The knights shoved me into the room. I stumbled awkwardly, hitting the ground and scraping my hands on the rough stone beneath me. Pretty rude, but judging by their scowling expressions and drawn weapons, I had a sneaking suspicion these guys weren’t –wait a second, I already told you this part, let’s skip ahead to where I left off.
“Practicing magic is a serious offense,” said the king, staring down at me from his ornate throne as one of his knights held a knife to my throat.”The only fitting punishment for this abomination against the natural world is death.”
Having recognized my inevitable demise, I was fully prepared to start sobbing and dramatically begging for my life. Not exactly heroic, but with my theater background, I had to at least try and play to my strengths.
Fortunately, I was spared from that rather embarrassing display when a booming explosion suddenly went off outside the castle, causing the entire throne room to shake and a fine layer of dust and sediment to fall from the ceiling. The screaming followed a few moments later.
Everyone in the throne room went quiet; we were doing that thing where we just looked at each other, unsure what to say or do. Then, as if on cue, everyone ran to a nearby balcony and peered down at the city below. Everyone except for me, who still had a knife held up against my throat.
“Can I at least see what’s going on?” I asked, twisting my head to look up at my personal guard/executioner and being extra careful not to accidentally slit my throat in the process.
The knight pursed his lips, considering. He glanced at the balcony where everyone had gathered, clearly just as curious as everyone else. “Okay, but no funny business,” he said with a shrug, lifting me to my feet and poking me in the back with the knife. Not hard enough to pierce my skin, but just enough to remind me it was still there.
The two of us made our way over to the balcony; I found a spot that hadn’t been occupied by gawking nobles and stuck my head over the stone railing to peer down at the city below. Whether or not I was about to die, I was still a nosy teenager, and I wanted to know what all the ruckus was about.
My first thought on looking down at the city was that a bomb had gone off. There was a giant black circle of what appeared to be soot smack dab in the center of the town square and a couple dozen townsfolk near the blast’s epicenter, either sprawled out on the ground or stumbling around in shock.
More interestingly, some distance away, I spotted two cloaked figures who appeared to be running for their lives. This was an entirely plausible theory, as pursuing them were several angry-looking knights, weapons drawn. The cloaked dudes weaved through a gaggle of curious civilians that were gathering in the square, using the crowd to slip away from the guards, who had a much harder time moving in their bulky armor. The cloaked guys burst out the other side of the crowd and sprinted towards a stone house where another guy in a cloak was waiting at the door, frantically motioning for them to get inside. All three figures leaped into the house, and the door slammed shut seconds before the knights caught up with them.
One of the knights pounded his armored-first against the door, yelling something I was too far away to hear, but I guessed it was probably something generic like, “Halt criminal,” or, “Open up this instant!” Unsurprisingly, the door remained firmly shut, so the knight raised his sword and started hacking away at the wooden entrance. At the same time, several of the other knights rushed for the windows, which looked like they’d either been blocked or barricaded.
“What is the meaning of this?!” demanded the king to no one in particular but glaring daggers at the proceeding beneath him. Several other questioning voices leaped across the room, everyone trying to figure out what in the world was happening.
“Sire!” There was a frantic pounding at the throne room entrance; a moment later, a short, balding man rushed inside, panting with exertion. The royal entourage and I turned around expectantly.
“Gomes,” said the king, furrowing his dark, bushy eyebrows, “what’s happening in the square? Is it an attack from an enemy kingdom?”
Gomes bent forward, gasping for air, clearly tired from his trek up the long flight of stairs. “Assassins.” he finally managed to gasp out. “They snuck into the castle and killed several members of the royal council. They fled once they were discovered, but managed to take Princess Melanie as a hostage.”
The throne room exploded into a flurry of frantic shouting from the nobles and rather impolite swearing from the king.
“I don’t care how many assassins there are,” roared the king, grabbing Gomes and lifting the terrified man to his face, “I want every soldier in the castle down there right now to rescue my daughter, and then I want her captors strung up by their arms, flayed alive, and salted for the crows to eat!”
I grimaced at the morbid visual, considering if this was a new opportunity to try and escape when the throne room shook with another explosion, accompanied by a brilliant flash of purple and red light.
All as one, we turned to stare back down at the town square and saw that the knights, who just moments ago had been trying to apprehend who I assumed were the assassins, were now running for their lives as flames and smoke billowed out of the bad guys’ hidey-hole.
One of the barricaded windows had been opened from the inside. I saw another flash of light followed by a sharp crackling hiss as some kind of canister shot out the window toward the knights, exploding with a loud bang and a shower of green and yellow light.
“By the nine hells,” screeched Poofy Pants, his nasal voice piercing the din of other voices, “they’ve got a sorcerer!”
Every eye in the room turned to look at me; I blushed, weirdly more self-conscious now than when these people had been about to kill me.
“Are those your companions?” The king asked with a quiet intensity, his bright green eyes boring into mine. I felt the hairs on my arms prickle upwards, and my knees seemed to turn into rubber. The king reminded me a bit of my dad whenever he got angry; for some reason, he was always scarier when he got quieter, not louder.
“Nope, never seem’em before!” I blurted out, vigorously shaking my head and trying to look as innocent as possible.
“Attention, kingdom of Praedones!” A man’s voice rang out from down in the square. Looking back towards the hideout, one of the assassins had stuck his head out a window and was addressing the crowd. He had removed his hood and was wearing a white mask over his face. It kind of looked like one of the smiling masks you would see in a theater production, but the mouth hole was a lot larger and rounded into a circular shape that seemed to jut out a few inches. I perked up with interest, realizing the guy was wearing a Greek comedy mask.
Obviously, the Greeks hadn’t been around for a while (at least I assumed so, still hadn’t nailed down where I was timewise), but before the invention of the megaphone, the Greeks had crafted masks with circular mouth holes that would allow their voices to be amplified. This was really useful when performing for large groups of people, and some attendees had to sit in the nosebleed section far away from the performance. I’d never used one of these masks personally, but my elementary school theater teacher had a whole collection of them hanging on her classroom wall.
I shook myself out of my reverie, realizing that my inner theater geek-out had caused me to miss part of the guy’s monologue.
“As you can see, we have the power of a mighty dragon at our disposal,” continued the assassin, pointing towards the clouds of smoke wafting in the air, “allow us safe passage out of the city with Princess Melanie, or we will use our powers to burn your entire kingdom to ash.” The man paused, giving his words a moment to sink in. “You have until nightfall to give us an answer; afterward, we’ll cut off one of the princess’ fingers for every hour we have to wait.”
The assassin stuck his head back inside the window and sealed it shut. There was another moment of silence from everyone in the throne room, followed by an explosion of voices, the loudest of which, once again, was that of the king.
“FETCH MY SWORD!” He bellowed, still gripping onto Gomes and swinging him around. “I’ll kill those blasted devils myself!”
Several nobles jumped in front of the king, desperately trying to keep him from marching out of the throne room.
“Sire, please,” shouted Poofy Pants above the din, “they’ve got the power of a dragon; don’t antagonize them!” A chorus of affirmatives followed Poofy Pants’ decree.
“Yes, sire, think this through,” implored Gomes, his face bright red from being slung around, “we can’t place the princess’s life over the safety of the entire kingdom!”
The king froze, looking as if he’d just been slapped. He glared down at Gomes, who seemed to shrink into his tunic. “Speaking of the princess so flippantly is treasonous!” He roared at the tiny man, free hand raised, looking like he was about to deck the guy.
A redheaded noblewoman around my age jumped in front of the king. “Your majesty, please take another moment to consider the situation,” she implored, putting up her hands in a calming gesture. “The assassins said they only wanted the Princess as a hostage, which means we may be able to rescue her at a later time. If we rush in, swords drawn, we could risk her life and everyone in the kingdom if those assassins use their dragon.”
The king’s eyes darted from person to person, looking like he was about to start swinging at everyone in the room. Then, almost like a light switch being flipped, he sagged against a nearby pillar and slid to the floor, finally letting go of Gomes, who quickly scrambled away. “What are we supposed to do then?” he asked, voice quivering and looking mere moments away from bursting into tears.
“We give in to their demands and hope they don’t burn us all to death.” That was Poofy Pants again, and judging by the nods and murmurs from the group, that seemed to be the popular consensus. “I mean, they’ve got a dragon on their side; what do we have to fight that?”
“We may not have a dragon, but maybe we have something even better.”
That was Thomas’ voice; all eyes turned to face him as he walked toward the king. He must’ve walked inside the room during the chaos of the past few minutes.
“What do you mean, Thomas?” asked Poofy Pants, annoyed at the interruption.
Thomas fidgeted, probably not used to having this much attention on him all at once. When he spoke, however, his voice was confident and clear.
“A dragon’s a magical creature, right?” he asked, pointing directly at me, “So why don’t we just fight magic with magic?”
Everyone turned to look at me. I was starting to get really tired of all the staring.
“Preposterous!” sneered Poofy Pants. “Why would we ever enlist the help of one of those vile witches? She’d stab us in the back the first chance she got.”
“I only spoke with her briefly,” admitted Thomas, “but I don’t think Piper is like other witches; I think she’ll help us. I dunno if she’s more powerful than a dragon, but we’ve gotta try something to save Princess Melanie, right?”
“Just to clarify,” I interrupted, addressing the crowd before things got even more out of hand, “I’m not a witch, I don’t have any sort of special powers, and magic isn’t real–”
Suddenly, the king was kneeling in front of me, his massive hands reaching out and engulfing mine. “Can you do it?” He asked in a small voice. “Can you save my daughter?”
I took a surprised step backward, right into the knife that was still being held against my back ouch! I rubbed my tender back and stared down at the king, reassessing him. He’d just been screaming and calling for my death a few moments ago, but looking at him now, all I saw was a tired old man who was worried about his daughter.
I chewed my lip, thinking. I didn’t want the poor guy’s kid to die or get her fingers chopped off, but I honestly wasn’t sure what I could do to help. I opened my mouth, having no clue what to say, when Thomas cut me off.
“If she saves Princess Melanie, will you set her free?”
I cast a look over to Thomas, he flashed me a smile and a thumbs-up.
“Never in a million years!” shouted Poofy Pants, “we don’t bargain with witches!”
“Absolutely,” said the king, his eyes never leaving mine.
Poofy Pants sputtered indignantly, his face turning red. I allowed myself a moment to enjoy the small victory but quickly returned to the matter at hand. Great, so my impromptu execution has been postponed, but now everyone was expecting me to use magic to save the king’s daughter from a bunch of assassins.
I, of course, having zero magical ability (mostly because magic isn’t real), realized I may have just found myself in an even worse situation than I’d already been in. If I couldn’t save the Princess, and they found out I was a fake, these medieval folk might do something worse than just kill me. My mind immediately drifted to that stretchy torture thing I’d seen in museums; I think it was called a rack. I had always wanted to be a bit taller, but not like that.
I paled, thinking about all the painful ways I could be tortured and killed, realizing a knife to the throat may have actually been a mercy. Now, none of this would be a problem if I was able to save this Melanie chick, but how was I supposed to go up against a group of professional assassins?
Everyone was staring; I had no idea what to do, and I could feel the beginning of another panic attack forming in my gut. I desperately needed to calm down, so I started reciting lines from Hamlet under my breath. I had the entire play memorized (obviously), so I picked a random scene from Act 3 and began whispering a monologue from Hamlet’s mother, Queen Porktrude.
Porktrude was one of my favorite characters in the entire play (besides Hamela, of course) because she was always a step ahead of all the other characters. She wasn’t the strongest, or the smartest, or the prettiest, but she was crafty. She could look at a situation from multiple angles and figure out how to work things to her advantage. For some reason, I’ve always enjoyed stories with scheming and manipulative characters, maybe because I’m typically so blunt and straightforward by comparison.
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As I recited lines under my breath about being a sneaky ol’ pig and turning my enemies into B-B-Q, not only did it help to calm me down, but it also gave me an idea. Maybe instead of hyperventilating in front of the entire royal court, I could steal a page from Porktrude and tactfully analyze the mess I’d found myself in.
I walked back toward the balcony’s edge and tried to look at the scene below from a new perspective. Everyone in the castle thought these assassins had a magical dragon, but I knew that wasn’t true. So, if nothing mystical or arcane was going on, what was a logical explanation for this so-called dragon attack, and how could I use that information to my advantage?
The wind changed direction and blew directly toward me; I sniffed the air, wrinkling my nose at a familiar scent. Besides the typical medieval smells of poop and unwashed peasants, there was something else riding on the wind, something I knew from my own time period.
It had to have been years ago when my dad took me hunting, but the memory had always been a fond one. Well, at least the parts where I got to spend time with my dad, not so much the killing of cute little woodland animals. But the thing I remembered most vividly from those hunting trips was the distinct smell of my dad’s hunting rifle after it had been fired. The air afterward was always permeated with the scent of gunpowder.
I squinted down at the assassin’s hideout, wispy trails of smoke still spilling out from cracks in the windows. I wasn’t great at history, but I knew enough about the Middle Ages to be at least 90% sure that guns hadn’t been invented yet. Despite that, the assassins were definitely using gunpowder for something. So, if they weren’t firing guns, then what else could the gunpowder be for?
Fireworks! I nearly smacked myself on the forehead for taking so long to figure it out. This so-called dragon fire these guys were using was loud, exploded out of a canister, smelled of gunpowder, and came in multiple colors. I paused, briefly wondering if fireworks existed at this point in history. Considering the assassins were using them, I guessed fireworks were technically a thing, but how widespread were they? Did everyone own a set of fireworks to fire off on Medieval Fourth of July, or was it possible I was witnessing one of the first historical uses of fireworks in Medieval Europe?
Also, I just realized I was in Europe. I’d have to ask Gerard how the heck that had happened, seeing as though when I’d used the time machine, we had been in America, Red, White, and Blue Baby!
“You guys ever heard of fireworks?” I inquired, turning back to the gaggle of nobles behind me.
“Is that the name of one of your arcane spells?” asked Poofy Pants suspiciously. Everyone else looked equally confused by my query.
Ok, it seemed like fireworks were a hot new commodity, and these assassin guys were passing them off as dragon fire. That was actually pretty smart of them. I wondered if they’d ever pulled this con on any other kingdoms.
“Are there any magical items in here that could help you fight the dragon?” Thomas had picked up my backpack and was rifling through it. He pulled out one of my pens and sniffed it curiously.
“I don’t think so,” I chuckled, amused that he thought a fifty-cent ballpoint pen could help fight a dragon, “none of my stuff is magical; it’s just–” I opened and closed my mouth, realization dawning on me again. Here in the past, science and technology barely existed, so anything these people saw and couldn’t explain was either chalked up to an act of God or something magical. I think I could work with that.
“Careful Thomas!” I yelled, dashing over and snatching away the backpack and pen. “That bag will curse anyone besides me who holds onto it for too long.”
Everyone immediately backpedaled away from my bag. Thomas stared at his hands in horror, frantically rubbing them against his armor.
“Oh gosh, am I gonna be alright?” He asked, staring at me wide-eyed, “Am I gonna turn into a toad?”
Fighting back a laugh, I donned a serious expression and looked Thomas up and down. “Hmm, the magic seems to be dissipating,” I replied clinically, “Fortunately, you didn’t hold onto my bag for very long, so you should be alright.”
“Well, what about me?!” crowed Poofy Pants, staring at his own hands, “I was carrying that thing for ages.”
I turned to Poofy Pants, eyes full of fake concern. “My magical backpack will turn anyone it curses really, really ugly. But don’t worry, it shouldn’t affect you.”
“Thank the maker,” said Poofy Pants, breathing a sigh of relief. “Hey!” he shouted a moment later, indignant.
I ignored him and looked down at the town square, searching to see if anything had changed. From what I could tell, things were at a stalemate. The assassins were still holed up in their fortified house, and the knights were standing nearby, weapons drawn but maintaining a healthy distance.
As I watched, one of the hideout windows flung open, and another set of fireworks shot out into the square, causing the knights to duck for cover as the canisters exploded in a shower of purple and pink. Pretty.
I’d hazard a guess the assassins probably thought the same way as every other person in this time period. Yeah, they had fireworks, which were considered cutting-edge for their time, but if they got sent to the future, to my time, and saw all the cool stuff we had, it’d blow their minds. Honestly, it’d probably look like magic.
I scratched my chin as I thought. I technically had some future tech with me, but if I was going to out-magic these so-called magical assassins, what could I do with a dead laptop and a backpack full of school supplies?
I glanced up at the sun; it was probably early afternoon. That gave me a few hours to figure something out, but if I took too long, the Princess would start losing her fingers. “I need a place to work,” I said, realizing I couldn’t come up with a cool plan if I had all these people breathing down my neck. “Is there anywhere private in the castle I can go?”
Thomas visibly perked up and flashed a broad smile, “I think I might be able to help.”
XXX
Thomas was a total nerd. I probably should’ve figured that out already based on context clues, but peering into his self-titled Wizard Room and seeing shelves lined with thick books, multi-colored rocks, scraps of metals, and vials of liquids, all alphabetized and sorted by weight and color, the nerdiness was all but confirmed. Honestly, this kind of obsessive organization was reserved only for the greatest of fanboys back in my time. I had a sneaking suspicion Thomas probably would’ve been into comic book collecting if he’d been born in the present.
“This is where the magic happens,” Thomas said, proudly pointing into the room at all of his earthly treasures. He frowned, “That’s just a figure of speech; by the way, I can’t do magic…yet.”
“It’s an impressive collection of stuff,” I said, trying to sound polite, “but why’d you bring me here?”
Thomas looked mildly offended. “I wanna help save Princess Melanie,” he replied, reaching for several objects on the shelves and bringing them over for me to inspect. “Witches use all sorts of random stuff for their spells and potions, right? And I’ve spent years collecting all kinds of things that I’m sure are magical!”
Thomas handed me a stick. It was a nice stick, firm, oaken, but still just a stick. He also gave me a couple of shards of stained glass and a flask with a sludgy black liquid that smelled kind of like gasoline.
I looked up at Thomas; he had such an excited look on his face that I didn’t have the heart to tell him this stuff was nothing more than junk.
“Ooh, I can feel a magical aura radiating from all of these objects!” I said, gasping in surprise.
Thomas’ face lit up! “I was right! They all told me it was just a cool-looking stick, but I showed them, huh? You can use it as your magic wand if you want.”
“Tempting,” I replied, wanting to move the conversation towards something a bit more productive. “But perhaps something else here is more immediately helpful to our current situation.”
I walked over to a cluttered desk in the corner of the room and sat down, opening my backpack to sort through my future stuff. Okay, after taking a more thorough assessment of my belongings, I found that after traveling into the past, I had a dead laptop, my phone, a pair of cheap plastic flashlights, some tape, a pocket mirror, several things of makeup, a Bluetooth speaker, and some stupid school textbooks. Oh, and the ballpoint pen Thomas had been sniffing. I sighed; now, all I had to do was use the power of sticky tape and my Spanish textbook to foil a band of deadly assassins. Easy, right?
“What’s all that stuff?” asked Thomas, pointing at my few worldly possessions.
“Well, you’ve already seen my flashlight, laptop, and Spanish textbook,” I said, pointing at them, “the rest of this stuff, unfortunately, is kind of useless.”
Thomas hovered uncertainty over the sticky tape, looking like he wanted to touch it but was scared it might curse his entire bloodline.
“Don’t worry, all of this is good magic,” I said, trying to put Thomas at ease and figuring he probably wouldn’t believe me if I said my stuff wasn’t magical, “but please don’t touch anything.”
“How are you gonna save Princess Melanie?” asked Thomas, saying out loud what I’d been wondering.
I bit my lip. I doubted I had anything that could be turned into a weapon (unless I used my chunky textbooks as bludgeons), so maybe I could scare the assassins into surrendering with some bold showing of my future tech. But what did I have that was so high-tech it would appear magical?
The laptop wasn’t an option, so with no other obvious solution, I reached for my cellphone. Thankfully, it was still working; but unsurprisingly, there was no cell service, considering cell towers hadn’t been invented yet.
“Why do you have two magic rectangles?” asked Thomas, staring over my shoulder and pointing at my phone and laptop.
I ignored him, scrolling through my phone’s different apps and pondering if anything would be useful. Maybe I could use a voice-changing app and sound like Darth Vader; that’d probably be pretty scary. Or I could take a page from Poofy Pants and snap a picture of the assassins, saying I’d stolen their souls and would trade them back for the Princess.
If I was being honest, neither seemed like a fantastic option. I’d have to get really close for anyone to even hear my tiny phone speakers, and I doubted the assassins would sit still for long enough to let me take their pictures, let alone explain what I’d done to them.
“Is this a treasure chest?” I turned to look at Thomas; despite telling him not to touch anything, he’d proceeded to rifle through my backpack and pulled out an old shoebox.
“What did I say about touching my stuff?” I huffed, glancing nervously at the sun outside as it slowly continued to set.
“You said it was all good magic,” countered Thomas, “I figured I could double-check through your bag in case you’d forgotten something.”
I had indeed forgotten about the shoebox; I guess I hadn’t thought it would be useful, so I just subconsciously ignored it. I felt a pang of sadness looking at the small rectangular box, remembering why I had it in the first place.
“Do you have a family, Thomas?” I asked, suddenly being hit with the realization that I may never see my own folks again.
“Yeah, of course,” he said, looking at me confused. “Do you not?”
“They’re far away,” I replied, taking the shoebox from Thomas and staring at it wistfully.
My dad was a huge cinema buff and loved anything and everything related to movies. Since I was into theater and acting, we typically had pretty well-aligned interests. He’d offered to help me make a homemade projector for one of our weekend projects, and I’d picked up an old shoebox from school to use as the base.
I sighed; it already felt like ages since I’d seen my family. I wondered if they even knew I was gone yet. Hopefully, I’d be able to watch movies with my dad again real soon.
I perked up; now there was an idea.
“What?” asked Thomas, noticing my sudden burst of energy.
“Thomas, please tell me magnifying glasses have been invented already.”
Thomas looked at me like I had two heads. “Magni-whats?”
I jumped from the table and began sifting through his shelves of random bits and baubles. “I need glass, something that makes an object look bigger than it actually is.”
Thomas perked up as well. “Oh, you mean an embiggening square!”
“Sure,” I said, with a wave of my hands, still searching. “Do you have any?”
Thomas grabbed a ladder and quickly climbed up one of his shelves. “Embiggening,” he muttered, “That’s gonna be under E, so maybe…” A moment later, Thomas slid down the ladder and handed me a small square of what looked like glass.
“Is this it?” I held up the glass to my face and stared at Thomas. The glass was a little scratched and smudged, but he definitely looked embiggened, some might even say, magnified.” I grinned, “That’s perfect.” I grabbed my phone and pointed it toward Thomas, “Question, Thomas, do you have a cool black cape I can borrow?”
XXX
The sun had nearly set when I approached the assassin’s hideout. I got close, but not too close, as I didn’t want to risk being blasted in the face with medieval fireworks. In front of me, several knights were still on standby, eyes trained on the hideout. They looked scared out of their minds, but to their credit, they had stood their ground. “No citizens are allowed in the area,” said one of the knights, his face turning white as I got closer and he got a good look at me.
Thomas had indeed been in possession of a cool-looking black cape; I’d put it on and used some of my stage makeup to make my exposed skin appear ghostly pale and added some blood-red freckles for good measure. All in all, I thought I looked pretty cool, pretty witchy if I said so myself.
“This is a battle of magics,” I said mysteriously, turning on my flashlight and holding it under my face. “Be careful that you aren’t caught in the crossfire.”
The knight’s eyes seemed to bug out of his sockets. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Finally, he gave me a curt nod, and he and the other men cleared out, practically fleeing to get away from me.
As I stood there alone in the suddenly empty square, I could feel hundreds of eyes trained directly on me as townsfolk peered through slits in their doors and windows. I was riding solo, but at the same time, it felt like the entire kingdom was here to watch. Alright, I thought, stretching and taking a breath; if these people were expecting to see magic, I’d give them magic.
“Open up!” I shouted, puffing out my chest and trying to channel the bossy and demanding nature of Lady Porktrude. “You have one minute to release the princess, or else!”
Nothing happened at first, then one of the hideout’s windows slowly opened, and a masked face popped out.
“Go away!” Growled the assassin, their expression unreadable due to the mask they were wearing. “Our dragon is hungry, and I have no desire to sic it on a weak, defenseless girl like you.
Ok, definitely a little rude. “I should warn you,” I retorted, giving my black cape a dramatic twirl, “You’re not dealing with an ordinary damsel, but a mighty and powerful–” I yelped, diving to the side as a firework blasted past my face, exploding in a burst of light behind me. I guess I was in range, after all.
“Alright, here’s the deal, bub,” I said hotly, picking myself off the ground, annoyed that my dramatic moment had been ruined. “I’m Piper, the witch, and I’ve got spells for days. Get out of here and leave the Princess behind, or you’ll face the full might of my power.”
Another firework shot at me, but I was ready this time. I casually stepped to the side, arms folded as it exploded behind me. Dang, I bet that looked really cool. I glanced up at the sky; the sun had finally set behind the castle walls, leaving the courtyard in almost complete darkness, perfect. “Observe my power,” I said with a casual snap of my fingers.
A light suddenly appeared from a nearby rooftop, shining onto the stone wall directly behind me. Thankfully, Thomas had remembered his cue.
“How shall I dispose of weak little men like yourselves?” I pondered, draping a villainous hand across my chin. “Shall I steal a page from your so-called dragon and douse you in fire?”
Roaring flames leaped up behind me, bathing my back in an orange glow. I heard the assassins and hundreds of hidden villagers gasp in surprise at the sudden explosion of light.
“Or perhaps I should just electricity your insides by calling upon the power of my dear friend, Zeus?” Lightning flashes appeared at my back, and the rumbling of thunder echoed across the quiet courtyard.
I heard several small children begin to cry, but the assassins still hadn’t responded; they were either brave, desperate, or stupid. Ok, time for the big finish. “But what are mere parlor tricks!” I cackled, sweeping my hands to my side and twirling dramatically, “When I can summon a dragon of my own?!”
The scene behind me changed to a war-torn battlefield; a mighty dragon swooped down, causing the ravaged landscape to shake as the beast let loose an ear-splitting roar and breathed fire into the air. “Behold, the great and powerful Gerardgon!”
That’s when the screaming started; all the villagers who’d been spying on the battle slammed their doors and windows shut or simply ran out of their homes and high-tailed it away from the action.
I also heard a ton of commotion from within the assassin’s hideout. There was what sounded like fighting, shouting, crying, and lots of medieval swearing. Then, the night sky lit up as dozens of fireworks shot out of the building and towards the Dragon behind me, slamming into the stone wall with a brilliant explosion of light.
“You can’t possibly believe you can stop a real dragon!” I cackled as the smoke cleared, and the Dragon behind me continued to paw at the ground and breathe fire. “Gerardgon is hungry, and in a few moments, you’ll be his dinner!”
That did it; the door to the hideout burst open, and five cloaked figures ran out, screaming in terror. A moment later, half of my knight friends leaped to attention and gave chase, both groups disappearing a few moments later into the dark of the city.
The remaining knights who’d stayed behind rushed into the recently evicted hideout. A moment later, one of them joyfully exclaimed, “We have the princess; she’s unharmed!”
“End scene,” I whispered, motioning for Thomas to cut off the projector. A moment later, the light from atop the nearby building went out, and the Dragon behind me disappeared.
In a bit of a daze, I walked over to the courtyard fountain and sat on the stone perimeter. I was exhausted, more tired than I’d been in a long time, but I could feel a huge grin splitting my face. Despite everything that had happened, it felt like I’d just acted in the greatest theatrical performance of my entire life. And even though the audience had run away, screaming for their lives, at least that had been the intended effect. I wondered if this is what it felt like to be on Broadway.