badinlatin | Bad and White, in the woods.

Princess Blanche of France has not had a good hour, either, and it is getting harder and harder to ignore everything that doesn't fit into her personal world view.

She is coming to the conclusion that Prince Mal was very accurately named after all.

And her feet hurt. She's been . . . walking. Because he does not, in fact, have a magnificent charger.

Or a run-of-the-mill horse.

Or even a pony, and whoever heard of a prince without so much as a pony?

A little pony, is that asking too much?

In response to his question, Blanche makes a noise that could be accurately reproduced by a very unhappy puppy, but is rather harder for a typist to render with a keyboard.

"But you woke me up. You 'ave to be."

And she then screams and jumps and clings to Mal when there's a rustling from the bushes off to their left.

"What was zat?" she asks, eyes wide. "Do you theenk it was a bear?"

(This is the fifth "bear" she has heard in the woods, and even Blanche knows it's probably losing some impact by now.)

"No, it was not a bear. It was a squirrel. Or a chipmunk," Mal barks, the angry hound to Blanche's puppy. "Or maybe, if I'm very lucky, it's a large bird to take you away."

Out of some shard of chivalry, Mal checked out the first noise. It was a bunny.

Not a rabbit, even. This one was white, and fluffy, and looked like a toy he gave Naomi when she was two.

"Eef you are sure . . . " Blanche says, and relaxes her grip on his arm.

"But you know, ze squirrels, zey can be quite vicious, when zey want to.

"Zey can bite."

She illustrates with a vaguely chomping gesture made with both hands, held up near her face.

It's meant to be endearing.

It's not. But, it has the added benefit of actually triggering conversation.

"Why were you in that box anyhow?"

"I was waiting for you," Blanche says, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. (Which, to her, it kind of is.)

But then, she does rather like to talk about herself.

Blanche decides to favor Mal with her whole tragic history.

"My father married an 'orrible woman. And she was vairy jealous of my beauty. So she ordered 'er 'untsman to . . ." Blanche pauses, to give the impression that it's all just too upsetting, before managing to finish, " . . . kill me.

"But 'e could not do it, so instead 'e left me in ze woods. And Larry and Balki found me and I stayed with zem. But my 'orrible stepmuzzer found out I was not dead, and she came and tricked me into eating a poisoned apple. And zen only a kiss from my one true love could wake me up."

It's not the most standard of means for securing a husband for a princess who lacks for suitors, as finding the right stepmother is a job of work, and much harder than simply hiring a dragon.

But her father has never spared any expense or trouble for his little girl.

And it's ever so much more romantic than just getting locked in a tower.

"And 'ere you are."

Mal just scowls at her.

"Do you people not have CPR? Seriously; you were just knocked out by the poison. My true love's at home already."

"Ce n'est pas possible," Blanche tells him, unconcernedly.

And then a thought occurs to her.

"Per'aps you are under a spell as well, Mal, and do not remember 'oo you are."

Or one that just made him excessively sullen.

Yes, that explains everything. Blanche can work with that.

"Ne t'inquiètes pas. I am sure zey will know what to do at ze palace."

Beat.

"'ow much furzzer to ze palace?"

"I don't know, you -- Wait."

The trees ahead are starting to thin somewhat, more and more light streaming through.

"Might be someplace up ahead that'd be useful."

Well, there's a place up ahead, at least.

Useful remains to be seen.

In fact, they have come upon the proud village of Lorlisfax Bridge, on the edge of the woods, and just across the River Murry.

"Did you per'aphs leave your 'orse 'ere?" Blanche asks, hopefully.

Mal snorts.

Politely.

"My horse is at the other end of the universe from here, lady." Literally, and Mal laughs at his own joke. The merriment gets cut short when they break through the treeline and walk out onto the bridge to the sounds of shouting --

-- moving towards them.

Uh oh.

"Stop! Thief!"

There's a man running toward them.

And several other men running after him.

He's got a good headstart, though, so he just might make it to the trees and safety.

Except that there are people on the bridge.

He was not expecting people.

There aren't supposed to be people.

There goes another cry of 'Stop, he's a thief!' and Mal all of a sudden is terribly confused at the current state of events.

But it's the idiot with the lack of a good escape route that they're after.

"Blanche -- " an unceremonious shove to the side railing of the bridge. "Stay." Might as well stop the guy, if I want the folk here to help me --

There's a sickening snap as Mal shoves her and (in the process) breaks her . . . shoe.

(Well, you'd be sick, too, if you knew what these shoes had cost.)

Blanche, off balance and horrified, stumbles back away from the side railing and directly into the path of the oncoming thief.

The thief (his name is Hubert, but like all good self-respecting thieves, he goes by Jack) manages to keep his own balance. He also manages to get the dagger from his belt.

Okay, okay, it's his mother's best paring knife. But it's still all pointy, all right.

"Nobody come any closer!" he yells.

"'elp me!" wails Blanche.

The mob running after Hubert (because like rutting hell would Mal ever call him something respectable like Jack) is about to careen into all of them, but seeing thief and dagger and damsel Mal only has a couple of seconds to spare.

Sort of.

So he moves between the mob and Hubert, hands outstretched to keep one group away from the other.

"Whoa-kay, time for everyone to slow down a tick. Blanche?" Mal asks, all false calmness and aloof attitude, "Do me a favor and keep still, dong ma?"

Blanche whimpers but, miracle of miracles, she holds still.

Jack (who refuses refer to himself as Hubert in his own narration) watches the crowd stop and turns his attention to the man who has stopped them.

"I don't wanna hurt anybody."

He's a society burgular. He doesn't expect people to rush about chasing him.

"He stole the mayor's purse!" someone yells from the crowd.

"And my sister's favorite necklace!"

"And a bun from my cart. With raisins!"

"Forget your bun, baker-man; ain't worth it."

"Hey!"

To Hubert: "Do you mind if I, you know -- get a little closer? So's we can talk."

n"All right, but No funny business," Jack-Hubert says. "Or I'll . . . I'll . . . do something drastic."

"Mal, you 'ave to save me," Blanche cries.

"Bi zui oh why don't you speak Mandarin," Mal groans.

Business at hand.

Mal steps closer once - twice. His long strides bring him to about a yard in front of Blanche and Hubert, and he can hear the take from the job rattling around in a belt pouch.

Whispering, "How are you thinking on takin' out everyone, and still getting away? Looks like you need some help. The mayor's purse - split that and you've got your man."

Hubert-Jack blinks.

"Wait. You want me to cut you in on the job? Now? After I've done all the hard work?

"I don't think so."

"Alright then."

A quick lunge gets Mal in range to punch Hubert in the nose to the sounds of a rather satisfying crunch.

He pulls Blanche by the wrist back to him and picks up Hubert's knife off the ground.

"Ain't even sharp, good gorram."

Disrespecting the career path, Hubert. How rude.

"My 'ero!" Blanche cries, while a cheer goes up from the assembled crowd of pursuers.

Two of the men of the town come forward to drag the quietly whimpering thief off to face his crimes.

A rather round little man with an almost-gold chain across his shoulders comes forward to greet Mal.

"Welcome, welcome, good sir, to Lorlisfax Bridge. I am Sir Lionel, the mayor here. We owe a great deal of thanks."

"Perfect! If these thanks could come in the form of directions to Amber, some food, and -- "

See? He does think of Blanche.

" -- a cobbler, that would be great."

"Of course, my good fellow, of course," Sir Lionel says, heartily.

"It's no trouble at all to get to Amber; you just follow the King's Road.

"Come, we will dine, and fix your lady's shoe, and see you safely on your way.

"And you will always have friends here in Lorlisfax Bridge."

"Can't have too many o' those, can one."

Things are looking up.

After eating, and reminding Blanche about seventy times that she should play nice with the generous man cobbling her shoe for free, they are prepared to set out on the King's Road towards Amber.

"Traveling with me ain't so bad at all, is it Blanche?"

"It would still be nicer eef you 'ad an 'orse," Blanche says.

Which is sort of like agreeing with him.

A little.

But then, they'll be at the castle soon.

And everything will be all right.

"You sound like my mother."

Sallie thinks everything's better if there are horses involved.

"Take it easy, there," Mal calls out to Hubert - now kneeling in the stocks for the earlier theft.

(His wave as they leave town is probably far too chipper.)

Prince Perseus would like to believe it was his unparalleled tracking skills that led him to the tiny hamlet of Lorlifax Bridge.

In fact, when he relates the tale of his heroic pursuit of the Princess Blanche, doubtless the wood will have been twice as thick, the path only half as traveled, and ravening wolves besetting him on all sides.

Here and now, however, he is realizing just how difficult it is to wrest information from a local population that has a great affection for the one whom he seeks to catch. Lesser men would give up in despair.

Greater men would probably utilize tracking skills.

Alas that Perseus is neither.

He sags a little in the center of town, pausing to rest his elbow against --

What ho? Who is this prisoned in the stocks? Is there a nefarious villain ravaging the countryside that he might manage to wrangle back to his home territory, thereby gaining much renown? Could this prince be half so lucky?

He's lucky enough to get Hubert babbling about the vicious mountebank that punched him in the face.

Woe betide that foul creature once Perseus catches up to him. Thinking on what might already have befallen the beauteous Princess Blanche leaves him ill.

Bad and White, in the woods.

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