?" Onion asked, bitterness oozing out of his voice.
"Now now, Mr Onion, that bitterness doesn't suit you," Mr Peckins said, reaching over and removing the black bag from Onion's head. Onion blinked, for it was very bright in the room. Mr Peckins was no longer all in orange, but dressed in yellow. This means, of course, yellow loafers, yellow socks (with orange stripes), yellow corduroys, a yellow belt, a yellow dress shirt and yellow vest, and tip topped off with a yellow hunting hat, with white fuzz. He was wearing small spectacles that had a yellow tinge to them. He was smiling a big goofy conspiratorial smile, and his teeth even looked slightly yellow, as if he had smoked for several years.
"There, that should be better, eh?" Mr Peckins asked.
"Thank you sir," Onion said quietly. "Though the guards won't be happy when they find out that I've taken the bag off. I'm supposed to wear it for three days."
"Hmph, three days, that's absurdical. Irratulous. Flim-flammery. Quark-quackery. Where the Figurehead gets these ideas..."
"It wasn't his idea, Mr Peckins," Onion sighed. "It was hers, the princess's." "The princess? But she was supposed to be ... oh, I see. Well, things happen. Never in the right order, I find, but they all work out, like algebra. You familiar with algebra, my lad?"
Onion shook his head. "Not really. My dad has shown me a bit."
"Well, it doesn't matter. The point is, you have a problem, it can be any sort of problem, and there are many ways to go about solving it. But in which order you go doesn't really matter. Just so long as you get to the conclusion. That's all the matters. That you find the answer in the end. How you go shouldn't affect the outcome. Now, take your predicament, for example..."
"Shhh!" Onion hissed, for he heard guards outside and it sounded like they were opening the door.
Mr Peckins point his fingers to his mouth, smiled impishly, and flung a black cape over his entire body. Suddenly Mr Peckins was invisible. Onion was pretty sure he was still there, but he couldn't see him at all. The light in the room was fading quickly, and soon it was darkness again.
"Your head-bag," Mr Peckins whispered quickly.
Onion had almost forgot. He snatched it off his bed and shoved it over his head. He drooped his shoulders to give himself a dejected look, and listened carefully as the door was slowly opened.
"Hey, how's the little hero?" a voice asked.
Six pair of feet scuffled in the room.
"We 'eard what you did with the princess," said another voice. "We think it's just all get out. We're on your side, do nay you worry lad. We'll get this ruddy thing off your head and get you out of this cell in no time. We'll be back soon. Meanwhiles, here's a bit of bacon and eggs. Don't tell no one. Just 'ide the plate under your bed till we come back. It shouldn't be too long, now, lad."
And six feet shuffled out the door.
Once the voices had faded, Mr Peckins reappeared, and Onion took his bag off. It had been awhile since he'd eaten cheese-steak with General Rook, so he took a few bites of the bacon, which was really just bacon-flavored cheese. Ditto for the eggs. But they were good nonetheless.
"Looks like you've already got some friends here," Mr Peckins said, still with that weird suspicious smile on his face. "I have some errands to run on the other side of the island, but I'll be back tomorrow. You should probably be getting released around then."
Mr Peckins began shuffling about in one of his vest pockets, looking for something.
"Mr Peckins, wait, I have some questions I want to ask you," Onion said. "Well, hurry it up, I am in a rush," Mr Peckins said.
"Where are we? Where is this island. How did I get here? How do I leave? Is Pickle here? I still haven't found her yet, and that's what I set out to do a long time ago. And how do you know they're not going to chop off my head, like the little brat kept screaming?"
"All in due time, my boy, all in due time. I'll answer one of those questions: Pickle is here on the island, and you'll be seeing her very soon. Before you see me, no doubt about. Cheerio," Mr Peckins said, and with that he gave a great cry of triumph, pulling out a small gem, that looked like a very tiny pyramid.
"Pyramids are very powerful, so be careful how you use this," Mr Peckins said, and he handed the small stone to Onion. "Now, how do I get out of here. Oh yes, the here we are, a Winding Watch. That'll work."
A gust of wind burst through the room, and Onion grabbed his head-bag and the small pyramid stone, and ducked under his bed. It was like a tornado was suddenly in the room. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. And so was Mr Peckins. As was his pillow. Well, he didn't much feel like sleeping tonight anyway. He sat back down on his bed, and expecting the guards, placed the black bag back on his head. The pyramid-stone he put in his pocket. He still wasn't sure he should trust Mr Peckins, so he decided he'd worry about it later. Right now he was thinking about Pickle. She was here? On the island? Hopefully she was doing better than he.
* * *
Finally, she was left alone.
She hadn't spoken more than a few polite yeses and noes since she got to the Figurehead's house. It was more like a mansion than a house, really, but it had an odd empty quality about it. Officer C showed her to a room, and patiently while a maid fixed up a room for Pickle. Then he said his goodbyes, and said he would return in the morning.
"But what about Grrr, I mean, the Grmph?" Pickle asked.
"Oh, don't you worry, he's locked up tight tonight. He won't be bothering you." "Are you sure?" Pickle responded.
"Oh, absolutely sure. We got 'im down in the dungeons in Building South. Best guarded building there is. There's guards around the clock make sure no one gets in or out. Besides, there's also the guards here at the house. You didn't see 'em, but there's three that always walk around the outside."
"Oh, thank you, I feel much safer now."
"You be needing anything else tonight, madam?" the officer asked.
"No, that's all. Thanks so much. I'll be right to bed. I'm so tired." Pickle forced herself to yawn.
"Now that's a good girl," Officer C said. "In the morning then," and he tipped his cap and swished away.
Pickle went into her room and immediately began planning her escape. She knew she couldn't be here in the morning when Officer C came back. He was good fellow, she could see that, but his intentions were misplaced. She was leaving home, not going back. And she was going to make sure Grrr got out of here too, with his head. And Onion, poor Onion, she had to save him too. Just how she would do that, she wasn't sure. But she had to try. Grrr had been so good to her, and she wasn't going to let him rot in some dungeon. And what was Onion even doing here? No doubt, chasing after her, trying to convince her to go back home. Well, she'd deal with that once she got both of them out of danger. Then she'd let Onion know she wasn't going home.
First things first, she would need some supplies. She summoned the maid, and told her she was having trouble sleeping. The maid brought her several small pills, which smelled slightly cheesy, and Pickle thanked her politely. She put those in her pocket. She grabbed the nightgown she was supposed to be sleeping in, and shoved it into her backpack. On a whim, she grabbed a few things from the lavatory and then she began tip-toeing down the stairs to the front door. She changed her mind, though, and crept around the house till she found a backdoor. There was a big backyard, and once outside, she simply sat and waited.
Her eyes started to adjust to the darkness, and she finally saw what she was looking for. Three men were walking together, talking quietly. "Seems rather daft to guard a house when no one's there," Guard X was saying.
"That just shows how daft you are," replied Guard Y. "Didn't you know the Princess has woken up? She'll be home any minute, no doubt."
"Bah, I bet she stays in the Council Room with her dad," chimed in Guard Z.
"Poor bloke, always working, never any rest," said Guard X.
"Well, I'd rather be sitting in a comfy chair eating danishes rather than walking around out here in the cold," Guard Y was saying as the trio rounded the corner of the house and disappeared.
"Now's my chance," Pickle thought, and jumped up and began running in the opposite direction. She was pretty sure she could find her way back to the big buildings, and she was pretty sure that Grrr was at the bottom of one of them. That's where they had been going to take her, before Officer C intervened on her behalf. She must remember to send him a card, when she got to Grmph Island. She darted into the street, then realizing that she could be seen in the street light, she dashed back into the shadows. From yard to yard, shadow to shadow, Pickle sneaked her way back toward Building South. When she figured she had made it about halfway through town, she heard some loud singing and jumped into a bush to hide. A man walked by, singing loudly to himself,
"The Ughs is big
They're big as bugs
The Grmphs is small
They're small as trees
And ain't nothing worse
Than a snivelling Squeeb.
Horks can't eat
More than they chew
And Mollups can't chew
But they're good in stew
While Squeebs" -- he shouted --
"Squeebs is bad in stew.
Squeebs is bad to see
Squeebs is bad to view
Squeebs is bad to me
And Squeebs are bad for you."
The man began hiccupping, then kept saying over and over, "Even me? Even you. Even Steve. Even Lou. Even Eve and even Stu. Oh, Squeebs is bad bad bad," and then turned a street corner, his voice fading.
Pickle waited until he was out of sight, then slowly made her way to the Building South. She didn't know what she was going to do once she got there, but she really had no choice. Onion and Grrr needed her. And, she was realizing, she needed them, too. Being all on her own wasn't fun at all. Hiding in bushes and running from guards. Really. She was starting to turn into the criminal that she had been accused of being earlier.
Finally, the buildings started looking a little more familiar, and then she saw them, four square buildings, all standing high in the sky, connected by little tubular walkways. The buildings were well lit, so her first obstacle would be getting inside. Then she saw the little hut in the middle of all the buildings, and smoke was pouring out of it. The smell drifting over from it was delicious, and it gave Pickle and idea. Staying close to the building, she crept up to the hut and peeked inside a window. Cheeses of all varieties and flavors were sitting on trays. Most of them looked to be in the shape breakfast foods: eggs and bacons and sausage links and pancakes and waffles. Pickle recognized them as cheese mostly because she was a big cheese-eater and she recognized the texture. But never before had she seen bacon-shaped cheese. There was an old woman moving around, adding spices and colorings to the cheese, and she seemed quite unaware of Pickle looking in through the window.
"Time for some bravado, Pickle," Pickle said to herself.
She braced herself, wiped the worried look off her face, stopping chewing her lower lip, stood up straight, and then tried to look slightly bored. It was hard considering how nervous she was.
She walked into the hut without knocking, and said loudly (but not too loudly), "I'm here for the prisoner's food."
"No you're not," said the old woman, who was still in the back of the small hut, pulling small cheese quiches out of the oven. "You're here to steal my cheese, break into the dungeons and free a prisoner."
Pickle gasped.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" the old crone asked. "I have a platter all ready for you."
Pickle started to say something, but then shut her mouth. Looking closely at the old lady, she thought something looked slightly off. She stared for a minute, and then realized what it was. The woman's head seemed just a little bit, just barely, a bit smaller than her body. The old lady winked at her. Pickle smiled, thanked her, grabbed the platter of cheese and drinks, and quickly left.
* * *
Now it's time for a small confession. I titled this chapter "Someone Loses His Head," and I admit, I tricked you. The truth is, that someone is a she. The she, of course, is Princess Porcina, who, upon learning that Onion will not be punished further for ruining her hair, flies into such a rage that she flings herself out of the only open window in the Council Room. This window is directly above the cheese-maker's hut, and so it is with a slight tinge of irony that the same oven that cured her of her porcelain-itis only a few hours before also became the same oven that burnt her up to a crisp. So, you see, it was the princess that lost her head, both metaphorically and literally. However, the Princess hasn't yet made that fatal plunge, as she is indulging in a nap, as are most of those still in the Council Room. That will come later. As for me, well, I apologize for the trick, and I promise not to try to sneak anything else past you, you faithful and kind readers. Now, let's find out what happens when Pickle arrives at Building South's guard chamber. She thinks she's found where Grrr is being kept, but she's in for a bit of a surprise. (Don't you just love surprises? I do.)