Chapter Eight
While Gavin, Davy, and Micky enacted the mad dash for food, with the town crier narrating, Peter crept behind the carriage and crouched near Mike. Mike squeezed his shoulder.
“Bastard did it again,” Peter growled, rubbing his ribs. “Same spot, too.”
Out of the corner of his mouth, Mike whispered, “You gonna be okay, shotgun?”
“I’ll be fine,” Peter whispered. After a few more moments, as the audience burst into laughter, he murmured, “Mike, I think I know who’s behind the sabotage.”
“Tell me.”
“Richard. George too, probably. Their reactions are just all wrong. And . . . they were never around when things were getting wrecked. Every time something happened they weren’t around. Except for the poisoning.”
Mike nodded. “I figured. When Gavin got poisoned Richard was givin’ this funny look, like he was happy it happened. Listen, it’ll be intermission soon—when you change into that mail suit. We’ll tell the others then.”
“Good.”
“Go get into position—you’re supposed to ‘overhear’ the plot.” Peter nodded and slipped out from behind the set piece.
The three foodservers bustled out of the way and Richard and George began to recite the lines about taking over and killing the Princess.
Peter hovered by the “door,” listening intently. The irony of the situation struck him and he suppressed a smile. He bolted back over to Mike. “My princess, my princess!” he gasped out.
“My bridge, my bridge!” ‘she’ said almost fondly, but still sarcastically.
“I have news! The evil Harold is—” Peter turned in time to see Richard and George emerged from the “inn.” He gave Mike as apologetic smile and dove back to the ground. “Well, here I am again.”
“Oh!” Richard cackled, seeing him. “Glad to see you’re back!”
“It’s good to be back!” Peter groaned, the words forced from him as Richard stepped on him yet again.
Richard and Mike bantered for a bit, and Mike absently did the same thing Gavin had done—popped a fake grape into his mouth and realized too late it was fake. He had to do the rest of his scene with the thing in his cheek. “Let us aw—oh, wait!” He said as if remembering something.
Reaching up, he jerked off the tin necklace and paused while he untangled it from his wig. Dangling it by the fake chain, he screeched out, “Never let it be said a princess didn’t reward a favor!” and he dropped it into Peter’s grasp.
Peter caught it easily. “What’s this?”
“It’s junk!” Mike said, but a smile couldn’t quite stop playing around his lips.
“I don’t deserve it!” Peter said, his eyes shining as he fought to contain his laughter.
“Yes, I’m hip!” Mike said, fighting to contain his own laughter. “But wear it anyway—it looks good on you. Come, Harold, let’s aw—” His arm hit the window of the carriage. He repositioned and tried again. “Let’s aw—” It did it again. He untangled his arm, stuck it all the way out, and thrust it toward the ‘horses.’ “Let’s away!”
“Richard! Let us away!” George turned. “Horses! Let us away!” he shouted.
“Yeah, man, let’s split!” One of the “riders” said, making a snorting sound as he and the other man pulled the carriage offstage. Richard used Peter as a stepping stone one more time as he walked by.
Peter glared after them. “Any more of this and I’m gonna get another princess to worship.”
The audience roared its appreciation.
The curtain closed and they regrouped quickly; when it rose again Peter was in the inn, telling the others what he’d overheard. “ . . . and he’s gonna murder her in the tower, a remote castle protected by a scary forest and a m-moat and an impenetrable dragon!”
Davy blinked. “A what kind of dragon?” he asked, uncertain whether he’d heard what he’d heard.
“An impenetrable dragon!” Peter repeated, stifling the grin and enjoying the startled look on Gavin’s face.
“So, what are you going to do, Peter?” Davy asked.
“I’m gonna miss her when she’s gone,” Peter said solemnly. The audience roared so hard someone started coughing.
“Hey, what about the locket?” Micky said, pointing. “You know, maybe if you—”
“Aw, no, man, it’s worthless, it’s made of tin.” As if to prove his point he lifted up the locket and bit it.
Boom! The audience gasped as smoke filled the stage. Shielded by it, Susan the makeup girl walked out. “Who called? Who called the faery of the locket?” she demanded in a Brooklyn twang.
“L-Locket?” Peter stammered. “Well, I-I guess I did!”
“Well call back later, I was having my hair done! Bye!” A woman in the audience literally howled with laughter.
“Wait, wait, you don’t understand, Princess Gwen, she’s really in trouble! She’s in danger!” Davy said.
“Gwen . . . Gwen . . . ” Susan frowned, then widened her eyes. “Oh, the one that’s always complaining!”
Gavin just waggled his eyebrows, looking up at the ceiling with an innocent expression. Susan went on, listing the most undesirable characteristics she could think of—ad-libbing at the end “With the Texas accent!”
“That’s the one,” Peter said, nodding and hoping Mike wasn’t listening.
“Well, let’s do something! She’s got a lot on the ball! You—” She pointed at Gavin. “You shall cut me a pair of shoes that can scale high walls. You—” Davy now, “shall sew me a suit of mail that no nothing can penetrate!” To Micky she said “You shall forge a kitchen knife into a sword that can cut through iron.”
“What about me?” Peter asked.
“You shall collect unemployment while your friends are working!” she deadpanned, making the audience laugh.
Peter gave her a disappointed look. Apology for the ad-lib flared in her eyes as she said the actual next line. “Then, when all is ready, you shall take these magic things, find your way to the tower, and save the princess! But remember, you must not drop, or crush, or lose the locket!”
“Ah, ‘cause it’ll lose its magic, right?” Micky piped up.
She glared at him. “No, ‘cause I’ll be killed, stupid! It’s my home!”
As the audience roared at that, she smiled and palmed the small device. “And now farewell!” She dropped it, making smoke billow as she ran behind the stage curtains out of sight.
With that the first act ended.
On to Chapter Nine
Back to Chapter Seven
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
